Wednesday, November 26, 2014

I want to thank the prosecutor's wife

In light of Ferguson, I was reminded of an experience I had with a couple of local police and a prosecutor back in the 1970s. While there are no comparisons, it's still something that came to mind. Everyone handles situations their own way. This is how I handled mine.

INTRODUCTION
In 1975, I was 23 and the spirit of youth was still in full bloom. It was a great time in my life except for one harrowing experience with the Delaware Township Police Department, located in central New Jersey. I had gone out that night with a friend of mine, Ken [Redacted.] We hit a couple of bars and settled in at a place in New Hope, PA, called John & Peter's. There's a cafĂ© in front and a small listening room in the back. As small as it was (and still is,) they had some pretty big name bands perform, like Iron Butterfly and The Chambers Brothers. One of the local favorites back then was a group out of Philly called Johnny's Dance Band. Some nights, you just didn't know unless a barmaid let you in on the secret of who it would be. It didn't matter who was playing the night we showed up. We didn't go out for that. We didn't even go out to drink much. We just went out to have a good time until he dropped me off at my apartment...
THE BUST
My place was right in the center of Sergeantsville, a very rural community with one blinking light. You were in and out town before you knew it. Directly across the street was the municipal building and home of the police department. We sat there for a few minutes discussing what the rest of the week was looking like, sort of like planning another night to run around, drink a few, and hit on some babes. Slowly, a police car crept up across the street and parked. Two officers got out and started to walk towards us. I wasn't afraid of anything. Neither of us were drunk and we certainly weren't doing anything wrong. I recognized one of them, Rich [Redacted,] from my high school days. I got out and stood at the front of my friend's Dodge van. Rich and I greeted each other, shook hands and talked about what we had been up to since those earlier times. The other officer went over to the driver's window. Both Rich and I were oblivious to what was transpiring until we both heard, "I smell marijuana. Get out of the van right now! You are under arrest!"
Rich and I looked at each other with surprise. I turned to face the other officer and said, "Hey, what are you doing?"
He stared at me and said, "You are under arrest, too!"
He made my friend get out of the vehicle and ordered us over to the police car, where he demanded that we empty our pockets. I didn't respond in the split second time he wanted, so he thrust me down on to the hood of the car, knocking the wind out of me. In two seconds flat, I was in handcuffs and he was emptying all of my pockets, where he found a frog, a couple of marbles and a secret agent compass. Maybe some pocket change, too, but absolutely nothing illegal. As a matter of fact, nothing of interest was found in my friend's pockets, either. I asked this overzealous cop what we were being arrested for. He hesitated and said, "For being drunk and disorderly!"
I knew right then and there we were being charged with something trumped-up. We weren't drunk and we weren't disorderly. Had we been drunk, this stupid officer, Jack Demeo, should have been smart enough to charge the driver with a DUI (or DWI back then.) The keys were in the ignition.
The cop commandos marched us up the stairs and into the police station.
"Watch them," Demeo said to Rich, giddy with delight, as if he had just apprehended serial rapists or something. He went outside and returned with the ashtray, He dumped it on his desk and went picking through the cigarette butts. Lo and behold, he pulled out a marijuana roach that amounted to...
2/10 of a gram!
Whoa! The biggest bust of the century! "Ha, ha, ha...I gotcha now!!!" An obvious glee and an evil grin had overtaken him, as we were soon to be facing life in prison in his eyes. "So, on top of being drunk and disorderly, I've got you on a CDS charge, too!"
"What's CDS?" I asked.
"Controlled Dangerous Substance," he snapped back, with a sarcastic snarl. That roach could have been in the ashtray for weeks, for all we knew. The ashtray was packed with butts, but had we known it was there, we would have smoked it long before the cops showed up.
After sitting for what seemed like an eternity, I had to pee. I asked Demeo if I could go. "NO!" I asked him several times and got the same commanding response. Finally, I pulled something out of my head...
"As a U.S. citizen and subject to rule number 17 of the U.S. Constitution, Section C, Part 203, I am allowed to use a restroom facility when I consider it necessary, under penalty of law."
"Take him into the men's room," he ordered Rich, "but watch him."
As I was peeing, he was apologetic. "Hey, Dave, I had nothing to do with this."
Demeo was filling out paper work interrogating my friend when we returned. He looked at me and attacked like a junk yard dog. "Where'd you get this stuff?"
"I don't know."
"Tell me!"
You're going to bust us with that? You're a joke."
After about a half hour of brutal questioning, he realized he wasn't going to get anywhere, so they loaded us into the back of the squad car and drove us to the Hunterdon County Jail. The entire ride consisted of Demeo making wise cracks and telling us we were the lowest and vilest sub-humans of the community. We laughed. Oh, how it angered him more.
DELIVERANCE
Finally, we arrived to the fanfare of the hungry jailers. They took our mug shots and fingerprints. One of the guards was a high school teacher who moonlighted at the jail and remembered us. He took us upstairs and put us in a holding cell, It was just me and Ken.
"I'll come back and put you in a better cell as soon as we get rid of these asshole cops," he said, and he did. When we awoke the next morning, the TV was showing an old science fiction movie. Yes, it was high-class. Color, too. There was another guy who was already there. We introduced ourselves, shook hands and I asked him what he was in for.
"Murder."
"Oh." I didn't want to pursue that conversation, so we just settled in. At one point, he got up and switched the channel to American Bandstand. I wasn't about to say, "TURN IT BACK! I WAS WATCHING THAT MOVIE!"
Later that morning, the jail doors were opened to freedom, fresh air and sunlight, and our nightmare was temporarily over. $50 later.
THE PLOT THICKENS
We knew we had to get legal representation. My friend got a lawyer and I talked to an attorney friend of mine, Jay Thatcher. We were in the JAYCEES together. I told him I didn't have money to hire a lawyer. He asked me to tell him what transpired that evening. I told him. He said, "Dave, this is the most ridiculous injustice I've ever heard. I'm going to represent you for free."
Jay was a great guy and a very good friend. I was so glad he decided to help out someone in need. He got in touch with the other attorney and they both agreed to file a Motion to Suppress Evidence, a request to a judge to keep out evidence at a trial or hearing, often made when a party believes the evidence was unlawfully obtained.
The judge at our arraignment hearing was Thomas Beetel. Years earlier, my Aunt Bertie worked for him when he was in private practice before being appointed to the bench. We shared the same last name and they didn't get along. I think he might have fired her. I wasn't aware of any connection at that time - I was told later - but he should have recused himself on grounds of prejudice. He did not. Our respective attorneys requested that both officers not be present in the courtroom together when each was to give their own testimony. The judge did allow that. Both cops gave conflicting reports of what transpired that fateful night. I assumed my old high school "friend" would set the record straight. He did not. He lied through his teeth even more than the arresting officer did. I could not believe what I was hearing. Then, Demeo told the judge he was trained by the Marines to smell marijuana better than a dog. When I took the stand, I noticed the judge was doodling stupid little pictures, as if he wasn't paying attention, and had already made up his mind. I guess he did because he sent it on to trial. Motion to Suppress Evidence denied!
THE TRIAL
On the morning after our arrest, the judge we were going to be facing, Jacob Chantz, was attending a funeral with my grandfather, Reverend George W. Landis. They were very close friends. He should have recused himself, too, because of that friendship, but he didn't, and I guess I am thankful for it. The evening we went to trial, it was one big family; the two officers, the prosecutor, our respective attorneys and us. My close friend, Frank Foran was sitting in the gallery, along with my parents. Our trials were to be handled separately, but together, if that makes sense. Our attorneys approached the prosecutor to work out plea deals. 
After minutes of whispering, Jay came back to me and said, "Dave, this is what the prosecutor wants. He's willing to drop the drunk and disorderly charge if you plead to the CDS charge. It means that after a year, you can apply to have your record expunged and it's completely erased. It's as if you were never arrested. You pay a fine now and there is no jail time. What do you want to do?"
"No way am I going to plead guilty to anything. I didn't do anything wrong."
"Great! That's exactly what I was hoping to hear you say." He went back to the prosecutor with my response.
"Oh no," the prosecutor told him, and there came a very special AHA! moment. You see, prosecutors can be moved around to different jurisdictions if the need ever arises. The need arose that particular evening. 
"What do you mean?" my lawyer asked.
"My wife is 99.9% pregnant. I came up from south Jersey. I'm filling in for the regular prosecutor, who's on vacation. She could have the baby any minute. I just want to get this over with and go home. How long is this going to take?" 
"At least seven hours as far as I'm concerned. I'm going to pick every legal trick out of my hat on this one."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No, I am not. My client is 100% innocent of these charges and I intend to fight it all the way to the Supreme Court, if necessary."
"This isn't all that important of a case to me. Let's just drop the charges."
That was it. It had absolutely nothing to do with my guilt or innocence. Case dismissed. All on account of the prosecutor's wife being pregnant. Now that was justice.
My friend had the drunk and disorderly charge dropped but the prosecutor said someone had to take the rap for the 2/10 gram of Mary Jane. It was his vehicle, so he did and a year later he did have his record expunged.
So went my first foray into the legal system. The judge later told my grandfather it never should have reached his courtroom. It should have been dropped at the Motion to Suppress stage and, if not, he had planned on dismissing the charges against me anyway.
AFTER ALL THIS
Oh, yeah. Good old Jack Demeo. He got himself into a little trouble about a year or so after our trial. He was accused - on several occasions - of flashing his badge out of his territory and for trying to pick up women he pulled over. He should have been dealt with for breaking the law but he wasn't. Cop. Good old boy syndrome, I guess. I also heard he had been planting pot in cars to make busts, but had he done that to us, I'm sure more than 2/10 of a gram would have been found. The clincher that finally sealed his fate and brought his law enforcement career to a screeching halt was when he was in Atlantic City inside a casino, Unfortunately for him but lucky for the rest of the country, he flashed his badge at the wrong people at the wrong time. He told a dealer he was with the NJ Division of Alcoholic Beverage Control and he was doing an investigation. What kind of favors can you do for me? The manager of the casino got involved and promptly called his brother-in-law, who worked for the ABC. Why is one of your guys trying to bribe me?
The agency launched an investigation faster than a poker player folds on a five high hand, and dispatched agents to the scene immediately. Jack Demeo was arrested on the spot. Because of that, his credentials were stripped and he was told he could never be a police officer again. The former police chief of Delaware Township, where I was arrested with my friend, told me he did try years later, but the retired chief, the late Warren Peterson, put the screws to that. My guess is that he's probably assistant head of security at a Dollar General store somewhere in Podunk, Arkansas. I did run into Rich a couple of years later and he wanted to extend an apology for what had transpired. I told him that, "as an officer of the law, you were there to tell the truth. You didn't. I'm having a tough time with what you put me through."
Quite obviously, that experience was still on my mind. One day, he approached me at the Weiner King in Flemington, where I was the manager, to tell me he could get me a really good deal on a Jaguar XKE. He had hung up his gun and went to work for a car dealer. The car had just come in and it wasn't even prepped yet. I took him up on the offer, it was a great deal, and I forgave Rich after all. I think he just got caught up in the cop ego trip thing and eventually let it go. All was well between us and I know it ate at him all those years. He really wanted to make things right, and he did. I don't hold a grudge.
EPILOGUE
I learned my lesson that you can't always trust a man with a badge and prosecutors don't always work for true justice. I've known a lot of police officers and a few prosecutors over the years and most of them are honest and hard-working. Never again have I run into a bad cop like Jack Demeo, but that one time was all it took to keep me on my toes. Fortunately, most guys like him are eventually weeded out of police departments, but not always.
Oh yes, one more thing. The guy we spent the night in jail with who was charged with murder? He was found not guilty. He had a different prosecutor, too.

Monday, November 24, 2014

What's Age Got To Do With It?

I'm not a violent man. Never was. I know that, as I get older, I'm supposed to be more temperamental. Maybe I am. Perhaps I am quicker to anger. Old codger stuff. Is it just a male thing?
Today, I had an urge to eat French fries. Why? I don't know. I don't usually crave them. Call it a "hankering." I knew that, if I were to order them at the nearby McDonald's, I'd have to ask for them without salt. Would they do that?
As I wheeled into the parking lot, some a-hole cut me off. Zoomed in right in front of me! I almost hit him. Just who did he think he was? JERK! He quickly pulled into a parking spot and I soon followed into a nearby one. He jumped out of his car in a flash and ran toward the side door. I really thought about giving him a piece of my mind as I exited mine, but three things stopped me from saying a word...
#1 Age. I was a lot older, wiser and more experienced. Patience goes a long way. Or, it should.
#2 He was a construction type dude. Bigger than me, in other words. He would have kicked my you know what. Plus, he was a lot faster than me.
#3 He made a bee-line to the men's room.
That third one (#3) told me he was in a hurry to do a number two, probably, without going into further detail, and that gave him license to get where he needed to go as quickly as humanly possible. That's where #1 came in. There may be circumstances beyond someone's control that cause something to happen. (Imagine if he had come along a second or two earlier. BAM! He would have hit me and there would have been two accidents.)
As he disappeared into the restroom area, I went through the main door and waited near the front counter to order. A minute or two later, I was able to ask for them without salt. Yes, I was told, and they come out fresher that way, but it took a little longer.
That guy? As I left, he was still in there somewhere, I'm sure, but I had no desire to go reprimand him for anything. Actually, I didn't give him a thought at all. Instead, I learned a simple little lesson about maintaining a level head. Self-control prevailed. I'm sure we've all been there before - old and young.
Cross-posted on Daily Kos

Saturday, November 15, 2014

I JUST DROPPED IN TO SEE WHAT STATE MY STATE WAS IN... YEAH, YEAH, OH-YEAH

One of the definitions of the word "state" is the particular condition that someone or something is in at a specific time. Skip that definition for now. Let's move on to another one.

STATE: a nation or territory considered as an organized political community under one government.

Robert Owen Paxton (1932 -) is an American historian who specializes in Vichy France, fascism and Europe during the WWII era. He wrote that fascism is:
"... a form of political behavior marked by obsessive preoccupation with community decline, humiliation, or victimhood and by compensatory cults of unity, energy, and purity, in which a mass-based party of committed nationalist militants, working in uneasy but effective collaboration with traditional elites, abandons democratic liberties and pursues with redemptive violence and without ethical or legal restraints goals of internal cleansing and external expansion." 

What is the definition of Islamic State when there is no nation under one government? For that matter, why is state capitalized at all? There is no "State." Instead of IS or ISIS (Islamic State of Iraq and Syria) or ISIL (Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant), what should we call this group of butchers? They are savages, indeed, straight out of the 7th century; save their leader, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, who has expensive tastes in modern-day accoutrements like watches, and sports dazzlingly white, perfectly-formed teeth (for an otherwise third-world slaughterer.) Or is he? Most are hypocrites at best. Yes, his followers are pretty high-tech, but they rape, murder and pillage at will. Very low-class. They force themselves upon their own version of disbelievers. If they don't like you, you're an infidel. Naked women. Young children. Men dropped to their knees. Off with their heads! That's what they capitalize on. TOTAL FEAR. Annihilation. Devastation. Their goal is violent cleansing and expansion throughout the world. They want total domination of the world in the name of religion. I suggest calling them islamifascists. No capitalization because the majority of Muslims disagree with what they do in the name of their god - I think; however, no one in Syria, Iraq or Turkey has ever lived under a democracy and most Muslims remain quiet. Is it out of fear for their lives or is al-Baghdadi the one true caliph, a descendant of the Islamic prophet Muhammad as he claims, and they don't know what to believe?

Whatever. These islamifascists want their convoluted religious law to spread like cockroach infestations and beyond. We will never rid ourselves of their kind, but we must contain them by any and all means possible. Except palling around with Sayyid Ali Khamenei. He's a fire ant. Bashar al-Assad is a killer bee. I am a most passive man, but these are two men we should never trust. 

Like the islamifascists, Saudi Arabia likes beheadings, too, yet when the kingdom drops its cost per barrel of oil (is it due to cheap black market IS oil?) and our gas price goes down at the pump, we're happy. Just in time for America's Thanksgiving and the Christian world's most commercialized holiday! Praise the..! Oh my... I'm most definitely in a STATE OF CONFUSION! All capital letters! Will any good ever come of this? Why are conservatives still so up in arms over alternative energy sources?

Sunday, July 06, 2014

Cheney Mason Jars the Truth, By George!

It's hard to believe that Casey Anthony was found not guilty of first-degree murder three years ago, but she was. My coverage of the case began in November of 2008 and continued in earnest until the verdict. That's when it ended. Many people wanted me to resume writing about her -- the lawsuits and bankruptcy -- but my job was finished. Those news stories were of little relevancy to me, so I never wrote about her again. Until now. Something (or someone) has piqued my interest. Most assuredly, it must be of major importance to stir me from my restful, peaceful, crime-free, post-Zimmerman Rip Van Winklish sleep, right? Yes, and it's Cheney Mason. Just as the Casey Anthony saga began with a flurry of horrible lies, the nest of iniquity continues.

Certainly, I have reasons to seek vengeance on those who took down the presiding judge at my expense, but I'm not a begrudging type, and the years have softened my stance to some extent. Jose Baez apologized years ago. It was nothing personal against me, he said, but he didn't feel Casey could get a fair trial, especially in light of the check fraud pleas. That's a different story and I understand more about the incident after years of study and reflection; however, I firmly believe the idea was the brainchild of a vindictive Cheney Mason. Mason had it in for Judge Stan Strickland and you are just going to have to trust me on it with no further explanation at this time. Asking the judge to recuse himself from this case is not the reason why I decided to pick up my pen. It's to set the record straight over what I consider to be a persistent and perpetuating lie perpetrated by Mason -- that poor, little Casey is innocent of any and all wrongdoing, and that the media and prosecution are guilty of everything.

In his book, Presumed Guilty | Casey Anthony: The Inside Story, Baez wrote:

Casey and I had discussed her sexual abuse, and I felt it was only a matter of time before she would tell me the truth about what happened to Caylee.

This was immediately followed by:

The day I had a major breakthrough with Casey came in the early months of 2009 [...]

He continues to explain what Casey told him about the drowning and her father's involvement:

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. I'm taking care of it. Don't say a word of this to anyone, especially your mother," and he walked away.

Believe what you want. My point is that for over two years, until the onset of the trial in downtown Orlando, her defense team maintained an oblivious facade about the cause of Caylee's death, and the public and many facets of the media were eschewing whatever Baez, et al, spit out. If she was so innocent, why not come forward much sooner than the trial? To be Nancy Grace-like, it would have been a BOMBSHELL and it would have sent the prosecution reeling into a downward, spiraling tizzy... momentarily, at least, until it had a chance to regroup. Instead, the young woman sat in jail from October 14, 2008 to July 17, 2011.

(I think it's important to remind you, before I go on, that Baez was not death penalty qualified, so Mason was hired, pro-bono, in March of 2010, a year before Casey opened her mouth about the death of her daughter, as cited above. Mason had collaborated with Baez prior to officially joining the defense, too, so he was aware of his new client's alibi and the accusation of sexual abuse. Unfortunately for George Anthony, he was going to be the defense scapegoat and he didn't have a clue. If I was a minor target, George was huge.)

§

Presently, I know precisely what Mason is spewing. It's called marketing propaganda and he's doing it to promote his new book, Justice in America: How the Media and Prosecutors Stack the Deck Against the Accused due out soon. I think it's important and fair to first note that Mason does come with credentials. He's a highly regarded veteran of criminal defense trials, as CNN's Jean Casarez just pointed out in her interview with him, What life is like for Casey Anthony, updated July 4:

A former president of the Florida Association of Criminal Lawyers, Mason, who just that year had been selected by Florida Monthly magazine as one of Florida's top lawyers, was disgusted with the local media coverage about the relatively inexperienced Baez.

That's great. What a hero. Definitely, Baez was treated with contempt by the public and press, but it came with the territory of representing the most reviled woman in America and Baez knew that. What he needed was help forming a strong and capable defense, not a pompous ass press secretary/superhero. For now, though, let's continue with the version Casarez wrote and elicited from Mason:

Shortly before jury selection was to begin, Mason got word that Anthony's handwritten letters describing sexual abuse at the hands of her father were going to be made public under Florida's open records law.

He believed it was only right that Anthony's parents, George and Cindy, were warned. He called them to his office late on a Friday afternoon.

"We had them one at a time come into my personal office and made the announcement: 'Monday's going to be a bad day for you George. I felt man to man I would tell you in advance.""

Mason said George Anthony's reaction was "basically none." "He looked at me ... I turned sideways a little bit, he clapped his hands down on his thighs -- let out a big sigh but didn't say anything," Mason said.

"He never admitted doing anything," Mason said. "All we had were the letters and (separately) the statements Casey had made to the psychiatrist."

According to Mason, he then called Cindy in to inform her.

Next it was Cindy Anthony's turn. "We called Mom in, Cindy, and told her and she immediately welled up with emotion, cried, was very upset," Mason said.

This is not what I recall from my experience with the case. Please note that Mason said George and Cindy Anthony went to his personal office after he got word, yet in his book, Baez wrote something contrary to Mason's revelation.

Two psychiatrists evaluated Casey for the defense, Drs. Jeffrey Danziger and William Weitz. Danziger was initially appointed by the court in 2008 following her arrest. For the defense, he met with her four times in November and December of 2010. Weitz conducted two interviews in February and March of 2011.

According to Baez:

After the prosecution took the depositions of the two psychiatrists, both sides agreed they should be sealed because they contained medical information as it related to Casey's mental health, and there were issues of sexual abuse by George and Lee, which was protected under state law. Perry immediately sealed them, saying that he wanted to review them before deciding whether they should remain sealed.

Baez continued:

A couple of days later, Cindy called me to say she and George had an appointment the next day at the state attorney general's office to discuss the depositions of the shrinks.

I lost it. I smelled the skullduggery of Ashton and immediately contacted Perry, telling him that the state was planning to meet with the Anthonys to discuss the information that he had sealed.

Perry had a clear response: "Sealed means sealed." Despite this clear message from the judge, the prosecution went ahead and had its meeting anyway. That was the arrogance of Ashton, whose attitude was, "I can do anything I want because I can get away with it."

And get away with it he did.

In fact, according to Baez, the prosecution didn't show the Anthonys the depositions, it showed them the notes they took during the depositions:

[...] The benefit to the prosecution by making sure the Anthonys found out what was in the shrinks' depositions, of course, was that when the Anthonys found out that Casey was revealing George's sexual abuse, they would turn on Casey, no longer support her, and became [sic] state-friendly witnesses.

I thought Cheney was going to have a heart attack. [...]

This is proof that Mason did not call the Anthonys into his office to "warn" them. Instead, Baez warned Mason about what they learned from prosecutors. But wait! There's more...

Before Presumed Guilty was released, then assistant state attorney Jeff Ashton published his book, Imperfect Justice | Prosecuting Casey Anthony. He had something to say about this matter, too, and it offers a third view, far removed from Cheney Mason's.  Beginning on page 215:

Even though the witnesses had been withdrawn [Danziger and Weitz], Linda [Drane Burdick], Frank [George] and I wondered how much of this George and Cindy knew. Just because the defense had dropped the witnesses didn't mean they were abandoning the argument completely. There was still a chance that George could be dragged into this.

One evening around the time that all this was happening, Mark Lippman, the attorney who by then was representing George and Cindy, filed a strange press release. It said something to the effect that George Anthony had nothing to do with the disappearance of Caylee.

Ashton contacted Lippman, assuming that Baez had spilled the beans:

Mark told me that a few days earlier, Baez had asked for a meeting with just Cindy. When she arrived at his office, Baez, Dorothy Sims, and Ann Finnell via the phone were waiting for her with important news. Baez proceeded to tell Cindy that Casey had authorized him to say that Caylee had died at the house and that her death had been an accident. Baez also told Cindy that the state was investigating George's involvement with Caylee's death. Baez claimed that the authorities had information from a witness who said that George's phone records held valuable clues.

I was speechless. Poor Mark only knew the tip of the iceberg. It was the cruelest thing I have ever seen an attorney do. [...] To tell this grieving woman...

To say that Ashton was outraged would be an understatement. This is what pushed him to tell the Anthonys the whole story -- to warn them.

I told Mark we weren't investigating George, although sadly, there was more bad news. But I had to get back to him about it. Linda and I discussed the best way to handle the therapists' reports and we decided to invite Mark, Cindy, and George to our office. I gave Mark a call.

"Are they saying that George disposed of the body?" He responded by telling Lippman it was worse than that.

When Baez found out that Cindy was coming to our office to see what the doctors had said, he immediately shot off an e-mail to Judge Perry, essentially accusing us of violating Perry's order.

Linda said that Judge Perry's order indicated only that the transcripts would not be made public documents; it never restricted our ability to investigate the story, and there was no way we were going to let Jose's lies go unchallenged. Baez would later attack us on this point, but the judge agreed with us.

The prosecutors decided to discuss their notes and recollections with the Anthonys since the depositions were, in fact, sealed. Caylee's grandparents needed to know the truth about what was actually going on, despite the inherent risk of possible witness tampering accusations.

George and Cindy were visibly upset when they arrived at the state attorneys office, Ashton pointed out.

Before the meeting, we'd told Mark that we would speak to him privately and share what we knew with him. Then it would be up to him to decide what to tell the Anthonys. We put George and Cindy in the conference room and took Mark into the office with us.

Lippman heard the entire story...

Mark left and went to the conference room to talk to the Anthonys for what seemed like twenty to thirty minutes. Linda and I were in a nearby conference room when Mark came to find us. Cindy and George had questions, and we accompanied him back to the conference room. Cindy was sitting at the table just looking down. George was next to her, his face bright red. Cindy looked angry. George looked like he had been crying, like someone had just killed Caylee all over again. He was just devastated.

"I just want you to know that none of this is true," George said to us.

Cindy patted him on the hand and said, "It's okay, George. Nobody believes this."

His words would catch in his throat as he assured us one more time, "I just want you to know that everything I told you is the truth and I am not changing any of it."

I remember Cindy saying something like, "I don't know what's wrong with her," referring to Casey. At least she was finally willing to admit that there was something not right about Casey. How it would affect her testimony at trial, though, was anyone's guess.

There you have it. The rest is history. But is Cheney Mason rewriting the history books to glorify himself? To give himself most of the credit for saving poor, innocent, child-like Casey? Sometimes, certainly in this case, when someone keeps telling himself the same thing over and over and over again, he begins to believe it. Mason is, after all, one of Florida's BEST attorneys, as I'm sure he would quickly remind us and his mirror. And if Washington chopped down the cherry tree, he chopped down the giant Ashton tree. And didn't tell a lie. Yes, man-to-man, he gently pulled George into his office to softly break the news. What a kind and compassionate father figure. Only, I wouldn't buy a used lemon from the man.

The amazon.com Website promo intro of Mason's book says, "He shares never before revealed media bias, and enough case secrets to make readers re-examine their conscience and the quick path to judgment and personal conviction of Anthony."

I am deeply concerned about the honesty of those case secrets, especially coming from a man with so much documented bias against the media. Until he needs to use us.

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I think it's important to mention something more enlightening about the two defense psychiatrists, Drs. Danziger and Weitz. They were most likely removed as witnesses out of fear that the judge would have granted the state their own psychiatrist, who would have interviewed their client. That would have been problematic for Casey and the entire defense. It's also necessary to say that Danziger was highly uncomfortable with being a mouthpiece for these "very, very serious allegations against someone in a situation where there is no other evidence he actually did anything." (Imperfect Justice, Page 210.)

Friday, May 24, 2013

Do I Deserve To Die Too?

When I was 23-years-old, I was arrested and charged with possession of a CDS and for being drunk and disorderly. I was with a good friend, who was also charged. CDS stands for Controlled Dangerous Substance, and in the mid-70s, that included... shake and shudder... marijuana. Holy catnip! The charges were way more than trumped up, and the arresting officer, Jack Demeo, was later fired from the Delaware Township Police Department in New Jersey and banished from ever being a cop again. Anywhere. He was bad news and a disgrace to all fine, upstanding law enforcement officers the world over. His downfall? He flashed his badge at an Atlantic City casino and asked for gambling favors and free drinks. He said he was from the NJ Division of Alcoholic Beverage Control.
The charges against me were dismissed before the trial began, but during a Motion to Suppress Evidence hearing, Demeo testified that he was professionally trained by the military to sniff out marijuana. Really? All that was found was one stubby, little roach -- 2/10 of a gram -- at the bottom of my friend's ashtray. Had we known it was there, we probably would have smoked it that night and gone out for M&Ms. Skittles weren't around in those days. As he and his fellow officer traipsed us into the station, right across from where I lived in the blinking light town of Sergeantsville, I asked him what we were being charged with...
"Being drunk and disorderly," he screamed back. Of course, we weren't drunk and disorderly. My friend was dropping me off at home. We were minding our own business -- sound familiar? As a matter of fact, the illegal substance -- the killer weed -- wasn't found until we were inside the station and Demeo had a chance to run out to retrieve the vehicle's ashtray, return, and dump it on his desk. "AHA!" he exclaimed as he sifted through the cigarette butts and held up the overwhelming piece of evidence. "I got you now." 
Today, the whole experience is a joke, and I'll be the first person to admit I smoked pot back in the day. But so did several of our presidents. Did they decide to start a war because they were high on ganja? Hmm... according to George Zimmerman's defense logic, that could be the case. Think about it. George W. Bush. Barack Obama. Former pot smokers and warmongers. Bear in mind, there were no wars under Bill Clinton; not technically, but, in Zimmerman's favor, Clinton never inhaled the stuff. Perfect evidence! Mark O'Mara and Don West may be onto something but, to be fair, impartial and to add a legal disclaimer, there's no evidence hat any president smoked marijuana while in office.
I haven't smoked pot in 20 years, but 20 years ago, I was 40. I first smoked it when I was 16. By 17, the age Trayvon Martin was when he was shot and killed, I was a seasoned smoker, sometimes toking before, during, and after high school. I never missed a day of work because of it. 24 years later, I knew a lot about the stuff, although my interest had really waned by then. Mostly, I was a recreational user throughout the years. I was never addicted to it and it led to no other drugs. Today, it's not considered a "Controlled Dangerous Substance" in most states, and some have even legalized its use. In my opinion, it was never dangerous unless you consider driving under the influence, but it's nothing like booze. When I smoked pot, it was usually done with my friends, we were too lazy to drive anywhere, and we sat around listening to Moody Blues and Pink Floyd albums eating whatever food we had; like Cheez Doodles and 2-day-old pizza. The munchies. We chilled out. Never, ever, ever did we think about fighting among ourselves or with anyone else. All we cared about was was getting high and not allowing anyone to Bogart that joint.
§
As part of the autopsy protocol, the Medical Examiner submitted Trayvon Martin's blood for laboratory analysis. Among the findings includes a positive level for THC and its metabolite. The active THC was measured at 1.5 ng/mL whereas the metabolite was measured at 7.3 ng/mL. This level is sufficient to cause some impairment (although it is considered to be less than that required for a DUI arrest) according to the State's toxicologist, Dr. Bruce Goldberger. [...] Dr. Goldberger opined that Trayvon Martin may have used marijuana within a couple of hours of his death or that it could have been longer than that depending on whether Trayvon was a chronic user or an occasional user.
Was I a chronic or occasional marijuana user? You can only have an opinion, depending on how you think. Are you really qualified? If I smoked it last week, would I be too impaired to write this post? Bullshit. Here's where the reply from West gets stupid, ludicrous and just plain idiotic. Remember, my disgraced arresting officer said he was trained to sniff out marijuana. In his defense, at least he graduated the police academy and he didn't draw his weapon. Zimmerman, on the other hand, never graduated anything beyond high school. (See: Records show George Zimmerman got D’s in criminal justice classes.) The Defense reply continues:
In George Zimmerman's non-emergency call to the police, he describes the person, later identified as Trayvon Martin, as appearing as though he was "on drugs." Additionally, on close inspection of Trayvon Martin's physical appearance at the 7-Eleven, where he was recorded on video within an hour of his death, he "sways" at the counter as if he's under the influence of some substance. Taken all together, it is likely that Trayvon Martin was under the influence of marijuana at the time of his death and that his thinking and judgment were impaired at least to some degree. This is relevant evidence for the jury to consider when it evaluates Trayvon Martin's actions that night, and the jury should be allowed to give it whatever weight it believes it should.
What makes Zimmerman and West authorities on anything? Period. It's is a complete joke! I'm trying to be fair and impartial, but I find this to be totally disgusting and disrespectful. 
Attempting to turn pot into a viable part of Zimmerman's defense does make me wonder about something. Have O'Mara and West ever smoked the stuff? I mean, both are around my age. A few years younger, actually, but they most certainly grew up during the Hippie pot smoking era of the 60s and early 70s. They were young once, like me. I went to college. To say pot wasn't on any college or university campus (including theirs) is a huge lie. Did Mark O'Mara and Don West smoke pot? Did it make them feel violent? I want answers. I want the truth. At the same time, West's reply to the State's motion is a paradox. If he never smoked pot, he might be inclined to believe it brings on violence. Smoke that war pipe. Yet, on the flip side -- and in my opinion -- West could have been as high as a kite when he wrote his reply. You can act pretty silly if you smoke too much weed, you know.
Some of you may argue that O'Mara and West are not on trial here. I have no right to ask a question like that. You're right. But Trayvon Martin is not on trial, either. Obviously, Zimmerman's defense disagrees and I understand the tact it is taking. I thoroughly disagree, though, and I think the jury would see right through it if it's brought up at trial.
According to the defense team's "disjointed" argument, I could, quite possibly, deserve to die, just like Trayvon. Zimmerman and West are self-trained to sniff out evil pot users and West has a built in "high" detector. His document says so. And pot smokers are violent offenders, but only in Trayvon's case.
More to come...
Also posted on the Daily Kos. Please feel free to comment there. 



Sunday, February 17, 2013

Marinade King


I know I haven't been active on my blog lately and I don't know if I can explain why. I guess there's been a few reasons -- good and bad. I will emerge from this funk and pick up the pace. Meanwhile...

I imagine some of you have wondered where the "marinade" part came from in my online name.

The following is a photo that ran in The Orlando Sentinel, along with a nice story, way back in April of 1994. It was three months after I started making and selling Marinade King, based on my very own recipe. It didn't take long until some of my friends started calling me Marinade Dave. The name stuck.

One day, I'm going to make a big batch of it. Soon, I hope...