Dear Ann, Part Nine :
Now that I had signed the non-disclosure form, I was free to leave. However, I didn't have a car and the agents didn't want me to walk home, which was almost three miles away. This brings up an issue that has confounded me for years : I don't remember how I got to Terry's apartment in the first place, on the night of September 1st when the trouble all began.
For the sake of completeness I should mention that there was a "preliminary night" prior to September 1st. On the evening of August 31, one night before, I had been involved in another argument with Terry and Lillian. It was the same three people in the same apartment. But that argument was minor in comparison to the one that took place the following night. The relevant point is that on the night of August 31st, a Thursday, I had driven down to Concord Square in Terry's own car. Lillian and I spent many evenings at Terry's place (unfortunately, I might add), in the late 80s. Without going into a long explanation about the reason for this, which had to do with my own lack of initiative at the time, the important point is that I had arrived at Concord Square on Thursday night in Terry's car, because he would loan it to me from time to time, but I am not sure how I arrived there on Friday night, the night of September 1st, when the twelve day event began.
I suppose it is merely a side issue, but I know that there are only two ways I could have gotten from my house in Northridge to Concord Square in Reseda on the night of September 1st. I either once again drove Terry's car down there, or I walked. My guess is that, after the argument we had on the night of August 31, he would have been in no mood to loan me his car again - nor would I have asked - so I must have been on foot. It is likely, then, that I had walked the three miles down to the apartment complex on the following night of September 1st, and after I woke up there the next morning in the empty apartment, I had no transportation home. And, I assume the agents who had spoken to me by the pool did not want me walking back, as I was still in pretty bad shape.
When the memories of that initial night first came back to me, a huge stride was made in my recovery from amnesia when I additionally remembered that I had awakened the next day in the empty apartment, also at Concord Square. Now I had the beginnings of a chronology, because I was able to set a timeline of events running from the night of September 1st to the next morning of September 2nd.
But for the life of me, Ann, for the longest time I couldn't figure out how I had gotten home after the agents had let me go. Keep in mind that for all these years, until 2015, I had not remembered being presented with the non-disclosure form, either. I only remembered speaking to the two men at the table by the pool, and then wondering how I had gotten home.
I knew for certain that no one from my family had come to get me, and I was sure I hadn't walked. I considered my friends, and, with all the evidence I had available, I discarded them one by one as having been my ride. The thing was, as my memories returned to me, it became clear that several of my friends were involved in what had been going on behind my back, and had participated in the twelve day event.. No, they would certainly not have responded, nor likely have been called, to give me a ride home the next morning following the insanity of the previous night, the news of which must surely have gotten around by telephone.
At any rate, Ann, for a long time I thought and thought about this question :
"How did I get home the next day"?
And finally, I came to the conclusion that it was you who drove me home. You see, prior to this, I had a separate memory - a non-sequential memory - of being with you, in your car this time, with you as the driver. My memory was of you driving me to my house, then helping me up the walkway and through the front door. I remembered you being in my living room, at 9032 Rathburn Avenue, and helping me onto the couch. This memory was not visceral, but it was strong enough that I knew it was real. The trouble was that I couldn't at first place it in a time frame. I didn't know when it occurred, that you had taken me home and helped me to lie down on the sofa in my living room. I wondered if it had happened on the first night, but then my memory of the Mary Sean Young car ride through the 7/11 parking lot negated that consideration, as I came to know that I had spent the remainder of the night of September 1st in the empty apartment at Concord Square and not at my home in Northridge.
So then I reconsidered my memory of you, driving me home in your car, and I wondered if maybe it took place the next day. "Was it Ann who drove me home"?, I wondered.
And as time passed, I became certain of it.
Ann, I believe that it was you who drove me home the next morning or afternoon of September 2nd 1989, from Concord Square to my house. I don't know if the agents called you to come get me, or if you were already there at the building. Perhaps it was you they were talking to in the business office before they came out to see me. The last time I had seen you was just before I was placed in the empty apartment, and there is no doubt that the agent who was present at that time would have wanted you to stick around so he could talk to you. Also, you had your sister to think about, as she would have still been in the hospital recovering from the incident with Howard Schaller.
But yes, Ann, I am sure you drove me home from Concord Square that morning or afternoon of September 2nd, because I remember specifically that you helped me onto the couch in my living room. I can even remember the drive home, and that you apologized for what had happened, though none of it was your fault. You were very quiet the entire time, not saying much, just being a nurse and trying to make sure that I was in a safe place there at home and in the light of day. You very likely told me to get some rest, to lay down for a while, and that is where my memory ends, as far as your participation in the event is concerned.
You would have left my house then, and undoubtedly gone back to check on Lillian or follow up in some way to the experience of the previous night. There is zero chance it could have been a normal day for you.
For me, that morning in my living room is the last time I ever saw you. Ann, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for caring about me that night, and the next morning. It was an unpleasant situation to start with, and became terrifying as it continued, and then even confusing and weird. Hell, it was way beyond weird. But you acted with concern and were calm throughout, at least as I remember it.
I have a few more things I'd like to mention, and to ask of you. The reason I wrote this letter, after all, was to ask for your help once again after all these years, and so......
(To be concluded tomorrow)
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
Monday, September 9, 2019
Dear Ann (Part Eight)
Dear Ann, Part Eight :
I woke up in the empty apartment feeling groggy and disoriented. It was now the morning of September 2nd, 1989, a Saturday. I'm not sure what time it was, but I'd guess it was later in the morning, maybe 10am. Sunlight streaked through the plastic window slats. In hindsight I think this provided me with a sense of reassurance, though I wouldn't have been actively aware of that feeling. It would have been peripheral, just a general sense that it was a new day and I'd made it through the horror of the previous night, though at the moment I awoke I don't believe I was fully aware of all that had happened.
I remember a knock on the door, and then it opened. It was the apartment manager, and in fact it may have been her knocking that woke me. She walked in, all bright and cheery but cautious.
"Are you awake"?, she asked. As I stated, I was either just then waking or had done so no more than five minutes previous. I think she asked how I was doing, but what I specifically remember is that she asked me if I wanted anything to eat or drink. I said yes, and she left the apartment and returned with a small carton of orange juice and a snack sized package of cookies or muffins. I also remember that she wanted me to get up, and after I finished eating she helped me put on my socks and shoes, as I was still moving in slow motion.
It was beginning to dawn on me what I'd been through the night before, and while I was still intimidated, I was resentful enough to develop an attitude, though it was meek compared to what I'd have displayed had I been feeling like the "real me".
Once I finished eating my snacks, all I remember is wanting to go home. I know I said this to the apartment manager as emphatically as I could. I had my shoes on now, and I was ready to leave, to walk home if necessary. Had I been my normal self, I'd have simply walked out of the unit and out of the complex without even stating my intention. I'd certainly have felt no need to ask permission. With new energy inside me from the juice and cookies, I was pissed off, though I still did not have nearly enough strength to fully express it.
What I did was just to tell the young woman, flatly, that "I want to go home".
I have a specific, visceral memory of her reply, Ann. She told me, "you can't go home yet, because there are some people here who want to talk to you. You can't leave until they say so".
She didn't say anything about who they were. At that point I became pretty sullen. I may have asked "why"? or "who are they"?, but if I did I don't remember. What I do recall is being directed by this young woman, the manager, to come outside, to leave the unit and sit by the pool to wait for the "people" who wanted to talk to me. "They are in the office", she told me, meaning the business office of the apartment complex. She said they would be with me in a few minutes.
I remember it being longer than that : thirty to forty five minutes or more, and I remember growing impatient and more resentful as the minutes passed. The terrible night was over; I had survived it. I was an adult, 29 years old, and who the hell were these "people" - whoever they were - to tell me I couldn't leave the premises and go home?
Finally, they were going to come out of the business office and talk to me. I remember the manager telling me to go sit at a nearby table that had a metal umbrella awning. This was right next to the pool which was centrally located in the courtyard. I sat down, and a few moments later two men came out of the office and walked around the pool to join me. They sat down at the table, and it was clear that they were with a government agency.
My guess is that they were FBI, but I don't know for certain. I have no visual memory of how they looked or what they wore, though I am certain they were casually dressed rather than in suits, and may have even worn the kind of nylon jackets associated with FBI agents engaged in a field action. This is how I picture them now, rather than as black suited Washington DC types. They looked like "dudes", but "Official Dudes", and they had the immediate Command Presence of high level authority that I would come to recognize in other officials as the days passed, though in their meeting with me they approached me at first with restraint.
I don't recall them ever identifying themselves to me, and though they might have, in hindsight - because no other authority figures ever identified themselves to me throughout the course of the twelve day event - I would wager that my memory is correct and that these two casually dressed men did not identify themselves either.
One man spoke, his demeanor was low key but very serious. I remember him asking me : "Do you remember what you saw last night"? That quote is close to verbatim. I don't recall what my answer was because my attitude was gaining strength. The man continued to question me about my memory of the preceding night, but I don't remember his other questions or my responses. I was only focused on wanting to leave and though I was not anti-authority, nor have I ever been someone who walks around with a bad attitude, I certainly did not appreciate these guys being so cryptic with me, instead of coming right out and saying what it was they wanted. This feeling was made exponential by all that I'd suffered already.
I thought to myself :"Who are these men and why won't they let me leave"?! I probably restated my desire to go home.
I remember leaning over the metal table with my head down, to show my frustration. The morning was hot and the temperature would soon be rising to a sweltering day. These guys in the nylon jackets now pushed a form in front of me.
Ann, please pay special attention here. I ask this favor of you because it took me twenty six years to remember this fact : The spokesman of the duo gave me this form that he wanted me to sign.
I will never forget his words, and this is verbatim : "We can't protect you unless you do".
Under ordinary circumstances, I've have asked him what he meant. "Protect me from whom"?
But I didn't ask, at least not that I can remember. Instead, I may have asked "if I sign it can I go home"?, but what I remember for certain is that he said, verbatim, "I strongly urge you to sign it". He then added that I should take my time, "and make sure to read every line very carefully before you sign your name".
It was a government form, with a form number printed in an upper corner and line items that were also numbered (1, 2, 3.....9,10, 11, etc.) I am certain the form was either double sided or consisted of two pages. There were at least 15-20 line items in total.
Each numbered item contained a statement of oath, such as "I will not disclose to any person (what I have witnessed, etc)" and a concluding paragraph stated that there would be a penalty for violations of such an infraction. There may have been a line item that listed a prison sentence as a possible consequence. The legal wording would have been something along the lines of "punishable by", as in "punishable by up to twenty years in Federal prison" if I violated the terms of the line items on this form, which was a non-disclosure agreement. "Punishable by" - as if I hadn't been punished enough already.
I did read over each numbered line item in the form, just as the government agent requested. I knew it was a serious agreement, but I was very angry at that point, feeling like I'd been forced into singing. I hadn't been, but the feeling of "sign or else" was nevertheless hanging in the air. I told the man I didn't feel comfortable singing the form, but both agents quietly intimidated me further, and as defeated as I'd already become in the previous 16 hours, I ended up signing their form without giving it further thought.
They had told me they needed me to sign, so that they could "protect me". The spokesman urged me to sign, and gave me a look like I'd better do so. So I did, I signed the form, because I just wanted to go home. It was now at least Noon. I wanted to be done with these men from the government, who I don't believe identified themselves to me, and who wouldn't allow me to leave the premises of the apartment complex, even though I'd done nothing wrong.
Indeed; I'd been the victim the previous night, and here were these men, treating me as if I were a citizen in some foreign dictatorship. To be fair, they did not put overt pressure on me, did not raise their voices, made no threats and may have discussed more of the situation with me than I can remember. However, it is certain that they were cryptic, and because of that, they were less than helpful to me. They gave me no specific information on what I'd been through, or why it had happened, and they didn't identify themselves so far as I can remember. All they did was to push me into signing their form.
And I did sign it, though I wouldn't remember doing so until 2015.
(to be continued tomorrow)
I woke up in the empty apartment feeling groggy and disoriented. It was now the morning of September 2nd, 1989, a Saturday. I'm not sure what time it was, but I'd guess it was later in the morning, maybe 10am. Sunlight streaked through the plastic window slats. In hindsight I think this provided me with a sense of reassurance, though I wouldn't have been actively aware of that feeling. It would have been peripheral, just a general sense that it was a new day and I'd made it through the horror of the previous night, though at the moment I awoke I don't believe I was fully aware of all that had happened.
I remember a knock on the door, and then it opened. It was the apartment manager, and in fact it may have been her knocking that woke me. She walked in, all bright and cheery but cautious.
"Are you awake"?, she asked. As I stated, I was either just then waking or had done so no more than five minutes previous. I think she asked how I was doing, but what I specifically remember is that she asked me if I wanted anything to eat or drink. I said yes, and she left the apartment and returned with a small carton of orange juice and a snack sized package of cookies or muffins. I also remember that she wanted me to get up, and after I finished eating she helped me put on my socks and shoes, as I was still moving in slow motion.
It was beginning to dawn on me what I'd been through the night before, and while I was still intimidated, I was resentful enough to develop an attitude, though it was meek compared to what I'd have displayed had I been feeling like the "real me".
Once I finished eating my snacks, all I remember is wanting to go home. I know I said this to the apartment manager as emphatically as I could. I had my shoes on now, and I was ready to leave, to walk home if necessary. Had I been my normal self, I'd have simply walked out of the unit and out of the complex without even stating my intention. I'd certainly have felt no need to ask permission. With new energy inside me from the juice and cookies, I was pissed off, though I still did not have nearly enough strength to fully express it.
What I did was just to tell the young woman, flatly, that "I want to go home".
I have a specific, visceral memory of her reply, Ann. She told me, "you can't go home yet, because there are some people here who want to talk to you. You can't leave until they say so".
She didn't say anything about who they were. At that point I became pretty sullen. I may have asked "why"? or "who are they"?, but if I did I don't remember. What I do recall is being directed by this young woman, the manager, to come outside, to leave the unit and sit by the pool to wait for the "people" who wanted to talk to me. "They are in the office", she told me, meaning the business office of the apartment complex. She said they would be with me in a few minutes.
I remember it being longer than that : thirty to forty five minutes or more, and I remember growing impatient and more resentful as the minutes passed. The terrible night was over; I had survived it. I was an adult, 29 years old, and who the hell were these "people" - whoever they were - to tell me I couldn't leave the premises and go home?
Finally, they were going to come out of the business office and talk to me. I remember the manager telling me to go sit at a nearby table that had a metal umbrella awning. This was right next to the pool which was centrally located in the courtyard. I sat down, and a few moments later two men came out of the office and walked around the pool to join me. They sat down at the table, and it was clear that they were with a government agency.
My guess is that they were FBI, but I don't know for certain. I have no visual memory of how they looked or what they wore, though I am certain they were casually dressed rather than in suits, and may have even worn the kind of nylon jackets associated with FBI agents engaged in a field action. This is how I picture them now, rather than as black suited Washington DC types. They looked like "dudes", but "Official Dudes", and they had the immediate Command Presence of high level authority that I would come to recognize in other officials as the days passed, though in their meeting with me they approached me at first with restraint.
I don't recall them ever identifying themselves to me, and though they might have, in hindsight - because no other authority figures ever identified themselves to me throughout the course of the twelve day event - I would wager that my memory is correct and that these two casually dressed men did not identify themselves either.
One man spoke, his demeanor was low key but very serious. I remember him asking me : "Do you remember what you saw last night"? That quote is close to verbatim. I don't recall what my answer was because my attitude was gaining strength. The man continued to question me about my memory of the preceding night, but I don't remember his other questions or my responses. I was only focused on wanting to leave and though I was not anti-authority, nor have I ever been someone who walks around with a bad attitude, I certainly did not appreciate these guys being so cryptic with me, instead of coming right out and saying what it was they wanted. This feeling was made exponential by all that I'd suffered already.
I thought to myself :"Who are these men and why won't they let me leave"?! I probably restated my desire to go home.
I remember leaning over the metal table with my head down, to show my frustration. The morning was hot and the temperature would soon be rising to a sweltering day. These guys in the nylon jackets now pushed a form in front of me.
Ann, please pay special attention here. I ask this favor of you because it took me twenty six years to remember this fact : The spokesman of the duo gave me this form that he wanted me to sign.
I will never forget his words, and this is verbatim : "We can't protect you unless you do".
Under ordinary circumstances, I've have asked him what he meant. "Protect me from whom"?
But I didn't ask, at least not that I can remember. Instead, I may have asked "if I sign it can I go home"?, but what I remember for certain is that he said, verbatim, "I strongly urge you to sign it". He then added that I should take my time, "and make sure to read every line very carefully before you sign your name".
It was a government form, with a form number printed in an upper corner and line items that were also numbered (1, 2, 3.....9,10, 11, etc.) I am certain the form was either double sided or consisted of two pages. There were at least 15-20 line items in total.
Each numbered item contained a statement of oath, such as "I will not disclose to any person (what I have witnessed, etc)" and a concluding paragraph stated that there would be a penalty for violations of such an infraction. There may have been a line item that listed a prison sentence as a possible consequence. The legal wording would have been something along the lines of "punishable by", as in "punishable by up to twenty years in Federal prison" if I violated the terms of the line items on this form, which was a non-disclosure agreement. "Punishable by" - as if I hadn't been punished enough already.
I did read over each numbered line item in the form, just as the government agent requested. I knew it was a serious agreement, but I was very angry at that point, feeling like I'd been forced into singing. I hadn't been, but the feeling of "sign or else" was nevertheless hanging in the air. I told the man I didn't feel comfortable singing the form, but both agents quietly intimidated me further, and as defeated as I'd already become in the previous 16 hours, I ended up signing their form without giving it further thought.
They had told me they needed me to sign, so that they could "protect me". The spokesman urged me to sign, and gave me a look like I'd better do so. So I did, I signed the form, because I just wanted to go home. It was now at least Noon. I wanted to be done with these men from the government, who I don't believe identified themselves to me, and who wouldn't allow me to leave the premises of the apartment complex, even though I'd done nothing wrong.
Indeed; I'd been the victim the previous night, and here were these men, treating me as if I were a citizen in some foreign dictatorship. To be fair, they did not put overt pressure on me, did not raise their voices, made no threats and may have discussed more of the situation with me than I can remember. However, it is certain that they were cryptic, and because of that, they were less than helpful to me. They gave me no specific information on what I'd been through, or why it had happened, and they didn't identify themselves so far as I can remember. All they did was to push me into signing their form.
And I did sign it, though I wouldn't remember doing so until 2015.
(to be continued tomorrow)
Sunday, September 8, 2019
Dear Ann (Part Seven)
Dear Ann, Part Seven :
My memory becomes discontinuous after we exited the 7/11 parking lot and drove east on Roscoe Boulevard. We would have passed Northridge Hospital once again, as it is located almost directly across the street from the 7/11, but I don't have that picture in my brain. The blank spot is brief, though, because I know that we were soon back at the Concord Square Apartments on Sherman Way and Lindley Avenue, which is less than a five minute drive from the 7/11.
Here is the next thing I remember. I am standing with you, Ann, at the front entryway to the apartment complex, where the security gate is located as well as the intercom, which lists the names and unit numbers of the tenants. Lys might be standing with us too, but it is you I remember because you are talking with a man in a suit. He is clearly a person of authority but not a policeman. You must have inquired about the nature of the situation, which by now we knew was very serious, but more importantly for you personally, you must have asked him what could be done with me, as no one had been home at my house and I was in no condition to be left alone.
Ann, I will never, ever forget the man's words : "There are still some really bad people out there tonight. We need to keep him in a safe place". That's close to verbatim. He was almost certainly with the FBI, or another federal agency. There was some discussion between the two of you. . He may have asked you again if there was any place you could take me. There wasn't, and I remember that the apartment manager was standing with us after that. She was the same young woman who had "called security" on me earlier that evening, after which the thug showed up at the door of Terry's apartment. Now she was being nice and cooperative with the FBI man. He had a sudden idea.
"Do you have an empty unit we could put him in for the night"?
"Yes", she replied, "I've got one right here". She motioned to an apartment that was only a few feet away, then unlocked the door with her master key. We walked inside, and I remember feeling some unease at this point. I can picture the grey carpeting and the vertical plastic slats that were used in place of drapery to cover the windows and sliding glass door. Before she found the light switch, the only illumination came from the lights outside by the pool, shining in through the slats and emphasizing the vacancy of the unit, which was devoid of furniture. I can picture walking in to this empty apartment and feeling a mixture of fear and relief.
The FBI man spoke : "Would it be okay if we had you stay in here tonight"?
I probably mumbled something in the affirmative, and then he explained again that it wasn't "safe out there" for me, and that spending the night in this unit would be my best option. My memory of this man, and of this segment in which I was placed in the empty apartment, is visceral to this day. I can remember the apartment manager getting together some blankets and pillows for me so I could sleep on the floor, and then I remember everyone leaving and being in there alone, with just the light from the poolside coming in through the window slats as I curled up under the blankets and tried to go to sleep.
By now, the time would have been at least midnight and possibly later.
I was wiped out, yet still on edge mentally.
When my amnesia broke, beginning in 1993, and when my memories really began coming back with great clarity and visceral power in the years 1996 through 1999, I originally had some very strange recollections of things I believed had taken place during the night I spent in the empty apartment.
I believed that I had gotten up at some point during the night and left the apartment, that I had walked out into the courtyard, and that I had looked across the pool and had seen a unit with it's door open, and that I had walked over to that unit, as if I was sleepwalking.
This is a side issue, Ann, because - though it was initially a vivid memory - it only ever existed in "snapshots", brief pictures of what I believed I had seen when I entered that open door apartment.
I will tell you without fear of embarrassment that, in 1999, when the memory first came back, I believed I saw an unusual looking little man in there. Again, the memory was only a snapshot.
Today, in 2019, I cannot say if I exited the empty apartment that night or if I slept inside it the entire time until morning. But there is no doubt that an unusual "little man" would later be involved in an event that took place later during the twelve day duration.
He looked like a person from another planet, not a typical Grey Alien but someone who was likely not human. This person was present later on, without any shadow of a doubt, at a property located at Valerio Street and Wilbur Avenue in Reseda, a location I refer to as the Wilbur Wash due to it's proximity to an offshoot of the L.A. River. An event took place there approximately one week after this night of September 1st that I have been describing to you in this letter. As weird as the first night was, the Wilbur Wash event almost defies belief, and I myself would probably not believe it had I not been there to witness it first hand.
Ann, I am well aware of how crazy it sounds, to tell you that I possibly saw this "man" in the Concord Square apartments during the night I spent in the empty unit, and perhaps I did not see him there.
Maybe it was a dream, or a telepathic vision. I mention it, as always, for the sake of completeness.
(to be continued tomorrow)
My memory becomes discontinuous after we exited the 7/11 parking lot and drove east on Roscoe Boulevard. We would have passed Northridge Hospital once again, as it is located almost directly across the street from the 7/11, but I don't have that picture in my brain. The blank spot is brief, though, because I know that we were soon back at the Concord Square Apartments on Sherman Way and Lindley Avenue, which is less than a five minute drive from the 7/11.
Here is the next thing I remember. I am standing with you, Ann, at the front entryway to the apartment complex, where the security gate is located as well as the intercom, which lists the names and unit numbers of the tenants. Lys might be standing with us too, but it is you I remember because you are talking with a man in a suit. He is clearly a person of authority but not a policeman. You must have inquired about the nature of the situation, which by now we knew was very serious, but more importantly for you personally, you must have asked him what could be done with me, as no one had been home at my house and I was in no condition to be left alone.
Ann, I will never, ever forget the man's words : "There are still some really bad people out there tonight. We need to keep him in a safe place". That's close to verbatim. He was almost certainly with the FBI, or another federal agency. There was some discussion between the two of you. . He may have asked you again if there was any place you could take me. There wasn't, and I remember that the apartment manager was standing with us after that. She was the same young woman who had "called security" on me earlier that evening, after which the thug showed up at the door of Terry's apartment. Now she was being nice and cooperative with the FBI man. He had a sudden idea.
"Do you have an empty unit we could put him in for the night"?
"Yes", she replied, "I've got one right here". She motioned to an apartment that was only a few feet away, then unlocked the door with her master key. We walked inside, and I remember feeling some unease at this point. I can picture the grey carpeting and the vertical plastic slats that were used in place of drapery to cover the windows and sliding glass door. Before she found the light switch, the only illumination came from the lights outside by the pool, shining in through the slats and emphasizing the vacancy of the unit, which was devoid of furniture. I can picture walking in to this empty apartment and feeling a mixture of fear and relief.
The FBI man spoke : "Would it be okay if we had you stay in here tonight"?
I probably mumbled something in the affirmative, and then he explained again that it wasn't "safe out there" for me, and that spending the night in this unit would be my best option. My memory of this man, and of this segment in which I was placed in the empty apartment, is visceral to this day. I can remember the apartment manager getting together some blankets and pillows for me so I could sleep on the floor, and then I remember everyone leaving and being in there alone, with just the light from the poolside coming in through the window slats as I curled up under the blankets and tried to go to sleep.
By now, the time would have been at least midnight and possibly later.
I was wiped out, yet still on edge mentally.
When my amnesia broke, beginning in 1993, and when my memories really began coming back with great clarity and visceral power in the years 1996 through 1999, I originally had some very strange recollections of things I believed had taken place during the night I spent in the empty apartment.
I believed that I had gotten up at some point during the night and left the apartment, that I had walked out into the courtyard, and that I had looked across the pool and had seen a unit with it's door open, and that I had walked over to that unit, as if I was sleepwalking.
This is a side issue, Ann, because - though it was initially a vivid memory - it only ever existed in "snapshots", brief pictures of what I believed I had seen when I entered that open door apartment.
I will tell you without fear of embarrassment that, in 1999, when the memory first came back, I believed I saw an unusual looking little man in there. Again, the memory was only a snapshot.
Today, in 2019, I cannot say if I exited the empty apartment that night or if I slept inside it the entire time until morning. But there is no doubt that an unusual "little man" would later be involved in an event that took place later during the twelve day duration.
He looked like a person from another planet, not a typical Grey Alien but someone who was likely not human. This person was present later on, without any shadow of a doubt, at a property located at Valerio Street and Wilbur Avenue in Reseda, a location I refer to as the Wilbur Wash due to it's proximity to an offshoot of the L.A. River. An event took place there approximately one week after this night of September 1st that I have been describing to you in this letter. As weird as the first night was, the Wilbur Wash event almost defies belief, and I myself would probably not believe it had I not been there to witness it first hand.
Ann, I am well aware of how crazy it sounds, to tell you that I possibly saw this "man" in the Concord Square apartments during the night I spent in the empty unit, and perhaps I did not see him there.
Maybe it was a dream, or a telepathic vision. I mention it, as always, for the sake of completeness.
(to be continued tomorrow)
Saturday, September 7, 2019
Dear Ann (Part Six)
Dear Ann, Part Six :
Okay Ann, so we had left my house after finding no one there, and now we were traveling south on Reseda Boulevard from the intersection of Rayen Street. To reiterate, the occupants of the car were you, Lys, myself, and Mary the driver. I have assumed over the years that after leaving my house, we were driving south in order to go back to Concord Square. That is where we ended up, and I suppose that we went back there at the very least so that you and Lys could get back to your own cars. I don't think there was a plan for what to do with me, but I imagine the decision was made to go back to the apartment house, where your cars were parked, to at least have a place to regroup.
However, on the way there, as we drove down Reseda Boulevard, we saw something that shocked us to our respective cores. I am sure, Ann, that if you remember the overall experience of that night, then you cannot have forgotten what I am about to describe.
We were driving on Reseda toward Roscoe Boulevard. Northridge Hospital is located on Roscoe just east of that intersection. The time by now would have been at least 11pm and possibly later, considering everything that had transpired to that point. Everyone in our car was on edge. I was still feeling weak and far less than 100%, despite the adrenaline jolt from the confrontation with Howard Schaller, but I was once again snapped to attention because, as we came within 200 yards of the Reseda/Roscoe intersection, it was clear that something wasn't right. Things happen fast when you are driving, and all of a sudden we could see that the intersection was blocked off. I don't remember if it was marked with traffic cones, or flares, or just blocked by police cars, but it was blocked off from all four directions to form a large square in the middle.
We came upon this situation very suddenly, and it seemed even more sudden because we weren't expecting it. It felt like it came out of nowhere. I will never forget it as long as I live.
A split second after we saw that the intersection was blocked, we heard an unmistakable noise. I looked up to see a helicopter hovering above the intersection at an altitude of less than 100 feet. It looked like it was attempting to land right in the middle of the area that had been blocked off, but it was doing so very slowly, to avoid electrical wires.
We had the unfortunate timing to arrive at the intersection just as this was happening, and I remember the ladies in the car becoming very startled and unnerved. "Keep going"!, someone shouted, most likely Lys.
"Drive around it, drive around it"!!
Memories that derive from a certain location may be the most powerful of all, in their ability to be recollected. Think of the old saying, "Can you remember where you were when (insert a historical event here)". Most people can remember where they were when a life changing or unusual event took place or was announced on the news.
I first remembered this startling encounter with the helicopter sometime around 1999 or 2000, and my recall was triggered by literally driving the same route. It is a route I must have driven hundreds if not thousands of times in my life, but maybe on that day I was thinking about the events of September 1989, and all of a sudden, as I approached Roscoe Boulevard, I experienced a "visual replay" of the memory that was triggered by the yellow lines that separate the two directions of traffic.
This is one of my strongest memories of the entire twelve day experience, and to this day, if I call it up when driving past that intersection, it will play back like a movie.
Everything happened "split-second" once we saw that the intersection was blocked. In the next instant, we heard the noise and looked up to see a helicopter hovering over the street, trying to land. Imagine how bad that would freak a person out if they came upon it suddenly, late at night. Well Ann, you were there so you know what I mean. All of us in the car were already freaked out, and after Lys screamed at Mary to "Keep going! Drive around it", that is exactly what Mary did. I remembered this with extreme clarity on the day I drove past the intersection sometime in 1999.
All of a sudden, without thinking, Mary swerved the car, over the double yellow line and onto the wrong side of the street. Luckily it was late at night and no cars were coming. The intersection was within 50 yards by now and the helicopter was lower, near to the ground and just to our right.. Without stopping, she drove from the wrong side of the street into the exit ramp of the 7/11 store that stands on the northeast corner of the intersection. She drove through the small parking lot without pausing and exited through the entry ramp onto Roscoe Boulevard. The street was empty that late at night, and we then drove east on Roscoe, having no other choice.
As you will remember, Ann, everyone in the car was totally spooked by now. From my own perspective, I was still "in shock", a subjective term that I describe as a feeling of being "inside myself", and so I may not have been responding to the stimuli in the same vocal way as were the three ladies in the car, but I was well aware that something very unusual was taking place, and that it had now become extremely weird in addition to being scary, amplified even past the point of our encounter with Howard Schaller, because all of a sudden the situation had become something much bigger. We knew instinctively, in the seconds that passed during the sighting of the helicopter, that it's presence was related to the events of that night, and we were terrified, wondering what could possibly happen next.
Mary drove us through the 7/11 parking lot on pure instinct and hightened awareness, swerving to the wrong side of the road automatically as one would do to avoid an accident.
Since my memory of that incident came back in 1999, I have not only never forgotten it, and can replay it at will, but I use it to bolster other location memories that are not quite as vivid. It is easy, as an amnesia victim, to second guess something that, on your first instinct, you knew to be true. But when you receive a location memory as powerful as this one, that re-establishes what actually happened so that it is indelible forever after, it reinforces your trust in everything else you have recalled.
I have a saying, Ann, that I tell myself about certain aspects of the 1989 event, specific but highly unusual details that are not as strong in memory as what I have described to you tonight. About an unusual detail that is still foggy, I will first ask myself, "did that really happen"? Then I remind myself of all the very unusual things I know for certain did happen, incidents that remain visceral in memory, and I conclude that it is very likely, considering all the weirdness in total, that the "foggy" memory I am questioning did indeed happen as well. After all, I tell myself : "why would my mind concoct that"? That is my little saying regarding strange memories that aren't as vivid.
And I know that, 9 times out of 10, or even 99 times out of 100, my mind would not concoct a memory that seems strange, first of all because I am a clear thinker with an acute attention for detail, secondly because I have an excellent memory to begin with, and finally because it is an absolute fact that all of us saw the helicopter hovering above the intersection of Roscoe and Reseda Boulevards, late on the night of September 1st, 1989, and we knew subconsciously at the moment we saw it that it had to do with what had begun at Concord Square, and that whatever the situation had been up to that point, it had now become a whole lot weirder, totally confusing, and much more frightening.
(to be continued tomorrow night)
Okay Ann, so we had left my house after finding no one there, and now we were traveling south on Reseda Boulevard from the intersection of Rayen Street. To reiterate, the occupants of the car were you, Lys, myself, and Mary the driver. I have assumed over the years that after leaving my house, we were driving south in order to go back to Concord Square. That is where we ended up, and I suppose that we went back there at the very least so that you and Lys could get back to your own cars. I don't think there was a plan for what to do with me, but I imagine the decision was made to go back to the apartment house, where your cars were parked, to at least have a place to regroup.
However, on the way there, as we drove down Reseda Boulevard, we saw something that shocked us to our respective cores. I am sure, Ann, that if you remember the overall experience of that night, then you cannot have forgotten what I am about to describe.
We were driving on Reseda toward Roscoe Boulevard. Northridge Hospital is located on Roscoe just east of that intersection. The time by now would have been at least 11pm and possibly later, considering everything that had transpired to that point. Everyone in our car was on edge. I was still feeling weak and far less than 100%, despite the adrenaline jolt from the confrontation with Howard Schaller, but I was once again snapped to attention because, as we came within 200 yards of the Reseda/Roscoe intersection, it was clear that something wasn't right. Things happen fast when you are driving, and all of a sudden we could see that the intersection was blocked off. I don't remember if it was marked with traffic cones, or flares, or just blocked by police cars, but it was blocked off from all four directions to form a large square in the middle.
We came upon this situation very suddenly, and it seemed even more sudden because we weren't expecting it. It felt like it came out of nowhere. I will never forget it as long as I live.
A split second after we saw that the intersection was blocked, we heard an unmistakable noise. I looked up to see a helicopter hovering above the intersection at an altitude of less than 100 feet. It looked like it was attempting to land right in the middle of the area that had been blocked off, but it was doing so very slowly, to avoid electrical wires.
We had the unfortunate timing to arrive at the intersection just as this was happening, and I remember the ladies in the car becoming very startled and unnerved. "Keep going"!, someone shouted, most likely Lys.
"Drive around it, drive around it"!!
Memories that derive from a certain location may be the most powerful of all, in their ability to be recollected. Think of the old saying, "Can you remember where you were when (insert a historical event here)". Most people can remember where they were when a life changing or unusual event took place or was announced on the news.
I first remembered this startling encounter with the helicopter sometime around 1999 or 2000, and my recall was triggered by literally driving the same route. It is a route I must have driven hundreds if not thousands of times in my life, but maybe on that day I was thinking about the events of September 1989, and all of a sudden, as I approached Roscoe Boulevard, I experienced a "visual replay" of the memory that was triggered by the yellow lines that separate the two directions of traffic.
This is one of my strongest memories of the entire twelve day experience, and to this day, if I call it up when driving past that intersection, it will play back like a movie.
Everything happened "split-second" once we saw that the intersection was blocked. In the next instant, we heard the noise and looked up to see a helicopter hovering over the street, trying to land. Imagine how bad that would freak a person out if they came upon it suddenly, late at night. Well Ann, you were there so you know what I mean. All of us in the car were already freaked out, and after Lys screamed at Mary to "Keep going! Drive around it", that is exactly what Mary did. I remembered this with extreme clarity on the day I drove past the intersection sometime in 1999.
All of a sudden, without thinking, Mary swerved the car, over the double yellow line and onto the wrong side of the street. Luckily it was late at night and no cars were coming. The intersection was within 50 yards by now and the helicopter was lower, near to the ground and just to our right.. Without stopping, she drove from the wrong side of the street into the exit ramp of the 7/11 store that stands on the northeast corner of the intersection. She drove through the small parking lot without pausing and exited through the entry ramp onto Roscoe Boulevard. The street was empty that late at night, and we then drove east on Roscoe, having no other choice.
As you will remember, Ann, everyone in the car was totally spooked by now. From my own perspective, I was still "in shock", a subjective term that I describe as a feeling of being "inside myself", and so I may not have been responding to the stimuli in the same vocal way as were the three ladies in the car, but I was well aware that something very unusual was taking place, and that it had now become extremely weird in addition to being scary, amplified even past the point of our encounter with Howard Schaller, because all of a sudden the situation had become something much bigger. We knew instinctively, in the seconds that passed during the sighting of the helicopter, that it's presence was related to the events of that night, and we were terrified, wondering what could possibly happen next.
Mary drove us through the 7/11 parking lot on pure instinct and hightened awareness, swerving to the wrong side of the road automatically as one would do to avoid an accident.
Since my memory of that incident came back in 1999, I have not only never forgotten it, and can replay it at will, but I use it to bolster other location memories that are not quite as vivid. It is easy, as an amnesia victim, to second guess something that, on your first instinct, you knew to be true. But when you receive a location memory as powerful as this one, that re-establishes what actually happened so that it is indelible forever after, it reinforces your trust in everything else you have recalled.
I have a saying, Ann, that I tell myself about certain aspects of the 1989 event, specific but highly unusual details that are not as strong in memory as what I have described to you tonight. About an unusual detail that is still foggy, I will first ask myself, "did that really happen"? Then I remind myself of all the very unusual things I know for certain did happen, incidents that remain visceral in memory, and I conclude that it is very likely, considering all the weirdness in total, that the "foggy" memory I am questioning did indeed happen as well. After all, I tell myself : "why would my mind concoct that"? That is my little saying regarding strange memories that aren't as vivid.
And I know that, 9 times out of 10, or even 99 times out of 100, my mind would not concoct a memory that seems strange, first of all because I am a clear thinker with an acute attention for detail, secondly because I have an excellent memory to begin with, and finally because it is an absolute fact that all of us saw the helicopter hovering above the intersection of Roscoe and Reseda Boulevards, late on the night of September 1st, 1989, and we knew subconsciously at the moment we saw it that it had to do with what had begun at Concord Square, and that whatever the situation had been up to that point, it had now become a whole lot weirder, totally confusing, and much more frightening.
(to be continued tomorrow night)
Friday, September 6, 2019
Dear Ann (Part Five)
Dear Ann, Part Five :
I will now return to the narrative from where I left off, at the point where Howard Schaller was handcuffed by the reluctant policeman. I remember kneeling down on the pavement after that, to see if Lillian was okay. She was not, and in fact she had fainted as I mentioned previously. I have some vague recollections of people gathering around as I knelt next to her in the parking lot. One strong memory is of Terry's mother, standing a few feet away, looking down upon us. She must have remained in the parking lot after Lillian exited her car. She was very nervous as she stood there, seeing us on the ground and knowing that her son was part of the reason we were at the hospital in the first place. I will always remember what she said : "Someday you will be so happy"!
It seems like an unusual thing to blurt out, but that is what my mind retained from the memory of Terry's mother, hovering over Lillian and myself in the Northridge Hospital parking lot. She may have said it as part of a longer utterance, and I suppose it was just her way of "wishing us the best", seeing as how we were both down for the count at the present moment.
I have very vague memories of other people being on the scene, including Dave S. and his brother Gary. In 1998, when my Northridge Hospital memories were first coming bac in detail, my recall of Dave and Gary being present was very strong. It has since faded, but I trust my first impressions, and in any case it makes sense that Dave might have gotten a call that night if he was involved in the Howard Schaller drug deal.
Those memories, of people appearing in the parking lot after the fact, are side issues. I only mention them, Ann, for the sake of completeness. As I stated earlier, nothing could be more important than to tell this story in full, right down to the most minor detail. This is what I am trying to do as far as my memory will allow me.
For many years, my memory became discontinuous after this point. I had an image of your sister and I sort of huddled on the asphalt of the parking lot, and there my recall ended. It wasn't until 2018, only last year, Ann, that I finally remembered that an ambulance was called for Lillian, too.
I thought and thought about it, and I remembered an image of Lillian being given oxygen, laying on a gurney just as I had been earlier in the evening. What brought this recall about was that I seemed to remember a substantial period of time passing before we finally left the parking lot, and as it turned out, this was because you had gotten out of the car and were very concerned about your sister.
You already had me in your charge and now Lillian needed medical attention as well. It took me 29 years to remember that she was taken away in an ambulance herself, but such are the complexities of amnesia, especially when it has been artificially and hypnotically induced. But I clearly remember that an extended period of time passed, because there was no way you were going to leave that parking lot until you knew that Lillian was being attended to by medical personnel.
My next memory is of being back in Mary's car, all four of us including you, Lys and myself. I can visualise us driving east on Rayen Street toward Rathburn Avenue. I may have been giving directions myself at that point, to guide Mary to my house. My guess is that you had no other option than to take me home following the debacle at Northridge Hospital. My memory is fairly strong, Ann, that we pulled up to my house, and you got out to see if anyone was home, but nobody answered the door. The house was silent and empty. At the time, it was likely that I was the only consistent occupant. My Dad had moved into his own apartment in March of 1989, my Mom was often staying at my sister's house in Santa Monica, babysitting her three year old son, and my brother Chris was rarely home and usually staying with his girlfriend in those days. Also, it was Labor Day weekend, a holiday. The house was dark.
To your great credit Ann, you refused to leave me there alone. Though I don't know you well, I can say that you are a nurse in the truest sense of the word. You must have felt a lot of pressure that night, but you never lost your composure. I remember you coming back to the car and saying that we couldn't leave me there, at the house, because nobody was home to look out for me. And so back on the road we went, in search of a solution, and this leads to one of the strongest memories I have of the entire night, the drive that we made back down Reseda Boulevard, heading south, after leaving my house at 9032 Rathburn Avenue. /////
(to be continued tomorrow)
I will now return to the narrative from where I left off, at the point where Howard Schaller was handcuffed by the reluctant policeman. I remember kneeling down on the pavement after that, to see if Lillian was okay. She was not, and in fact she had fainted as I mentioned previously. I have some vague recollections of people gathering around as I knelt next to her in the parking lot. One strong memory is of Terry's mother, standing a few feet away, looking down upon us. She must have remained in the parking lot after Lillian exited her car. She was very nervous as she stood there, seeing us on the ground and knowing that her son was part of the reason we were at the hospital in the first place. I will always remember what she said : "Someday you will be so happy"!
It seems like an unusual thing to blurt out, but that is what my mind retained from the memory of Terry's mother, hovering over Lillian and myself in the Northridge Hospital parking lot. She may have said it as part of a longer utterance, and I suppose it was just her way of "wishing us the best", seeing as how we were both down for the count at the present moment.
I have very vague memories of other people being on the scene, including Dave S. and his brother Gary. In 1998, when my Northridge Hospital memories were first coming bac in detail, my recall of Dave and Gary being present was very strong. It has since faded, but I trust my first impressions, and in any case it makes sense that Dave might have gotten a call that night if he was involved in the Howard Schaller drug deal.
Those memories, of people appearing in the parking lot after the fact, are side issues. I only mention them, Ann, for the sake of completeness. As I stated earlier, nothing could be more important than to tell this story in full, right down to the most minor detail. This is what I am trying to do as far as my memory will allow me.
For many years, my memory became discontinuous after this point. I had an image of your sister and I sort of huddled on the asphalt of the parking lot, and there my recall ended. It wasn't until 2018, only last year, Ann, that I finally remembered that an ambulance was called for Lillian, too.
I thought and thought about it, and I remembered an image of Lillian being given oxygen, laying on a gurney just as I had been earlier in the evening. What brought this recall about was that I seemed to remember a substantial period of time passing before we finally left the parking lot, and as it turned out, this was because you had gotten out of the car and were very concerned about your sister.
You already had me in your charge and now Lillian needed medical attention as well. It took me 29 years to remember that she was taken away in an ambulance herself, but such are the complexities of amnesia, especially when it has been artificially and hypnotically induced. But I clearly remember that an extended period of time passed, because there was no way you were going to leave that parking lot until you knew that Lillian was being attended to by medical personnel.
My next memory is of being back in Mary's car, all four of us including you, Lys and myself. I can visualise us driving east on Rayen Street toward Rathburn Avenue. I may have been giving directions myself at that point, to guide Mary to my house. My guess is that you had no other option than to take me home following the debacle at Northridge Hospital. My memory is fairly strong, Ann, that we pulled up to my house, and you got out to see if anyone was home, but nobody answered the door. The house was silent and empty. At the time, it was likely that I was the only consistent occupant. My Dad had moved into his own apartment in March of 1989, my Mom was often staying at my sister's house in Santa Monica, babysitting her three year old son, and my brother Chris was rarely home and usually staying with his girlfriend in those days. Also, it was Labor Day weekend, a holiday. The house was dark.
To your great credit Ann, you refused to leave me there alone. Though I don't know you well, I can say that you are a nurse in the truest sense of the word. You must have felt a lot of pressure that night, but you never lost your composure. I remember you coming back to the car and saying that we couldn't leave me there, at the house, because nobody was home to look out for me. And so back on the road we went, in search of a solution, and this leads to one of the strongest memories I have of the entire night, the drive that we made back down Reseda Boulevard, heading south, after leaving my house at 9032 Rathburn Avenue. /////
(to be continued tomorrow)
Thursday, September 5, 2019
Dear Ann (Part Four)
Dear Ann, Part Four :
At this point, Ann, I have to divert once again from my narrative to describe something that puzzled me for a very long time. You may be aware that I had amnesia of the entire twelve day event for over four years. Until October 1993 I remembered nothing of what happened, and even at that point it took several more years for the memories I do have to return to me. They came back in bits and pieces, and it took a strenuous effort on my part to place them in a continuous timeframe and make sense of them.
One of the things I have never been able to make sense of, though, was how Howard Schaller knew your sister, or at least knew who she was. I remember feeling a total disconnect at seeing his face at the moment he attacked our car, but because it was such a violent situation, and because of everything else that had happened that night, at the time he confronted Lillian it never occurred to me to ask why.
It wasn't until my memory returned that I asked that question. "Why was Howard Schaller at Northridge Hospital that night, why did he attack our car, and most importantly, why was he after Lillian? How would he have even known her"?
These questions perplexed me to the point of distraction, and finally I had to approach the situation as would a detective. I took into account the common ground of the Northridge Hospital parking lot. Why would Howard be there late on a Friday night, at the same time we were? The answer to that question was obvious : Someone alerted him that we would be there. Well, why would someone call Howard Schaller, of all people, to tell him that we would be at the hospital? Because something had happened that Howard would want to know about. But what could that "something" be, and who in the world could have called him?
Here I must interject again, to relate an encounter that took place earlier in the evening while I was still inside the apartment at Concord Square. The situation was a "domestic dispute". I had gotten loud, and the apartment manager had threatened to "call security", as she put it. I have never heard of apartment houses having security guards, especially back in 1989, but in any case, there was a knock at the door within a short time after she made that threat. Instead of seeing police officers in the doorway, as one would expect in such a situation, instead there were two thugs. These guys were approximately my age, maybe a little younger, 25ish. One resembled a Valley surfer type, and the other guy looked tough : fat, with jeans and a t-shirt, wallet chain, balding, hard demeanor and scary. He wasted no time.
"Who's the asshole causing the problem"?, he wanted to know.
Terry, the tenant of the apartment (and also the guy who later rode to the hospital in the Mercedes with his mother), pointed to me.
"C'mere, asshole", the thug said to me.
This was actually the first situation in the entire twelve days where I was terrified. There would be many more, and worse, but up until this brute came to the door of Terry's apartment, the situation inside had only involved an argument between three people.
I was very frightened of this guy, so I did as he told me. I walked to the door. There, he immediately grabbed me by the shoulder with one hand and pulled me out onto the doorstep. Then, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a switchblade knife, flicked it and stuck the point about a half inch from my stomach. That was the first time I thought I was going to die. The encounter with this "security" thug is much more detailed and ended up involving Terry (the tenant) and your sister, who the thug chewed out after letting me go. When my memory came back, I asked myself several questions.
If you are an apartment manager, why would you call a thuggish criminal-type to quell a domestic dispute, instead of calling the police? The only answer that made any sense to me was that the apartment manager must have had something to hide. Why else would she not call the police?
This conclusion led me to resolve another more important question : How did Howard Schaller know we would be at Northridge Hospital? The only answer that made sense to me was that the thug called him. He looked like the kind of guy who would know someone like Howard, and if he was sent to Terry's apartment by the manager in order to quell the disturbance and keep it "in house", so as not to involve the police, then he surely would have been part of a larger, secretive situation involving the apartment, or at least the people in it, or at the very least he would have been sent on behalf of Howard Schaller. And so my answer to the above question was that the thug called Howard Schaller and told him that something had gone wrong at Concord Square, that there had been a loud disturbance, and that whatever secret was being hidden there was in jeopardy. He told Howard that we had left for the hospital, and may have noted that Lillian and Terry followed us in Terry's mother's car.
Howard then raced over to Northridge Hospital, Ann, to confront your sister.
I only made these connections many years later, perhaps around the years 1998-2000, but even then, I still couldn't understand how Howard knew Lillian. I thought it must have something to do with drugs, and I pored over it again and again and again. Howard is a drug dealer, but Lillian doesn't do drugs.
It just didn't make any sense.
And Ann, I will wind my way out of this diversion now, by telling you that it wasn't until 2015, twenty six years after the fact, that I finally found a semblance of an answer that made any logical sense.
I know it is not easy to read, but the real problem is not that I am telling it to you now, but that it has been kept secret for so long. You may even know the totality of the secret; I do not, but at any rate, as far as I am concerned, there could only be one reason Howard Schaller was at Northridge Hospital that night, why he was so enraged and why he attacked our car, and why he singled out your sister.
She must have been involved with him in a drug deal. I'm sorry Ann, but there is no other possible conclusion.
Now, the most perplexing question of all, the one that took me 26 years to figure out, was how could this possibly have come about? Lillian was not a drug user. She was, however, an adventurous person, one who, in hindsight, took chances. She once told me that she scored cocaine for the guys in Cheap Trick, her favorite band. That is no big deal and nothing for me to judge, I was a drug user for the entire time we were together. But with Lillian, she kept things under wraps. With me, my behavior was out in the open, but with Lilly, she had the appearance of an honor roll college student (which she was), but on the side she very likely had gotten involved, by 1989, in some situations that were very dangerous. I still don't know the extent of them, because she kept them secret and won't talk about them to this day, but as far as Howard Schaller was concerned, there can be no doubt, looking back, that she was involved in some sort of drug deal with him, and the reason Howard came to Northridge Hospital was to confront Lillian because the "security thug" at the apartment building had called him and told him that the disturbance we had created had put his deal, or his money or whatever - maybe the possibility of him getting arrested - in jeopardy.
Finally, Ann, I asked myself again : how in the world could Lillian have known Howard Schaller? Yes, I had known him, but I'd never introduced him to Lilly and by 1989 I hadn't seen him or had any contact with him for more than seven years.
But then, in 2015, I considered my late friend Dave S. Dave was my best friend from 1979 until he passed away in 2008. When I began taking meth in 1979, Dave wanted in on it, and by 1982 we were making weekly trips to Howard Schaller's house in Canoga Park. I would go inside the house to make the purchase, Dave would wait in the car, but he knew where Howard lived. We went to his house weekly for a whole year.
Much more importantly, sometime around 1988, Dave called me to say "you won't believe who just came into the shop"! Dave worked at Mr. B's Flowers in Canoga Park. Of course, he told me that it was Howard Schaller who had come in. Howard's house was located just two blocks away. Dave hinted to me that Howard might be "selling" to employees in the flower shop, and I later figured that might include Dave himself.
What I figured was that Dave must have introduced himself as a friend of mine when Howard came into the shop, and thereafter maintained his own connection to Howard. Dave loved speed, just as I did, but he never wanted to quit using it.
And Ann, here is the bottom line : I believe that your sister had a double life going on. I believe that in addition to being a straight-A student, she also had her rock n' roll life happening, which included a lot of nights out in Hollywood and hanging out with her favorite band Cheap Trick. I still cannot pinpoint how her desire for a quantity of drugs may have arisen, but there is no doubt that she needed or wanted to make a purchase, most likely of cocaine (because most rock stars and partiers don't use meth), and I believe that because she didn't know where to get ahold of drugs, she asked the only person besides myself who she knew was a user - my friend Dave - if he could help her to get what she wanted.
She would have asked Dave to please keep it a secret - "don't let Adam know", and he would have been cut in on the deal, as would have Terry, who undoubtedly knew the secret as well.
As I say, Ann, to this day I have no idea why Lillian would have entered into a drug deal with Howard Schaller, unless it was to impress some rockers she knew, or for some other risk-taking purpose. Lillian's "other side" liked risk. And the only way she could have come in contact with Howard Schaller was through Dave, my best friend who knew Howard through me, and who had come into contact with him again in 1988 via Mr. B's Flower Shop, which was located around the corner from Howard's house.
It took me 26 years to figure all of that out, Ann, but it's gotta be the truth, or very close to it. And Howard came to Northridge Hospital that night because he was alerted by the "security thug" who came to the door of Terry's apartment. The thug knew Howard, was involved with him, called to tell him that we went to the hospital, and there he was, attacking out car and singling out your sister, who he felt had caused the problem.
The truth is that Howard was a violent criminal and Lillian should never have gotten involved with him. But just like the Manson girls, she was under a very bad influence at that time of her life, and whatever it was, I know nothing about it to this day. I am glad she got out from under it, and that her life has been a success, but Ann I must say that whatever she was involved in had a profound effect on my life.
After that first night, I was at the center of continuing violence, violence that was directed at me for eleven more days, that resulted from the situation that began that first night at the apartment building. I became the chosen victim, to be punished for whatever criminal situation it was that had been disrupted, and my life has never been the same since. /////
I will continue with my narrative tomorrow night.
At this point, Ann, I have to divert once again from my narrative to describe something that puzzled me for a very long time. You may be aware that I had amnesia of the entire twelve day event for over four years. Until October 1993 I remembered nothing of what happened, and even at that point it took several more years for the memories I do have to return to me. They came back in bits and pieces, and it took a strenuous effort on my part to place them in a continuous timeframe and make sense of them.
One of the things I have never been able to make sense of, though, was how Howard Schaller knew your sister, or at least knew who she was. I remember feeling a total disconnect at seeing his face at the moment he attacked our car, but because it was such a violent situation, and because of everything else that had happened that night, at the time he confronted Lillian it never occurred to me to ask why.
It wasn't until my memory returned that I asked that question. "Why was Howard Schaller at Northridge Hospital that night, why did he attack our car, and most importantly, why was he after Lillian? How would he have even known her"?
These questions perplexed me to the point of distraction, and finally I had to approach the situation as would a detective. I took into account the common ground of the Northridge Hospital parking lot. Why would Howard be there late on a Friday night, at the same time we were? The answer to that question was obvious : Someone alerted him that we would be there. Well, why would someone call Howard Schaller, of all people, to tell him that we would be at the hospital? Because something had happened that Howard would want to know about. But what could that "something" be, and who in the world could have called him?
Here I must interject again, to relate an encounter that took place earlier in the evening while I was still inside the apartment at Concord Square. The situation was a "domestic dispute". I had gotten loud, and the apartment manager had threatened to "call security", as she put it. I have never heard of apartment houses having security guards, especially back in 1989, but in any case, there was a knock at the door within a short time after she made that threat. Instead of seeing police officers in the doorway, as one would expect in such a situation, instead there were two thugs. These guys were approximately my age, maybe a little younger, 25ish. One resembled a Valley surfer type, and the other guy looked tough : fat, with jeans and a t-shirt, wallet chain, balding, hard demeanor and scary. He wasted no time.
"Who's the asshole causing the problem"?, he wanted to know.
Terry, the tenant of the apartment (and also the guy who later rode to the hospital in the Mercedes with his mother), pointed to me.
"C'mere, asshole", the thug said to me.
This was actually the first situation in the entire twelve days where I was terrified. There would be many more, and worse, but up until this brute came to the door of Terry's apartment, the situation inside had only involved an argument between three people.
I was very frightened of this guy, so I did as he told me. I walked to the door. There, he immediately grabbed me by the shoulder with one hand and pulled me out onto the doorstep. Then, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a switchblade knife, flicked it and stuck the point about a half inch from my stomach. That was the first time I thought I was going to die. The encounter with this "security" thug is much more detailed and ended up involving Terry (the tenant) and your sister, who the thug chewed out after letting me go. When my memory came back, I asked myself several questions.
If you are an apartment manager, why would you call a thuggish criminal-type to quell a domestic dispute, instead of calling the police? The only answer that made any sense to me was that the apartment manager must have had something to hide. Why else would she not call the police?
This conclusion led me to resolve another more important question : How did Howard Schaller know we would be at Northridge Hospital? The only answer that made sense to me was that the thug called him. He looked like the kind of guy who would know someone like Howard, and if he was sent to Terry's apartment by the manager in order to quell the disturbance and keep it "in house", so as not to involve the police, then he surely would have been part of a larger, secretive situation involving the apartment, or at least the people in it, or at the very least he would have been sent on behalf of Howard Schaller. And so my answer to the above question was that the thug called Howard Schaller and told him that something had gone wrong at Concord Square, that there had been a loud disturbance, and that whatever secret was being hidden there was in jeopardy. He told Howard that we had left for the hospital, and may have noted that Lillian and Terry followed us in Terry's mother's car.
Howard then raced over to Northridge Hospital, Ann, to confront your sister.
I only made these connections many years later, perhaps around the years 1998-2000, but even then, I still couldn't understand how Howard knew Lillian. I thought it must have something to do with drugs, and I pored over it again and again and again. Howard is a drug dealer, but Lillian doesn't do drugs.
It just didn't make any sense.
And Ann, I will wind my way out of this diversion now, by telling you that it wasn't until 2015, twenty six years after the fact, that I finally found a semblance of an answer that made any logical sense.
I know it is not easy to read, but the real problem is not that I am telling it to you now, but that it has been kept secret for so long. You may even know the totality of the secret; I do not, but at any rate, as far as I am concerned, there could only be one reason Howard Schaller was at Northridge Hospital that night, why he was so enraged and why he attacked our car, and why he singled out your sister.
She must have been involved with him in a drug deal. I'm sorry Ann, but there is no other possible conclusion.
Now, the most perplexing question of all, the one that took me 26 years to figure out, was how could this possibly have come about? Lillian was not a drug user. She was, however, an adventurous person, one who, in hindsight, took chances. She once told me that she scored cocaine for the guys in Cheap Trick, her favorite band. That is no big deal and nothing for me to judge, I was a drug user for the entire time we were together. But with Lillian, she kept things under wraps. With me, my behavior was out in the open, but with Lilly, she had the appearance of an honor roll college student (which she was), but on the side she very likely had gotten involved, by 1989, in some situations that were very dangerous. I still don't know the extent of them, because she kept them secret and won't talk about them to this day, but as far as Howard Schaller was concerned, there can be no doubt, looking back, that she was involved in some sort of drug deal with him, and the reason Howard came to Northridge Hospital was to confront Lillian because the "security thug" at the apartment building had called him and told him that the disturbance we had created had put his deal, or his money or whatever - maybe the possibility of him getting arrested - in jeopardy.
Finally, Ann, I asked myself again : how in the world could Lillian have known Howard Schaller? Yes, I had known him, but I'd never introduced him to Lilly and by 1989 I hadn't seen him or had any contact with him for more than seven years.
But then, in 2015, I considered my late friend Dave S. Dave was my best friend from 1979 until he passed away in 2008. When I began taking meth in 1979, Dave wanted in on it, and by 1982 we were making weekly trips to Howard Schaller's house in Canoga Park. I would go inside the house to make the purchase, Dave would wait in the car, but he knew where Howard lived. We went to his house weekly for a whole year.
Much more importantly, sometime around 1988, Dave called me to say "you won't believe who just came into the shop"! Dave worked at Mr. B's Flowers in Canoga Park. Of course, he told me that it was Howard Schaller who had come in. Howard's house was located just two blocks away. Dave hinted to me that Howard might be "selling" to employees in the flower shop, and I later figured that might include Dave himself.
What I figured was that Dave must have introduced himself as a friend of mine when Howard came into the shop, and thereafter maintained his own connection to Howard. Dave loved speed, just as I did, but he never wanted to quit using it.
And Ann, here is the bottom line : I believe that your sister had a double life going on. I believe that in addition to being a straight-A student, she also had her rock n' roll life happening, which included a lot of nights out in Hollywood and hanging out with her favorite band Cheap Trick. I still cannot pinpoint how her desire for a quantity of drugs may have arisen, but there is no doubt that she needed or wanted to make a purchase, most likely of cocaine (because most rock stars and partiers don't use meth), and I believe that because she didn't know where to get ahold of drugs, she asked the only person besides myself who she knew was a user - my friend Dave - if he could help her to get what she wanted.
She would have asked Dave to please keep it a secret - "don't let Adam know", and he would have been cut in on the deal, as would have Terry, who undoubtedly knew the secret as well.
As I say, Ann, to this day I have no idea why Lillian would have entered into a drug deal with Howard Schaller, unless it was to impress some rockers she knew, or for some other risk-taking purpose. Lillian's "other side" liked risk. And the only way she could have come in contact with Howard Schaller was through Dave, my best friend who knew Howard through me, and who had come into contact with him again in 1988 via Mr. B's Flower Shop, which was located around the corner from Howard's house.
It took me 26 years to figure all of that out, Ann, but it's gotta be the truth, or very close to it. And Howard came to Northridge Hospital that night because he was alerted by the "security thug" who came to the door of Terry's apartment. The thug knew Howard, was involved with him, called to tell him that we went to the hospital, and there he was, attacking out car and singling out your sister, who he felt had caused the problem.
The truth is that Howard was a violent criminal and Lillian should never have gotten involved with him. But just like the Manson girls, she was under a very bad influence at that time of her life, and whatever it was, I know nothing about it to this day. I am glad she got out from under it, and that her life has been a success, but Ann I must say that whatever she was involved in had a profound effect on my life.
After that first night, I was at the center of continuing violence, violence that was directed at me for eleven more days, that resulted from the situation that began that first night at the apartment building. I became the chosen victim, to be punished for whatever criminal situation it was that had been disrupted, and my life has never been the same since. /////
I will continue with my narrative tomorrow night.
Wednesday, September 4, 2019
King Crimson at The Greek Theatre
Tonight I am taking a short break from my "Dear Ann" letter because I went to see King Crimson at The Greek Theatre and my mind is boggled. I have been re-reading each part of "Dear Ann" the following day in order to edit the text, and I must say that so far it is both comprehensive and concise, qualities that I was striving for. I didn't wanna ramble on, because I've written about 1989 many times already, but I also didn't want to inadvertently leave out any details. I wanted it to be "direct and to the point", as if it were a real letter to Ann, which it was originally intended to be. Anyhow, so far I am very happy with the way it is turning out, and that is why I am taking tonight off, because I am distracted by the concert and I don't want the quality of the writing to suffer. I will return to "Dear Ann" tomorrow when I can give it my full attention.
So yeah, the King Crimson show was incredible. I've seen this incarnation of the band three times now, 2014 at The Orpheum, 2017 at The Greek and tonight also at The Greek, and this was the best I've ever seen them. I mean, it's kind of subjective to say that, or even nit-picking, because they have been amazing all three times, but I think that it took Robert Fripp and the band a while to get the "three drummers thing" down. Since 2014, KC is a seven piece band, with three of the pieces being drummers. And not just any drummers : two of them are Pat Mastelotto and Gavin Harrison. Imagine having Neil Peart and John Bonham in the same band, playing at the same time, and then imagine adding one more drummer who is also an ace in his own right.
Would it work?
Or would it be too much?
That's a good question, and you might get a different answer from any Crimson fan you asked. I was a little skeptical when I first heard of this idea, but then I saw KC in 2014 at The Orpheum and the Three Drummers were awesome. Ditto the second time at The Greek two years ago. But in hindsight, after seeing the same lineup this evening, I think that five years down the road they've got the dynamics worked out a little better. The drums may have overpowered the music just a tad the first time around, and the 2017 show suffered just a touch from the sound mix. Again, every show was a "10", but tonight was just extra special, and you could tell by the way it mesmerised you. You weren't watching the drummers thinking, "wow, now they're all playing in different rhythms", or "wow, Mastelotto is going crazy" (because he does that). Tonight, while they played with great power and syncopation (including the third drummer Jeremy Stacy who doubles on keys and doesn't play drums half the time), they blended much better with the music, and as a result the band sounded like a seven piece orchestra rather than four instrumentalists and three drummers all pounding away.
The played a ton of stuff from the classic era, including most of "In The Court Of The Crimson King", which is one of the ten greatest albums ever made. They also played several selections from the KC incarnations of the 1990s, the "Thrak" era. The sound was very good, not quite the perfect mix that Bryan Ferry had the other night, but then he wasn't dealing with three drummers, haha.
Grimsley was there, and so was Pat (known as "Ono" on Facebook). All three of us were in separate seats scattered about The Greek, having taken our own cars, but we had enough time before the show to say hey to one another.
The California Guitar Trio opened the show with a brief but impressive 20 minute set. They are well known around Los Angeles, and maybe elsewhere too, I don't know, but they are three acoustic guitarists who can play Bach's Tocatta and Fugue in D Minor and make it sound almost as mighty as it does on the organ. They were the perfect opener for this show. King Crimson came onstage fifteen minutes after they finished, a totally professional changeover that was much appreciated by Yours Truly, who loves concerts but has to get back to Pearl's quickly once they are over.
So there you have it, a mindblowing King Crimson show, in the 50th year of their existence. Robert Fripp was 23 when the first album was released, Greg Lake was 21. It's all pretty mindboggling when you consider it, all of those English boys in all those bands and the music they created from the early 1960s through the mid-70s.......and that's not even counting the Metal era or the music of the 80s.
Well anyhow. I am currently reading "The Rendlesham Enigma" by Jim Penniston and Gary Osborn. I don't know if you have ever heard of the Rendlesham Forest Ufo incident that took place in England at the Bentwaters Air Force Base in December 1980, but it is an astonishing account that equals and possibly surpasses Roswell in it's clarity of detail and "ring of truth". The reason it blows my mind (and that is happening a lot tonight, haha) is because of what happened to me in 1989. While I wasn't involved in a UFO encounter (to my knowledge), nevertheless many of the same electromagnetic phenomena and military presence was witnessed.
If anyone among the General You was involved in 1989, I cannot recommend this book highly enough. It is the most descriptive and detailed UFO book ever written, and it's the Real Deal. I am excited because I want the story of 1989 to be told. ////
That's all for tonight. I will be back tomorrow to continue the true story I am recounting in "Dear Ann". See you then.
Sleep well with much love sent your way. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo :):)
So yeah, the King Crimson show was incredible. I've seen this incarnation of the band three times now, 2014 at The Orpheum, 2017 at The Greek and tonight also at The Greek, and this was the best I've ever seen them. I mean, it's kind of subjective to say that, or even nit-picking, because they have been amazing all three times, but I think that it took Robert Fripp and the band a while to get the "three drummers thing" down. Since 2014, KC is a seven piece band, with three of the pieces being drummers. And not just any drummers : two of them are Pat Mastelotto and Gavin Harrison. Imagine having Neil Peart and John Bonham in the same band, playing at the same time, and then imagine adding one more drummer who is also an ace in his own right.
Would it work?
Or would it be too much?
That's a good question, and you might get a different answer from any Crimson fan you asked. I was a little skeptical when I first heard of this idea, but then I saw KC in 2014 at The Orpheum and the Three Drummers were awesome. Ditto the second time at The Greek two years ago. But in hindsight, after seeing the same lineup this evening, I think that five years down the road they've got the dynamics worked out a little better. The drums may have overpowered the music just a tad the first time around, and the 2017 show suffered just a touch from the sound mix. Again, every show was a "10", but tonight was just extra special, and you could tell by the way it mesmerised you. You weren't watching the drummers thinking, "wow, now they're all playing in different rhythms", or "wow, Mastelotto is going crazy" (because he does that). Tonight, while they played with great power and syncopation (including the third drummer Jeremy Stacy who doubles on keys and doesn't play drums half the time), they blended much better with the music, and as a result the band sounded like a seven piece orchestra rather than four instrumentalists and three drummers all pounding away.
The played a ton of stuff from the classic era, including most of "In The Court Of The Crimson King", which is one of the ten greatest albums ever made. They also played several selections from the KC incarnations of the 1990s, the "Thrak" era. The sound was very good, not quite the perfect mix that Bryan Ferry had the other night, but then he wasn't dealing with three drummers, haha.
Grimsley was there, and so was Pat (known as "Ono" on Facebook). All three of us were in separate seats scattered about The Greek, having taken our own cars, but we had enough time before the show to say hey to one another.
The California Guitar Trio opened the show with a brief but impressive 20 minute set. They are well known around Los Angeles, and maybe elsewhere too, I don't know, but they are three acoustic guitarists who can play Bach's Tocatta and Fugue in D Minor and make it sound almost as mighty as it does on the organ. They were the perfect opener for this show. King Crimson came onstage fifteen minutes after they finished, a totally professional changeover that was much appreciated by Yours Truly, who loves concerts but has to get back to Pearl's quickly once they are over.
So there you have it, a mindblowing King Crimson show, in the 50th year of their existence. Robert Fripp was 23 when the first album was released, Greg Lake was 21. It's all pretty mindboggling when you consider it, all of those English boys in all those bands and the music they created from the early 1960s through the mid-70s.......and that's not even counting the Metal era or the music of the 80s.
Well anyhow. I am currently reading "The Rendlesham Enigma" by Jim Penniston and Gary Osborn. I don't know if you have ever heard of the Rendlesham Forest Ufo incident that took place in England at the Bentwaters Air Force Base in December 1980, but it is an astonishing account that equals and possibly surpasses Roswell in it's clarity of detail and "ring of truth". The reason it blows my mind (and that is happening a lot tonight, haha) is because of what happened to me in 1989. While I wasn't involved in a UFO encounter (to my knowledge), nevertheless many of the same electromagnetic phenomena and military presence was witnessed.
If anyone among the General You was involved in 1989, I cannot recommend this book highly enough. It is the most descriptive and detailed UFO book ever written, and it's the Real Deal. I am excited because I want the story of 1989 to be told. ////
That's all for tonight. I will be back tomorrow to continue the true story I am recounting in "Dear Ann". See you then.
Sleep well with much love sent your way. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo :):)
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