Sunday, May 15, 2022

SB NEWS-PRESS: THE INVESTIGATOR: LESSONS LEARNED (THUS FAR) FROM THE COVID PANDEMIC

 




https://newspress.com/10-lessons-from-the-pandemic/






One:  Never trust the Communist Chinese leadership. Anyone who still believes that the Covid virus came from a wet market and not the Wuhan Lab is wet-behind-the-ears, batty and brainwashed. The Chinese leadership knew they had a situation on their hands and did nothing to contain it from spreading outside their country, determining perhaps that making the virus a global problem would create an even playing field, economically. 


Two: Do not trust our own government. Those within our numerous bureaucracies spin and outright lie to reach and protect their own institutional objectives and ever-rising budget.


Especially do not trust politicians, most of whom are overly influenced by overpaid K Street lobbyists who advocate for Big Pharma, High Tech and other industries that profited hugely from the pandemic. (Some politicians profit, too, using their insider knowledge to trade on the stock market.)  And now it transpires that lockdown and vaccine promoter Anthony Fauci has been receiving royalties from drug companies over the past ten years. Open the Books just reported that “more than $350 million in royalties were paid by third parties to NIH and NIH scientists.” Furthermore: “Anthony Fauci, the highest paid federal bureaucrat (2021 salary: $456,028) received 23 royalty payments.”


Three: Do not abrogate our needs to any foreign country; do not rely on the importation of what is needed and wanted by the American populace in their pursuit of happiness. Instead, create the right environment for corporate America to produce goods in-country so that we are self-sufficient on everything from foodstuff to oil to automobiles (and their parts) to electronics. Goods will cost more, but it is worth investing in ourselves, not those who resort to slave labor.


Four: Never lock down. The detriments that come from locking down far outweigh the benefits. The economy suffers and people suffer too, especially those folks who buy into the prevailing group fantasy (mass formation psychosis) and become transformed from reasonably intelligent individuals into mouth-foaming anxiety illness disordered sheeple.


Add this: Going into lockdown is lot like checking into a hospital; easy to get in, hard to get out.


However, there was one positive outcome from the lockdown:  Due to stay-at-home schooling via Zoom, parents finally discovered exactly what their children were being taught by radicalized teachers indoctrinated by mandatory “equity training” programs—and now a backlash is underway to expose the rot and take out the garbage.


Five: Masking has almost zero effectiveness against viruses. It is now a proven fact that the residents of states that did not mask up—Idaho, Montana, South Dakota, etc.—had the same number of Covid cases per capita than those who were rabid about masking (California, New York, etc.). N-95 mask may have some minor effect, but its general deployment is not worth frightening the hell out of everyone and causing stress that in turn suppresses the immune system.


Of all the addicts we’ve ever encountered, mask-aholics are the worst. Most of them are sniveling, snarly wokesters who believe everyone should conform to authoritarian dictums. You still see them bicycling or cruising in their cars wearing masks. Here is a message to all those unhappy to abide unmasked passengers and aircrews on planes:  Stay home. If you must go somewhere, drive to your destination. And when you get stung by the exorbitant price of gasoline, repeat after us: “Blundering Biden’s to blame.” 


Six: Governments should never give out free money. It costs society much more down the road than whatever short-term fix it may provide.  Witness 36.2% inflation the first third of 2022. It also opens itself to widespread abuse and criminal fraud, which brings us to…


Seven: PPP loans, one of the worst ideas of all, leading to what is now acknowledged to be the biggest fraud in U.S. history. Supposedly providing so-called “loans” to employees in need (and trusting their employer to distribute accordingly), allowed career criminals and lawyers alike (and employers) to cash in and walk away with hundreds of thousands if not millions of dollars without any checks or audits conducted on those who claimed funds with fraudulent intentions, at society’s overall expense.


True story (we never lie, especially not in this column): Last Saturday evening we were sitting (and trying to mind our own business) next to a couple and their adult son at the bar of a popular downtown SB tavern and we overheard dad explaining to son (actually, boasting and laughing) about how, even though he did not need the money, he’d made a fortune from a PPP “loan.” Even worse, dad (from the New York/New Jersey area) was instructing son, going forward, on the importance of keeping an open eye to such opportunities. 


Add this: We have been investigating a wealthy Montecito resident who tapped PPP for a “loan” (free money) not just once but twice on behalf of employees who, we are informed, did not actually exist. There is a backstory to his alleged fraud, providing it significant context, and the only reason we have not yet published a column (already written) about this is because of social entanglements in our small town. We fear no one, and social entanglements should not matter to a journalist intent on writing the truth. However, in this rare case, we reluctantly deferred to familial sensitivities, though we continue to assess how best to proceed.


Eight: Do not tolerate experimental vaccines from manufacturers that accept no liability and hence no responsibility for negative outcomes, which were far more numerous than the powers-that-be want you to know (devastating data, willfully withheld).


News just in: Researchers at Charite Berlin, one of Europe’s largest hospitals, have determined that Covid vaccinations severely injured over half-a-million Germans. As time passes, and the truth outs, our children and grandchildren will be appalled by what went down in the name of science (or at least Anthony Fauci’s version of “science”).  Yes, the American public has been fooled (again).


Look, if a deadly new virus (man-made in a lab or otherwise) goes airborne, people are going to die, simple as that. Best thing is to identify who is most vulnerable (in the case of Covid, the very elderly, the obese, especially the very elderly and obese with serious secondary health issues) and protect them to the extent that they desire to be protected. In other words, the exact opposite of New York Governor Andrew Cuomo’s fatally flawed policy: Placing the very elderly in assistance living facilities infected with the virus and thereby ensuring certain death. (Again, never trust government, do your own homework, always question authority.)


Nine: Do not ignore therapeutics—such as hydroxychloroquine and Ivermectin—just because government health authorities promote a misguided mandate (vaccination). It is ridiculous, even scandalous, that doctors have found themselves in trouble with the medical establishment for prescribing medications that effectively remedied their Covid-suffering patients. Yet California is now trying to legislate a law demanding that doctors who even discuss so-called “misinformation” with a patient or post on social media will be subject to medical board disciplinary action that may result in the loss of their license.


Ten: Take Vitamin D supplements, especially if you have dark skin and thus cannot absorb D naturally from sunshine. The Feds should have paid for everyone (about $35) to get their Vitamin D measured to ensure they have between 60 and 80 nanograms per millimeter (says our expert) instead of wasting money elsewhere.


 

`           GOVERNMENT INTRUSION


 

We asked a few awakened persons to contribute their own suggestions of lessons learned. 


Here’s one: “It was much easier to propagandize Americans than I ever would have predicted.  Without anywhere close to the personal threats Germans faced for not cooperating with the Nazis, most Americans just lay down their God given freedoms, natural rights, cognitive skills and even their compassion for their own family and neighbors to align themselves with the very factions who want to control and oppress us. The response to the lockdowns was the first clue that the very fiber of our country had changed.  We saw people close their businesses, quit their jobs and relinquish virtually everything that they had worked so hard for with nary a complaint. 


“I learned that many Americans were no longer willing to stand up for themselves in the face of what became more and more obvious to all was outright tyranny.


“Then, there was the Pharma propaganda. On the one hand there were the people who immediately grasped the, shall we politely say, ‘weak science’ behind the jabs, and then there were those who couldn't wait to sign themselves up for the pharmaceutical sacrament. 


“Quickly these jabs fueled a war between free inquiry and slavish compliance, scientific truth and scientific lies, free speech and censorship, and friend versus foe.”  


Hard to disagree with that. Many of us who value our freedom remain awed by how effortless it was for government to unlawfully intrude on our livelihoods and liberties—and into our bodies.


But the more amazing thing was what we learned about our friends and families.


“Many people that you thought you knew you realize you didn't really know.  I am referring to those who feel they had the right to demand others accept a medical jab or felt that they were doing the Lord's work in censoring their neighbors or chortling among themselves in gleeful anticipation of seeing just desserts by wanting to forbid all medical care to those who refused the jab.  I know I speak for others too when I state that these last lessons were the most painful when the ‘good folks’ included one's own family.”


Amen.


And this: “In 25 years of medical practice, I’ve never heard so many physicians casually mention in conversation how they no longer trust NIH, CDC or FDA.”


The sad part (as we wrote in an earlier column) is this: If a vaccine is invented tomorrow that prevents cancer, most people would not believe or trust it due to the incompetence and outright lies of those who produce vaccines then conceal whatever testing data does not fit into a narrative that makes them tremendously rich.


And this, from another source we hold in high regard: “Some doctors maintain that getting the so-called Covid vaccinations and boosters turn the recipients into spreaders. We got invited to a neighborhood New Year’s Eve party, but the inviters said that no one would be allowed who wasn’t vaccinated and boosted. We decided early on that we would not get the RNA-changing vax, so we were disinvited faster than we were invited. All the people invited to the party were vaccinated. Two days later over half of them came down with Covid.”


            

            THE UPSIDE?


 

We believed that the only way the world’s nationalities, faiths and races would unite is when a non-human enemy threatens human existence. Be it an alien threat from outer space or a microscopic plague, humanity only ever comes together when it has a common mortal enemy that must be defeated.


However, any such concept was tragically short-lived with the advent of Mad Vlad’s misguided, unprovoked and brutal invasion of Ukraine. And now that Mr. Putin is humiliated by Ukraine’s resolve, and cornered like a rat, he is fully capable of launching World War III, if only to ensure he is not toppled from within Russia.


Psychopathic Putin aside, perhaps people are now more appreciative of the things they took for granted—the simple pleasures of drinking and eating inside a restaurant with friends or attending a theater or concert hall—and they are kinder, better human beings for it. And perhaps there won’t be as much waste; greater care will be taken to use only what one needs, to make food and sundries last.


Everyone got to enjoy a monastic experience for a long while, a way to connect with family, reconnect with themselves and, if fortunate enough, awaken to a more spiritual existence.


Social distancing also provided the opportunity to distance ourselves (without being judgmental) from the gadflies and magpies whose company, generally, we’d prefer to do without, call it a re-booting of relationships.


In addition, people have (hopefully) grown into good personal hygiene, disinfecting surfaces and distancing from those who are sneezing or coughing. It does makes us wonder if, pre-pandemic, anyone ever—regularly or at all—washed their hands.


With such sanitary improvements in restaurants and on airplanes, we are all generally safer from flu and the common cold.


Most important, many among us learned that life is short; that the time is now to move out of the city and follow our dreams in a natural setting.


 

            MUJERES MAKERS MARKET MALARKEY


 

Discrimination is alive and well in Santa Barbara. 


We are referring to reverse discrimination.


Imagine, in a culture that supposedly values equality, being told that if you are a particular color you are banned from becoming a vendor at a public market.


Disgraceful, no? But this is exactly what is happening right here, right now, in our lovely town.


Don’t believe me? Visit mujeresmakersmarket.com and visit their “Vendors” page.


This is what you will find:


“What are the requirements for vendors?


“The vendor must be the sole owner, a woman, and BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, people of color).”


In other words, white women need not apply.


Any way you look at this, you’re looking at blatant discrimination.

We reached out to the founders of Mujeres Makers Market for an explanation. They did not respond.


Question: Where is the American Civil Liberties Union when you need it?


Answer: “Permanently closed” in SB (according to Google); elsewhere, bent—as usual—in the direction of their own radical agenda.





Sunday, May 8, 2022

SB NEWS-PRESS: THE INVESTIGATOR: SB UNIFIED (AGAINST THE OPPOSITION) SCHOOL DISTRICT






https://newspress.com/santa-barbara-unified-against-the-opposition-school-district/








It was Jon Landau (in May 1974) who famously said, “I saw rock and roll’s future and its name is Bruce Springsteen.”

And it was.

            

Based upon what we’re seeing, hearing, and sensing around town, the future of education in Santa Barbara belongs (or should belong) to Christy Lozano, 47, who is running for Superintendent of Schools.


This is because a revolutionary backlash appears to be underway by those who oppose Critical Race Theory and sexual identity fixation (with its multitude of trendy if preposterous pronouns) as part of an elementary school curriculum, add the current system’s long-running tolerance for sexual abuse of schoolchildren by errant “teachers,” along with a penchant for chipping away at parents’ rights over how their children should be educated.


Be aware that this singular, highly emotive issue of parental involvement resulted in the defeat last November of a popular state governor, Terry McAuliffe, running for reelection (from an earlier term) in the Commonwealth of Virginia against a dark horse candidate. These are the precise words that torpedoed Mr. McAuliffe, sealing the fate of a man who, hitherto, had been considered a future Democratic presidential candidate: “I don’t think parents should be telling schools what they should teach.”


Voting parents thought otherwise. And now Glenn Youngkin is governor and Mr. McAuliffe is a has-been. And thus far the new governor has signed over a hundred bills giving parents more control over what their children are being taught, including one that requires schools to notify parents if students are assigned books or materials that contain explicit sexual content.


 

            “THE CLUB”

 


One needs only witness the horrified reaction to Ms. Lozano’s candidacy by “The Club,” a country clubbish cabal of sorts allegedly puppet-mastered by longtime former superintendent Bill Cirone, to understand how threatened its members feel by the possibility of a “non-club” member taking the helm of SBCOE.


Two key events drove this home to us:

 

First: A well-known local columnist came out of mothballs in mid-February to mount an unhinged attack full of misleading spin against Ms. Lozano, a single mom who served in the U.S. Air Force and has taught all grade levels during 18 years as a teacher in Santa Barbara—and who was motivated to run for high office only after uncovering a distinct lack of transparency (more like willful concealment) with regard to parents knowing certain details about the “progressive” curriculum established by the Santa Barbara Unified School District (SBUSD)—and publicly blowing the whistle on it. (On 15 January Ms. Lozano posted to YouTube a video titled “Password-Protected Portal—What Parents Should Know” about the compulsory “equity training” imposed upon teachers by higher-ups in administration.)


Second: A lawsuit was filed by a Democratic strategist and cannabis lobbyist named Mollie Culver (who has no children thus no vested interest in schooling) trying to deprive Ms. Lozano the right for run for Superintendent over a matter of form rather than substance. Superior Court Judge Colleen Sterne quickly and wisely dispensed of the case, essentially with this dictum: Let the voters decide. (Gee, what a novel concept—isn’t that the way democracy is supposed to function?)


For many decades, education in Santa Barbara has been a closed shop, lorded over by Mr. Cirone, now 83, who set a record for longest-serving superintendent (34 years), and whose spun-out tenure also ensured a politically lop-sided program, which was (and still is) vigilantly protected by its disciples, whose critics are unwelcome and almost always dispatched, it seems, through the deployment of obfuscation.


But it gets worse.        


The lawsuit to deprive Ms. Lozano of her candidacy appears to be part and parcel of a strategized campaign orchestrated by the cabal of which we write, not the brainchild of some lone female crusader.


This is reflected by a contract signed by Mr. Cirone (while he was superintendent) in April 2013 (and which remains in effect), between the Santa Barbara County Office of Education and Capital Advisors LLC, a political consulting firm run by one Jack O’Connell, a former crony of Mr. Cirone in the school system.


Add this to the mix: Mollie Culver is the manager of and “business contact” for a Sacramento-based entity called Friends of Jack O’Connell.


A source familiar with the situation told The Investigator: Jack’s firm, Capital Advisors, has a secret contract with the Santa Barbara County Office of Education.  We have FOIA documents proving this [reviewed by The Investigator].  I have it from two sources at the highest levels that payments from Santa Barbara County Office. Of Education (SBCOE) were made to Capital Advisors.  In other words, it sure looks like our tax dollars are being spent on Democratic party operatives to take away democratic choice right here in Santa Barbara."


SBCOE has, over the years, paid Mr. O’Connell’s firm nearly $300,000, which in return provides “government relations” i.e., lobbying services to county school boards.


Moreover, according to Ms. Lozano, “The Sacramento law firm that sued me, Olson-Remcho, is on retainer for the State Association for County Superintendents."


Thus, Mr. O’Connell and Mr. Cirone, by extension, may well be the shadow phantom behind Ms. Culver’s lawsuit seeking to disqualify Ms. Lozano’s candidacy.  And perhaps using YOUR MONEY to do so.


Speaking of money, The Investigator was told the following from another source who has been closely monitoring the dirty little secrets of those currently in charge of our children’s education: “We believe one very high profile non-profit foundation purchases expensive commercial real estate all over the county and leases office spaces to their pet non-profits, helps to promote, fundraise and secure lucrative local government contracts for them and in turn they are able to cashflow these buildings (over a dozen in all). Inexplicitly, this wealthy property-owning foundation is exempt from paying property taxes! I can’t think of anything more parasitic and unethical than these foundations and non-profits shaking down our schools and local agencies while leaving the rest of us stuck with the bill. But remember, they are always ‘doing it for the children.’”


Our source continues: “There should be a very bright line between the nonprofit world and the schools and local government. These dubious public-private partnerships are toxic, risky and should be discontinued. The Fund for Santa Barbara, CAUSE and Just Communities are the most troubling. There is no daylight between these NGOs and Ethnic Studies BLM, NOW! and Healing Justice, which is nothing more than a revolving door of the same radical parasites who are responsible for the local Agit-Prop (agitation and propaganda) we have all grown accustomed to. The seminars, gala events, fundraisers are just an excuse to pat each other on the backs and extract money from legitimate government agencies and funnel it to themselves and their friends. It is one big bacchanal. Nothing scandalous ever really sees the light of day.”


There’s an old saying: If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck… well, you know the rest. 


Or to use another adage on the basis that maybe this is not a duck but a skunk: Something is rotten in the state of Denmark—and, indeed, the rot smells worse than the Andree Clark Bird Refuge after being swarmed by stink birds on a steamy summer day.  

 


 

            WAS/WERE


            

Meantime, even more of your hard-earned taxpayer dollars are spent by SBUSD on such things as a “Pronoun Survey” so that teachers may learn how to address their students with pronouns other than “he” or “she.”


The options that students are asked to tick in the survey: She/her/hers or they/them/theirs or he/him/his or she/they or he/they.


Huh?  This is how our “educators” spend their time? And our money?


Tragically, this is so.


One hopes that if Ms. Lozano is elected Superintendent of Schools the only words that will matter in this regard are these: was/were.


Okay, then.  Since education in Santa Barbara has evolved into a state of lunacy, we would be remiss not to point out that next Sunday is the Feast Day of St. Dymphna, patron saint of lunatics.


I’m going to toss this in because we are all history-deprived, but none more so than SBUSD students, whose lessons seem instead to focus on “equity” politics—and whether they’re supposed to be boys or girls. 


History is simple when boiled down to basics:  People of ALL races and religious faiths, through the ages, have been oppressed and enslaved by others at one time or another.


Reparations for all?


Yeah, right—print even more free money out of thin air so that the cost of household goods and services will soar beyond the 23.9 % inflation we’ve seen during the first quarter of this year. 


(You can blame Trump and Putin all you want, but President Harry S Truman had it right when he placed this sign on his desk: “The Buck Stops Here.”)

 

 

ST. DYMPHNA, PATRON SAINT OF LUNATICS 


 

Dymphna was born in Ireland, very early in the seventh century, the daughter of a pagan king named Damon and a mother who converted to Christianity to ensure she would be educated by a priest named Gerebern. (In those days education revolved around the classics, not pronouns.)



Dymphna's beautiful mother met a sudden, young death. Her father, inconsolable, fell into a deep and very dark depression, leaving courtiers worried that their king's mental health would further deteriorate unless he found a new bride, which they urged him to do so. Thus, Damon dispatched envoys throughout Ireland to find a woman as beautiful as the wife he'd lost.

When they returned without a new woman, a deranged notion struck the king: My daughter, Dymphna, looks almost identical to her mother...

Dymphna was horrified by her father’s proposal.   Each time she refused his advances, the king’s rage grew worse.  


Gerebern, the priest, was also perplexed by this situation—and he plotted an escape. 

Assisted by the court jester, Dymphna and Gerebern crossed the English Channel by boat and sailed up the River Schelde to Antwerp in what is now Belgium. Feeling unsafe near a waterway, they made their way inland to Zammel, a small settlement of about fifteen houses, six miles from what would later become Gheel.


When King Damon realized his daughter and the pesky priest had fled, he went nuts.  (Also, he no longer had a court jester to help him see the humor in this.)


With a small army of warriors in three boats, Damon set sail in search of Dymphna.  

 How did he know where to go?  For two months Damon followed the money.  Dymphna and Gerebern recklessly left a trail of their native coins as payment for services rendered along the way to a new life elsewhere.  


When Dymphna and Gerebern learned the king and his warriors were near, they fled Zammel.  But not fast enough.  The king caught up with them six miles away.


Blaming the couple’s misadventure on Gerebern, Damon slew the priest without further ado (no trial necessary).  Then he asked his daughter one last time: “Will you marry me?”


Dymphna declined.                                                      


Damon commanded his warriors to execute his daughter. 


Not one stepped forward. 



So, the crazed king raised his mighty sword and severed Dymphna’s head with one blow. 


(No one knows what happened to the court jester.)  


Adding insult to murder, Damon and his warriors left the scene without burying their victims, leaving Zammel’s citizens greatly distressed by the carnage they found at the scene. They interred Dymphna and Gerebern at the very spot they were slain and pronounced it sacred.


Word of what happened that tragic day in 621 A.D. traveled around Europe.  


Within a few hundred years (word traveled slow back then), the burial site became a shrine for mentally disordered pilgrims, who discovered that if they prayed at Dymphna’s burial site, to her relics (bones), their mental illnesses gave way to sanity. (It sure beat an Abilify/Zoloft cocktail.)  


After notching up a few such miracles, Dymphna qualified for sainthood.


A whole town grew up around it.  The town of Gheel, which evolved into a thriving, open-air loony bin. Belgium's mentally disordered and sanity-challenged citizens are fostered into local families as part of a program called Family Care System of Mental Patients, and it is now reputed to be the world's most humane way of looking after the insane.


 

            SEXUAL ABUSE OF STUDENTS


 

This historical legend evokes another disturbing dimension of what has been going on within our school system. Thus, let us revert to one of our sources on this point: “Our city’s most shameful legacy is a systemic and long-term enabling and cover-up of the sexual abuse of children in our school district."

The number of cases involving teachers accused of sexually abusing students being transferred to other schools instead of firing their butts and registering them as sex offenders is nothing less than mind-boggling—and deserves a full column all by itself.           In fact, almost one year ago in these pages we told the story of Matef Harmachis, a leading activist for The Woke Curriculum. It is worth repeating:  Fired in 2005 as an economics and government teacher in SBUSD for putting one student in a headlock and hugging and kissing another (a female student, a minor), Mr. Harmachis was, inexplicably, reinstated as a teacher in 2006 and eventually stood accused of battery and sexual assault of a female student at Santa Barbara High School during school hours.  

What is badly needed at this juncture is a cleaning of the stable, a shuttering of the club and the election of Christy Lozano as Superintendent of Schools so that we may return to civilized education; an education that focuses on a rigorous academic curriculum of arts and sciences, math and history, inclusive of parental guidance and which is transparent to all (and perhaps a reassessment of the “confidentiality” laws administrators love to hide behind), instead of what is currently being served up:  A Bolshevik bunkum burger devoid of seasoning, common sense and decency, hold the fries.

 

POLICE SCIENCE


 

We stepped in to clarify an incident that left a Santa Barbara family feeling anxious and confused.


We are delighted to report that SBPD Communications Sergeant Ethan Ragsdale responded immediately and, almost as quickly, brought the situation to respectable resolution.


Kudos to Sergeant Ragsdale—and to SBPD, which, needless to say, deserves all the funding it can get.






Sunday, May 1, 2022

SB NEWS-PRESS: THE INVESTIGATOR: HOW THE UNICORN KILLER GOT STUNG













Convicted murderer Ira Einhorn, the hippie guru who skipped bail and lived as an international fugitive for two decades, liked to proclaim himself the father of Earth Day.

But just like everything else about the so-called “Unicorn,” who died in prison two years ago, his claim was mere boast devoid of any substance.


I had firsthand knowledge of this, having operated undercover for the FBI to become Mr. Einhorn’s “new best friend."


My assignment?


To ensure that Einhorn could did not disappear again and, if possible, facilitate his

repatriation to the USA for facing the music. 


And quite an ugly tune Ira had composed.


You see, the French had been dragging their feet about extraditing him even though it was crystal clear he had bludgeoned to death his former girlfriend, Holly Maddux, after she refused to renew their relationship.


Holly turned her back on Ira to leave his Philly apartment after coming by, at his insistence, for an in-person farewell. 


For her, a final farewell.


He attacked Holly from behind, then stuffed her body in a trunk, which he then locked in a closet.


It took two years for Philly’s finest to obtain a warrant for searching Ira’s home—and only after neighbors below his apartment complained of a brown substance oozing down their walls accompanied by a terrible stench.


When detectives arrived, Einhorn opened the door completely naked, as was his style.

           

After breaking into his hallway closet and discovering poor Holly’s mummified remains, Ira simply said, “You found what you found.”


(Detectives also found a long-overdue library book on how to mummify a corpse.)


Ira’s defense attorney, Arlen Specter (later to become a U.S. Senator), managed to get him out on bail. Two weeks before trial, Einhorn bolted.


For the next two decades this fugitive from justice took a circuitous route through Europe, starting with Ireland where he became “Eugene Mallon,” then Sweden, where he picked up a wife, Annika, finally settling in the Charente region of France near Bordeaux.


Thanks to the efforts of a tenacious Philly DA investigator, Einhorn was tracked (through his wife’s Swedish driving license renewal) to the pissant town of Champagne Mouton.


French police raided Einhorn’s house, fingerprinted him, confirmed it was he. They held him for a bit, then let him return to his old mill house, pending extradition proceedings.


Should-a been a slam-dunk, right?

 

Guess again.


Various radical French lawyers in Paris jumped to this murderer’s defense, pro bono.


First, they claimed (and the French courts agreed) that Ira could not be returned to the United States because of Pennsylvania’s death penalty, which France morally opposes.


The DA’s office and State Department pointed out to the French government that Einhorn had already been tried in absentia, found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment, not execution, so it shouldn’t be an issue.


Oh.


So, the French lawyers changed their stance to this: France does not believe in trials by absentia (and the French courts agreed).


Pennsylvania’s State Senate graciously responded by passing a new law, just for Ira, granting him a new trial.


Oh.


The French did not know what to do.  So, they did nothing as the Einhorn extradition saga dragged on for very many months.

 

That’s when I convinced my handlers at the FBI to allow me to deviate from several counterintelligence operations and tackle this criminal case, a whole other division within the Bureau.


“What do you need?” asked Mike, a member of Philly’s FBI Fugitive Squad.


“Aside from your approval,” I said, “just Ira’s e-mail address.”


“That’s it?”


“It.”


“Einhorn is clever,” said Mike. “People he meets get taken by him, like he’s hypnotized them to believe their story. And he’ll probably see through this.”


“Maybe,” I said. “I like a good challenge.”


Next day, posing as a book publisher—and knowing Einhorn had written novels he wished to publish—I zapped him an e-mail.


He responded within the hour.


A day after that, we chatted on the phone about the four novels he’d penned.


Several weeks into our correspondence, Einhorn invited me to visit him.


 

THE BACK END OF NOWHERE


 

And so it was that on 20 January 1999 I flew into Limoges, France (with a fully back-stopped legend as a book publisher) for an in-person pow-wow with Ira.


My taxi drew up across the road from the Einhorn residence in Champagne Mouton, said to be “the back end of nowhere,” at 1:15 in the afternoon. I alighted and “found what I found”: Ira Einhorn emerging from his front door.


Mercifully, he was not naked.


 

I shook this murderer’s hand and looked deeply into his eyes, expecting hypnotic powers. But all I could detect was a possible thyroid condition because his eyeballs, bloodshot from age or stress, protruded from their sockets. Sincere, yes (the fake kind); truthful, no.


I expected Einhorn to be a lot cleverer than the man with whom I locked eyes; with whom I would then spend many hours in conversation. However, my ears were destined to encounter only an intense bluster of carefully articulated but highly flatulent psycho-babble.


Einhorn led me into his residence, into a dark, cold foyer, leading to a kitchen with an old wood stove, the only source of heat in this abode. It was clear as I toured their old mill house, Moulin de Guitry, that the Einhorns were in desperate need of money, not least to repair a leaky roof. Which meant he was extremely ripe for my publishing pitch.


Annika served potato leek soup, country pate, hard cheese, a tossed garden salad and baguette and listened attentively while her husband babbled a steady stream of logorrhea straight at me.


Her role in this household was to cook, clean up, haul firewood from the barn to the kitchen, stoke the oven and knit clothing; his role was to talk, occasionally listen, while bouncing back and forth to his computer station for document retrieval.


Annika was the workhorse; Einhorn’s “job” was to read, pontificate, philosophize and write. She seemed in awe of her husband, though I discerned some tension between the pair, perhaps because she did everything and he nothing.


Referring to his cold-blooded, premeditated murder of Holly Maddux, Einhorn told me, “Maybe I did it and maybe I didn’t—that has nothing to do with it.”


Einhorn then tried to convince me that Holly was murdered by the CIA’s “Weird Desk” to frame him and end his social activism.


But like everything else that came out of this buffoon’s mouth, it was pure bollocks.


“So, what do you want to do with me, with my books?” Einhorn finally asked.


Put you behind bars, scumbag, throw away the key, who gives a crap about your books.


Of course, I did not actually say that. Instead, I asked which of his novels was his favorite.


He told me its title and said he wanted $25,000 for it. I lied that such a price could be obtained.

 

            

    HOTEL PLAISANCE

 


Chamber 17, my room in nearby Hotel Plaisance, was musty, dusty and rusty, the size of a walk-in closet, illuminated by a naked lightbulb that dangled from the ceiling; an infirm bed and hard pillow roll with stained bedcover completed the furnishings.




Within the walls of this room,I experienced a long, eerie night punctuated by hypnogogic dreams related to the mission. At one point I felt the presence of Holly Maddux hovering over the bed, coaxing me onward. “Right on,” Holly seemed to whisper at me. “Please get this bastard.”


Next morning, Einhorn proudly handed me his “literary masterpiece” before descending into another lengthy diatribe, this time about digitalization, which he claimed to have partly invented (along with Earth Day).


By the time I left Champagne Mouton, Ira and I were practically old friends.


You could call this cretinous conman a “guru” or a “messiah” to get on his good side, but the moniker he liked best for himself was “futurist.” (When I called him this, he said, “You really know how to communicate!”)


And his future, now that I was in the picture, was about to get very dim.


My memos to the FBI included this brief review of Einhorn’s “masterpiece”:


“A long rambling essay disguised as a novel. It’s most blatant flaw (and there are many) is this: A novelist is supposed to show, not tell. But this manuscript only tells, never shows. It is an amalgamation of great philosopher-meets-new age spiritualism, filched from others and regurgitated in Ira’s incoherent psycho-babble.”


Nonetheless, we determined to go through the motions of pre-publishing his wretched novel while awaiting new approvals from Bureau higher-ups and monitoring the legal process in France.


A few months later a jury awarded Holly Maddux’s siblings a civil judgment of $907 million against him. This elated Einhorn because he believed it made him worth that much. “With interest, I’m the billion-dollar man!” he crowed to me. He also believed it would elevate his case in the public eye and help sell the novel he expected me to publish.


 

            RETURN TO CHAMPAGNE MOUTON 

            


Two years passed and still the French continued to drag their feet. So, it was time for my return to Champagne Mouton to see Einhorn face-to-face, check in on his thinking and plans, keep the ruse going even though his book had still not been published (much to his annoyance).


By this time, Ira’s own face had become ravaged with stress, cheeks swollen with malevolence, teeth rotting, gums rotted upon a barrel-shaped body that seemed to leave a trail of pig snot in its wake.


I extended my right hand, but Einhorn wanted to hug, ensuring that I catch a whiff of his putrid breath.


Over a multi-course truffle dinner at Restaurant de Charme, I told Einhorn about my recent escapades in Cuba, which I explained as scouting book publishing opportunities. (In reality, I had been on an undercover counterintelligence mission for the FBI.)


Einhorn listened with unusual attentiveness. Then he said in a whisper, “That’s where my lawyer has advised me to go. Cuba. He says he can make the introductions and arrangements. All my friends have been urging me to flee.”


So here it was—surprise, surprise. As we at the Bureau had always believed, this stinkard was planning an exit-stage-left before crunch-time.


“But aren’t you watched by the French police?” I asked him.


Einhorn nodded. “I have THREE sets of surveillants,” he proudly boasted. “The local gendarmes, the anti-terrorist squad in Paris and the federal intelligence agency.”


“So how can you flee to Cuba?”


“Very easy,” Einhorn replied. “I’d only have to walk across my garden.”


“But don’t you have to check with the cops every few days?”


“I’d have five days before they knew I was gone,” Einhorn whispered. “Annika will stay and pretend all is well.”


The last thing we wanted to hear was that Einhorn might end up in Havana, where scores of fugitives roamed freely, courtesy of Fidel Castro’s policy for granting political asylum to American criminals. And Einhorn’s home was driving distance to Madrid, from which he could hop a nonstop flight with little hassle.

 


C’EST FOU 

            


When I returned to Washington DC, I briefed the FBI Fugitive Squad from Philly on Einhorn’s escape plans.

Our timing for this was inadvertently exquisite.


How so?


Holly Maddux’s two sisters and brother were scheduled to meet with U.S. Attorney General John Ashcroft to vent their frustration on France’s relentless foot-dragging over the extradition proceedings with regard to their sibling’s murderer.


In advance, Mr. Ashcroft naturally requested a briefing on the Einhorn case. And when the U.S. Attorney General learned that Einhorn was plotting an escape to Cuba, he presumably telephoned his French counterpart and demanded action.


Apparently, the French were not amused—and did not desire to be embarrassed, as they would have been if Einhorn pulled off an escape. Because, all of a sudden, months ahead of schedule, a French judge abruptly announced that Einhorn’s appeal would commence the following day, with a decision expected the day after. Not only that, Einhorn’s house was then surrounded by 40 police officers.


Ira scribed this email to me: “Some judge freaked. No one knows why. The French government is pushing this. There are now 8 cars parked outside our house. They have also posted men in the field around my house.”


That would be the backyard Einhorn intended to walk across when it came time to boogie.


The court’s decision went against Einhorn.


To protest his certain and very imminent extradition, Einhorn invited a French TV crew into his house and, while they filmed, lamely pierced his own throat with a kitchen knife. If Ira meant to kill himself (I’m certain he was too cowardly for that), he failed miserably. All he managed to buy himself was one week before French authorities declared him fit to travel.


Tension reigned supreme on the Fugitive Squad in Philly; they still worried their culprit would make a run for it. Einhorn had planned a party at his home—a “getting put away bash” (along with Annika’s 50thbirthday)—and Philly’s concern was that he would use it as a cover to mask an escape.


But at eight o’clock next morning, Einhorn confirmed in an email to me his presence at home: “The media are gathering outside… a swat team has joined 7 other police services. C’est fou [it is mad].”


The message wasn’t good enough for Philly. “Call him,” they instructed me. "Make sure he’s there.”


I phoned, spoke with Annika, heard Ira yakking in the background. Then I phoned Philly: “He’s there.”


At 2 pm French police officers bundled Einhorn into a car and raced him to Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris where a U.S. government jet and my buddies from the fugitive squad stood by, waiting to greet him.


At about 1:10 am Paris time I received a call from a member of the Philly team, who had just cuffed Einhorn’s wrists and buckled him into a seat. “We got him!  We’re just about to take off!”


True to their word, the State of Pennsylvania gave Einhorn a new trial. A jury took just four hours to convict him for the murder of Holly Maddux.



A few months later, Einhorn wrote me a handwritten letter from Houtzdale State Prison: “According to Annika, you have just disappeared. When we last talked you said you would get to work getting my book published…” blah, blah, blah. 


The man who thought he was smarter than everyone else did not even realize he’d been stung!



            CRAIG CASE UPDATE


 

It seems trouble never ends for local private eye Craig Alan Case.


In addition to having clocked up numerous civil lawsuits against himself over four decades, including an ongoing case for fraud allegedly committed against a 94 year-old woman to the tune of $687,500, Mr. Case, 74, (who knows the law and should know better), now finds himself a defendant in a CRIMINAL case.


The charges?


·      Identity Theft and Identifying Information Theft. Two Felonies. If convicted, could lead to a $10,000 fine and a three-years state prison sentence x two.

·      Offering and Preparing False Evidence. Two Felonies. Again, three years imprisonment and substantial fines x two.

·      Carrying a Loaded Firearm on Person/Vehicle. Misdemeanor. A year in jail and a $1,000 fine.


This Criminal Complaint was filed by the Santa Barbara DA’s Office on April 12th.

            

Arraignment is scheduled for May 3rd.

 We reached out to Josh Lynn, Mr. Case’s lawyer, but he did not respond.