Tyler Rabbit wrote:We imagine filthy children covered from head to toe in bug bites, starving like wild animals, unable to identify even basic things like a typewriter or phone etc.. But apparently that wasn't quite the case. At all...
Elvis » Tue Feb 20, 2018 8:18 pm wrote:Tyler Rabbit wrote:We imagine filthy children covered from head to toe in bug bites, starving like wild animals, unable to identify even basic things like a typewriter or phone etc.. But apparently that wasn't quite the case. At all...
One detail that stood out to me in the original children-in-the-van news story was the adults' assertion that they were taking the kids to a 'special school in Mexico.'
Has there been any refutation or explanation of that?
Company Name - Future Enterprises Inc, IT Training Services
Dates Employed - Aug 1980 – Apr 2001 Employment Duration 20 yrs 9 mos
Co-founded industry pioneer IT training and database programming firm. Published and delivered workforce software training products for end users and system admins for PC, Internet and Network Systems usage. FEI delivered 500,000 student-days of classroom training and published 450 generic and 200 custom courses.
The company served 1000's of F500, small business, university, association and civilian/ military/ intelligence government customers.
At that point, I get a clear view of the warehouse in the gathering darkness, a block away down the hill. It’s bathed in the electric blue light from three large television trucks. Satellite dishes point skyward from above the trucks and a crowd is in front of the building. Television reporters are standing in the light, microphones in hand. TV cameras are pointed toward them and they’re in animated conversation, alternatively pointing toward the building and staring back at the camera, as they describe their interpretation of an event that has now spun way beyond what any of us could have imagined. I keep in the shadows, walk on the other side of the street, past the media frenzy and back toward downtown. I abandon my plan to use the warehouse office to type and edit my letter.
I head for the new offices of Future Enterprises in the National Place Building at 13th and F Streets, where I have a computer and desk. Future Enterprises is a state-of-the-art computer training facility owned by Joseph and Marsha Marinich, hard-working entrepreneurs, whom I admire and have worked for on a part-time basis for several years. I have a key to the office and know the elevator code that will allow me to ascend above the first floor. On the way, I continue to listen to the news:
“Tallahassee Police have tentatively identified the children as connected with a Washington D.C. group that calls itself ‘The Finders.’ The spokesman, Scott Hunt, says that the identity of the children has not been determined and that the two men arrested are being held on bail of $100,000 each.”
I’m astounded. How could things have gotten so blown out of proportion? Then the voice of Hunt delivers the most frightening lines:
“We’re investigating every lead, but we believe that this organization is probably the headquarters for some kind of satanic cult, which goes from coast to coast and from Canada to Mexico and may be involved in international kidnapping.”
It’s now completely dark and few people are on the streets. I’m glad. I don’t want to be seen. I’m relieved when I find that there’s nobody in the office. I call W Street on the off chance that I can reach Stuart. He answers.
“How did you know I was here?” he says. “I’ve been hiding out all day and I just sneaked in here for a minute after dark to get some clothes. Amazing. I’ve been here for less than a minute and would have been gone in a minute more.”
We both laugh and it breaks the tension that I didn’t know until that moment had been building in me.
“The police have been here going through the building,” Stuart says. They have also been in the warehouse. And they’re looking for the van. You know that they’re also looking for the second van in Tallahassee?”
“No, I don’t know much of anything. Are you in the new van? How do you know that they’re looking for it?
“It’s on the radio. I’ve been parked out of sight in Arlington all day.”
DELIVERING THE LETTER
I tell him where I am and we agree that he will pick me up at the entrance to the National Press Building at precisely 9 PM. We synchronize our watches so that I won’t have to stand and wait and possibly be recognized. I key in the letter and print a stack of copies. Pettie said to make myself available to the police and the media. I have to decide how to do that. I can’t use the phone numbers for W Street or the warehouse, because I’m afraid I might be arrested if I show up there. I decide to give the number of Future Enterprises. I know that the police can determine the location of the telephone, but it seems the best that I can do at the moment, since I know that somebody will be here to answer the phone during the day. Before leaving the office, I fax the letter to the Tallahassee police and to the newspaper, The Tallahassee Democrat.
Stuart arrives exactly on time. I’ve brought with me a copy of the phone book. We go through it mapping out a route to all of the TV stations, radio stations, The Washington Post, Newsweek, Time Magazine, the D.C. Police and finally the FBI.
It seems that the police are everywhere. Each time we see a police car, we tense up and wonder if they will recognize us.
I want to make sure that our story gets into the hands of media people who will recognize it as more than one of the many routine letters they receive every day. So Stuart drops me off at each location and drives around the block until I return. I know some of the places well, because of having worked there. I insist with security guards that the letter get into the hands of the late night professional who’s on duty. The last two deliveries are to the D.C. police and the FBI.
“Gutsy,” says Stuart after we drive up to the police station on Idaho Avenue, leave the letter in the hands of the drowsy duty officer, and hurry out the door. It’s 10:30 when we drive up to the massive J. Edgar Hoover FBI headquarters building. The only door still open is to the lower level, where a guard controls the entry. Stuart drops me off and says he will call me at Future Enterprises at midnight. I explain to the guard that I need to get the document into the hands of an agent now. He says I should come back tomorrow. I insist that I have to put the paper into the hands of somebody tonight. He resists.
I say: “Do you mean to tell me that the FBI does not have somebody on duty all night in case there’s a national emergency? Would we have to wait until tomorrow morning if the number one criminal on the FBI’s Most Wanted List was having coffee next door and I have to tell the FBI about it?”
He doesn’t answer, but dials the telephone. After a few seconds, he points down the ramp and says “that way.” A steel barrier large enough to stop a tank then slowly sinks down into the concrete driveway and I’m allowed to pass. As I’m walking down the corridor, I hear it rise back into place and clang to a stop. I wonder if I’ve just walked into a situation from which I will not be able to return. A dark-suited young man flashes me a smile and takes the letter.
“I hope that somebody will be able to read it tonight and pass it along the appropriate channel,” I say.
“That somebody would be me,” he says. We stand for a moment looking each other in the eye. Then he smiles, shakes my hand, thanks me and leads me out through a different door.
When I enter the Future Enterprises office again, the phone is ringing. It’s a reporter wanting to ask questions. I take his phone number, saying that the person who wrote the letter isn’t here at the moment, but that he’s anxious to talk and will call back early tomorrow. It rings again and the routine is repeated. When it rings a third time a voice says: “This is Special Agent Athena Varounis from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m in the lobby of your building. I wonder if you would mind coming downstairs and talking to me for a few minutes.”
I catch my breath when I hear her. It has been less than half an hour since I left the letter at FBI headquarters. They checked the location of the phone and they’re here already. But she doesn’t sound menacing. “It will only take a few minutes and you can leave when we’re finished,” she says, apparently trying to reassure me that I’m not about to be arrested.
THE GODDESS INTERVENES
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll be right down.”
“I’ll be at a table in the food court. I’m wearing a dark suit and carrying a yellow pad,” she says.
I know that the food court will be deserted at this hour.
When I open the door to the office, which is on the 12th floor, I see a man with a TV camera and two other people approaching me. I can’t imagine how they got the elevator code and made it above the first floor. I misdirect them:
“You’re probably looking for Mr. Terrell,” I say. “Take that corridor down to the end and knock on the last door.”
They head down the corridor and I head down the elevator.
I spot her standing near the entrance. We shake hands and sit down at a small round table, where Stuart joins us. I like her immediately, but I say nothing. She smiles before she begins:
“It looks like you got caught in some media madness. I think that we can help you, but it’s going to take a little time. Do you think that you can work with me to help us straighten it out?”
My emotion is so strong, I can hardly contain myself. I say, “I think that you’re the goddess Palas Athena come to our rescue.”
She laughs heartily and I relax for the first time since seeing the train with the wheels on fire.
“I’ve read your letter. It’s just about what I thought it was; a slow day for the press. They have to fill up the newspapers and the TV time. It got picked up by the news services and it struck a sensitive chord with the public. Do you have a lawyer?”
“You should think about getting one. It will get worse before it gets better. Can you call me tomorrow? I won’t be able to tell you what I’m doing, but we will be working behind the scenes to put a lid on this thing.”
“I can call you tomorrow,” I say, “but I don’t know where I’m going to sleep tonight. The D.C. police are looking for our van and I guess they’re looking for us, too. The places they’re most likely to look would be W Street and the warehouse. Do you think that we would be safe there?”
“If I were you, I would keep a low profile,” she says.
“Well, I’m hoping to be meeting with the media and the D.C. police over the next few days. Do you think that would be a mistake?” I ask.
“Actually, that’s probably a good idea,” she says. “I’ll see if I can set up a meeting between you and the D.C. Police. Meantime, if you have another place to sleep tonight, I would go there.”
I thank her and tell her that we will cooperate with her 100% in whatever she wants us to do. At the moment, she seems like our best shot to restore some sanity to the situation. And beyond that, on a visceral level, I trust her. I learn years later that she’s the FBI agent on whom the character of Clarice Starling is based in The Silence of the Lambs movie.
Gradually the facts of what had happened in Tallahassee begin to emerge. It’s weeks before we get a comprehensive picture and we will never know what was being said between the various law enforcement agencies. Doug had gone to check out a place to sleep for the night and left Michael with the kids in Meyers Park. A woman living next to the park in Tallahassee saw the kids get out of the van and called the police. These are free kids, raised in the woods, unrestrained by the rules that might have damped the shouting and hijinks of kids accustomed to daycare or kindergarten. It’s not surprising that anybody observing them would have seen they were different. Still it’s hard to imagine anybody would have called the police. But they did.
This is the era of the McMartin Preschool madness in Manhattan Beach, California, and many other child abuse witch-hunts that swept across America during the 1980s. Dozens of innocent people were sentenced to long jail terms, some of more than 100 years, based on stories told by children. The stories are so fantastic they could not possibly be believed. But, they were believed by juries. Most of those convicted have been released after careful study of the children’s interrogation made it clear the fantastic stories were planted in the minds of the children by the way the interrogators asked their questions. That is the fearful mindset of many Americans in 1987. Millions of dollars are spent by government agencies aimed at making people aware of child abuse. Some people see a child abuser lurking outside of every playground. No doubt, the woman who called the police in Tallahassee is proud that she did her duty as a citizen.
Gradually, we learn more of what happened that afternoon in Myers Park. When the police are called, an unlikely set of circumstances begins to unfold. Tallahassee Police Officer Tony Mashburn arrives just as Doug returns with the van. The kids begin getting into the van and Mashburn begins asking questions of, first, Doug and, then, Michael. Michael and Doug are the two youngest of the players and neither is experienced or comfortable talking to authoritarians. Mashburn is then joined by another officer named Suchoki, who sees the kids, concludes something is amiss, and calls other police officers. At some point Michael remembers something he has heard from Pettie and says he will write down the officer’s questions and will have his attorney get back to him. When Mashburn hears this, he tells them to stay twenty feet from the van and the officers begin questioning the kids. A higher-ranking officer arrives and says unless he’s given a phone number where the van owner can be reached to confirm that it’s not stolen, they will be arrested. Michael gives the phone number at W Street, but the officer decides to arrest them anyway. They begin putting the handcuffs on Michael and he remembers something else Pettie has said and falls to the ground.
Many times, sitting in the attic at W Street or walking the lanes of Madison County, we have all heard Pettie talk about the best strategy in dealing with authoritarians: “If anybody who has the least bit of power finds out about y’all, they will exercise it against you, especially the ones at the lowest level. Keep a low profile and don’t let ‘em know you exist. If you ever have to interact with a policeman, keep an empty mind. If you’ve got some predetermined response in your head, it might work, but it also might be the wrong thing. So just do the thing that is appropriate in every situation and you can’t tell ahead of time what that is going to be. If you don’t know what to do, just lay down. They have a totally different way of dealing with people who are in a horizontal position than they do when you’re standing up. Judges are much more likely to understand you than a policeman on the street. If you don’t know what to say, say nothing and wait to do your talking with the judge.”
Michael, hesitant and unsure of his words and actions, neither knows what to say nor what to do. He can only think of one thing and that’s Pettie’s admonition. He clams up and lies down. The police think this is some kind of resistance or that it suggests he’s trying to hide something. They pick him up and drag him to a patrol car, taunting him with “he’s just faking it.” Doug is also arrested. At that moment, by poor chance, Jerry Mintz, executive director of the National Coalition of Alternative Schools, is in the park with two students. One of them, 13-year-old Joe Dixon, grabs his video camera and records the police dragging Michael to the police van with Doug, in handcuffs beside him. Then he sells the video to the media who show it again and again on national network TV.
Marionumber1 » Mon Feb 12, 2018 8:52 pm wrote:A Washington Times article from December 17, 1993, written by the same person who broke the Craig Spence story, said:A Metropolitan Police document dated Feb. 19, 1987, quotes a CIA agent as confirming that his agency was sending its personnel to "a Finders Corp., Future Enterprises, for training in computer operations."
Today the Finders are as active as ever, but number only eleven members, including Pettie. Members include Ronald L. Alleman, Stanley Berns, Mary Grogan, Christian (Kris) Herbst, Kristin Knauth, Theodore G. Reiss, Allen Schoen, Stuart Miles Silverstone, Randolph Winn, and Steve Usdin.
Knauth and Grogan are the only female members in the group. Knauth, age 35, was once married to Usdin, and has been a member since 1982. Grogan, age 46, dating Winn, is the newest member of the group. Winn is described as a "computer whiz." Reiss works in the Academic Computer Center at Georgetown University where he helped develop an Internet World Wide Web page. Kris Herbst works in the Global Press office in the National Press Building.
Alleman ("Lucky") is a former Navy serviceman who claims he served in a SEAL team in Vietnam. Many consider Alleman the bully of the group whom Pettie uses to intimidate members and potential troublemakers. However, a former member described Alleman as a "drunk who can't even get out of bed in the morning, much less a threat."
Usdin is second in command after Pettie. Described as the "crown prince" of the Finders who would take over upon Pettie's death. Usdin travels between Russia and Japan on Finders business. His control over most of the Finder front organizations appears total.
In 1971 Pettie infiltrated the 'human potential' movement, setting up Ken Kesey (Living Love) as a prominent guru and working through Dr. Stephen Beltz (related to Judith Beltz, a behavior modification specialist more recently deployed to the Institute of Cultural Affairs and the Meta Network cult.
Christopher Bird, former CIA officer who served in Japan and a psych warfare specialist in the Army, and author of New Age and occult books has also been associated with Pettie. Bird wrote The Secret Life of Plants with Peter Tompkins, New York: Avon, 1974, Tompkins wrote on new age subjects like the pyramids, and once served in the OSS (now anti-CIA).
Pettie's activities took a different turn in 1979 when he recruited John J. Cox. founder of general Scientific (a computer firm specializing in classified defense, contracts). Cox trained several of Pettie's Finders in computer programming and communications technologies and took two or more Of them to Costa Rica and Panama in 1980-81. Cox worked through Miguel Barzuna, a prominent Costa Rican money launderer, the Vienna, Virginia-based Institute for International Development and Cuban exile Emilio Rivera in Costa Rica and Panama. Through Cox, Pettie and the Finders linked up with several Washington area computer-oriented groups, including Community Computers, a front organziation[sic] for The Community, a cult run by Michael Rios (aka MichaelVersacc). (Pettie's son, David Pettie, is a member of the Community, Pettie's other son, George, may be the one who was in Air America) Cox also recruited Theordore[sic] G. reiss (wife; Ann), 4 reston-based computer programmer and highly active member of Werner Erhard Seminars (EST). Cox also recruited Susan Gabriel and Judith Beltz as couriers. Pettie and Cox have simulated a failing out and pretend to be enemies...
from:STEAMSHOVEL PRESS, POB 23715, St. Louis, MO 63121
Maryland Man Sentenced to Over 7 Years in Federal Prison for Distribution of Child Pornography
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
Baltimore, Maryland – U.S. District Judge J. Frederick Motz sentenced Theodore Gerald Reiss, age 81, of Halethorpe, Maryland today to 90 months in prison, followed by a lifetime of supervised release, for distribution of child pornography.
Regarding Kristen Knauth and Stuart Silverstone: both individuals are pretty easily contactable.. if you have questions why not just ask them directly?
In one of the most conservative towns in Virginia, a female skeptic is launching a "live-in/live-out think tank" for secularists of all stripes. Only those with a good sense of humor need apply, though.
Seventy miles south of Washington, DC, is the town of Culpeper, Virginia, a pretty little burg of 10,000 with views of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Culpeper is the sort of place where your social circle is defined by which of the 30-odd Christian churches you belong to, the tallest edifice in town is the Southern Baptist steeple, and the Wal-Mart parking lot is full at 11pm on a Saturday night. George Washington surveyed the town's limits in 1749--and, according to a local joke, that's the last interesting thing that happened here.
The solid, red-brick corner house at 409 Macoy Avenue seems transplanted from another planet. On a block of crewcut lawns and military-corner boxwoods, this yard is veiled by a scrim of soaring, lacy bamboo. Cross the front porch and the first thing you spot is a quote by Emma Goldman on the front door: "Atheism is the eternal yea to life, purpose, and beauty." Well, that's a breath of fresh air; this town was starting to make you feel a little paranoid. Then you notice there's no doorbell, only a large Chinese gong, which makes a sonorous clang when you tentatively tap it with the drumstick hanging nearby.
And the smiling blonde woman who opens the front door looks far less like the natives you've met than like a young Swedish university professor. Which, it turns out, she is. Introducing herself as Merrie Shaker Pettie, female skeptic, she explains in softly accented but fluent English that she arrived two years ago from Stockholm, where she worked as a lecturer in philosophy. Her father was American, and she moved here when a relative bequeathed her this house.
Inside, the house has the same zen/zany elegance as outside. It's nothing less than a live-in library, with bookshelves lining every wall including the kitchen and bedrooms. A large globe hangs from the living room ceiling. Upstairs, there's a photo of two horses having sex. Out back is a hot tub, while two large Southern-style screen porches are set up as lounges looking out on the bamboo grove.
And more quotes. On a kitchen shelf, "I believe in God, only I spell it Nature--Frank Lloyd Wright." Next to the sofa, "There is nothing stable in the world; uproar's your only music.--John Keats." Nietzsche is in there somewhere.
A Laboratory for Living Well
Pettie, 42, is launching a unique clubhouse--she calls it a social laboratory--for freethinkers. After she gives you the grand tour, curled up over steaming cups of tea in the cozy Biographies section, you ask her to clarify.
"It's a global, live-in or live-out, mutual aid society for experimenting with how to live well in a godless world." Sounds good. Who's invited? She rattles off: "Skeptics, free inquirers, perspectivists, agnostics, Franklinites, infidels, eupraxsophists, sinners, secularists, postconventionals, and other persons with a good sense of humor--a/k/a perspective."
Freethinkers who meet these stern criteria can tap into the network to help solve their problems, find partners or jump-start their visions, according to Pettie. Just hanging out and enjoying the laissez-faire ambience is an option, too. But primarily it's a problem-solving center to help skeptics advance their projects. Pettie describes her role as helping skeptics find whatever they need, be it brainstorming, visioneering, like-minded allies or incubation for an idea--including, in some cases, helping deserving entrepreneurs to connect with "angels" (private investors) to back their projects.
"It's kind of a drop-in think tank, where you can live in or out, and stay a day or a year," she sums up. "It's both an oasis for the present and an incubator for the future." And skepticism is unquestionably humanity's future, Pettie contends.
At the nucleus of this rather mind-bending vision are Pettie and her five-bedroom house, which serves as clubhouse, guesthouse, office and incubator. She says there's an associated dacha, or country house, about a half-hour away in the Blue Ridge foothills which can be used for group or solo retreats.
cptmarginal » Thu Feb 22, 2018 11:17 am wrote:For another: everything I have read in The Gamecaller has led me to suspect that it's a bad idea to trust the statements of people that are avowed associates of Marion Pettie. He outright counsels his acolytes on the art of deception, repeatedly.
I still don't understand why they had the two vans in Florida in constant communication with their home base; the explanations seem like crap to me and there are a hell of a lot of funky details, like the laptop computer left behind in a phone booth for example.
Tyler Rabbit » Thu Feb 22, 2018 2:34 am wrote:I'm actually more interested in the Provenance of the intelligence connections dossier at the end of Ken's article then I am about the Customs report. I think I have a pretty good idea of what went down with the customs report, but that whole intelligence dossier is just all over the place.
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