Jason and the golden fleece pdf download

I had always loved the ocean. I had wanted to be a sailor since I was a little boy. Seasick or not I made up my mind to follow my dream. I was allowed to keep my same rank and pay grade. We had a good bunch of guys in my company and we had a great company commander. Chief Campbell, chief electricians mate. He turned the company over to me. The chief was a good man. He was only interested in teaching us what we needed to know and in keeping us out of trouble.

Unlike most boot camp instructors, Chief Campbell had no axe to grind and wasn't trying to prove anything to himself or anyone else. He was truly our friend. During boot camp I volunteered for submarines my sense of adven- ture was very strong.

Spitfire and damnation, no one could possibly be that lucky! I couldn't believe my eyes when I read my orders. Here I was fulfilling my dream of being in the Navy. I got exactly what I asked for the first time that I asked for it, which was extremely rare in any branch of military service.

And to top it all off, I was being sent to Hawaii, the land of tropical paradise. I was in seventh heaven. I landed in Hawaii with no time to play and took a cab directly to the sub base. My submarine was nowhere to be found.

I kept asking people until I found someone who told me that my boat subs are called boats in the Navy was not at the sub base but in dry dock in the Pearl Harbor Naval Shipyard.

I hailed another cab. The cab driver dropped me off at the head of a pier that looked like it had never been cleaned up after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. It was covered with what appeared to be hoses, huge electrical cables, rusting metal of every conceivable size and shape that you can imagine.

The air was rank with the smell of diesel, welding fumes, paint, and steel. I walked up the pier, over to the edge, and looked down into the dry dock. There, stripped of all dignity, lying naked and cut cleanly in half, was my boat, the USS Tiru. Men were scrambling all over it. They looked like ants swarming over a dead gras- shopper. Brilliant flashes of light brighter than the sun drove sparks high into the air and then down in a beautiful flow to the bottom of the dock.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Someone actually expected me to go out to sea, then underwater, in what appeared to me to be a motley collection of cut-up rusting metal scavenged from some satanic junkyard, stuck together by demons with welding torches. My luck had just run out. I reported to the barracks barge moored in the water on the other side of the pier and was given a hammock for when I had the duty; then I was sent to the sub base barracks where I was assigned a rack and a locker.

I wanted to go into Honolulu but quickly discovered non-quals did not rate liberty. It was getting worse. The next few months were spent sanding, painting, lifting, and learn- ing the boat.

The men of the crew, except for the chief cook, were great. The chief cook was drunk every minute of the day and night. He didn't like me, so I didn't get much to eat. His dislike stemmed from my first morning when I walked into the galley and watched as the other crew members ordered their breakfast. When there was an opening I stepped up and asked for eggs over easy. That's when the chief hit the overhead and vowed that I would never eat a meal in his mess decks.

He wasn't kidding, either. The only time after that morning that I got anything to eat out of that galley was when the chief cook was ashore. To this day I still don't know what I did wrong. I could have gone to the captain, but if I had done that I might as well have put in for a transfer at the same time. It wasn't long, though, before I was able to locate where he hid his booze.

I made his life miserable from that moment on. I won't tell you what I laced his vodka with, but it wasn't anything you'd ever want to drink, believe me. I kept that chief so sick that he was transferred off the boat for medical reasons. I didn't want to hurt him, but it was either get rid of him or starve to death. I made up my mind that chief or no chief I wasn't going to go to sea on a boat that wouldn't feed me.

I didn't relish going to sea with a drunk chief in charge of closing the main induction valve when the boat made a dive. When a submarine goes underwater certain valves MUST be closed or the boat will flood with water and everyone will drown. It was the cook's duty to close it, because the valve was in the galley on board the USS Tiru. I made two especially close friends while on the Tiru. The three of us were inseparable. Lincoln was best man at my first marriage.

Of the three Geronimo was the most experienced seaman, so he taught Lincoln and me. He knew everything there was to know about the boat, rope, paint, and a whole lot of other things that a man had to know to survive in the Navy. I knew the most about getting along in the military, so I taught Geronimo and Lincoln. Lincoln knew every really good spot on the Island where we could have a good time, so he led the liberty party. Three things really stand out in my mind about the time that I spent on the Tiru.

The first was an incident that occurred during a test dive while we were creeping along at about 3 or 4 knots at a depth of feet off the Island of Oahu. Lincoln and I had just been relieved from watch and were in the after battery talking when we were knocked off our feet. Then we heard a sound that made our blood run cold. I could literally feel the blood drain from my face as I listened to whatever it was that we hit scrape along the starboard side of the hull.

Lincoln and I froze. We held our breath as metal screeched upon metal. I thought it would never end. No one moved, anywhere. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, the boat lurched and the noise disappeared aft. If it had pierced the hull none of us would be alive today. We never found out what it was. When we returned to Pearl, divers went down to have a look. When they surfaced they reported that the starboard bowplane was damaged and the hull was gouged all along the starboard side from bow to stern.

We went in for repairs. In a couple of days we were good as new, but I certainly had an entirely different perspective on life. The second thing that stands out happened to another boat that had been out participating in torpedo attack exercises with another submarine. I remember seeing the boat entering the harbor with a large tarp over the conning tower. I could see something holding the tarp up on each side of the tower but I couldn't see what it was.

Later, Geronimo, Lincoln and I walked over where the boat was berthed and looked under the tarp. The other boat in the exercise had scored a direct hit! What we saw was a torpedo sticking completely through the sail. We started laughing. Then we looked at each other and decided that it wasn't so funny after all. This submarine business was not quite as attractive as I'd thought. Number three happened during a transit between the Portland-Seattle area and Pearl Harbor. I was the port lookout during the afternoon watch to hours.

Geronimo was the starboard lookout. We were doing 10 knots on the surface and the three of us were on the bridge in the conning tower. It was cool. We had a bit of fun when someone below requested permission to put a man on deck forward to get something that was needed from the waterproof deck locker.

The locker was under the deck plate all the way up on the bow near the forward torpedo-room escape trunk. Geronimo and I laughed when Ensign Ball gave his approval. He really shouldn't have, because we were running a pressure wave over the bow. When we saw who it was they had sent on deck we roared with laughter. We looked down over the side of the sail at the deck-level door just as it popped open and Seaman Lincoln Loving stuck his head out. He didn't look happy. Lincoln reached down and put the runner in the safety track in the deck, fastened the safety belt around his waist and, grabbing the handrail, stepped out on deck.

He looked up at us with that "don't you laugh at me" look that he did so well. It took him a few minutes to get up the nerve to let go of the handrail and begin to make his way forward against the wind and the pitching deck. Gingerly, he crept forward until he was just at the point where the pressure wave was rolling off the deck when the bow heaved free of the water on its cyclical upswing. I could see that Lincoln was trying to time a run forward when the bow was out of the water.

He made a couple of false starts, then ran slipping on the wet deck, disappearing into the access hole for the forward torpedo-room escape hatch. The bow plunged underwater and I found myself sucking air as I imagined the cold saltwater swirling around me.

It wasn't me, though, it was Lincoln. I gripped the top of the sail as I waited for the bow to swing up, hoping that Lincoln wouldn't panic. What we saw next could have been a clip from one of those old Keystone Cops movies.

Lincoln was flailing water so hard that it looked like he had 40 arms and 40 legs. It was only then that I realized that Lincoln had joined the Navy but he didn't know how to swim. When he finally gathered a foothold, the half-drowned seaman exploded up out of that hole like a Polaris missile and ran back to the conning tower just as fast as his wet leather soles would carry him.

Ensign Ball, Geronimo, and I laughed for a good ten minutes. In fact, every time we saw Lincoln for the next two days we would burst out laughing. Lincoln didn't think it was funny and didn't miss a chance to slug us every time we laughed.

Lincoln went below. Geronimo and I began the unending task of sweeping the horizon from bow to stern, then the sky from horizon to zenith, and then back to the horizon from bow to stern. Again and again, and then a pause to rest our eyes and chat for a few minutes. I asked Ensign Ball to call for some hot coffee. My heart beat wildly. I tried to talk but couldn't; then I changed my mind and decided I didn't want to say that, anyway. I had seen a flying saucer the size of an aircraft carrier come right out of the ocean and fly into the clouds.

I looked around quickly to see if anyone else had seen it. Ensign Ball was still bending over the IMC. He was ordering coffee. Geronimo was looking down the starboard side aft. I was torn between my duty to report what I had seen and the knowl- edge that if I did no one would believe me.

As I looked out over the ocean I saw only sky, clouds, and water. It was as if nothing had happened. I almost thought I had dreamed it. Ensign Ball straightened, turned toward Geronimo and said the coffee was on the way up. Nothing, not even a hint of what had happened.

Can you help me look over that area? I didn't know it at the time, but Geronimo had heard me and turned to look. He was happy that something had broken the monotony. I was just lifting the binoculars off my chest when I saw it. The giant saucer shape plunged out of the clouds, tumbled, and, pushing the water before it, opened up a hole in the ocean and disappeared from view. It was incredible. This time I had seen it with my naked eyes, and its size in comparison with the total view was nothing short of astounding.

Ensign Hall stood in shock, his binoculars in his hands, his mouth open. Geronimo yelled, "Holy shit! What the — hey! Chief Quartermaster Quintero had the ship's mm camera slung around his neck. The Captain stood patiently while Ensign Ball tried to describe what he had seen. He glanced at us and we both nodded in affirmation. That was enough for the Captain.

He called sonar, who during the excite- ment had reported contact underwater at the same bearing. I have the conn. I also knew that rumors were probab- ly flying through the vessel. The Captain called down and ordered someone to closely monitor the radar. His command was instantly acknowledged.

As the five of us stood gazing out over the sea the same ship or one exactly like it rose slowly, turned in the air, tilted at an angle and then vanished. I saw the Chief snapping pictures out of the corner of my eye. This time I had three images from which to draw conclusions. It was a metal machine, of that there was no doubt whatsoever. It was intelligent- ly controlled, of that I was equally sure.

It was a dull color, kind of like pewter. There were no lights. There was no glow. I thought I had seen a row of what looked like portholes, but could not be certain. Radar reported contact at the same bearing and gave us a range of 3 nautical miles. The range was right on, as the craft had moved toward the general direction that we were headed. We watched repeatedly as the strange craft reentered the water and then subsequently rose into the clouds over and over again until finally we knew that it was gone for good.

The episode lasted about 10 minutes. Before leaving the bridge the Captain took the camera from the Chief and instructed each of us not to talk to anyone about what we had seen. He told us the incident was classified and we were not to discuss it, not even amongst ourselves.

We acknowledged his order. The Captain and the Chief left the bridge. The Captain has left the bridge. Those of us who had witnessed the UFO were not allowed to go ashore after we had berthed in Pearl. Even those of us who didn't have the duty were told we had to stay aboard. After about two hours a commander from the Office of Naval Intelligence boarded.

He went directly to the Captain's stateroom. It wasn't long before we were called to wait in the passageway outside the Captain's door. Ensign Ball was called first. After about 10 minutes he came out and went into the wardroom. He looked shaken. I was next. When I entered the stateroom, the Commander was holding my ser- vice record in his hands. He wanted to know why I had gone from the Air Force into the Navy. I told him the whole story and he laughed when I said that after putting off the Navy for fear of chronic seasickness, I hadn't been seasick yet.

Suddenly a mask dropped over his face, and looking me directly in the eyes he asked, "What did you see out there? The man began to visibly shake and he screamed obscenities at me. He threatened to put me in the brig for the rest of my life. I thought he wasn't going to stop yelling, but as suddenly as he began, he stopped. I was confused. I had answered his question truthfully; yet I was threatened with prison. I was not afraid, but I was not very confident, either. I figured I had better take another tack.

Eighteen years with my father and four years in the Air Force had taught me something. Number one was that officers just do not lose control like that, ever. Number two was that if my answer had elicited that explosion, then the next thing out of my mouth had better be something entirely different.

Number three was, that his response had been an act of kindness to get me to arrive at exactly that conclusion. In addition I could lose all pay and allowances due or ever to become due. He asked me to sign a piece of paper stating that I understood the laws and regulations that I had just read governing the safeguard of classified information relating to the national security. By signing, I agreed never to communicate in any man- ner any information regarding the incident with anyone.

I was dismissed, and boy, was I glad to get out of there. Not long after that incident I devolunteered from submarines. The Tombigbee was a gasoline tanker. It was more dangerous than the sub. The Captain was crazy and the crew was a combination of idiots and misfits. I once had to draw my pistol while I was petty officer of the watch to prevent an officer from being attacked by a seaman.

The Tombigbee collided in the dead of night with a destroyer in the Molokai channel and several men died when the destroyer was almost cut in half. Every day aboard that ship was exactly like a scene right out of Mr. They included a total of 12 months off the coast of Vietnam. We came under machine-gun fire while anchored off Chu Lai.

We had to do an emergency breakaway and leave the harbor. The Viet Cong gunner probably got busted because the stupid jerk missed the whole damn ship. The only other time I felt threatened was when we went up to a small outpost at the DM2 called Cua Viet. It was a vision right out of hell. Cua Viet sat on the southern bank at the river mouth of the Thack Han river. We rode at anchor and pumped fuel ashore through a bottom lay line.

Every night we could see the tracers from fire fights raging up and down the river and along the DMZ. It was a real hot spot. We would perform an emer- gency breakaway and put to sea until the all clear was sounded.

Everything was cool until our whacko Captain decided we were going into the river mouth. Did you ever try to put a pencil through the eye of a needle? Thaf s about comparable to what we did. I'll never know how we got that big ship through the narrow mouth of that river with no naviga- tional references whatsoever. We dropped anchor midchannel and the Captain backed the ship right up to the beach and dropped the stern anchor into the sand. There we sat, a great big target full of gasoline.

We were helpless in the mouth of a narrow river, with three anchors out, right in the middle of one of the hottest combat zones in Vietnam. That night several men in the crew wrote letters to the Chief of Naval Operations requesting an immediate transfer.

No one slept. I don't know why the enemy didn't send in the rockets, but they didn't. I knew then that God must keep a special watch over fools. The next day we set to sea and started for Pearl. The Captain was relieved for incompetence later that year. Then I was transferred to school. I didn't know what school I had drawn.

The general training prepared me to set up security perimeters, secure installations and buildings, and safeguard classified information. My training included special weapons, booby-trap identification and disarm- ing, the detection of bugs, phone taps, transmitters and many other sub- jects.

I was specifically trained to prepare and conduct Pacific-area intelligence briefings. This was the first good news I'd had since leaving boot camp. I really wanted to fight for my country. I wasn't to find out what a real fool I was until a few years later. I was interviewed by Captain Carter, the commanding officer. The names turned out to be a coincidence. Captain Carter asked me if I thought I would make a good patrol boat captain, and I told him that I would.

What else could I tell him? I thought he was joking when he told me I would have command of a boat and crew. He wasn't, and I did. Duey at the Harbor Patrol, a division of Naval Intelligence, allowed me to hand-pick a crew. He gave me first choice of four foot picket boats that had just been unloaded from the deck of a freighter. I and my new crew spent three days going over every inch of that boat.

We adjusted and fine-tuned everything. We sanded and painted. One of the seamen even hung curtains in the after cabin. We checked and double-checked the engines. Barron, checked out weapons and we began to arm our vessel. I've got to tell you the truth — just looking at all those guns scared the shit out of me. I vowed right then and there that I would be the best damn captain that ever commanded a combat vessel in wartime. I learned to exist an only 2 or 3 hours of sleep out of 24 and never ate until I knew that my crew had been fed.

We spent a lot of spooky nights patrolling the Da Nang harbor and river. One night a rocket hit the ammo dump at the river's edge near the Da Nang bridge, and it really looked as if the world was coming to an end. Another time we engaged the enemy in the cove at Point Isabella near the marine fuel farm and probably saved their butts.

That engagement was reported in The Stars and Stripes, the armed forces newspaper in Vietnam. The worst moments came, however, not from Charley but from mother nature. A full-blown typhoon roared across the Gulf of Tonkin. To save the boats we put to sea. The angels must have been laughing. What a sight we must have made! I maneuvered our boat in between two giant cargo ships riding at anchor off Red Beach and learned quickly what fear was really all about.

The wind was blowing so hard that none of us could go on deck. That meant that the two of us in the pilot house were stuck on watch and the men trapped in the after cabin had to man the hand pumps. The windows in the pilot house blew out and the rain felt like knives hitting our skin.

Water poured in, and I prayed that the men on the pumps would not become exhausted. I could just barely make out the two tankers. I could tell they were in more trouble than we. When we were in the trough we seemed to be in danger of their crashing down upon us. One of the freighters snapped a cable and steamed slowly out of the harbor. The next morning the storm calmed and we moved into the river. Debris was floating down and we had to play dodge-the-tree-trunks until we spotted a sheltered pier in front of the Press Club.

We carefully pulled the boat alongside, tied fast to the pier, then collapsed from exhaustion. After awhile we drew straws to see who would remain on watch with me. The rest went into the Press Club. After a couple of hours the crew returned and we went in. It was like nothing was going on outside. Reporters sat around drinking or eating. All around flowed conversation and laughter.

We ordered a huge meal, signed Lt. Duey's name to the check, then went out to the boat. I don't know whose name the other guys signed, but none of us had any money. I don't even know if Lt. Duey ever got the bill. I do know that it was one of the best damn meals that we ever had in that country. The next two days were spent in repairing the boat, cleaning the weapons, and checking everything.

Then we went to the club, got stone drunk, and slept for damn near a whole other day. Bob Barron volunteered for Cua Viet. I begged him to stay with us.

Maybe we could all go up later together. He couldn't wait; he had to have action. We promised each other that if one of us bought the farm the other would drink a bottle of scotch in memory, then break the bottle on the rocks. Don't ask me what that was all about. Men who think they might die at any given moment do stupid things and I was no different than most. No radio transmissions were ever heard. And for awhile no bodies were found. Then one by one they popped to the surface along the bank.

It was a long time before we ever found the boat. When we did it was twisted up like a pretzel. I say "we," because after I drank the bottle of scotch and broke it on the rocks, I forced the issue and was transferred to the Dong Ha River Support Group at Cua Viet.

It was now a personal war. They had killed a part of me. Bob had been my friend. His name is on the Vietnam Memorial. My boat engaged the enemy more times than any other boat that ever patrolled that river.

We kept the enemy off the river and I never lost another man. On a Patrol Boat One thing I didn't like about Vietnam was that it was very difficult to maintain unit cohesion and morale when you had proven and trusted men leaving all the time at staggered intervals and green, unproven men arriv- ing to take their place. I noticed that I felt like I was deserting my crew when I was rotated home.

I tried to extend my tour of duty, but they had already decided to phase out our forces and turn the war over to the Vietnamese. If I had extended a month earlier, I was told, I could have stayed. We had individual hour crypto code sheets that we used to encode messages, but because of the danger that one of them could be captured at any time, we used special code words for sensitive information.

UFOs, I was told, were definitely sensitive information. I learned exactly how sensitive when all the people of an entire village disappeared after UFOs were seen hovering above their huts. I learned that both sides had fired upon the UFOs, and they had blasted back with a mysterious blue light. Rumors floated around that UFOs had kidnapped and mutilated two army soldiers, then dropped them in the bush. I found out later that most of those rumors were true. I eventually found myself back in Hawaii.

I had carried a Secret security clearance in the Air Force, and Secret was required for submarines. When I checked into the Fleet Administra- tion Unit, I was asked to fill out papers for another clearance. I did as I was asked. I remember that one of the questions asked if I had ever belonged to any fraternal organizations.

I looked down the list, circled the DeMolay Society, and answered in the affirmative. Mercado while I awaited the results of my FBI background check for the upgraded clearance. I was asked to read the regulations covering the Personnel Reliability Program governing those personnel who had access to nuclear weapons, information on nuclear weapons, launch codes, and various other things having to do with nuclear weapons or anything that came under HQ-CR I was asked to read and then sign a security oath, which I did.

I was then told by Captain Caldwell that my security clear- ance had been upgraded to Top Secret, Q, Sensitive Compartmentalized Information with access authorized on a strict need-to-know basis. I did. What I learned during the time I spent with that briefing team is what led me on my year search that has culminated in the writing of this book. I was later given another upgraded clearance in the crypto category and served as the designated SPECAT operator when I was on watch in the command center.

My good friend Bob Swan is the one who talked me into going back. I believed it was all true then and I believe it is all true now. I must warn you, however, that I have found evidence that the secret societies were planning as far back as to invent an artificial threat from outer space in order to bring humanity together in a one-world govern- ment which they call the New World Order. I am still searching for the truth. I firmly believe that this book is closer to that truth than anything ever previously written.

I attempted to leak information to a reporter after my discharge. I was forced off a cliff by a black limo in the hills of Oakland. Two men got out and climbed down to where I lay covered in blood. One bent down and felt for my carotid pulse. The other asked if I was dead. The nearest man said, "No, but he will be. I succeeded in climbing up the bank where I waited until found.

A month later I was forced into another accident by the same limo. This time I was to lose my leg. Two men visited me in the hospital. They only wanted to know if I would shut up or if the next time should be final. I told them that I would be a very good little boy and that they needn't worry about me anymore.

Under my breath I swore to spill the beans as soon as I could figure out how to do it without unit getting hurt again. I knew that Moore and Friedman were government agents and the docu- ment was a fraud. I had never heard of Shandera. I knew this because I had seen a list of agents who were to initiate a contingency plan called MAJESTIC that would lead investigators off the track when such a need arose. I decided that it was time for me to enter the arena and expose the cover-up and the disinformation.

First it was necessary to convince the known agents that I was just a kook who didn't really know anything. I prepared some bogus information, mixed it with some true information, and passed it to Moore and Friedman through Jim Spieser, the operator of a computer BBS network called Paranet. Spieser was told that the informa- tion was to go only to Moore or Friedman; no one else was to see it. I wanted to buy time by convincing these agents to report me to their case officers as harmless, thus allowing me to get the real information out to the public.

None of that information was intended to go to the public. Spieser turned out to be working with Moore, however, and posted the files on the computer networks. Spieser then went to Los Angeles, conferred with Moore for three days, then returned and barred me from the Paranet system. Friedman called and elicited my address, the name and address of my employer, and a lot of other personal information.

I knew that I was being checked out through the intelligence network and played along. About one week after talking to Friedman two Defense Investigative Service agents showed up at my home and confiscated all my floppy disks.

The only thing that prevented them from taking my computer was the fact that it was an XT with no hard drive. I knew that my plan had worked, because they didn't take me. We sent the packages to people all over the world. That is what prevented the govern- ment from arresting me or harming me. Any move by them would be interpreted as total confirmation of everything that I had revealed.

At the same time I publicly stated that Moore, Shandera, and Friedman are government agents and that the Eisenhower briefing docu- ment is a fraud. I was attacked by everyone. They insisted that Moore, Shandera, and Friedman were above reproach. I resigned effective April 15,, from the college where I was the Executive Director after Jaime Shandera was seen poking around the grounds.

That story is included later in this book. The loss of income was a serious blow. Stan Barrington, the head of the college security depart- ment, came to our aid. Neither of us ever expected much, and so far we have not been wrong.

I have, however, paid Stan back his money, and now whatever he earns is extra. Stan is in charge of printing information and the sale of my papers and tapes. Stan Barrington is my only authorized representative. Moore was proved to be an agent when by his own admission on July 1, , he stated he had participated in spying on fellow researchers, had changed documents, had put out disinformation, and had helped run a scam on Paul Bennowicz that had resulted in Mr. Bennowicz being con- fined to a mental institution.

Moore stated that he had been recruited by an intelligence agency and that he knew he had been recruited. He was a witting agent. No one acknowledged that I had been right. From that point on, my Annie and I were followed and harassed.

Death threats began showing up on our answering machine. The phone would ring several times during the night, but no one would reply when we answered. Sometimes a man would deliver another death threat.

Government cars would park in front and well-dressed men watched the house. The strangest people began to show up at our door, sometimes in the middle of the night. I purchased a. I taught Annie how to shoot, and she will not hesitate to kill anyone who attempts to harm me, her, or our little daughter. Annie and Pooh Dorothy's nickname are the lights in my life. Annie and I were married on July 4, Pooh was born on May 30, My most touching memory of Annie is of the time after 12 hours of labor when we were finally in the delivery room.

She had taken no drugs. She had not been given a spinal tap. She did everything naturally. She was drained of energy and was experiencing great pain. She was numb. After a really hard push she looked up at me with all the innocence and trust of a little child and asked, "Did the baby come yet? She seemed to waver for a moment, but only a moment. I could see the love in her eyes as she looked up at me.

I squeezed her hand. She took a deep breath and pushed Pooh's little head out into the world. The doctor suctioned the baby's mouth, then Annie gave her all, a push that seemed to come from her very soul — and little Dorothy popped out, announcing her presence with a great cry. I am so proud of Annie. She is my hero. And Pooh is my always and forever friend. I went out to the government car at the curb. I showed the man in the car my 9-mm pistol and told him that we were fed up with their intimidating tactics.

I told him that if he or anyone else wanted to know something about me, they should come to the house, sit down, have a cup of coffee, and I would be happy to tell them anything that they want to know. I informed him that if any further attempt was made to harass me or my family I would not hesitate to use my pistol. I then walked behind his car and wrote the license number down.

He started the car, drove off, and we have not detected any overt signs of surveillance since that day. They did not give up on us. No one knew the location of our new house when we moved to Arizona. However, when we drove into the driveway, a government car showed up right behind us. The man got out and said he was lost and wanted to know who lived here. I asked him why he wanted to know. He stated that he was a census taker. He said it was his job to ensure that no one out here in the country was left out of the census.

He asked my name. I told him to get off the property and to not ever come back. He protested, but left when he saw that I was serious. I merely asked Annie to get my pistol out of the car. I was at the post office one morning when a county sheriff's deputy asked the clerk at the window next to the one where I was buying stamps if "William Cooper" had rented a box.

I smiled as the clerk handed him my rental agreement and he copied the information. He didn't learn anything, as we live in the country where there are no addresses. The form had only "Stolen Blvd. We have been taken advantage of by every crooked con man, TV producer, scriptwriter, author, and flim-flam expert that there is in this country.

I have learned that the TV and print-media reporters and producers that I have met are a pack of liars. They are not objective and don't give a damn about the truth. The only really open media left to the public is talk radio, and even talk radio won't discuss certain subjects.

My material has been copied, changed, and even plagiarized. A lot of people have used my material to make money without my knowledge or permis- sion. Bill Hamilton begged me to let him include my material in his book entitled Alien Magic. He pretended to be a friend and I let him. I asked for no money and he offered none. His entire book consists of other people's material.

He now accuses me of stealing "his" information. I have since learned that I am not the only person of whom he has taken advantage. The most damaging scam was perpetrated by two old, has-been actors turned con men, named Michael Callan and Douglas Deane. I doubt seriously that you will remember either one, Callan was a regular in the cheapy teen beach-blanket movies and Deane never got beyond bit parts and chorus lines.

I got involved with them when another actor named Bruce Reed called and asked if I would consent to meet with him and a friend who preferred to remain anonymous.

I agreed that they could come to the house where we could talk on familiar turf. I was not eager to meet with someone that I did not know, and especially with an anonymous person away from familiar surroundings. Reed and friend showed up at my home, and the friend turned out to be Michael Callan. They told me that they had read my material and wanted to help. What a joke that statement turned out to be! They told me that they knew how to get me in front of millions of people where I could deliver my message.

He swore that if he didn't show results within six months he would tear up the contract. The first thing that Callan did was shaft his partner, Bruce Reed.

He cut Reed out of the action. Callan said that the public would find out eventually, and Reed's drug involvement would damage me. Everything Callan told me about Reed turned out to be a lie.

Stan Barrington called me next, wanting to know why I was trying to dump him. I didn't know what he was talking about. I told Stan that I had no intention of dumping him. Stan felt much better after that conversation and told Callan to go fly a kite. At that point Callan began working on me to get rid of Stan. I refused. I also told him that he had nothing invested and therefore did not warrant anything. His job was to manage according to our contract.

Callan brought him to videotape the lecture so that we would have a tape to sell for those thousands of people who pleaded with us to produce a tape. In return, if the tapes turned out good, Deane would get a contract to produce future tapes. The tapes were terrible and I told both Deane and Callan that I did not want tapes of that poor quality being sold to anyone. They did it anyway behind my back and began the process of stealing my master tapes from all of my other lectures. At the same time Callan drained all the business accounts.

A producer in Germany booked me to do a lecture in that country. The pro- ducer cancelled when a German postal strike prevented him from advertis- ing the event.

I did not find out about that until after I fired Callan. I immediately fired Deane. I informed Callan that we were to do no more business with him what- soever. I asked Callan to return all of my master tapes for all my lectures. He refused and I fired him. When I got rid of Callan, he had stolen everything that we had. We were literally left penniless. He was in possession of all of our master tapes from all of my lectures.

We were broke and homeless at that point. If it had not been for a few good friends in Minnesota, we would not have survived. We would be in the streets today. Callan and Deane continue to injure us by selling tapes from my lectures. We get nothing from those sales. They are the most despicable con men and thieves that you can imagine. I paid a visit to Deane's home one Saturday morning to ask him for my master tapes.

He was not home, and after a polite conversation with his handyman, I returned to my home. A few days later the sheriff's depart- ment called and asked me if I had been to Deane's home that same Satur- day. I told him that I had. He asked me if I had tried to break in Deane's home and I told him that I had not. He thanked me and that was the end of it.

I had no idea what it was all about until I was served with a retraining order. It seems that Deane's guilty conscience had made him afraid that I would return. He slit his own tires, made a report to the sheriff that I had done it, and then procured a restraining order from the local court.

I have never been questioned or accused by the police or sheriff other than what I have already disclosed. They damn near succeeded. A copy found in was in the possession of Naval Intelligence. The following document, dated May , was found on July 7,, in an IBM copier that had been purchased at a surplus sale.

This manual is in itself an analog declaration of intent. But first she must find a place of refuge for after she leaves Corinth. Her friend, Aegeus, the king of Athens, soon arrives on his way from the oracle of Phoebus whom he has consulted concerning his inability to have children. Medea promises him that she will help him to have children if he promises to shelter her from her enemies. He agrees and exits.

Medea sends a member of the Chorus to fetch Jason back. When he comes, she tells him he was right and she is only a foolish woman and begs him to find some way to let the children stay. She sends the children with Jason to the palace to give the Princess the dress and crown as gifts.

They go. The Tutor soon comes from the palace with the children and with the good news that the children are allowed to stay. Medea grieves because, for her, it means the Princess is dead or dying and she must complete her plan by killing the children. A Messenger arrives from the palace and recounts the Princess and Creon's death in vivid detail. The Princess died putting on the gifts, and Creon died by becoming entangled in the poisoned dress after embracing his daughter's corpse.

Medea relishes the news and steels herself to murder her children. She takes them offstage inside and we hear them struggle. Jason comes to the house and commands his men to undo the bolts of the door.

Before he can manage, Medea appears over the stage in a chariot drawn by chimeras sent by the sun god, Helios, her grandfather. She has with her the dead bodies of her children. She and Jason exchange cutting remarks about the tragic events, and the Chorus concludes the play by saying that sometimes, rather than expected events, the gods bring unexpected things to pass. Plot Summary. All Themes Exile Truth vs.

LitCharts Teacher Editions. Teach your students to analyze literature like LitCharts does. Detailed explanations, analysis, and citation info for every important quote on LitCharts. The original text plus a side-by-side modern translation of every Shakespeare play. Sign Up. Already have an account? Sign in. From the creators of SparkNotes, something better. Literature Poetry Lit Terms Shakescleare. Download this LitChart! Teachers and parents!

Struggling with distance learning? Our Teacher Edition on Medea can help. Themes All Themes. Symbols All Symbols.