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Faces of Corruption Series

Judge Jesse ‘sex-fiend’ Harris

(c) 2009 James Bauhaus

Nothing so upholds the law as punishment of persons whose rank is as great as crimes. Machiavelli

2-2-09 What kind of despicable varlot waves his genitals at women in public? Tulsa Oklahoma Judge Jesse Harris does, two women were confronted by judge Jesse Harris and his genitals in a parking lot a year ago This is the exact, same number of witnesses that crooked Tulsa Authorities steered onto me to convict me of a murder that I had nothing to do with. Judge Harris no longer roadblocks my appeal. I hope he gets the exact, same quality of justice that he gave me when I proved them all to be evidence-destroying, witness-manufacturing criminals with their own documents and police records. (See: PCR and exhibits on www.jamesbauhaus.com) He deserves the same “justice” that he puts on others, right?

He won’t get it. Instead, Judge Harris gets very special justice that only members of the govt gang can access. Judge “Flasher” Harris is a cog in the Tulsa county conviction machine, which has its very special privileges  He is immune to arrest, immune to jail, safe from prison and he is not required to post any real bond. He does not need to because he is not going to flee the non-punishment he will get. The gov/media alliance takes VERY good care of its own criminals and perverts. Every ordinary citizen should take close note of these “special justice” cases in order to use them to try and drag down special, elite-only justice privileges for ourselves; the ordinary taxpayer who supplies the life of lucre and luxury, to these curs.

The first special justice privilege that Judge Harris accessed was the ability of elites to commit crimes and simply drive away. On March 9th, 2008, when the two women were sexually assaulted by judge Harris, they could not make any cops investigate. Instead, they were themselves investigated, discouraged and threatened. They persisted in demanding service from our public servants for 46 days! Finally, on 4-24-08, they managed to force the local legal machine to indict judge Harris. No local legal machine will, by itself, consent to indict elite criminals working as part of its own cabal. The women had to complain far above the local elites, probably to a set of politicians over the state attorney general, Drew Edmondson, One of Edmondson’s lackies was told to appoint a prosecutor in an adjacent county to indict Harris. Usually elites get away with their crimes for years or decades before the sheer weight of the numerous complaints can no longer be plausibly denied. Elites get many warnings, their crimes are kept handled in-house, and complainants are ignored, ridiculed, duped, lied to , threatened or otherwise chased or turned away        Most victims eventually give up trying to bring elites to justice- Local radio and TV news-sellers generally refuse to report elite crimes, and newspapers put the best face on it as is possible with pro-govt spin and by omitting key facts    Mostly they simply parrot statements given them by bureaucrats whose function is to be the govt’s Public Relations mouthpiece-Harris was notified of the charges by phone, and given paid leave from his job.     Washington county prosecutor, Rick Esser, was chosen to “prosecute” judge Harris for sex crimes. An Osage county judge John Kane IV, was selected to “hear” the case. Judge Harris enjoys the free services of two local legal machine lawyers  One is Allen Smallwood, who worked his way up for decades after forcing me to sue him for my transcript in 1974. Another is Joel Wohlgemuth, the junior partner who plays the “Mutt” to Smallwood’s “,Jeff”, Like cops, or judge/DA teams, one does the dirty work of character assassination, etc, after which the other apologizes for it, then builds upon it. No one performs better courthouse theatre than seasoned veterans of the Bar Association, not even the most cunning, scurrilous cops,

The adjacent county Judge/DA team was selected to give the illusion of propriety. Osage county cuts through half of Tulsa, which puts Tulsa’s conviction machine in bed with Osage county’s cop/lawyer apparatchik. They have always shared and cooperated in harvesting Tulsa’s human resources. All the lawyers who are forced to perform in this case, including the judges and prosecutors, work toward the same goal. All of them desire that their profession escape being soiled by judge Harris’ sexual perversions. When newspaper, radio and TV media have juicy sex crimes to sell to the public, they shriek them loudly and often. This is s not done when elites are caught at these same crimes.  The cops, lawyers and media instead spring into action to repair damage to their sleazy professions. These near infinite taxpayer resources purchase microscopic scrutiny of the accusers in an effort to thwart the law. Smallwood and Wohlgemuth team with judge Kane and DA Esser for five more months- This gives the machine’s cops time to dig up dirt and previous convictions on the witnesses. The cops find none, so they create some. They focus their special police privileges of privacy invasion to attack the two women. The extra stress of harassment by police quickly pays off. The cops put some drunk driving convictions on one witness, then the ever-helpful machine judges made sure she went swiftly away to prison. Smallwood and Wohlyemuth got their media tools to paint Harris’ other victim with pornography accusations. They claim she was in a “sick, perverted” video, but omit how they uncovered this information. If the citizens of Tulsa, who wish to cleanse their city of sick, perverted men who wave their genitals at women in public, had the machine’s resources, we would find that judge Harris has a very large collection of porn (or he did until he was indicted, that is- Judge Harris has undoubtedly wiped his computer at home and at work, though no one is going to ransack them for porn, as would be automatically done with all ordinary persons accused of sex crimes. It may come out that it was through porn that Harris was waving his genitals at this woman. Smallwood claims she was once Harris’ “girlfriend.” If judge Harris could be investigated, interrogated, searched and his property seized as ordinary citizens are, it would be easy to uncover how he loves porn, strippers, sex-bars and stalking and harassing beautiful women. Like Sapulpa Judge Thompson, he may yet be caught with an auto-sucking machine in his courtroom lair and his semen sprayed around his chair, chambers and bench. Sadly, no one is looking for such evidence. Instead judge Kane whittled away at his crimes. By law, Harris sexually assaulted at least two women. Prosecutor Esser undercharged Harris by scribbling up the lowest-value crime possible: two mere “indecent exposures”- Then judge Kane whittled this down by half, claiming that only one of the crimes occurred- (Ordinary citizens do not get this special service: judge/DA teams routinely expand crimes into many different “counts” of crimes, to match or exceed the number of victims. Fancy legal, semantic gymnastics such as these are how one murder can be stretched into life sentences of one sort or another for everyone involved, say, in a drunken drive-by shooting, even the ones unconscious on the floorboards at the time ) While the judge/DA tag team was busy minimizing judge Harris’ crimes, Smallwood and Wohlgemuth were busy digging up or creating a defense witness. Usually it is the cops who force persons to testify against their will, or lie to jurors in order to obtain relief from police attacks. This time a cleaning lady is made to testify against judge Harris victims, She thought the lawyers’ threats were empty, and refused to parrot their script, but judge Kane had her dragged in and fitted with an electronic ball and chain. Additionally, the judge/DA/cop team threatened her with jail and told her to report to Smallwood’s law firm so they could record her words.This way, even if she did escape, or chose to tell the truth about having seen or heard nothing of use about the incident, she could be caught again and this transcript of her lies used to convict her of perjury for telling the truth, same as these authorities had done to Mrs. Baker in my case. Witness-steering is the most commonly practiced courtroom fraud of all. The ease with which authorities manufacture pro-conviction testimony explains why they run from science.

With all the witnesses treated like terrorists, and the criminal treated like royalty, it is easy to see that judge Sex Maniac is going to escape being brought to justice. Still, the prosecution must look as authentic as possible in order to fool the gullible public. If too many of us realize the truth about our lawyers’ system, we would audit their work and jail these meta-criminals instead of letting them plunder and loot our tax resources. Hopefully, one day they will be held to actual, scientific standards instead of let to pretend with phony, rhetorical/semaritic standards, as has been the case throughout history. Amazingly, judge Kane ordered a trial for judge Harris instead of letting him escape his deeds after a much delayed, intermittent, low-profile, perfunctory hearing from which citizens were cunningly excluded. Apparently the courtcrats who are stuck with absolving judge Harris decided that their societal victims are not quite so docile as to accept an exoneration of this well known judge yet, (Politicians and other authority monopolists and nepotists are gradually becoming aware of their inability to control the blogosphere as well as they do their corporate media tools. Even gov Henry, in his recent address to his cronies in the OK legislature, complained bitterly about citizens opinions racing across the net, putting the lie to the gov/media alliance’s versions of the “facts”.) Still, there are yet many, MANY “legal’ ways in which judge Harris can be diverted from suffering the punishment and treatment that he so richly deserves and requires.

The OK state legal machine will be utilized to accomplish this. The chief state supreme court judge, Jimmy R. Winchester, who cut off citizens’ net access to Okie courts on 3-12-08, only three days after Harris knew he was in deep trouble, chose Kane as Harris’ judge.

Then Winchester quickly split from his fat, top-judge job for parts unknown, largely due to citizen outrage from his blocking us from the courtnet which we pay for. His phony justification for this heinous act was “privacy” for the accused, which has never been any concern for the gov/media alliance before or since. The REAL reason he roadblocked citizen access to these public documents on our courtnet is to conceal the dirty deeds and slippery methods of him and his lawcrats. Their most effective way of giving their too-inquisitive citizen-victims the bureaucratic jerk-around is to make us send costly, information-begging letters to low-level, no-name, anonymous courtcrat flunkies while judges, DAs, lawyers and cops zip their information and schemes amongst themselves at lightspeed over phones, faxlines and computer networks. As the attacking parties, they are ALWAYS far ahead of the curve, and this advantage makes them even farther ahead in their planning, staying and executions, Equal justice and equal rights requires equal access. Judge Winchester escaped after screwing us out of our rights. This means judge Edmondson, younger brother to OK attorney General Drew Edmondson, moves up to chief judge and picks a trial judge for judge Harris, (this is a fee-doubling maneuver, disguised by nonsensical “fairness” rhetoric). Since they are all in bed with each other, it does not really matter who he picks, but it will be another crony judge from Osage county, purely for convenience of travel.

The new judge/DA team will likewise allow endless delays and recesses, calling them “continuances” to give any observers the illusion of movement. This is to provide plenty of time for the citizens to forget, give up and stop caring or even watching the legal shenanigans. This also gives the cops, defense and “prosecution” plenty of time to work their magic. The last remaining witness will be further denigrated, and either disappear or be convicted of some crime, giving the judge an excuse to claim that the case “collapsed”. This will be good enough for him to dismiss the prosecution of Judge Harris, despite the fact that judge/DA teams force witnesses to testify from prison against ordinary,non-elite citizen-targets every day.

Just in case the witness does survive, all the lawcrats involved have already agreed that judge Harris will be “tried” in Tulsa, where he already knows all the jurors from decades of using them on his conviction targets. Since he is a high and mighty judicial official who has smiled at them and deigned to speak with them as semi-equals, they all love him, can’t believe he is a secret sex maniac and would not vote to convict him of anything     (See “Juror Groupies”)

Judge Harris also benefits from the usually hated, so-called “CSI Effect.,    This is where judge/DA/cop teams complain that “science” crime-dramas make citizens expect ACTUAL proof of criminal behavior and no longer mindlessly accept the usual, standard courtroom “proof” of mere fingerpointers as worthy of their conviction vote, (See: CSI.BS’) Closer the truth is that citizens are much less gullible now, after watching 20 years of DNA set free hundreds of innocents and prove that cops and lawcrats routinely manufacture eyewitnesses and other evidence to convict their carefully selected targets. (“Stealth Rights Robbery”) Conviction will not occur, but if we pretend that by some miracle of justice  it did, judge Harris would still escape. Same as they are, this moment, sneaking judge Thompson back his pension, they will sneak exoneration to judge Harris, eventually on appeal, soon as everyone gets tired of hearing of this extremely slow motion rape of justice. “Conviction” would mean as little or nothing as “indictment” did except that would cut off his paycheck, which he has not been earning for a year already. He would still be let to run loose to commit more sex crimes on appeal. His “sentence” would be minimal. It would be changed to a misdemeanor, and suspended or deferred. A. technicality will be found on appeal that will excuse the whole proceedings up to that point. No charges will be refiled.

The witness-victims are already imprisoned and/or their lives destroyed.     The citizens are already overcharged for this farce and fraud that is only half-way finished. We are cheated of justice. Harris will not get the sex-abuse treatment he requires to become a sane man, His reputation he laundered thoroughly, by authority and media alike. He will be reinstalled as a judge to continue to feed his sex addiction from the bench by slamming his victims extra hard due to the excess hatred he now has for being caught and ‘prosecuted’. Like judge “autosuck” Thompson, Harris will probably buy his own autosuck to play with while he tries to get even with the world by convicting everyone he can get into his courtroom. Psychopaths are attracted to power, and here is the last stage of creation of one of the worst. Judge Harris will continue to abuse and assault more citizens in worse ways until his antics force citizens to address his perversions ourselves. Let us hope he is forced into treatment before his vices prompt him to murder some of his victims.

Larry Johnson: Killer-Protecting Cop

(c) 2007 James Bauhaus

Nobody knows exactly how sorry of an excuse for a man is Larry Johnson except Larry Johnson, but his hundreds or thousands of victims have some idea. During his reign of terror as a Tulsa, OK cop, he presided over many cases where his victims were tortured and beaten, even maimed or killed. The entire Tulsa Police Department was awash in such sadism and corruption. The cops were allowed to run completely amok because their boss, the notorious and since disgraces S.M. “Buddie” Fallis, was himself an extremely corrupt prosecutor. (He and some of his crimes are recorded elsewhere in my writings. He will also be featured in more depth in this series.) Fallis, with help from the city and county politicians, was able to keep TPD copcrimes covered up and concealed from the citizens who blindly paid these corrupt officials their salaries, but the insiders knew that these crimes were occurring. Secretly, as they were all looking the other way with one face, these judges, clerks, prosecutors, public defenders, lawyers, councilmembers, commissioners, mayors and bureaucrats were cheering them on with their other face, not caring a whit about the citizens they were “serving”. It was an open secret among these powerful insider-criminals that their “Heroic” cops (NOT “Po-lice”), were perpetrating numerous heinous crimes while neglecting their investigatory duties. Why investigate crime when Fallis, Chief Jack Purdy and the judges had given their cops winking approval to perform “shortcut justice”? This is the term that cops use when their bosscops let their grunts run with their instincts. Cops, like everyone else, are not willing to put forth more work than they deem necessary. I.e, when their instincts tell them that they have already uncovered a viable, convictable target, they need not “inves-tigate” any more. (See:-Police Culture and Tactics”, elsewhere in my writings.) Like any other pack or gang or mob, as soon as they obtain a target, they start tearing it apart. This shortcut justice mode that they slip into usually culminates in them kidnapping their target/victim to a place devoid of non-cop witnesses where they chain, padlock and shackle him helpless, head to toe, then take turn s concealing their identities and torturing him until he provides these psychopathic cops a confession. Ordinary ignoramuses of the public often gleefully cheer on this type of sadism after the fact, when it is described to them in sterile terms, “thinking” that, “If the guy was innocent t, why’d he confess?” or, even more stupidly and apathetically, “If the guy’s innocent, why did the cops get him?” (One hopes that smug fools such as these will someday themselves be attacked by cops practicing shortcut justice so that they can swiftly learn this secret through direct, up-close, personal experience with grinning police psychopaths who love their jobs too much.) The simple answer is, you either sign, or you are slowly, painfully murdered. The grinning, laughing cops all promise you this AS they are doing it to you. They are yanking your hair out. These rabid cops are screeching accusations at you. When you try to tell them the truth, one cop, hiding behind you, chokes you until. you pass out. All the while that this is occurring, they have pinched their shackles on you so tightly that they are cutting off your hands and feet. Their torture instruments are not just shackles. They also have lead-weighted gloves that they use to bash and slam your head. The lead is powdered, so it doesn’t leave any marks that may need to be explained. The rabid cops bash the sides of your head with tremendous force: your brain sloshes back and forth inside your skull. This blob of jelly, though well protected from ordinary assaults, is not tough like skin. Your brain bruises. It bleeds. It tears. Nerve cells rip. Your brain suffers permanent damage. If the nice police interrogators enjoy their task too much, or if they simply desire, you DIE. The cop-catalogue has many other torture devices to sell these horrific police psychopaths, and they buy and use them with a vengance. Another favored target every police interrogation manual recommends is the genitals. Cops, usually calling themselves “detectives”, love to attack their victims’ testicles. When they do, it is a very bad sign. When cops are brave enough to mangle your testicles, it is a sure sign of one or two things: they definitely intend to kill you when they are finished enjoying your screams; or, they are so well protected by their corrupt bosscops that there is no chance of them ever having to answer for their sick deeds.

This is the point of police interrogations; to convince their victim, through demonstration, that he will slowly, painfully murder or maim you, and that the torture/maiming/murder is by persons who have tortured many victims and always gotten away with it. The ignorant, half-awake public can’t even conceive the true nature of their own police departments or the torture techniques in common use therein because they are fed a steady diet of Hollywood pabulum and politicianal and media Mal- and dis-information on this subject that they eagerly consume. Plus, they are generally incapable of realizing how their education system cheats them out of the ability to amass facts and cogitate upon them effectively. The politician class has so eroded and deliberately degraded the citizens’ education systems that intellect itself is left to rot. They did this in order to create the electorate we suffer now: an easily distracted and stampede-able nation of hedonismoriented nitwits more concerned with horsepower, deodorants, music and Hollywood nonsense than their own social health and political welfare.

This deliberate, planned stupification of the electorate had not proceeded to such tragic dimensions in the 1960s when Johnson was performing his personal brand of shortcut justice, but it was already bad enough. Tulsa cops, along with all American cops, had been given license to murder and get swiftly rich with the gift of new, constitutionally outlawed drug laws. It was these drug-chaser cops who were performing the most abominable of shortcut justice crimes: street executions/murder-by-cop. In fact, it was one of these street executions that propelled Larry Johnson into the highest ranking job that he ever was given; a short-lived assignment as a “detective” sergeant.

Johnson’s career as a cop began as a lowly beat-cop, but when his superiors noticed his excessive desire to please them, they used him like a shop-towel to keep their own hands looking clean. Johnson is like a lessarticulate Rush Linbaugh–he has Linbaugh’s excess weight problem and addiction to food, and the same type of sleazy thought processes that can turn innocent events into opportunity for himself. Johnson’s eagerness to please his bosscops first manifested itself in the flood of traffic tickets he wrote. Being a chubby, unliked, sweaty, sticky-palmed momma’s boy and schoolyard tattle-tale often cruelly chided by his peers about his weight, Johnson’s psyche and morals were stunted. His peers drove him toward authority for protection every time they laughed at him, made jokes about him, pulled dirty tricks on him, slapped him, stole things from him and made his life miserable in other ways. Upon becoming the lowest of cops, a traffic cop. Johnson was overcome with the power inherent in being a cop. He set out on an at first unconscious mission to get even with humanity for making him suffer. He saw unpunished crime everywhere he looked, and he tattled on it with tickets for everyone., Johnson got immense gratification from making others pay. It was almost erotic, having power over people now, instead of over mere pets, animals and insects. Almost as pleasing as writing tickets on lawbreakers was the high he got from the praise his superiors heaped upon him. (The city of Tulsa relies heavily upon the money that its traffic cops siphon out of its citizens’ pockets. Notice their extreme greed in Oklahoma’s many tollways, speed traps and the way the cops preferentially target motorists who display outsider tags. All American city cops and state cops target motorists as a primary source of extra cash, but Oklahoma and Florida have made such avaricious predation into an art.) Loving his bosses’ encouragement, Johnson overshot quota by a large fraction, and continued to do so for many months. When his bosses held him up as an example for the other cops to follow, they increased their ticket-writing as if their minimum quotas had been increased. Fortunately for the citizens of Tulsa, however, even in social situations derived from a top-down flow of governmental edicts there is often an equal and opposite reaction. Some citizens woke up and complained, eventually lessening, temporarily, at least, this unwarranted predation of motorists driven by want of praise, revenue and quality oversight.

Unfortunately for Tulsa citizens was that this fiasco resulted in Johnson’s promotion to the detectives’ bullpen. Here is where Johnson’s copbosses used his natural inclinations to please them to “solve” hundreds, if not thousands, of burglaries, larcenies and thefts. These types of crimes are usually intractable: the vast majority are never solved, and CAN never be solved in any true sense. Proof of this rests with anyone who has actually reported any of these crimes and was observant enough of police dealings with same to extrapolate unwritten cop-policy from them. For persons with little or not experience dealing with the false-front that police present to the gullible, eager public, I provide a broad overview here:

Property crimes are too extremely numerous for police to ever deal with but a small fraction of them despite how bloated their salaries or numerous their personnel. Additionally, unlike the cops’ fee, fine, penalty and tax industries, there is little profit in property crimes. Cops get paid extra to answer burglar alarms and they get to sell stolen property, but these “services” are about all that individual citizens get. Cops, by unwritten policy, provide most service for property crimes to merchants, where it will do the most good. Individuals who ask for police assistance on property crimes generally get the brush-off and the bureaucratic run-around, plus as many excuses as necessary to make them give up quickly any expectation of regaining their property, obtaining payment for damages, or identification or punishment of any culprits. My studies indicate that a whopping 95% of such property crime reportage cases are “solved” (dodged) by police this way. They do nothing more than show up, scribble out a quick report, program the victim to accept failure, then leave with no other action planned or effected. When such crimes do get “solved”, it is usually for one of two reasons; either a criminal is caught in the act through sheer repitition of his crimes, or the cops blunder into evidence of his crimes by “accident” through their many curiosity-stops of motorists, or simple snitchery by busybody citizens. In fact, without citizens pointing cops at crime, almost no crimes would ever be solved.

Johnson, with an affable nature that he was able to put on, proved perfect for pushing this secret police agenda upon individuals of the public and making them believe it. Johnson performed even better than this when promoted from these public relations duties to the duties of a “real” detective. This second tier of police “detective” duties is to amass as many of these unsolvable property crimes together as is possible, by any means possible, and make someone “confess” to them for a “plea bargain”. Actual physical or scientific evidence has never entered into the equation to any substantial degree. Despite numerous TV propaganda shows attempting to program the public into thinking that it does, it still does not. Police, prosecutors, lawyers, judges and even public defenders absolutely ABHOR physical and scientific evidence and PREFER the pointing finger above all other types of “legal” courtroom “evidence”. This is because scientific evidence is too hard to get around or manufacture and because mere eyewitness “evidence” is easy to manufacture due to peoples’ gullibity and willingness to be led by authorities, and because eyewitness testimony is easily believed by jurors, also because of their gullibility and willingness to be led by, or lied to, by authorities.

Johnson was well suited to these tasks; he was willing to lie about evidence and was very good at keeping his lies straight while feeding them to the young, ignorant, lightly-educated criminals he was usually faced with. Recalcitrant young criminals, caught with some stolen property, but reluctant to sign “confessions” for stacks of extra crimes of which they were not guilty, were persuaded to do so with brutality. The scurvy Tulsa prosecutors informed Johnson of the fact that, in obtaining their goal, the maximum number of quick, cheap, courtroom convictions, actual evidence places a poor second to confessions. This revelation was all Johnson needed to know.

Once again he embarked upon a campaign to excess, and he encouraged his cronies to do the same. Together with the Osage County cops, (whose boundary cuts through half the city of Tulsa), they engaged in an orgy of violence, torture, beatings and street executions as the two departments chased drugs and drug money in a fury of greed. A very small indication of the colossal magnitude of this secret war appears in my exhibit J, which is a newspaper article from the Tulsa world or Tribune. It let slip the fact that the judge, lawyer and cop industries were well aware of Johnson’s unspeakable violence and corruption, yet chose to enjoy it and profit from it rather than decry it. Loose lawyer lips also reveal a minute amount of the corruption produced from their top prosecutor, in exhibit P. Here it is revealed, decades too late, that they all kept this vile secret among themselves, and from the taxpayers, as they profited from his antics. One must realize that the prosecution is the money machine that drives city gov’t, second only to tax collections. Judges, prosecutors, cops, bondsmen and others work together in what is, in fact, the “legal” mirror image of the mob, extortion, ransom, blackmail, kidnapping and murder.

Prior to Johnson’s ascension within the police department, he would be awarded lucrative side jobs to augment his already bloated salary. Merchants would call the cops, asking to pay $15/hour or more to rent cops for security. This was a sky-high wage for a time when the minimum wage for honest work was only $1.50/hour. If my worthless school counselors had told us about how richly gov’t pays its employees, we’d all have been much more patriotic and considerably less eager to stomp out gov’t corruption. Possibly they didn’t know. It came out later that some of these bloated wages were secret contributions for political favors, and sometimes the cop was expected to kick back some of these fat payments to the cop in charge of passing out these moonlight jobs to his lesser cronies. Proof that Johnson had reached the top of the bottom is that he was handed a job “guarding” my school, Central High, ostensibly, from race riots. When gov’t takes it out of one pocket and puts it in its other pocket, unsupervised by the taxpayers who own the money, there is a veritable certainty of graft.

This is where I met Johnson. I was walking up the stairs. On the 3rd floor landing I encountered three male students whom I did not know. They were at the window. It was winter. They were talking excitedly among themselves as they gathered snowballs from the sill. Down below was our first security guard; a fat, pasty-faced goon who was harassing a fellow student. We didn’t particularly like pigs in the 1960s, both from personal experience and from knowing that they were much more violent, corrupt and murderous than the media showed them to be. (Back then, the media was not so selfmuzzling as now, nor so full of pure pabulum and public-passifying propaganda. When they said, ‘…And here’s the news,” it was of something of much social impact, not a recipe or new toy or tips on how to eat less.) While I was scooping up a snowball, the others bombed the Hell out of Johnson. They ran up stairs, I put the snowball in my jacket pocket and proceeded down stairs. Johnson charged up, puffing like an asthmatic whale and gasped, “You see anybody run by here?” I shrugged. He chugged up another flight.

This fat turd tried to talk to me several times after this. He thought I’d seemed helpful, and he was impressed, apparently, by my riding my motorcycle to school through the snow and the sleet. (Back then, winters were cold and snowy, not like an extension of fall, like they are now. Every year at this latitude of Tulsa, from 1957 to 1971 or later, it used to drop to 40 degrees on or just after Halloween, and stay there or get colder until February was over.) Johnson ignored my attempts to ignore him, because I was too polite to just tell him to get lost. He took my tolerance of him as an invitation. (He was obscenely arrogant, so full of self-importance and ambition that he would rudely go on yapping even if he had to follow you or block your way.) Three days in a row he waited for me at the bike lot to get “friendly”. My day was so tightly organized that he could time it just right, so as not to appear to be waiting. I worked both before and after school, caring for animals at a vet’s kennel/ hospital. I’d never stop to chat: he’d accost me between racking my bike, unsuiting and walking to my locker, then the class as it started, with no time to spare . This impressed him too, because he too was, though fat, an ambitious worka-holic. Though his job consisted of little more than loitering around the premises, he planned his day as tightly as I did mine. Soon as school was over, he was gone to the cop shop for more work. It seemed, by the third day, that this overly friendly, aggressively yapping stranger might be a particularly shy homosexual. A larger percentage of big, fat males do tend to be homo- or bi-sexual than other body types. I’d been told that Johnson had been a cheerleader at Webster high school. On the third day he caught me both arriving and leaving, finally coming to the object of his “friendliness” as I was suiting up, and warming up the bike to leave. That morning he’d scared me by trying to talk about drugs. Though he wore no uniform of the cops while at school, we all knew he was not just a cop, but a pig as well. At school’s end that day, he was waiting for me at the exit, and followed me to the bike, finally realizing that it took me longer to leave than to arrive; all the more time for him to yap at me. Finally his plan came out, and it was a very simple one. He wanted what all ambitious pigs want: some buffoon to infiltrate the Hippie culture for them and to tell them who has the drugs. This explained, I looked angrily at him, and as if he was mad. (It takes a particularly twisted mind to entertain the notion that a man would feed his friends to the wolfpack at the mere request of a stranger.) Noticing my uncontrollable sneer, he quickly added to my disgust and loathing by offering me $100 for each victim I gave him. I knew that if I pissed this maggot, that he would target me for tickets and harassment, same as he’d done to others at my school. Obviously Johnson was a conscious less sociopath whose depths of depravity I’d not want to see. I finally took time to correct his queer notions about me. I explained, “My hair is long because I don’t take time for a trim. I don’t do drugs. I keep away from addicts. When I get home from work, I only have time to eat, read the paper, go to sleep and begin again at 4AM the next day. I onlyget off half a day Sunday, so I don’t have time to look for any…”

“But $100 each is big money! More than you make in a whole week!” he rudely interrupted.

Feeling myself covered sufficiently, I shouted at him through my helmet, “I got shit to do, man! I’m not interested!”

Johnson had his puffy, fat hand on my handlebar as he talked, restraining my escape. He was determined I should do his bidding. I popped the transmission into gear with a loud crunch and revved the engine threateningly.

When he didn’t let go, I let the clutch fly and tore away, scraping his shin on the left peg, he was standing so close. He never came back after that. In fact, the pigs were having so much trouble trying to make school-kids snitch off their friends and drugs that many of them used their own sons and daughters to infiltrate what they all thought was a Mecca of drug transactions. In all my days at school, I never saw any drugs or even heard of any drugs that I can remember. In Dallas, years later, the cops tried sending in one of their own to pretend to be a schoolkid searching for drugs. Their unscrupulous action was met by unscrupulous action. The kids guessed his game early, and named him “21 Jump Street”, after the TV cop propaganda show of the same name. The cops persisted, KNOWING he was outed, partly because his cop-Dad pressured him to continue. No drugs were ever found, and his efforts to “Do good for the Force” resulted in his death for trying to plant drugs on his “friends”.

Johnson’s final promotion to real detective was by default. The previous detective sergeant was a rabid drug-chaser cop too, and the real drug suppliers knew this, which caused them to protect themselves by being just as rabid as the cops chasing them. Det. Sgt. Spybuck (Yes, this is his real name, and “Fallis” is his real name: you can’t make this up!) and his gang of uniformed thugs attacked with guns a-blazing. Truman Trowbridge tried to run away peacefully through the back door. Spybuck shot and missed until his revolver was empty. (Cops of that era who had never been in the military were insanely terrified of automatic weapons, thinking that they would all jam when they needed to spray more bullets somewhere.) Trowbridge’s shots connected. Spybuck’s greed and incompetence got him killed. Johnson inherited Spybuck’s job and gang of cop-thugs. Their resulting reign of terror included a fiasco in which Johnson was publicly caught in some extremely sleazy conduct. A man who had no reason to murder his family, (Castleberry), was goaded by Johnson to see Johnson’s Priest. Then Johnson brayed like a mule to his media tools that this Priest would testify that Castleberry confessed. Johnson’s media lapdogs gleefully fed this lie to the juror pool and public. The Priest’s refutation of this front page headline lie was buried in the back sections of the paper and never even mentioned by the TV/radio news. This mass-media lie was the only “evidence” that obtained Castleberry’s conviction.

Gradually, Johnson and his lesser cop-thugs began to accumulate massive amounts of complaints from their victims and the mothers, parents or relative of their victims. Most citizens do not waste their time complaining about vicious cops beating and torturing or murdering their kids on the streets. complainers first phone the cops and try to complain. The cops on the other end of the phone line refuse to identify themselves. This way they can tell the complainer that nothing will be done, and suffer no consequences for their inevitable rudeness, sarcasm and bureaucratic pettiness. The anonymous cops’ mouthpiece’s secret agenda is to convince the complainer not to complain in any effective way. If he (or she) she) insists, he is told that he must come to the cops’ lair. You will not be let past the mouthpiece cop to speak to her supervisor. She has you roadblocked, and you can do nothing but hang up and try another number, one digit higher or lower than the roadblocked number that you just called. (If you’re in a real city, like Dallas, Texas, I wouldn’t waste one full minute on a recording.) Most complaints by minorities are easily dodged by the cops by this simple refusal to act on complaints over the phone. (I’ve gotten more action through faxing.) Minority women have no time to waste, or transportation worth a trip to argue with the cops in person. Additionally, the cops can easily turn on you in person, finding or creating a reason to kidnap complainers into their cages. Minorities are thus easily frightened out of making most serious complaints against the vicious cops.

If you have the guts to show up and the wherewithal to make a serious complaint, the cops may decide to target you for extra harassment. This is why it is always safer and more expedient to file a complaint by mail to the cops’ bosses, the State or District prosecuting attornies. And KEEP complaining to them until they DO something. The cops themselves are too petty and too vicious to bother with, but often the prosecuting attorney in insists you fill out the cops’ special complaint form, which is how they nail down YOUR location and identity without giving you the cops’ names. If you have the money to waste, sue them in court, and try to get the media to broadcast or print the story, or print it yourself on the net. THIS is the only effective way to make the cops go further underground with their crimes against the people they are supposed to serve but usually kidnap.

All complaints against the cops made at their cop-cottage are kept secret. Sometimes a lawyer or media-hack can uncover what c complaints that were not destroyed. (In some places, like Chicago, New York, Loa Angeles, etc, where the illegal cop-unions are particularly strong, cops can make complaints against them disappear after a certain length of time. This is the primary way that serial-killer cops are able to rack up so many murders and usually never even get noticed by the public that they prey on or the media that cheers them on. The cop-bosses themselves certainly are not going to point these things out. They just quietly allow the vicious cops to gather up their pensions and good references and move their murder-binges over the next political boundary to “service” another unsuspecting taxherd)

The way that Johnson and his crew of uniformed thugs finally got brought down was partially due to their attack upon me. They’d been caught many times before, but they, their bosses, and their media lackeys had always been able to blame their Victim (“He resisted our abduction of him!”), or claim “accident” (“He fell down stairs while shackled head to toe!”), or create scenarios where police torture was “justified”, (“He has a long history of being dragged off and convicted of crimes by us!”), or simply pretending that each time they got caught viciously torturing their shackled and helpless victims was the first and only time that they’d maimed or killed their Victims. They take full advantage of the fact that the public has a very short memory, and it is easily boned by clever manipulations by the authorities and their media tools.

Johnson’s mistake was letting three other vicious cops run loose without his personal supervision. One is a crazy-eyed sadist named Hilly McDonald, whose eyes actually sparkle when he gets to torture some shackled, helpless victim. He seems to me to get sexually excited when maiming his victims, or at least he seemed so while he was torturing me. Other of his victims are not willing to address this subject. Johnson had him torture me, then they must have gone off to re-live the experience among themselves at some bar, because when they staggered out they were too euphoric from their dirty deeds to remember to tell their janitorial staff to go mop up my blood. You can tell that Johnson didn’t fully trust his media tools, but he did love to grin into their cameras. In one of their photos of me bleeding for the cops, Johnson’s flatulent, pus-gut belly is there in profile, and he is hiding his face behind a folder. These scummy media parasites, about 20 of them, it seemed, from KTUL, KVOO, KOTV, and the newspaper jackals were self-muzzling: not any of them published any photos of my police-maimed face, and they refused to release the ones that did show it. Worse, Johnson and his cop-thugs stole the six police book-in photos that showed my wrecked face. But they stupidly let the divorce attorney, Howard Maddux, find all my blood splashed around Johnson’s office. He tried to get out with a sample blotted on a sheet of paper, but the cop who stupidly let him find Johnson’s bloody office threatened to beat and torture Maddux himself. Maddux was frightened away without any physical evidence, but he was courageous enough to testify in court later about finding the bloody office I described to him and the blood on me in jail, my tortured and maimed face, and the vicious threats of the cop who was determined to see that no evidence of their vicious attack escaped to public ears.

This lawyer, verifying my complaints plaints made the media whores present my “alleged” torture by police to the public. The news was so bad that a sleasy politician felt that he had to come out of his wormhole to defend these dirty cops. The newspaper whores Tulsa put his puke right next to the puke that they ran about my alleged beating by Tulsa cops. That sleazy politicians was Frank Keating, who was later to be caught profiteering as governor of Oklahoma who bought stock in private prisons, then filled them to bursting with his Oklahoma prisoners. He escaped these crimes easily, by merely declaring to his pals in the media, “Uh, these stocks were in a ‘blind’ trust! Yah, that’s it. A blind trust makes it legal, don’t it? That’s what I did! I had a lawyer buy me a lot of prison stocks, and didn’t tell him that I was about to flood these private corporate prisons with Okie prisoners. He just got lucky in buying these same stocks for himself, too. It’s just a big co-inkie-doink that he made a killing off these stocks too, and that I took piles of lobbies cash from these prison corporations. We didn’t do any insider trading, and we didn’t rip off any shareholders when we bought low and sold exactly at the very top. I swear! Trust me!”

But, even with Keating’s slick-lipped, non-sequitur endorsement, and the media’s non-publication and non-broadcast of what the vicious cops did to my face, Johnson’s cop-career was, essentially, over after too much longer.

It just took a while to wind down. With the publication and broadcast of their alleged torture of me, in a case that they’d sensationalized to their media whores, Johnson and his rat pack of rabid cops became so hot that their bosses decided, over time, to ease them out of the cops’ shop, for public relations sake. Johnson, with his being caught using the catholic Church and the good Father as his stepladder to confessions and celebrity, and his cop-thug lackeys getting caught in numerous instances of torture, and other dirty antics, became unemployable by a public that knew them. What helped his copthugs out the door began with them using a retarded kid as their drug snitch. Raymond Lewis “Stole” a car, got caught, went to prison, where he was turned into a she-male, got out on parole, then was told by Johnson’s thug, McDonald, “You got two choices: be my drug snitch and bring me busts and drugs to steal, or go back to prison and gulp goobers for about 20 MORE years”.

Lewis chose neither. Instead, he merely rode around with the cops in their copcars, pretending to know where these big-time dope kingpins lived, wasting the day for McDonald and HIS two lackeys, Don Bell and Jerry McMillian. After several hours of pretending to be these idiot cops’ wet drugdream, with no success, they let him go, telling him sternly, “YOU better get us some drugs and drug addicts tomorrow morning, or else! We ain’t gonna spend a whole lotta time driving you around without we get SOME BODY to drag off in chains. Uh, just in case you find some drug fiends between now and tomorrow, here’s my card,” McDonald said. “We start EARLY next morning, so be ready when we pick you up at 10:30 sharp!”

Soon as these stupid cops drove off in their two cars, Lewis got together with a pal of his who drove a white mustang. Lewis told his buddy of the cops’ ultimatum, more or less, and the voice in his head shrieked “RUN!”

This evolved into a “plan” (get out of Tulsa). The plan hit a snag (“The tank is empty, bro! And we spent all our money on glue!”) Lewis’ sly, desperate brain tried to THINK! Where was some MONEY? Lewis remembered the last time he saw some easy money. His Mom had told him to mow the lawn of an elderly couple, and they had impressed him with the big wad of cash that they’d given him later. Plan B leaped out at him.

“I know some rich people we can rob! They’re old, too! And it’s already dark. Drive me over there and I’ll get it, fill your tank up and we’ll party all night in Oklahoma City!”

That’s what they did, except in all the excitement of acting our his criminal fantasies, Lewis left behind his snitch-card that McDonald had given him. Though McDonald claimed, in court, to have given out 25 snitch cards to sleazy people whom he’d coerced into working for him, somehow he seemed to know right away that it was his pal Lewis who had suddenly gone on a crime rampage right after leaving his undercover copcar hours earlier. (In court, case number crf-72-801, the old folks said that they were unable to identify the robber until after McDonald had them identify Lewis in a lineup. It was his name they identified, not his face, as the kid who had mown their lawn.) Apparently it is not a big surprise to drug-chaser cops that their ultimatums sometimes cause deadly crime sprees by the people that they force into snitchery for them.

McDonald’s gang of rabid cops raced to the Hobo house where Lewis lived with six other friends. They were all fagged out from a night of boozing and glue sniffing. McDonald and his crew dragged them all to jail for telling his cops that Lewis was probably at his Mom’s house.

The cops raced to Mom’s house, where the cops were told that Lewis was maybe at the home of a waitress’ mother.

The cops raced to the waitress’ Mom’s home. There the ravening cops were told that the waitress was at work, and that Lewis often spent a lot of time there at the counter, drinking coffee and mooning after her.

The cops raced to the restaurant, where they found Lewis, who had just sat down next to me. I’d just gotten off my shift and had ordered the supper I was owed as part of my pay. These insane-with-bloodlust cops were hot to drag anyone off who was a male teenager, and, most of all, situated next to or near their target, Lewis. I didn’t even know this squinty-eyed punk, but I did know Terry, who worked with us as a waitress. I don’t really want to re-live Lewis’ sly manipulation of these stupid pigs and their subsequent torture of me for NOTHING, so I direct my readers to where this process is already described; my essay, “Lawswindled for Life!”

After it was too late, these stupid, unreasonable, unthinking, unhearing pigs found out that I had nothing to do with any of Lewis” crimes. Worse, their raging incompetence prevented anyone from identifying the white mustang kid. In order to look as if they knew what they were doing, and to try and keep the public from seeing what they’d caused, these stupid pigs, McDonald, Don Bell and Jerry McMillian, ran to Johnson, crying frantically, “What’ll we do!? How can we fix this mess? How are you and your media tools going to save us all THIS time? That lawyer found the blood we beat out of that teenager! The media jackals you called photographed his fat lidded black eye and the nose we broke for him! If those pictures get out, we’re screwed!

If that kid sues us for torturing him, we’ll have to pay with our jobs! We can’t lose these bloated wages, fat expense accounts and all that rat-cash that we say we pass out but keep for ourselves! We just bought luxury homes with fat mortgages! We love our jobs! We’re highly paid psychopaths! We can’t live ordinary lives as sheep after being crocodiles feasting on citizens’ blood! You’ve got to save us!”

Johnson, as a very unscrupulous cop with long experience in manipulating too-trusting people, knew exactly what to do. The media was self-muzzling every time any cop asked, so it was no problem at all to get the whores to trash last night’s pictures of my wrecked face. He just told them to show up the next morning for another photo shoot of the person whom he intended to convict for white mustang’s and Lewis’ crimes. It’s no big thing for dirty, crooked cops like them to make innocent people pay for crimes that they had nothing to do with. Cops couldn’t care less that the real criminal gets away and is thus encouraged by getting g away with his crimes to commit more, worse crimes in the future. (This is the reason that Illinois governor Ryan shut down his death machine when DNA science proved that it was no more than 50% accurate. Yes. They were killing innocent citizens that their cops had framed fully HALF of the time!) Cops know that absolutely ANY BODY of little money and no influence that they care to hold up to the media whores’ spotlights as their trophy-culprit will be convicted. Cops routinely construct convictions out of nothing more than what they anonymously puke to the media to squawk to the public AND what they tell witnesses to say in court. To cops, one warm body is just as good a victim as another, and all the criminals who escape justice through this secret cop-policy of “close enough= good enough” simply count as increased job security, bonuses, higher wages an promotions for them and their many children. Copwork is just another one of the many “Public Service” jobs where, the worse you perform, the more you are rewarded. (One recent, temporary dark spot on the cops’ records is DNA technology, when it is proved that all the state death rows concealed a whopping 7% false-positive rate. (See: Death Penalty Study of Columbia University.) This is the absolute, tip-top best justice that this best-justice-system in-the-world can dispense, giving every death candidate two high-power lawyers, millions of dollars to spend on a highly-investigated crime, and more levels of judges to get past than ever to make damn sure that the defense was perfect and that they got the right guy. Despite all these YEARS of TOP QUALITY work by the BEST cops, lawyers and judges, they were still killing 7 completely innocent citizens out of 100! And this is the best-case scenario! Infallible DNA science also uncovered the fact that some states were far worse than others. Illinois governor Ryan had to shut his state’s murder-machine completely off when dna proved that it was killing the wrong people 50% of the time! Because doubly-careful lawyer-work and tons of money still kill innocent persons 7% of the time, then ordinary people, who only get one Public Defender and no money and less review by fewer judges, must suffer at least double the 7% innocent-conviction rate of the victims of death rows. This translates into 330,000 innocents already among the 2.2 million US prisoners now, and 105,000 MORE innocents are added every year! (15% of the number of convictions/year.)

Like I said, Johnson had no trouble getting the media to do what it does best; repeat anonymous cop-chatter whispered to them in the dark to the eagerly accepting public. Likewise, and in a similar fashion, Johnson had no trouble training a fellow-cop’s porn-snitch into switching her truthful descriptions of her husband’s killer to fit me instead. This was Johnson’s defense to the lawyer’s testimony about his thugs torturing me until 1 scribbled on their confession. First, he made damn sure that Lewis would pretend I was his co-criminal “white mustang”, soon as Johnson found out that none of Lewis’ victims would consent to his demands that they point at me in court. Knowing that it is a weak case that depends solely on the word of a cop’s drug-snitch criminal and a tortured-out “confession” signature, Johnson slipped over to his buddy in homicide, Detective Sergeant Jesse McCullough. for some mutual 69. These two cops worked out a deal where they could favor each other. McCullough had a murder that he could have solved, if he’d waited long enough (he had nine samples of his blood and 21 of his fingerprints. It was only a matter of time before he got caught at another crime and his fingerprints added to the copfiles for computercomparison.) Johnson needed to find a life sentence to put on me to protect him and his rat-pack from my lawsuit for torturing me at the 11th street grave yard (which suddenly got fenced-in to keep the cops out, soon as news of my torture there became public. It was a popular spot for cop-torture of targets because it was a dead-end and very secluded.) and in their coplair. Johnson bought this murder from McCullough. Together they worked to make it fit me. McCullough got a quick fix to a time-consuming murder; Johnson and his crew got to run amok another five years before FINALLY getting caught so many times that their bosses could no longer afford the heat of employing them. All they had to do was hide the real evidence (nine blood samples, 21 fingerprints, three eyewitnesses’ truthful descriptions and drawings, train two eyewitnesses to lie by simply forgetting their truthful descriptions and drawings, and instead point their accusatory fingers at me while reciting the simple, often-used, heavily rehearsed lawyer-phrase, “That’s him! I’m absolutely positive!” Plus they needed to get a slimey prosecuting attorney to take these frauds that they’d concocted and turn them into a splashy indictment that they could run on the front pages and that the TV news-squawkers could sell at six. Enter Jerry Truster, an unscrupulous, super-ambitious ladder-climber, the right man for selling frauds down the throats of eager jurors, their thinking apparati pre-poisoned in a particular way by the cop-coddler media whores. The exact details on how these killer-protecting cops, lawyers, prosecutors, FBI and judges concocted and maintained this fraudulent conviction can be found on my netsite, www. jamesbauhaus.com, under “PCR”, –EXHIBITS”, “OCCA”, “TENTH CIRCUIT”, “SUPREME COURT” and “US FED NORTH DIST. CT. TULSA, OK”. There also exist on my site many expositions that show in a general way how these many corrupt bureaucracies and apparatchiks work; foremost among them are, “Copculture and Training”,”How Fraudulent Convictions are Maintained”, “Adventures in Doublethink: Supreme Arrogance”, “47,000 Copcrimes”, “Calming the Taxherd”, “Chilling Effect? Not so Fast, Judge!”, “CSI: BS” and the Copcrime… series, as well as many more.

The plans of Johnson, McCullough and Truster worked perfectly: the killer that they could have caught, had they chose to type his blood (9 samples) and file his fingerprints, (12 samples), got away with murder and was thus encouraged to committ more, worse crimes, thanks to these officials actively protecting him from prosecution. And an innocent teenager got a life sentence from a jury of shallow-minded nitwits who acted as puppets for the cops and lawyers. Soon as the trial was finished, Johnson, McCullough and Truster began covering their tracks. The very first thing that Johnson did was get rid of the six book-in photos that the cops had taken of me after beating me bloody and senseless that night. Next, Jerry Truster and “Officer” Donald Peyton got together and stole all the killer’s blood samples that they’d collected. In order to perpetrate this theft, these two official criminals had to get inside a police evidence vault, guarded by at least one full-time cop, and get inside a special vault inside this vault, reserved for murder-related evidence. Johnson, Peyton and Truster each got past these guard-cops easily enough, because they are all cronies together and in cahoots. They simply went on unspecified “business” and stole everything they were after, same as any petty shoplifter does. When, as happens every few years, the cops get caught pilfering drugs or weapons out of their gold mines-er, evidence “vaults”, the cop-bosses tell their media tools to put out the story that every cop, prosecutor and lawyer has to “log in” his name, the date and time of his visit, and purpose. He also is supposed to sign for every piece of evidence he “checks out” as if this were an evidence library. In actual fact, however, this seldom occurs. Cops and prosecutors walk in and out any time they wish, unsupervised, and it is their option whether they chose to sign in or out on the “chain ‘o custody” record books. Mostly, they don’t trouble themselves about this, because all the judges, prosecutors and politicians, from local, to state, to federal capacity, protect them from ever having to produce any chain ‘o custody records. BECAUSE these records are unattainable by non-cops, they on only appear in courtrooms, at trial, as nothing more substantial than the verbal assurances of the cop who tells the jurors exactly what he wants them to hear. If any defense lawyer decides to check on any of the evidence, he is met with the full hostility of the police and prosecution machines. He is forced to provide multiple identifications of him self, his business there and his authority to view the evidence in that particular case. He is actively discouraged from trying to access the evidence and, unlike the cops and prosecutors, is heavily supervised. The cops and prosecutors deliberately conceal their knowledge of the evidence from him. He is made to name specifically what he wants to “investigate”, and as he is allowed to do so, the cops stand over him, watching suspiciously, growling with displeasure and impatiently tapping their toes in disgust. This is one reason why public defenders rarely “investigate”: they are discouraged from doing so, and, they profit more by ASSISTING the conviction process than by mounting a real defense. A weak, pretend-defense gets them bonuses, payhikes and promotions; a real defense gets them blacklisted. The so-called “adversarial system” is nothing but a thinly concealed farce, same as the cops’ chain o’ custody pretense. Johnson, Peyton and Truster found it very easy to simply steal the evidence and walk out with it. Johnson, Peyton and Truster found it very easy to thwart the chain o’ custody records, too. Such thefts of evidence and theft of any records of their thefts are standard, routine practice by cops and prosecutors in all cop-vaults everywhere. The only thing that these vaults keep safe is their casual, every-day corruption from public scrutiny and rudimentary quality control. Despite their efforts to steal away with all traces of the evidence and the records of their thefts of the evidence, Johnson and Truster did, eventually, get told to move on by their bosses. John Floyd, the innocence project investigator, told me that Truster was “fired” (told to take his Tulsa County prosecutor’s pension, make his excuses and get out) due to his antics in my case. He even put this in writing, (ex. O). which is a very rare thing in this industry where nearly everyone is extremely careful to put the absolute BEST possible face on all its routine acts of corruption. Johnson was eventually told to get out too, and he was also permitted to collect his pension despite a career based on massive fraud, evidence theft, evidence manipulation, courtroom slander, perjury, anonymous libel in the newspapers, torture, etc. All his crimes were, and still are, actively concealed by his co-criminals within the cop, prosecutor, judge and politician industries. His excuse, vended in the newspapers by his primary media tools, was that police work had become “too stressful” on him. We were given the impression that he might suffer a heart attack, rather than the more likely fate of being a 380 pound food-addict who suffers panic attacks that feel like heart attacks upon awakening from nightmares about getting caught at the many atrocities he had perpetrated on co-workers and criminals alike. (Boo-Hoo! Unscrupulous, unethical, immoral, consciousless behavior is its own reward!) Johnson had to slither off to where people didn’t know him, to find work as a common snoop, assisting divorce lawyers and insurance adjusters. His record of corruption prevented him from being a cop again, but the cops graciously concealed his record of corruption from non-cop eyes so he could at least find work as a security guard. In 1988, three years after I escaped to undo Johnson’s corruption against me, and the same year that John Walsh parleyed his son’s disappearance into a nearly hysterical TV show (Cops’ Most Wanted Criminals), Johnson became obsessed with getting Walsh to put me on his TV show. Johnson was nuts with worry that I’d eventually unravel his crimes against me for two reasons. He had made a lot of enemies of other cops and the support staff of the copshop during his career of shitting on everyone to get ahead. He had learned of my inquiries about him and his history in 1987, the first year I was able to stop hiding and start solving the riddle of who they protected, and why, in the murder of Mr. Hunt.

He had very good reason to worry. It turns out that this whole fiasco began with two over-ambitious prosecutors trying to weasel their ways into the governor’s seat. Tulsa’s “Buddy” Fallis and Ok City’s Andy Coats were using their cop departments in a contest to see who could get the most votes and media attention , and foment the most anti-crime hysteria by passing out the most lurid headlines and longest sentences for crime. They both tried to pocket the Church vote too, by siccing their cops on the pornography industry, which, in law, is the “obscenity” industry. Falis and Coats drove their cops to uncover the most obscene material, and to find it, the Tulsa cops made a secret deal with Mr. Hunt to tell them which of his fellow porn merchants had the filthiest inventory. (Cops have a hard time posing as perverts, since there are so few of them and the dealers of filth know all their customers well.) Mr. Hunt helped the cops feed the porn dealers and their assets to the bondsmen, lawyers, prosecutors and judges. After a few repeats, Mr. Hunt’s victims compared notes and deduced that he was the one sending the cops to drag them off to prison and to confiscate their businesses. At least one may have made death threats to Mr. Hunt, since he began checking his car for bombs, (ex. A). The rampant corruption in Tulsa at that time made bombings fairly commonplace for such a backwoods town in a nowhere state. E.g, Federal judge Fred Nelson got bombed for taking the bribe and failing to deliver on promised leniency. Another local al official dirtbag escaped his fate by getting his wife blown up starting his car instead of himself. The FOP HQ found a “bomb” on their doorstep too, just to mention only three of the most hyped bomb plots of that era’s many. When nonofficial crooks have the audacity to attack the office-holding criminals, the real crooks are feeling VERY abused, since it is the golden rule of all crooks, even the so-called “organized” criminals, NOT to piss on the gov’t. It is not likely that Mr. Hunt would think to check for bombs in his car merely because he had a guilty conscience. With bombing so popular, it would not be a great leap for the Association of Pornography Dealers to decide to pay a punk-kid “hit” man to lay in wait to murder one of their fellows in hi his home. The fact that the cops’ “daylight burglary” theory was so thinly supported with seemingly contrived “evidence” does help make this look like an assassination. Real burglars tend to steal things of value.

Mr. Hunt’s home had been, according to the cops, thoroughly ransacked, yet nothing of any real value was found except Mr. Hunt’s gun. Also supportive of an assassination theory is the fact that Mr. Hunt kept this loaded weapon ON TOP of his night stand where he slept, despite having a daughter and her young son living with them. (tr. p. 38-39) Also, he had evidently just bought this gun “two of three months” previously, or felt the need to practice firing it so near his murder, (tr. p. 37). The cops, Mrs. Hunt and the prosecutor admit that they found only a screwdriver as a burglar tool, and only six pieces of “costume” jewelry as the “loot”. (tr. p. 35, 56) from which police released no fingerprints. It now looks as if the cops just put together a sack of crap to make it look like a burglary, which they needed for technical reasons. To make a crime bigger and deathpenalty elgible, cops and prosecutors had to fulfill their “first degree murder” requirements. They needed a “murder while committing another felony before they could enhance this crime into a splashy death sentence case. R “first degree burglary” was their vehicle for doing this. Without the burglary, there would be no death penalty. UNfortunately for me, the US Supreme Court, in 1973, took away their privilege of execution, else I would have gotten two real lawyers who would have had million$ to make these crooked cops and corrupt prosecutors cough up the blood and finger prints. Instead, I was ridden to prison by a worthless public defender putting on the usual tapdance instead of a real defense and investigation. Whatever it was that really occurred, Mrs. Hunt was victimized by the cops at least twice, to my way of thinking. They got her husband killed by the Falis/Coats porn wars, then jailed her at the very last, stealing her business, freedom and fining her, (Hunt v Ok, cr. ap. 601 p2d 470 (1979)).

As a rule, the “boundaries” between detectives of “homicide”, “drugs” and “vice” etc, are only theoretical. In reality, all these cop specialties overlap, and , when caught only pretending to work, these elite “detective” cops are often made to assist in other cop bureaucracies as needed. Thus Johnson and his fellow sergeant share many skeletons and collaborate extensively on dirty deeds that lighten their workloads but may eventually become unraveled with closer scrutiny and blow up in their collective faces.

So far, Johnson has had over 90 judges in eight courts provide him with excellent protection from his crimes. When I found proof of his corruption in police records and a shortcut to identifying the killer himself through use of police and prison records, I returned to use these records to clear my name. Instead of allowing me to publicize my findings at an escape trial,

a particularly sleazy judge named Steve Taylor stepped in and STOLE the escape trial, (F-1985-121, in Pittsburg county dist. ct.)

Taylor was a part of the political machine of the Stipe organization, one of the oldest crime families in Oklahoma still practicing. This was just the tip of the mountain of further corruption that proved that all these slime, from local, to state, to federal, are all in bed with each other, making absolutely certain that the public remains comatose of what depth of depravity these officials enjoy. Worse corruption was found DECADES after the primary criminals left and new generations of official criminals arose to take their positions of power and protect THEIR crimes from unraveling. In 1997, Australian scientists developed techniques to extract DNA from fingerprints. I appealed on this, and was routinely prevented from getting them tested by a string of judges from Tulsa county to US Supreme court. Then, in 2000 three innocence projects got a lawyer, Richard O’Carroll, and an investigator, John Floyd, to examine records and make public officials answer questions. O’Carroll was first to notice something screwy. Instead of just telling me, he began asking me sly questions over the phone about lawsuits I’d filed trying to get these fingerprints tested. After a lot of nonsense, he finally told me that the killer’s fingerprints “appeared” to have been pilfered out of the cops’ vault-within-a-vault the same MONTH that I’d filed the lawsuits to get their DNA extracted. Months later, John Floyd told me that he had found unspecified evidence (chain o’ custody evidence, I assume) of this same anonymous, timely theft of the killer’s prints just subsequent to my lawsuits.

Deliberately protecting murderers is really not such a scurrilous thing to find cops, lawyers, prosecutors and judges doing, compared with all the other atrocities that they have been caught at, but, to me, it is still the activity and behavior of scum, curs and lowlifes, of which Johnson is only one of hordes.