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Marcia Hood-Brown (A lengthy but ignorant example of sensational,
just-say-know-nothing fear-mongering by Willamette Week, in Portland, focuses
on the recent heroin-related death of a local 33-year-old who was "a
brilliant scholar, an eloquent writer and a beautiful woman." Despite all the
evidence to the contrary, the weekly shopper suggests it's the increasing
purity of heroin, rather than toxic street contaminants, that killed the
victim, ignoring the role of prohibition in either scenario; and implies
that eventually, everyone who uses heroin becomes addicted, which is off by
about 90 percent. Characteristically, despite an increase in heroin-related
deaths in Portland in the last few years, from 33 to an expected 162 this
year - almost as many as in all of Switzerland - the free rag fails to inform
puddle-towners about heroin-maintenance programs saving addicts' lives and
reducing social harm in that country so successfully that similar programs
are being considered in Canada, Australia, Britain and elsewhere.)
Newshawk: Portland NORML (http://www.pdxnorml.org/)
Pubdate: Wed, May 26 1999
Source: Willamette Week (OR)
Contact: mzusman@wweek.com
Address: 822 SW 10th Ave., Portland, OR 97205
Fax: (503) 243-1115
Website: http://www.wweek.com/
Author: By Chris Lydgate (clydgate@wweek.com)
Marcia Hood-Brown
1983 - Graduates from Jefferson High School
1991 - Wins fellowship to Brandeis University
1993 - Starts teaching at Portland State University
1997 - Awarded doctorate from Brandeis
1999 - Dies of heroin overdose at age 33
In the fall of 1997, Marcia Hood-Brown had the world on a string. She had
just finished her doctorate in sociology from Brandeis University. She was
respected, even revered, by her students at Portland State University. She
had landed a coveted postdoctoral position doing research for the federal
government. She was a brilliant scholar, an eloquent writer and a beautiful
woman.
She was also a junkie.
Last month, at the age of 33, Marcia died of a heroin overdose. There were
no needle marks on her arms, no syringes in her purse - just a couple of
baggies in the kitchen trash containing a few telltale crumbs of brownish
powder.
The news of Marcia's demise reverberated through Portland like a
thunderbolt. "This came as a terrible shot out of the blue," says her
mother, Elaine Fleskes. "I wouldn't believe it. I couldn't believe it. I
thought it was a mistake. It had to be a mistake."
Without question, Marcia's death is an extraordinary tragedy. Sadly, it is
by no means unique. Across the nation, heroin overdoses are increasing at an
alarming rate. In Multnomah County alone, heroin deaths more than tripled,
from 33 in 1989 to 102 last year. In the past four months, the number of
deaths surged another 60 percent. If the present trend continues, 160
Portlanders will die of a heroin overdose by the year's end.
"How can we allow this to go on?" asks Richard Harris, executive director of
Central City Concern, a local nonprofit agency that operates the Hooper
Detoxification clinic. "It's an outrage."
Researchers, treatment providers and law-enforcement agents say that
cheaper, more potent heroin is seducing a whole new generation of users,
many of whom get hooked by smoking or snorting the drug. In addition, they
say, heroin addiction is increasingly reaching into the ranks of the
affluent and the well-educated.
"We hold an image in our minds of the heroin addict as a sort of monster. We
want to believe they are out-of-control, unhealthy, grotesque people," says
Harris. "It just isn't the case. The drug does not respect economic barriers."
"We've got a heroin epidemic in this valley," says Dr. Walton Byrd, the
medical director of Allied Health Service, a local methadone clinic.
It would be foolish to pretend that the life of Marcia Hood-Brown fits
neatly into any demographer's pigeonhole. But her death raises a profound
and disturbing question: How did this brilliant social researcher, a woman
who had dedicated her career to working with troubled women, succumb to an
addiction whose consequences she had witnessed and analyzed in the charts
and footnotes of a dozen academic papers? And having fallen into the jaws of
the drug, why couldn't she find a way out?
Marcia always had an independent spirit. "She knew her mind, and she knew
what she wanted to do, and she did it," her mother says. Born in 1966 in a
tiny coal-mining town on the edge of the Kansas prairie, she grew up in the
rural Oregon community of Parrett Mountain, near Wilsonville. Her mother was
an artist, and her stepfather worked in construction. In 1970, they built a
house on five acres of woods and meadows, without plumbing, electricity or
heat. That first winter, they slept huddled in sleeping bags around a wood
stove.
A precocious girl, Marcia took care of her younger brother from an early
age. She loved to explore the woods and hunt for mice and lizards. She
showed sheep for 4-H and played sax in the school band.
In the recession of the early '80s, the construction business collapsed and,
with it, her parents' relationship. At the age of 16, Marcia moved into an
apartment in Northwest Portland with her mother.
For Marcia, the city represented an intoxicating antidote to the
parochialism of Parrett Mountain. The year was 1982, and children of the
hippie generation had finally found an identity to call their own. Across
the nation, a defiant sound - punk - was smashing through the complacent
disco and bubble-gum rock that dominated the airwaves. Punk had energy,
attitude and shock value. Most of all, it belonged to them.
Overnight, Marcia's dark brown curls, headband, sweatshirt and jeans were
replaced by a new look: raven-black hair, a black velvet dress, black
leggings, combat boots, white face, cat's eyes and bright red lipstick. She
wheeled around on a vintage red bike adorned with plastic flowers, and later
in a '60s-era Ford Fairlane. She grew dreadlocks and became a fixture in the
local music scene. "She was the Gothic queen of Portland," says Lisa
Friedli-Clapie, a close friend who teaches French at Portland State. "She
was the coolest," agrees Fiona Ortiz, another good friend who now works as a
reporter in Mexico.
Marcia was cool, but she was no nihilist. An excellent student, she
graduated from Jefferson High School at the age of 17 and worked her way
through college, first at Portland Community College and later at PSU,
graduating with a degree in sociology in 1989. She also became active in
women's issues, volunteering as a counselor at the Council for Prostitution
Alternatives and at the Portland Feminist Women's Health Center, where she
held women's hands while they underwent abortion surgery. "I was proud of
her," her mother says. "She was my little fighter."
In 1990, Marcia married Aaron Brown, a graphic-design student at Pacific
Northwest College of Art; they held the wedding outside a stone house in
MacLeay Park. The next year, she won a prestigious fellowship at Brandeis.
Returning to Portland in 1993, she taught classes in sociology and women's
studies at PSU while writing a dissertation on treatment programs for
drug-addicted prostitutes.
Her former students describe her in glowing terms. "I just thought she was
brilliant," says Kristin Christopherson. "She inspired me to go to grad school."
Marcia also encouraged several friends to complete their education. "She's
one of the reasons I went back to college," says Brian Tibbetts, who is now
studying English at PSU. "She believed in me more than I believed in myself."
While many of her friends settled into more conventional lifestyles, Marcia
remained resolutely cutting-edge. "She didn't want to be a housewife," says
her friend Lisa. "She didn't want to be part of the mainstream."
She loved to organize fancy cocktail parties and sumptuous vegetarian feasts
at her apartment on Northeast 7th and Knott and often patronized her
favorite bar, the Sandy Hut.
In March 1997, she finished her dissertation and was awarded her doctorate
from Brandeis. But even as she scaled new heights in her professional
career, Marcia struggled with personal demons. Her marriage was falling
apart. She had been rejected for tenure-track positions at several
top-flight schools. Years of graduate education had left her thousands of
dollars in debt. She began to have panic attacks and suffered bouts of
depression. She even began to question the value of her own degree. After a
10-year hiatus, she started smoking again.
One night during the summer of 1997, Marcia sat around with an old friend
from her punk days, who was working as a systems administrator. He was
depressed. "I had tons of money and no life," says the friend, who is now
undergoing drug treatment."I kind of wanted to throw a monkey-wrench into
it." Almost jokingly, he confessed that he was so unhappy he was thinking
about trying heroin.
Marcia didn't laugh. On the contrary, she seemed intrigued. In fact, she
said she knew where she could get the drug. "I said, 'I'll buy if you fly,'"
he remembers. He gave her $20.
The next night, Marcia came over to his downtown apartment. She was carrying
a little plastic bag containing a tiny blob of black goo. They spread it out
on a scrap of tin foil, then took turns holding a lighter under the foil
until the drug bubbled and gave off a thick white smoke.
A few days later, they did it again.
Heroin has always held a perverse fascination for people on the fringes of
society. Because of its association with tragic icons from Janis Joplin to
Kurt Cobain, the drug also attracts rebellious youths searching for a way to
set themselves apart from the mainstream they despise.
Like many young adults (including this reporter), Marcia dabbled with hard
drugs in her 20s but escaped serious harm. By the time she was 31, she
certainly knew the downside. She had seen friends spiral into the vortex of
addiction. She had witnessed firsthand the ravages of heroin in the faces
and the stories of the prostitutes she counseled at the CPA. She was "highly
contemptuous" of hip junkiedom, according to her friend Fiona.
Why did Marcia take that first hit? It is, of course, impossible to
reconstruct her thoughts. Perhaps she believed her exceptional intellect
would protect her from harm. She had, in fact, written her dissertation on
the social, economic and sexual dynamics of drug addiction. Perhaps she
wanted to transgress the boundary between researcher and subject, to cut
through the dry formulations of academic sociology and show those tenured
Ivy League squares that she knew what she was talking about. Perhaps she
simply wanted a vacation from reality.
"She was a little bored with her life," says her anonymous friend. "I don't
believe either of us wanted to grow up."
Whatever the reason, she took the plunge. As the acrid smoke filled her
lungs, all Marcia's anxieties - the crumbling marriage, the unpaid bills,
the rejection letters - were swallowed by a sinister wave of euphoria.
Marcia's descent into addiction followed a classic progression. She was
careful, almost obsessive, about keeping her friends ignorant of her little
secret and continued to maintain a respectable facade at PSU, where she
taught class three times a week. "I didn't notice any significant change in
her at all," says former student Christopherson.
Indeed, during this time she was recruited by the National Development and
Research Institutes of New York City. The organization offered her a
postdoctoral position doing research on female methamphetamine addicts. "She
impressed me as someone who was knowledgeable and thoughtful," says her
boss, Dr. Greg Falkin. She even continued her volunteer counseling work at
the Council for Prostitution Alternatives.
But little by little, like a meteor trapped in the gravitational warp of a
black hole, Marcia's life began to revolve around heroin. By the fall of
1997, she was using it every day. In the evening, she would go over to a
friend's house to buy the drug: $30 for a lump the size of a pencil eraser -
just enough to get her high for the night, plus a little taste for the
morning after.
At first, the changes were subtle. The parties and dinners tapered off.
Dishes piled up in the sink. "She started staying in bed a lot," says former
roommate J.R. Pella. "I just assumed she was partying."
With her research position in New York due to begin in January, Marcia quit
teaching at PSU. The loss of structure in her life seemed to accelerate her
slide. People around her noticed other mystifying changes. She became
obsessed with her personal appearance. She complained about money. She
imposed on her friends. "She wasn't the same damn person," says Lisa.
Marcia struggled to break free. Several times that fall she tried to kick
the habit, lying in bed, sweating and moaning, gritting her teeth to stave
off the cravings for another hour. She would last a few days, a week
perhaps. Then her self-control would crack; the expert on treatment
modalities would pick up the phone and call her dealer.
Pharmacologically speaking, heroin is a sledgehammer. Smoked, snorted or
injected, it depresses the central nervous system and triggers a cascade of
endorphins in the brain, producing an intense high that can linger for
hours. "Heroin is the atomic bomb of opiates," says Dr. Byrd. "It's a
nightmare."
As the user turns to the drug more often, the brain begins to compensate,
shutting down its natural endorphin production. Gradually, the pleasure
system withers, like an atrophied muscle, and the user becomes unable to
enjoy anything except heroin.
Contrary to popular myth, addiction is a gradual process. Depending on the
purity of the drug and the frequency of use, it may take several months to
produce acute dependence. But the longer it goes on, the harder it is to
stop. "Every addict says, 'I can control the drug,'" Harris says. "And then
one day they find the drug controlling them."
In January 1998, Marcia moved to New York. If she had ever believed that
geography would cure her addiction, she quickly discovered otherwise. As the
drug's grip grew tighter, she flew back to Portland every few months,
ostensibly to conduct research. In reality, she was trying to kick the habit.
Ever secretive, Marcia hid her addiction from her friends and family - she
would tell them she was sick with the flu - and the people close to her
remained, for the most part, in the dark. "I was totally oblivious," says J.R.
Lisa had no idea what was wrong until last summer, when Marcia was visiting
Portland and asked her to help organize a yard sale. By the end of the day,
Marcia had raised $250. Then she asked Lisa to take some vintage dresses
over to a resale store and pick up some hair conditioner from Freddie's.
Coming on the heels of a long list of favors, the request stuck in Lisa's
craw. "I knew she was taking advantage of me," she says. "But I thought she
was sick."
After Lisa returned from her errand, she discovered that Marcia had left.
When Marcia came home, Lisa was furious. As she remembers, the conversation
went like this:
"What the hell is up?" she said. "Why couldn't you wait?"
"It's no big deal," Marcia replied, her voice sleepy and hoarse. "We just
went to Taco Bell."
"Taco Bell?! You don't even like Taco Bell!"
"Well, I like it now."
Marcia could hardly keep her eyes open. In fact, she was falling asleep on
her feet. Suddenly, it all made sense - the midnight phone calls, the
endless flu, the debts - and Lisa realized her friend was doing heroin. "I
didn't know you could buy that at Taco Bell," she said.
There was an awkward silence. "Lisa, I can take care of myself," Marcia
said. "I've got it under control."
Lisa burst into tears.
In October, Summer Gunter, a 26-year-old artist, took the train from
Portland to New York to join Marcia in her Brooklyn apartment. Summer had
known Marcia for five years. Although Summer had heard rumors about Marcia's
drug use, Marcia assured her that she had quit for good. "She told me,
'Everything will be so wonderful when you get here. We'll go out every
night. It will be fabulous.'"
When they met up at the train station, Summer was shocked. Marcia looked
old. The vintage dresses had given way to ratty jeans, the glorious
dreadlocks to shapeless fuzz. She was short-tempered and rude - "a side of
her I'd never seen before," Summer says. In the cab on the way back to the
apartment, Marcia started weeping for no apparent reason.
Over the next few months her behavior became increasingly erratic. She
racked up thousands of dollars in credit-card debts and phone bills. She
adopted the name Zuleika, took out personal ads in The Village Voice and
went on frequent dates. She stayed up all night, using heroin, smoking
cigarettes and writing sad poems.
Marcia tried desperately to get clean. Summer would hold her hand as she lay
on the couch, unable to move. "I'd tell her, 'This is it - this is the last
time you have to do this,'" Summer remembers. Marcia tried to enter a
residential treatment program, but her insurance covered only outpatient
treatment. It wasn't enough. She would get clean for a few days or weeks,
then drift back to the dope. "She thought she was too smart to get hooked,"
Summer says. "She thought she could handle the drug. But no one can."
Despite all she'd been through, Marcia seemed unwilling to acknowledge the
depth of her problem. In an e-mail to her friend Fiona, sent in October or
November of last year, she recited a long litany of reasons for her
"cracking up," including debts, the breakup of her marriage, the stress of
moving to New York, physical illness and, almost as an afterthought, her
addiction to heroin.
One Saturday morning last month, as Summer was getting ready to leave the
apartment, she noticed that Marcia had fallen asleep on the couch, curled up
next to the telephone. It was not an unusual sight. "She'd done that
before," says Summer. "It didn't surprise me." When Summer got back to the
apartment that evening, Marcia was still asleep. But there was something
wrong: Marcia was in exactly the same position as before, and her skin was gray.
"I kind of just stared at her," Summer says. "I couldn't believe it. Her
head was next to the phone, and I couldn't see her face. I thought, 'Well,
maybe she's suffocating.'"
Summer pulled the phone away from Marcia's head just a little bit. There was
an indentation along Marcia's face where the phone had been. She was dead.
Many of Marcia's friends are asking themselves how they could have ignored
her problem for so long - or why they didn't express their disapproval more
strongly when they found out. "I'm really pissed off at myself," Lisa says.
"I look back, and I kick myself for not realizing," says J.R.
Marcia was buried in Skyline Memorial Gardens, in a sloping cemetery
overlooking the city she had called home. Her mother bought the burial plot
next to hers. "I just wanted people who walk past to know she's not alone,"
she says. "I hope I go to the same heaven."
As Marcia's body was lowered into the ground and the first handful of dirt
hit the casket, her friends realized she had been gone a long, long time.
[sidebar:]
Heroin by the Numbers
Portland has one of the highest rates in the nation for the number of
arrestees who test positive for opiates, according to the National Institute
of Justice. Last year, 16 percent of adult males booked into Multnomah
County Jail tested positive for opiates; for adult women, the rate was 25
percent - the highest in the nation.
Percentage of male arrestees testing positive for opiates in 1998:
Philadelphia 18%
Chicago 18%
Seattle 17%
Portland 16%
New York 16%
New Orleans 13%
St. Louis 11%
Laredo 11%
ALCOHOL AND DRUG HELPLINE
244-1312
ALCOHOL AND DRUG YOUTH LINE
244-1611
NARCOTICS ANONYMOUS
284-1787
NARCOTICS ABUSE 24-HOUR HELPLINE
(800) 234-0420
PORTLAND WOMEN'S CRISIS LINE
235-5333
According to a 1997 telephone survey conducted by the state Office of
Alcohol and Drug Abuse Programs, 4.6 percent of the respondents in
Multnomah County admitted using heroin at some point in their lives.
If the figure from the state survey is accurate - and it's worth
remembering that a lot of junkies don't have telephones - it suggests that
at least 29,000 Portlanders have used heroin.
According to OADAP, heroin was cited as a "primary drug of choice" by 3,629
Multnomah County adults last year - a jump of 479 percent from 1988.
Former Dallas Cowboys offensive lineman Mark Tuinei died of an overdose
earlier this month after taking a combination of heroin and a stimulant. He
was 39 years old.
Fiona Ortiz wrote for WW from 1990-94 under her maiden name, Fiona Martin.
***
[sidebar:]
Deaths from heroin overdose in Multnomah county
1989 33
1990 40
1991 10
1992 31
1993 49
1994 69
1995 76
1996 94
1997 97
1998 102
1999* 162
* Projected figure
Source: Multnomah County Medical Examiner's Office
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The War On Drugs, The Mendo Front (The Anderson Valley Advertiser, in
Boonville, California, continues its excellent coverage of alleged outrageous
government conduct by the DEA and Special Agent Mark Nelson in their pursuit
of Redwood Valley resident John Dalton, 44. At a federal court hearing last
Wednesday and Thursday in San Francisco, prosecutors and law enforcement
easily lived up to their reputation with true-to-form disregard for the
rules. U.S. District Court Judge Susan Illston will decide soon whether to
proceed with Dalton's trial, scheduled to start Aug. 16. If the government is
successful, he faces 30 years to life. But there isn't a single piece of
physical evidence linking him to marijuana cultivation. It's a conspiracy
case. The evidence amassed by the DEA consists of the dubious testimony of
snitches against an expert mechanic and unassuming, long-time resident of
Mendocino County.)
From: ekomp@earthlink.net
Date: Tue, 01 Jun 1999 11:53:58 -0700
To: dpfca@drugsense.org
Subject: DPFCA: MN: US CA: The War On Drugs, The Mendo Front
Sender: owner-dpfca@drugsense.org
Reply-To: ekomp@earthlink.net
Organization: DrugSense http://www.drugsense.org/dpfca/
Newshawk: Combex east@aol.com
Pubdate: Wed, 26 May 1999
Source: Anderson Valley Advertiser (CA)
Copyright: Anderson Valley Advertiser
Contact: ava@pacific.net
Fax: 707-895-3355
Author: Mark Heimann
THE WAR ON DRUGS, THE MENDO FRONT
In a San Francisco federal courtroom last Wednesday and Thursday, Redwood
Valley's John Dalton finally got a hearing to dismiss all charges against
him because of the government's outrageous conduct in its pursuit of the
man they seem to believe is the Northcoast's Mr. Big of the thriving
marijuana business. Federal prosecutors and law enforcement easily met
their reputation for outrageous conduct by behaving with true-to-form
disregard for the rules during the two-day hearing. The attentive and even
handed officiating of US District Court Judge Susan Illston, and the staid
US Marshals who serve as her bailiffs, stood between a cadre of tax-paid
cops and lawyers who seem indifferent to the standards of police behavior
which are supposed to prevail in democratic states.
The Drug Enforcement Administration has charged Dalton with a continuing
conspiracy to manufacture marijuana and has kept him in the federal prison
at Dublin without bail for two years and eight months. But the DEA itself
was on trial last week in the Federal Courthouse in San Francisco. The
government is desperately worried about this case and the desperation
shows. The DEA and federal prosecutors reached way down into their bag of
dirty tricks for even more outrageous conduct including harassment and
intimidation of defense witnesses and courtroom spectators. (They assigned
a DEA agent to follow this reporter outside the federal building. They're
not nearly as slick as they think.)
Additionally, there was a deliberate attempt to misrepresent to the court
the contents of the DEA's own policy and procedures manual; an attempt to
arrest a defense witness on a specially-contrived bench warrant out of
Mendocino County; "lost" potentially exculpatory evidence (a recording of
Victoria Horstman by DEA agent Mark Nelson can't be found); and, most
significant of all, the DEA and its two-man federal legal team didn't even
try to defend the DEA's extra-legal behavior during the investigation which
resulted in John Dalton's arrest and incarceration. Instead they relied on
the completely irrelevant strategy of portraying Dalton as a monster whose
alleged abuse drove his wife into the arms of the DEA.
If the government is successful in convicting John Dalton at trial,
scheduled to start August 16, he faces a 30-year-to-life sentence. Dalton
is 44 years old. But there isn't a single piece of physical evidence
linking him to marijuana cultivation. It's a conspiracy case. The
evidence amassed by the DEA against Dalton consists of the dubious
testimony of snitches, all of them either rewarded in cash for their input
or promised reduced jail sentences for their testimony against the
unassuming, long-time resident of Mendocino County. And there are tape
recordings obtained via the former Mrs. Dalton in ways routine in police
states but not in America.
The official title of last week's hearing was "A Motion to Dismiss for
Outrageous Government Conduct."
As reported last week, the federal prosecutors got off to a bad start
when they were required to reveal that their primary witness and lead
investigator in the case against John Dalton had committed perjury. DEA
Special Agent Mark Nelson, in an effort to conceal the date on which he
first slept with Dalton's wife, Victoria Horstman, falsified a fingerprint
card of Horstman's. Later, during a DEA internal affairs investigation of
Nelson and Horstman's affair, Nelson signed an affidavit under penalty of
perjury swearing to the bogus date he'd placed on Horstman's print card.
Agent Nelson was the first witness called by the defense when the hearing
resumed Wednesday. He was accompanied to the witness stand by his
non-government lawyer, George Niespolo. Mark Nelson is a tall, thin,
balding 36-year-old guy whose appearance is completely at odds with his
role in this case as the irresistible seducer of married women. He looks
more like a shoe salesman than an elite drug warrior. He has an extremely
high forehead that leaves little room for the rest of his nondescript
features which occupy the bottom third of his head. While Nelson's
appearance has nothing to do with the trial, most of the courtroom first
thought lawyer Niespolo, a stout, ruggedly handsome man, was the drug cop
and Nelson was the attorney. Nelson's agent-partner, Robert Price, who sat
at the prosecution table throughout the hearing when he wasn't menacing
witnesses out in the hall with a lot of ersatz tough guy eyeballing, looked
every bit the drug warrior he is. Tall, angular and crewcut clean, Price
was so stiff and straight his spine seems to have been surgically replaced
with a broomstick.
Defense attorney Tony Serra told the court that at the time in question in
1994 agent Nelson was 32 years old and had been with the DEA for nine years
representing his entire law enforcement experience. Serra brought out that
it was only the third or fourth time Nelson had supervised and been lead
investigator on a case; that he was married with two children and at the
time of meeting Mrs. Dalton (Victoria Horstman); and that his wife was
pregnant with their third child at the time of his encounters with Mrs.
Dalton.
Nelson testified that he became involved with the John Dalton investigation
in 1992, and that in February of 1994 he and another agent, believed to be
Rob Price, rented a three-bedroom house in Redwood Valley on M Road from a
Ukiah real estate broker. The rented premises were to be used as a "safe
house" for DEA agents. INS agents also stayed at the safe house from time
to time, according to Nelson. Agent Nelson said he only brought Horstman to
the safe house, also known as the COMMET house, on one occasion in
September of 1994. He admitted the visit of a civilian was "absolutely"
against DEA rules, that he initiated the contact with Horstman and picked
her up and brought her to the house when he knew no one else would be
there, and that he did not include any of this information in his reports.
"It was highly inappropriate for a DEA agent," was Nelson's contrite but
incomplete account of Mrs. Dalton's and his first tryst in the tax-funded
love nest. "How many times did you have personal contact with Victoria
Horstman prior to September 13, 1994," demanded Serra, "when it was just
the two of you alone?"
Nelson: "I think four."
Serra: "Did you advise your supervisor in advance that you planned a
private meeting with an informant?'
Nelson: "Probably not."
Serra: "Aren't you required to seek approval in advance from your
supervisors to meet privately with an informant?"
Nelson: "Yes." Serra: "And these were not exigent circumstances? There was
no emergency that you had to meet privately with Horstman?"
(Nelson doesn't answer.)
Serra: "You concede you broke the rules?"
Nelson: "Yes."
Serra: "Why one-on-one meetings?"
Nelson: "I don't know how to answer."
"Why?" demanded Serra, which brought an objection from the prosecutors.
The answer to that question came the next day near the end of the hearing
when Dalton's prosecutors attempted to introduce a page from the DEA's
manual. The single page from the DEA's top secret sleuth manual the
prosecution wished to put in evidence concerned a number of rules about
agents meeting with informants but the entire page had been blacked out
except for one line, which suggested agents "whenever practical" were not
to meet alone with informants.
Tony Serra argued strenuously against allowing the censored document's
admission as evidence, arguing that he believed the "redacted" (lawyer talk
for omitted or blacked out) portions of the document contained the relevant
rules that agents were to never meet alone with an informant without first
getting permission from their supervisors, and even then one-on-one
meetings could only take place under emergency circumstances. The
government argued the DEA's rules were secret, and if they were produced in
open court, the public, and presumably the "bad guys," would gain an
advantage over the drug warriors.
Judge Illston quickly concluded that allowing only one line of an entire
page of regulations into evidence was "self serving," and ordered the
government to produce the entire chapter on agent/informant interactions.
Agent Price relayed through the US Attorney that permission would have to
be granted at the highest levels of the DEA in Washington DC, and that the
judge could not expect an answer for five to seven days. Judge Illston was
steadfast, and ordered the DEA to produce the documents.
But by the close of the hearing, Tony Serra had secured the entire DEA
manual through his own sources, and his characterization that the DEA's own
rules state no agent is to meet privately with an informant without prior
approval means what it says. Only in a dire emergency, as when an
informant's life is in danger, does the agency permit a one-on-one meeting
with an informant and even then the agent is required to ask permission.
Serra found 15 times where Nelson had documented private meetings with
Horstman, none of them under "exigent" circumstances.
Agent Nelson denied a sexual relationship with Horstman as his reason for
breaking the DEA's rules and bringing the comely housewife to the so-called
safe house.
Tony Serra, a master of cross examination, fired questions at the outgunned
adulterer with his trademark machine-gun speed and intensity. There were
four main areas Serra covered, three of which - the events at the "safe
house" with John Dalton's wife, the bugging of Dalton and Horstman's
bedroom, and Nelson's involvement in Dalton and Horstman's subsequent
divorce - represented the basics of the government's undeniably outrageous
conduct in the pursuit of Dalton. Serra got Nelson to admit to the
incriminating facts of his lust-driven behavior while he was supposed to be
on the job.
Nelson and the DEA went to great lengths to hide the fact that Victoria
Horstman was cooperating with them against her husband. In internal DEA
reports, Horstman is referred to as an SOI (source of information), or by
the special agent number assigned to her, SR 0054. But by the time Nelson
got a search and seizure warrant for Dalton, Horstman was balking at
further cooperation and wanted to reconcile with her husband. In the
search warrant, a public document once it is served, agent Nelson refers to
Horstman by name, exposing her to potential retribution. In tens of
thousands of court cases, the feds have fought tooth and nail against
giving up their informants' identities, and the courts have just as often
said they didn't have to name names. This court-sanctioned secrecy has
often resulted in convictions where the defendant was unable to confront
his accuser. A Marshal commented that he was "disgusted and shocked" by
agent Nelson's testimony that the DEA, apparently having concluded that the
unhinged Horstman was more trouble than she was worth to them as they
chased her husband, blithely revealed her identity.
Asked if he gave up Horstman's identity so he could better control her,
Nelson said "no." He said his "boss, the Assistant US Attorney" told him to
do it, but after some meaningful stares from the prosecution table that it
was unwise of him to blame it on the government lawyer, Nelson backed off
and took responsibility for naming Horstman.
(It was at this point I noticed that Nelson no longer wears a wedding ting,
a ring Horstman made much of in her statements to investigators. It is also
when I became aware of DEA agent Rob Price's repeated trips from the
prosecution table to the hallway where defense witnesses were waiting to
testify. Later these witnesses would tell me that Price would come out to
demand they stop talking or to stop pacing the hall. Price would tell them
they were disturbing the judge. But Judge Illston never once commented on
any distraction, or even so much as cast a frowning glance at the courtroom
doors, and I never heard any noise from outside the courtroom. Neither did
the US Marshals who serve as the judge's bailiffs show any concern. The
DEA's Price kept up his petty (and failed) attempts to intimidate witnesses
testifying against the DEA throughout the two-day hearing.)
[sidebar]
A Summary Of Nelson's Testimony
He had never taken Horstman up in a helicopter, and that to his knowledge
neither had anyone else.
He paid Horstman a total of $4,800 for her cooperation, plus "tickets and
things."
He denied threatening Horstman with the loss of her children if she didn't
inform on her husband. He both admitted and denied threatening her with
prosecution for money laundering if she didn't become a snitch.
He admitted talking to Horstman about a reward payment for her continuing
cooperation, but denied the amount discussed was 10% of assets seized from
Dalton. (The DEA seized just under $1 million of Dalton's accumulated
property. Dalton is a skilled mechanic whose services are much in demand.)
He admitted agreeing to talk to the US Attorney about getting a Mustang car
seized from Dalton for Horstman.
He denied he's in a position to recommend any reward payment. (In a written
report, Nelson recommends a "substantial reward payment" to Horstman.)
He admits kissing Horstman at the "safe house" in September of 1994, but
won't admit that it was on September 14th 1994 he first stepped over the
line with Mrs. Dalton and the date he subsequently falsified in his report.
He says he kissed her first, then modifies that to say the kiss was
"mutual." Asked why he kissed her, Nelson replied, "I felt some attachment.
I felt sorry for her and I'd grown to like her. There was an emotional
attachment, and I was curious." Tony Serra shot back, "Curious to know what
it felt like to kiss another man's wife?" -- objection sustained.
He admitted he hadn't had sex in three months because of his wife's
pregnancy. "You were horny?" Serra bluntly inquired to an immediate
sustained objection from the feds. Asked if the emotional attachment was
sexual, Nelson replied, "A little bit of that."
He said he and Horstman each had one beer, but that she only drank a little
bit of hers, "maybe a quarter," and that he finished off "the other 3/4 of
her beer" as well as his. He said he was somewhat under the influence of
alcohol because he hadn't slept or eaten in the past 36 hours. He denied
knowing Horstman was an alcoholic.
He denied fondling Horstman or touching her in any inappropriate way.
He denied ever kissing Horstman on any other occasion, "Except maybe just a
peck, you know, just to say thanks".
He admits flying Horstman from Washington State to San Francisco, then
driving her from there to Santa Rosa to see a divorce lawyer. He denies
coercing Horstman to divorce Dalton. But when Serra's questions turned to
fingerprinting Horstman, nominally Nelson's reason for bringing her alone
to the "safe house" that star-crossed night of September 14, 1994, Nelson
took the 5th. Nelson proceeded to invoke his right against
self-incrimination a total of five times, and implied it another when he
simply refused to answer Serra's question.
***
The prosecution consisted of two Assistant US Attorneys, Lewis Davis, who
seemed like he might be a human being stuck with a nasty job, and Christine
Massullo, a person who obviously enjoys her work Ms. Massullo is smart,
quick-witted, and if she has any scruples against going for the kill, they
weren't on display.
When it came time for the fed's lawyers to get tough, it was Massullo all
the way. At times, especially during the breaks, Davis tried to distance
himself from his fierce colleague. He'd joke with the defense team while
Massullo huddled with Robo Rob Price plotting the next dirty trick.
On cross examination, the feds elicited the fact that former Mendocino
Sheriff Sgt. Ron Caudillo introduced the DEA's stumbling agent Nelson to
Mrs. Dalton nee Horstman, and that Horstman told Nelson she had been
physically abused by John Dalton. The prosecution also managed to posit Ms.
Horstman as an innocent girl gone awry because of Dalton's beastly
treatment of her. Tony Serra instantly dismantled the government's
presentation of Ms. Horstman as a chaste and loyal suburban housewife by
reading the transcript of a brief but explicit phone message left by
Horstman at the COMMET headquarters in Ukiah: "This is Victoria Horstman
and Mark Nelson can go free. And Rob Clark (believed to be Rob Price's
alias)- I want to suck his dick."
Serra followed his literary introduction of the former Mrs. Dalton by
calling her to the stand.
Horstman's testimony was rambling and confused, and obviously contrived and
obstructionist when it wasn't rambling and confused. She couldn't recall
when she married Dalton or when she divorced him, other than it was
"sometime in the '90s." She said she's had a lot of different therapists,
but she couldn't recall a single name. She doesn't remember when she first
met Nelson, when she started informing on her husband, what drugs she had
taken that morning (Traxene and Zoloft). But, she remembers exactly why
her memory is so bad, and never missed an opportunity to expound on it,
even when it had nothing to do with the question asked. According to
Horstman, she can't recall the 90s because "they were the Dalton years."
"It was because I was tortured at that time," Horstman testified,
suggesting the trauma of her marriage had resulted in the memory loss of
most of the decade. Asked anything connected with her life with John
Dalton - or not - and Horstman would sob that she couldn't remember. "It's
the trauma." But when she was asked about agent Nelson's avuncular kiss at
the "safe house," Horstman's recollection was vivid and detailed. (Before
court got started that day, prosecution attorney Lewis Davis assessed his
own witness, Ms. Horstman, for the Judge. "Victoria Horstman is a liar."
Which leaves the prosecution with two liars as their primary witnesses, DEA
Special Agent Mark Nelson and the woman he took to the Redwood Valley safe
house for an on-the-job boff on the pretext she was an informant.)
Horstman said it was she who initiated the visit to the "safe house"; she
who initiated the kiss; she who initiated an ensuing tongue-lunge; and that
she put Nelson's leg ("It was a pressure point") between hers on her
crotch. "I initiated that," Horstman said of the footsies. "We were
partially lying side by side on the couch."
Horstman used the word "initiated" so often in regards to her tryst with
Nelson it left the distinct impression she was either well-coached or
Nelson was so overcome by the encounter he'd been immobilized.
All the sexual prelims, other than the conceded kiss, contradicts Nelson's
testimony. At one point, not in response to a question but apparently to
explain the remarkable detail of her memory of the "kiss," Horstman blurted
out, "I'm very observant." "I needed to be near Mark because he was my
security," explained Horstman. (In a January interview she said she was
still in love with Nelson.) But to the DEA internal affairs investigators,
Horstman denied ever kissing Nelson until Nelson himself admitted the kiss.
Asked to explain her contradictory versions of events, Horstman said, "They
(internal affairs) forgot to put it in their laptop."
Asked if she drank all of the beer Nelson gave her at the "safe house,"
Horstman replied, "Yes. That's what alcoholics do," again contradicting
Nelson's testimony that his love interest has left the beer after a
lady-like sip. Horstman had written two letters to the DEA that prompted
the internal affairs investigation. In her communiques, Horstman says
Mark Nelson grabbed her, pulled her down on the couch and kissed her,
forcing his leg into her crotch, and that Nelson had told her, "Don't say
anything; it's our little secret." Horstman says she doesn't remember
writing that, then explained it was John Dalton who forced her to write the
letter and she'd composed it "so he wouldn't beat me." She says Dalton
stood over her at their home computer and dictated the letters to the DEA,
"They're Dalton's words, not mine," his former wife told the court. But
when Serra presented her with her declaration, written by his investigator,
H.B. O'Keady, and signed by Horstman, which relates eventually the same
information as her letters to the DEA, Horstman stated, "I didn't read it.
I just assumed he wrote it the way I said it. I thought he taped it," she
said of O'Keady's affidavit she'd affixed her signature to. Horstman
admitted it was her signature, but insisted she never read it before
signing. "It's all one sided," she added irrelevantly.
Throughout her time on the stand, when confronted with words she had
written or declarations she'd signed, Horstman insisted either her husband
had forced her to write them, or that the investigators had deliberately
misconstrued what she had said or that she did not read her statements
before signing. Horstman also claimed when she was cross examined by Serra,
that three masked gunmen, one whose voice she recognized as that of her
husband, had broken into her bedroom and threatened to dismember her and
her family. Horstman broke down at that point, sobbing uncontrollably, and
forced a recess.
Back on the stand, Horstman said one of the masked men put a gun in "a
sexual area" while threatening her. (Her story was remarkably similar to
one she told me in an interview. In that version, it was Dalton's brother,
"Jack," who, wearing a mask and brandishing a gun, kidnapped her and took
her up into the hills above Redwood Valley and raped her. Horstman said he
threatened to "chop off her arms and legs" and stuck a gun between her
thighs. No police report was filed on the spectacular interlude with her
brother-in-law.)
Horstman made a threatening phone call about this same time (October of
1996) to the Mendocino County Sheriff's Office which was taped and reported
on by the Sheriff's Department. The report quotes Horstman as saying "Don't
fuck with Zack. I'll cut off your arms and legs and I don't give a fuck."
Horstman admitted making this call, and said she used the same phrase -
cutting off arms and legs - because "I learned it from John Dalton." As to
the other phone call expressing her desire to free agent Nelson and fellate
agent Rob "Clark," Horstman said she probably didn't make the call because
"I don't talk like that."
Horstman also related a July 1994 incident in which she claimed Dalton had
hit her in the stomach with a baseball bat. (More on this in Deputy Dennis
Miller's testimony.) Asked by Serra why the cops didn't arrest Dalton,
Horstman said it was because "they were afraid of him."
Last Thursday, day two of the hearing, the prosecution called their first
witness, Marjorie Cusick. Cusick is the director of a Contra Costa
battered women's shelter, who, on the basis of a two hour interview with
Horstman, wrote a report diagnosing her as suffering from Post Traumatic
Stress Syndrome. But, as Tony Serra pointed out as he tried unsuccessfully
to keep Cusick from parlaying her scant training into expert witness
status, Ms. Cusick is not a psychiatrist; she's a self-described
psychotherapist with a master's in clinical psychology and family
counseling. Although she has two masters degrees, she was never required
to write a thesis, has written no papers for peer review, nor has she
participated in clinical or academic studies of the type separating the
quacks from the professionals. Cusick admitted she was not an expert on
PTSS, and that the few times she has been called as an expert witness by
the government she has always had her qualifications challenged by the
other side.
Serra strongly objected to Cusick testifying as an expert witness, pointing
out she is not an expert, by her own admission, in PTSS, which was Cusick's
diagnosis of Ms. Horstman relayed in her written report of her assessment.
However, Cusick does appear to have expertise in Battered Woman's Syndrome.
"She is going to have to change her diagnosis on the stand," objected
Serra, "to keep in her area of expertise." And that is exactly what Cusick
did.
Both in her written report and on the witness stand, Cusick simply repeated
the claims of her alleged patient, Cusick's credulity far south of
professional skepticism. Cusick said it was her opinion that Horstman
suffers from battered woman's syndrome and John Dalton is the cause of his
ex-wife's malady. Though Cusick conceded one of Horstman's primary coping
mechanisms is lying, Cusick declared, "I believe what she told me."
Cusick admitted she never talked to Horstman about her three previous
marriages, never talked to her children, and never checked out Horstman's
claims of sexual abuse by her father and brother with other relatives who
would have had knowledge of the alleged abuse. "It wasn't necessary,"
Cusick stated flatly. "Talking to other people wasn't significant for my
purpose," which had to be the understatement of the hearing and which
appeared to be based on the simple premise, "Woman good, man bad."
Nothing could shake Ms. Cusick. Not Horstman's reams of inconsistent and
contradictory statements, not physical evidence and certainly not the male
police reports suggesting the sorely put upon Dalton was in fact the victim
of Horstman's alcohol-fueled abuse. Not even the statements of Horstman's
son, who wrote that Dalton was never abusive to his mother, but that room,
a mean drunk, was often abusive to the whole family and "made things up"
when she was under the influence who believed her own lies the next day.
Cusick's response to the young man's compellingly frank testimony was that
Horstman's son was "coming out of an abusive home and already has battered
kid syndrome."
The government got their money's worth from Ms. Cusick but Dr. Freud would
probably have had his doubts about the quality of Ms. Cusick's insights.
Unquestionably, the strongest, most dramatic testimony of the entire
hearing came from Josh Corrigan, Horstman's 20-year-old son from a previous
marriage. Corrigan testified he was 12 or 13 when he first met John Dalton,
and that they lived together with his mom and sister and Dalton's son and
daughter from a previous marriage.
Josh Corrigan loves his mother, as was plainly obvious from their
interactions out in the hall and which added more pathos to proceedings
already soaked in it. Young Mr. Corrigan presently lives with his maternal
grandparents in Modesto, where he has enrolled in a community college.
The obviously pained student testified that he was very close to his
mother, and his relationship with Dalton was "really good. We would ride
dirt bikes and work on motors" he said by way of an illustration of his and
his stepfather's close relationship. He answered questions in a thoughtful
and forthright manner, but was often nearly overwhelmed by emotion. He was
obviously telling the truth.
Corrigan said he had never seen John Dalton physically abuse his mother, or
strike her or threaten her in any way. Never once did his mother complain
that John Dalton abused her, the young man said. He testified his mom
"would get drunk quite a bit. It was pretty bad." His mother's drinking
increased dramatically when she got involved with the DEA, which she told
him about at the time. Corrigan said Horstman's drinking would leave her
"confused. She would sleep a lot. When she drank, she would make up
things. It would be a lie, but the next day when she woke up, she would
believe it even though it was a lie. Sometimes she would get drunk and
stay up all night calling people, swearing at them. That's why I had to
leave."
Serra also asked Corrigan if he had ever seen Dalton hit or abuse his
mother, in any way, or if Dalton had ever told him he had. "No. Never."
Choking back tears, Corrigan described the years with Dalton as "The best
of my life. We were a family. John is like my father, every bit as much as
my blood father." Under cross examination, when asked by the ruthless
prosecutor Ms. Massullo about his statement that "they were the best years
of his Life." Corrigan broke down, crying, "I miss the old days. Can't get
it back. It's all messed up." Even she seemed moved by his testimony.
Corrigan told the judge that his mom showed him the tape recorder in her
and Dalton's bedroom.
"The recorder was under the bed on mom's side. It had wires taped to the
wall leading up behind the headboard. She said the DEA wanted her to get
things on John Dalton.
He also said Horstman had told him there were "bugs in the living room,"
but she "didn't know where they were hidden" because the DEA had put them
there.
Asked why his mother was taping his stepfather, Corrigan replied, "She told
me she would get charged with money laundering if she didn't go along with
it."
Tony Serra then asked, "Did your mom ever show you a firearms training
certificate?" "Yes. Definitely," was the young man's answer, again
contradicting the testimony of Nelson and Horstman that she hadn't
functioned as an impromptu DEA agent. "She said the DEA made her go through
firearms training and she showed me the paper."
Corrigan also told about the time his mother came home and excitedly told
him about going on a helicopter ride with agent Nelson. "She said they
were drinking beer and had flown over a pot crop, and that she had gotten
drunk and then sick and they had to bring her down."
Serra asked about Horstman's state of mind when she told her son about her
airborne beer bust.
"Nervous and still buzzing from the booze."
"When she would tell you these things," asked Serra, "did you believe she
was telling the truth?" "Well yes. There's no reason to lie to me," was
Corrigan's simple answer.
Corrigan said his mother would often tell him she was in love with Mark
Nelson and that they kissed. "She saw him quite a bit," Corrigan recalled.
Horstman's emotionally pounded son recounted the first time he met agent
Mark Nelson at the home of Chohni Kellerman-Baird, when the DEA was packing
them up for the move to Washington State. His detailed testimony about
Nelson taking him to COMMET headquarters and putting his gun on the desk in
front of the young man while grilling him about Dalton's activities
directly contradicts Nelson's testimony that he hadn't pressured the
then-high school student. Corrigan said Nelson put his hand on his leg and
told him, "(Your mother and I) have a lot of feelings for each other and
we've gotten to know each other real well."
Asked how agent Nelson's uniquely personal confidences made him feel,
Corrigan answered, "Weird. It made me uncomfortable." Then, starting to
sob, Corrigan said, "I love John like a father," and crying openly, "He's a
good dad to me."
Once the DEA had moved Corrigan, his mother and Kellerman-Baird to Blaine,
Washington, Corrigan said his mother wanted to reconcile with Dalton. "But
she said she had to divorce John or go to jail for money laundering,
that's what she said Nelson told her."
But John Dalton traced his missing family through phone records and called
up, wanting to come for a visit. Horstman immediately called agent Nelson,
who flew to Washington and gave her another tape recorder, instructing her
to invite Dalton up.
"I saw Mark Nelson the same day John came," related Corrigan. "He said he
wanted me to go to his motel and talk to John. Nelson wanted me to ride my
bike to John's motel and ask him why he was there."
Agent Nelson has denied seeing or talking to Corrigan during Nelson's
Washington visit.
"Mom said she missed John," Corrigan testified, "and wanted to move back
with him. But the DEA said she couldn't be around him." Horstman showed
her son the tape recorder she had been given by Nelson, fitted into the
bottom of her purse.
"Is this the truth?" Serra asked young Corrigan.
"Yes."
"Why did you do it? Why spy on John Dalton for Mark Nelson?" "I didn't tell
John about Mark Nelson because I was scared of them. They said not to tell."
"Have you ever been afraid of John Dalton?"
"No. Never. I wanted to see John on my own."
Corrigan testified he saw Dalton give his mother a new set of wedding rings
at their Washington meeting. "She started crying. I think she wanted to
move back."
But that same day, November 25, 1994, Horstman secretly taped Dalton as the
couple walked along railroad tracks near his motel room.
And the DEA-mugged family never did reunite.
Unbeknownst to Dalton, on November 4, 1994, agent Nelson had flown Horstman
to San Francisco where he had picked her up and had driven her to a Santa
Rosa divorce attorney to sign papers making the couple's divorce final.
The DEA had decided to rip apart what God had said no mortal should tear
asunder.
Chohni Kellerman-Baird is a junior high school teacher who volunteers at a
home where terminally ill children go to die. She now divides her time
between Washington state and British Columbia. She testified she first met
Horstman and Dalton in Ukiah in 1990, and had attended their wedding. "Tori
and I were quite close," Baird says, under the name she has used since
moving north. "I was probably her only friend."
Baird testified she was Horstman's confidant, and that Horstman had told
her all about her involvement with the DEA at the time it was going full
force. "She said she had been approached by the DEA and that they
threatened to implicate her in money laundering if she didn't help them.
She said she had to "frame - set up - John, or go to jail."
Horstman told Baird the DEA had initiated the contact. "She was very
scared and would whisper when she talked about them. She said she would go
to jail, lose her children and her job - Horstman worked at Mendo/Lake
Credit Union at the time - if she didn't cooperate with the DEA." Horstman
told Baird that Mark Nelson was her contact. "She said I was to never
repeat his name," Baird recalled.
Turning toward the judge, Baird described Horstman's relationship with
Nelson, as told to her by Horstman.
"Tori had been there before (the kissing incident.) She pointed it out to
me. She called it the COMMET house, and said it was a place she could go
and kick back with the guys and drink beer. She said she was falling in
love with Mark Nelson and that they were having an affair. She was
confused about it because she said she loved John too. She implied it was
a sexual thing, and would flip flop back and forth."
"Did she ever tell you she had sex with Nelson?" asked Serra. "Yes."
Baird said she first met Mark Nelson in the summer of 1994 at Mendocino
Collage when Horstman took her along to meet the apparently loosely
supervised federal agent.
"He wanted me to become an 'operative,'" Baird testified. "He told me that
an incident many years ago with John Dalton had 'made him look ridiculous'
and that he 'wanted to get him.' Nelson said 'that son of a bitch won't get
away with it. One way or another I'll get him.' He told me if I didn't
cooperate I would lose my children and he would put me in jail."
But Baird didn't cooperate with the DEA, though she led them to believe
she was, and was allowed to attend subsequent meetings with Nelson and
Horstman. She testified Nelson encouraged them to take a hunter's safety
class ("We went three times"), and that Nelson told Horstman "it was a good
idea to get a gun." Horstman told Baird she "wanted to have a gun so she
could kill John and make it look like self defense." Horstman's plan, Baird
testified, was to "make John angry and then shoot him. She said "Then this
whole mess will be over'."
Baird testified to seeing Horstman and Nelson hug and kiss on several
occasions - at the collage and at the credit union where Horstman then
worked and where she'd also seen the pair exchange gifts. "They were long
kisses," Baird elaborated.
Chonhi Baird's damning testimony included an account of an incident at her
house where Horstman, drunk, fell repeatedly and then stood in front of her
pressing her fingers into her own arm until they left marks. When Baird
asked why she was doing that, Horstman replied, "It's so I can document
abuse by John and send him to jail."
Asked by Serra if Dalton ever hit Horstman, or if Horstman ever told her he
did, Baird emphatically replied, "Never."
Baird went on to say that "Four or five man wearing blue jackets that said
FBI in yellow letters on the back" packed her and Horstman up for the move
to Washington, and that Nelson took Josh Corrigan away in his car "for about
45 minutes."
Once established in Blaine on the Canadian border, Baird said Mark Nelson
would call daily. "Nelson would hound her," as Baird remembered the
agent's calls which she listened to over the speakerphone. "He'd tell her,
'You've got to start divorce proceedings. You can't testify against John
until you divorce him.' He told me the same thing, and that if Tori didn't
divorce John she would go to jail. But Tori said she didn't really want a
divorce. Nelson gave her the money to fly back to California for the divorce."
When Dalton came up to Washington to see his wife, Nelson told Horstman, in
front of Baird, that she had to get incriminating info on Dalton "even if
you have to sleep with him."
Baird said she saw the tape recorder Nelson had given Horstman, and
accurately described it. She also saw the rings Dalton gave his wife. "She
was very proud of them. She didn't want to go through with it. She still
loved John but she was playing both sides. She would tell me how much she
liked sleeping with John."
Baird testified Horstman was a hard-core alcoholic who used to hide cases
of wine from her husband. "She is a very mean drunk, very dramatic," said
Baird. "When drinking she would say things she shouldn't, like that John
abused her. I knew that wasn't true."
Asked how she knew Horstman hadn't been mistreated by Dalton, Baird
described the time she picked Horstman up at the Ukiah Hospital.
"The cops were there and she had been drinking. She was on probation for
drunk driving and wasn't supposed to drink. She had me tell the cops it
was wine vinegar from her salad and they released her to my custody. Tori
claimed John had beaten her with a baseball bat. I was really pissed about
it, but when I took her to my house and undressed her and helped her take a
shower, there wasn't a mark on her. Later, I went to John's house to talk
to him about it and he had this big bloody lump on his head."
Prosecutor Massullo started the cross-examination of Baird by asking if she
was on probation. Baird looked puzzled and answered, "No."
"Do you have a bench warrant out for your arrest?" demanded Massullo.
"Certainly not," was Baird's indignant reply. Massullo then whipped out a
bench warrant for Baird's arrest on an outstanding warrant from Mendocino
County, saying the warrant discredited Baird's testimony.
Tony Serra bellowed an objection, demanding, "Let me see that," as he
snatched the paper from Massullo's hand. "This is a traffic ticket, for
Christ sakes," roared Serra. "Only prior felonies and misdemeanor crimes
of moral turpitude can be used to impeach," he told a startled Judge Illston.
After a heated exchange between prosecutor Massullo and Serra, the judge
told Massullo, "I don't see the relevance of this and I'm not going to
allow it."
It turns out the warrant was for a traffic ticket for speeding -- five
miles an hour over the limit -- and that Baird had paid the fine with a
check, which Mendocino County had duly cashed. But the check was signed
Chohni Baird and the ticket was issued to Connie Kellerman. On this basis,
a Mendo judge had signed, at the DEA's insistence no doubt, a bench warrant
for Ms. Baird's arrest. (We are trying to find out which Mendo judge
signed onto this low scheme to undermine Ms. Baird's testimony.)
Outside the courtroom a uniformed San Francisco police officer was waiting
to arrest Ms. Baird on the bogus warrant. But the cop was conveniently
lured to the other end of the hall by an unusually attractive woman and
Baird slipped out of the courtroom and down the stairwell to freedom. The
cop, Cupid's arrow still stuck in his back, went huffing and puffing in
pursuit of the fleet Ms. Baird, but found the stairwell door mysteriously
jammed. Downstairs in the parking lot scores of DEA and uniformed SF
police, frantically yelling into their walkie talkies, also searched for
Ms. Baird, a bogus traffic ticket authenticated by a Mendocino County
judge, magically converted to a federal all points bulletin for a woman who
had committed no crime. But Ms. Baird made her escape, and was last
reported on a plane for Alaska - or was it Scotland?
It was finally time for the government's last witness. Like Ms. Cusick,
the feds got their money's worth. Sheriff's deputy Dennis Miller, formally
of Mendocino County and now working as a deputy in Eldorado County,
testified to a call he received from Victoria Horstman for an assault with
a deadly weapon. Miller testified he had been called to the house next
door to Dalton's in Redwood Valley, where he found Horstman doubled up,
crying that her husband John had hit her in the stomach with a baseball
bat. Miller called an ambulance for Horstman and went next door to knock
on Dalton's door. John Dalton answered holding a bloody wash cloth to his
face. Miller testified Dalton had a large bump on his head, a cut over his
left eye, and a bloody nose.
Dalton told Miller he had come home to find his wife drunk and blaming him
for his son's arrest earlier that day. Dalton retreated to his bedroom to
escape his rampaging mate, but she followed him into their DEA-bugged
bower, and when he turned around she hit him on the head with the bat.
Miller testified Dalton refused to press charges because he said "she's on
probation for DUI."
Miller further testified Dalton's injuries did not appear to be serious.
Miller stuck by this assessment even after shown pictures of Dalton's
wounds, which obviously warranted at a minimum a trip to the emergency room
for examination. Miller testified that he "was highly suspicious of
(Dalton's) validity. I thought he was lying."
Miller then went to the hospital where he examined Horstman for signs of
injuries. Nether he nor the emergency room physician could find any marks
on Horstman.
In spite of Dalton's head wound, and the complete absence of signs of
injury to Horstman, Miller, at times testifying as confidently about
Dalton's wound as if he were an MD, said it was his considered opinion that
Horstman was the victim and Dalton had assaulted her.
But Miller made no arrests.
Judge Susan Illston had absorbed this startling testimony for two days and
has since had the matter under submission. She will soon decide if the
government's outrageous conduct rises to the level of legally qualified
outrageous conduct. If she decides that it does, and if it doesn't one can
only wonder what does constitute outrageous government conduct, she will
dismiss all charges against John Dalton. If the judge decides the
government conduct was not sufficiently outrageous in their pursuit of John
Dalton, trial is set for August of this year.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Terence McKenna ~ Condition Report (A list subscriber forwards news that the
psychedelic philosopher has been diagnosed with brain cancer in Hawaii and is
not expected to live long.)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 02:14:22 EDT
Originator: friends@freecannabis.org
Sender: friends@freecannabis.org
From: Remembers@webtv.net (Genie Brittingham)
To: Multiple recipients of list (friends@freecannabis.org)
Subject: Terence McKenna ~ Condition Report
This is a report from Terence's brother, Dennis.
From: DJMcKenna@aol.com
Sent: Wednesday, May 26, 1999 8:06 PM
Subject: This is a second resend of the latest Terence update
To all,
This is the second (or third, I forget) update on Terence's situation. Most
of you already know that he is in the Queen's Medical Center in Honolulu,
having been diagnosed with brain cancer. If I missed including you in this
"update list" please forgive the omission; the older version of AOL was
giving me a lot of trouble trying to put together a list, and you may have
been missed in my attempts to work around that (count on AOL *not* to work
when you really need it). I've now installed a newer version which seems to
me much better.
Also, feel free to forward this to anyone you feel would want to know that is
not on this list but would like to be.
Here's the current situation; it is now Wednesday, 5/26, about 9 am here
in Honolulu. Terence, who has been here since Saturday after being flown here
from Kona after suffering several massive seizures, underwent the preliminary
biopsy procedure yesterday to collect a sample of the tumor so they can
determine what type it is and try to fill in the picture as to various
treatment options.
They will get the tissues back later today, and then will know more about the
cancer as such, what type it is, etc. But they already know enough from the
CAT scans and other data to present a fairly grim picture. Here's the bare
bones:
The tumor is lodged so deeply in the brain, and is located in such a place,
that surgical removal is probably not an option. There is a significant
chance he would not survive it, or survive it but remain in a coma with
severely impaired functions, or (the most optimistic scenario) survive with
impaired functions that could be recovered partially through rehabilitation.
The problem is that he would probably not survive long enough to complete
rehabilitation.
So the current options are as follows:
Instead of surgery, the doctor (Dr. Keep) is suggesting the gamma knife, a
focused gamma beam that will destroy the tumor. It is a noninvasive procedure
that is a one-day procedure; so it is like surgery but using gamma particles
instead of a knife.
That will kill the primary tumor (and he is now satisfied it is a primary
brain tumor, not a metastatic tumor from some other part of the body). There
is no sign of cancer elsewhere in Terence's body. The tumor may then resorb,
or it may swell, putting pressure on the brain which may necessitate surgery
later on anyway. And that surgery will be much more dangerous because he will
still be recovering from the gamma surgery.
The gamma procedure also should (in the doctor's view) be followed up by
x-ray radiotherapy to destroy cancer cells in the surrounding tissue. This
is a more diffuse, less focused procedure than the gamma knife, and requires
treatement 5 days a week for about six weeks. That will buy more time, but
the drawback is that Terenece would feel fine for a while, (although the
usual effects of radiation therapy; hair loss, severe fatigue, immune
compromise, etc.) but then in about a year would suffer what's called
radiation dementia, involving severe memory loss, loss of cognitive
functions, etc. This radiation dementia is not a maybe, it is a certainty.
The further bad news is that the doctor doesn't think he will survive long
enough to experience radiation dementia.
None of these procedures is a cure. The doctor is very clear on this point.
The procedures, and the various options, are to buy Terence some time,
preserve quality of life as much as possible as long as possible, but right
now, short of an outright miracle, survival beyond about two years maximum is
extremely unlikely.
Here is the projected survival rates for various options:
1. Do nothing, prevent seizures, keep the swelling down and keep him
comfortable: death in 1 month to two months maximum
2. Proceed with the gamma knife operation, kill the primary tumor, and do not
follow up with X-ray therapy. Survival to about six months, during which time
he will feel relatively good, and will not have dementia until the later,
terminal stages
3. Proceed with the recommended procedure, gamma knife + X-ray therapy. He
may have up to nine pretty good months, then a rapid decline.
Survival beyond a year is unlikely. Although survival up to two years is
known, but rare. But usually the final stages are not good for the patient in
terms of quality of life.
Another option may exist in that there may be experimental therapies, and
experimental treatment protocols, that would offer an alternative solution.
We are looking into this very vigorously as you can imagine. There is a lot
of active work in this area, but the question of qualifying to be included in
the treatment protocol, the time to get in, etc. will all have to be sorted
out. At this stage, we have not yet identified what experimental therapies
may be appropriate. The doctor has given us some excellent leads and we
welcome additional leads from one and all; rest assured, we're on it and any
thing we turn up that looks promising will be included in the next update.
Terence needs your hopes, prayers, and good vibes, as much as you can send,
however you think appropriate, more than ever now. You can use my email
address as a contact (djmckenna@aol.com) but please be understanding if I do
not respond to each email individually.
I have set up this email list to keep people informed, and if you want to be
included on the list (or excluded if your name is on this one and should not
be) just ask.
Also, unless you are a close personal friend of Terence's or a family member,
please do not, repeat do not, call the Queen's medical center in Honolulu.
Thanks for your help, love, and support, and stay tuned.
Dennis
-------------------------------------------------------------------
This Man Is Paid £106,000 A Year To Stop Britain's Youth Taking Drugs. Is He
Worth It? (The Independent says that 16 months after Keith Hellawell was
appointed "drugs tsar" by the British Government to spearhead a new
anti-drugs crusade, criticism is mounting that he has failed to grasp the
detail of his job. "He is aloof, uninspiring and out of touch," said a senior
academic in the drugs field yesterday. "Worst of all, he is out of his depth.
He is simply not bright enough. He can't hold all the balls up in the air."
In a recent radio interview, Hellawell told listeners that doctors are not
allowed to prescribe diamorphine, more commonly known as heroin, to addicts -
which isn't true. One observer described his appointment as a poisoned
chalice. "New Labour has unloaded the political embarrassment of its failing
drugs policy on to the drugs tsar," he said. "As a figurehead, Keith
Hellawell serves that purpose.")
Date: Wed, 26 May 1999 17:28:46 -0700
From: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org (MAPNews)
To: mapnews@mapinc.org
Subject: MN: UK: This Man Is Paid UKP106,000 A Year To Stop Britain's Youth
Sender: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Reply-To: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Organization: Media Awareness Project http://www.mapinc.org/lists/
Newshawk: Martin Cooke (mjc1947@cyberclub.iol.ie)
Pubdate: 26 May 1999
Source: Independent, The (UK)
Copyright: 1999 Independent Newspapers (UK) Ltd.
Contact: letters@independent.co.uk
Address: 1 Canada Square, Canary Wharf, London E14 5DL
Website: http://www.independent.co.uk/
Author: Kathy Marks
THIS MAN IS PAID UKP106,000 A YEAR TO STOP BRITAIN'S YOUTH TAKING
DRUGS. IS HE WORTH IT?
Keith Hellawell, the Government's "drugs tsar", told listeners to a
recent radio interview that doctors are not allowed to prescribe
diamorphine, more commonly known as heroin, to addicts.
Quite what the listeners made of this remark is not clear. But all
over Whitehall - at the Home Office, the Department of Health and the
Cabinet Office, where Mr Hellawell is based - civil servants cringed
with embarrassment. The gaffe - doctors can indeed prescribe
diamorphine, provided they have a special licence - illustrates a
recurring criticism of the UK anti-drugs co-ordinator, to give him his
proper title: that he has failed to grasp the detail of his job.
"He is aloof, uninspiring and out of touch," said a senior academic in
the drugs field yesterday. "Worst of all, he is out of his depth. He
is simply not bright enough. He can't hold all the balls up in the
air."
Harsh words, but they were not untypical of the views expressed by
drugs experts and voluntary workers yesterday, 16 months after Mr
Hellawell was appointed by the Government to spearhead a new
anti-drugs crusade.
Mr Hellawell, a former chief constable of West Yorkshire, was selected
for the UKP106,000-a-year post because of his long-standing interest
in drugs issues and his reputation for being prepared to "think the
unthinkable".
Ironically, the initial concerns expressed about him - that, because
of his background, he would concentrate exclusively on law enforcement
aspects of the job - have proved unfounded. In fact, he has shifted
the emphasis to education and rehabilitation, making clear that he
believes the problem cannot be solved by simply arresting and locking
up addicts.
His 10-year strategy, unveiled in April last year, included a new
penalty obliging criminals to undergo treatment for drug addiction. It
also promised improved drugs education in schools and the
establishment of a national Drugs Prevention Advisory Service to
support local drug action teams in the community. Even Mr Hellawell's
detractors say the strategy looks good on paper, encompassing every
conceivable angle. There is also grudging admiration for his success
in squeezing UKP217m out of the Treasury to implement it.
But there remains widespread scepticism about whether Mr Hellawell, a
former miner who now drives a Porsche, has the authority, courage and
vision to pick his way through the political minefield and make real
progress in the fight against drugs.
Many observers draw a contrast with his deputy, Mike Trace, who is
seen as brighter, more accessible and more in touch with youth issues.
Mr Trace, who rides a motorbike, is a former social worker who worked
in the voluntary drugs field.
"Mike Trace holds the whole thing together. He has a far better grasp
of the detail and he works his socks off," said one Hellawell critic.
"He is immensely relaxed and well-respected."
Out in the field, experts picked their words more carefully. Mr
Hellawell, after all, is the public face of government drugs policy and
voluntary agencies are largely dependent on government funding. "It would be
suicide to criticise him," said one.
Roger Howard, chief executive of the Standing Conference on Drug
Abuse, was among the few prepared to speak on the record yesterday. He
praised Mr Hellawell for his willingness to heed the views of people
working at the sharp end.
Mike Goodman, director of Release, the drugs charity, described Mr
Hellawell, diplomatically, as a safe pair of hands. "Certainly we
could have done worse," he said.
"He's not a great communicator, but he is amiable, and parts of his strategy
are very good. I wish that he would be more outspoken sometimes, that he
would tackle the difficult issues such as decriminalisation, which I believe
that he supports."
This is a persistent criticism made of Mr Hellawell: that he has abandoned
his liberal, occasionally maverick, views and is toeing the Government's hard
line on drugs.
As a police officer, he was prepared to advocate reform of the
"absurd" laws on prostitution and the legalisation of brothels. He
also said, in an interview on the BBC's Panorama programme, that he
foresaw the day when cannabis would be legal. After being appointed to
his post, he disowned that comment.
There is no doubt that Mr Hellawell is in a difficult position. He is
"drugs tsar", modelled on an American concept, but unlike his American
counterparts he has no budget, no independence and no real power. He
is, in reality, just a special adviser, yet, unlike other government
special advisers, he has a high profile.
There is no doubt, too, that he has suffered from snobbishness and
elitism at the hands of some senior civil servants, who resented an
outsider - and, worst of all, a police officer - being parachuted in
above their heads. "What's a copper doing in Whitehall?" people would
whisper after he arrived.
One government adviser on drugs, who knows him well, said yesterday:
"There were people who fell over backwards at drinks parties when he
was appointed. In reality, he has not done badly. But he does not have
the sagacity to understand the larger issues. I doubt that the
benefits of his job are worth the cost."
Another observer described his appointment as a poisoned chalice.
"New Labour has unloaded the political embarrassment of its failing
drugs policy on to the drugs tsar," he said. "As a figurehead, Keith
Hellawell serves that purpose."
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[End]
to the 1999 Daily News index for May 21-27