A Happy Mother's Day Greeting from Social Services

MP-F - I wrote this article originally in 2010.  I did not, at the time, realize the individuals reporting me for abuse were Morgan Pillsbury Gell, and her then husband, Jay Earl Gell. Morgan had not seen Arthur since 2001. Jay never met or talked to him.  They had contacted me after I started the website for Sassoon Saleem Sassoon, in 2010.  That story is now being written, and will be added, with a link here.  

I have to apologize to the ladies from Social Services.  I did not realize Morgan and Jay were responsible, or what their motives could be, until some years later. 

Two women, Michelle Hammond, and Lynn Sears, accompanied by a sheriff, Deputy Kemmerling, drove up to the house in two white cars, one a patrol car and the other a government vehicle. They asked to see Arthur, my son. Arthur is 30, but disabled. Arthur had left to take a short constitutional after having lunch, he had then been gone for about 15 minutes. I told them he would be back shortly and went inside, leaving them to wait on the driveway.

The house is a cabin located in a small subdivision. Most of the cabins are occupied only on weekends as most owners only vacation here. We live here full time to save money and since Arthur needs full time care this is the only way I can provide that care and survive, and that just barely. I work from home doing free lance writing and an online radio show. The downturn in the economy has hit all of us.

I was informed that there had been an anonymous complaint regarding the care of my son. When I let them talk to Arthur out of my hearing I later learned from him that he was asked if I abused him. He was asked a series of questions that each served to demean me, prying into our personal lives in ways that clearly violate our rights. My son was asked if he used illegal drugs, among other evidently routine questions. It was manipulative, ignoring my son's Constitutional rights. This would have been true even if he was not severely disabled.

We are obviously being targeted. My son represents potential income to the system. Income that amounts to more than $400,000.00.

There was a time when being poor did not make you fair game to predators like the people from Social Services. That time is past. Having ascertained that Arthur is not abused; he was astonished at the suggestion, any legitimate inquiry should have ended. Instead they used intimidation as an opening wedge in an attempt to influence my son. Having listened to their blandishments Arthur told them that although he was sometimes lonely he preferred to stay with me. Arthur helps when and where he can; he knows families pull together.  At that point they transferred their attention to me. Arthur had unwittingly thwarted their agenda.

There was a time when we all knew that the family was the center for our lives. Families stayed together, in good times and bad. Families were and are the kind of insurance that both protects and makes our lives whole. We are who we are because of our family; being a good mother, father, sister, brother, son, daughter carried us along with our faith in God through things that otherwise would destroy us.

Refusing to tell either of us who might have filed such a charge they demanded answers to questions that no part of government has a right to know under the Constitution. Arthur and I have a happy and amicable relationship having passed through much pain and adjustment; he receives all the care I can afford and participates in every event and activity possible. Hearing his voice makes the hardships of the last ten years unimportant. He has his own computer and spends time on line. He attends church and goes to Bible Study once a week. I drive him to events when possible but attend few myself since it is costly and interferes with my work. At our small church I usually read the weekly lesson.

The obvious thrust of the procedure the women followed was an attempt to get control of Arthur if money could be generated for their department. The presence of a deputy sheriff, although he said later he was only there to show them where I lived, was intimidating and embarrassing. I am nearly 60 and have suffered two heart attacks, I am no threat to anyone. Although the deputy then said he was only there to show them where I lived, the place is not served by the Post Office, he stayed, listening to what transpired making his explanation problematical.

Over and over Hammond implied that I was 'keeping Arthur away from his friends,' that he was not happy. They asserted that Arthur had a 'right' to make his own decisions regarding where he lives. If such a 'right' exists, and it is not included in the Bill of Rights, then most of us would choose to live in Beverly Hills. Arthur well knows that we live at the cabin because I do not have funds to live elsewhere. 

These well paid government 'workers' assumed as a matter of course that Arthur should be receiving welfare or disability; he is not and never has. The distress on their faces was obvious. Immediately they wanted to know if I would apply. 

There was a time when Americans stood tall, accepting help from friends and family in need. Government was not part of the equation. That was a better time for all of us. Why do those who make their living supposedly, making us safer, bring a message of fear? Why have so many families, already struggling, been forced over the edge from just this kind of predation from the agencies funded through our taxes? Why can they afford nice homes, goodies, and pensions when so many of us are struggling to stay off the street?

The answer is obvious.

Evidently during their time alone with Arthur they worked to persuade Arthur that he would be happier living elsewhere. It is hard to imagine that they could believe that a man who has had two major brain injuries is capable of deciding for himself that he is capable of making life-impacting decisions, or that they, having known him for around 30 minutes, were better qualified than myself to do so but this was, indeed, their attitude. It is amazing that they could, with straight faces and such fervor, maintain that it is appropriate to interfere with the most intimate choices a family makes. They showed no concern over the stability of any situation they might offer, simply rejecting the obvious fact that the economic meltdown every other part of America is feeling in the most visceral way could impact their small, ugly shake down. 

With bright, glassy smiles, they asserted Arthur's right to be happy over any other consideration. But his wellbeing and happiness were not on their agenda.

They promised Arthur that he could go back to Santa Barbara, something I considered to be doubtful. They ignored his need for further therapy. There are many new approaches now coming into availability for the victims of brain injuries. They demonstrated complete ignorance and indifference about the facts regarding brain injuries. They told me I would let him go if I cared about him. They were insulting, demeaning, and verbally abusive to both me and to my son. That was the underscoring and the message received by me and by countless others who find such 'workers' on their door steps.

One wonders what any of the three would do if someone trying to make their quota in human flesh arrived at their door with the power of a holstered gun and tried to intimidate them into handing over their child. What do you say about the moral fiber of people who profit from such a system? Nothing is ugly enough.

Americans need to demand answers. Among others we need to know what bounty is being put on each child or disabled adult sucked into the system. We need to know what such 'workers' are paid. We need to know the specifics about their benefits. We need to know how many disabled adults die after being sucked into their system, how many children end up sold into sex rings or used for pornographic films. In case you were unaware that is all too often their fate. Children present many possibilities to the greedy.

Hitler also instituted 'homes.' Those received there were put to death under the same benevolent rhetoric I heard yesterday. The long dead Germans were also told they would be happier and better cared for.

There are questions that need answers and now is the time to demand them. The disabled adults and children, now far more vulnerable because of the incessant need to pump more funds into a system intended solely to profit those in power, needs to be stopped.

Government has drawn a bead on all families, yours included. Listen for the knock on the door.

Those in power need to be charged and sued for the damage they have done to lives barely started and at risk. As Americans we have a right to justice and the time for that is now.

NOTE:  Here is the affidavit Jay wrote for Sassoon Saleem to sign, which as far as he told me, he did not do.  He also failed to mention having received the affidavit written by Jay.  Morgan could not have written it because she had literacy issues.

A Happy Mother's Day Greeting from Social Services

Preface - This is an old story, which took place around 2010.  At the time, I was simply hurt and outraged.  I had at that time been my son's sole caretaker since his motorcycle accident on September 27, 1997.  Arthur had suffered a severe brain injury and was not expected to live.  Every moment possible I spent at Cottage Hospital helping to care for him.  You can learn more about what I was then going through at HowTheNeoConsStoleFreedom.com, link leads Throw Mama from the Train.  Since the determination of my soon estranged husband, Craig Franklin, and Dan O'Dowd, to steal the company, Green Hills Software, Inc. from Dan's partner and the man who entirely funded it in 1982, Glenn Hightower, had made it convenient to get rid of me, Craig and Dan had cut a deal, which, I am not kidding, they called the Throw Momma From the Train Strategy.  

I was one of the two problems who needed to be gotten rid of. I was stunned when Craig filed for divorce in January of 1998.  I had just saved him from the IRS. 

You're Not Paranoid – The IRS is out to get you.

I was very inconvenient and did not shut up, especially since they were attempting to steal everything I was due from my more than ten years of marriage with Craig.  So, they hired people to defame me, threaten me, and make it impossible for me to earn a living, which was harder than at all normal because I was taking care of Arthur 24/7/365.  When you love people, you do that.  The story below is just one of the many, but it disappeared from the Internet, so I'm republishing it.  

A Happy Mother's Day Greeting from Social Services
Two women, Michelle Hammond, and Lynn Sears, accompanied by a sheriff, Deputy Kemmerling, drove up to the house in two white cars, one a patrol car and the other a government vehicle. They asked to see Arthur, my son. Arthur is 30, but disabled. Arthur had left to take a short constitutional after having lunch, he had then been gone for about 15 minutes. I told them he would be back shortly and went inside, leaving them to wait on the driveway.

The house is a cabin located in a small subdivision. Most of the cabins are occupied only on weekends as most owners only vacation here. We live here full time to save money and since Arthur needs full time care this is the only way I can provide that care and survive, and that just barely. I work from home doing free lance writing and an online radio show. The downturn in the economy has hit all of us.

I was informed that there had been an anonymous complaint regarding the care of my son. When I let them talk to Arthur out of my hearing I later learned from him that he was asked if I abused him. He was asked a series of questions that each served to demean me, prying into our personal lives in ways that clearly violate our rights. My son was asked if he used illegal drugs, among other evidently routine questions. It was manipulative, ignoring my son's Constitutional rights. This would have been true even if he was not severely disabled.

We are obviously being targeted. My son represents potential income to the system. Income that amounts to more than $400,000.00.

There was a time when being poor did not make you fair game to predators like the people from Social Services. That time is past. Having ascertained that Arthur is not abused; he was astonished at the suggestion, any legitimate inquiry should have ended. Instead they used intimidation as an opening wedge in an attempt to influence my son. Having listened to their blandishments Arthur told them that although he was sometimes lonely he preferred to stay with me. Arthur helps when and where he can; he knows families pull together.  At that point they transferred their attention to me. Arthur had unwittingly thwarted their agenda.

There was a time when we all knew that the family was the center for our lives. Families stayed together, in good times and bad. Families were and are the kind of insurance that both protects and makes our lives whole. We are who we are because of our family; being a good mother, father, sister, brother, son, daughter carried us along with our faith in God through things that otherwise would destroy us.

Refusing to tell either of us who might have filed such a charge they demanded answers to questions that no part of government has a right to know under the Constitution. Arthur and I have a happy and amicable relationship having passed through much pain and adjustment; he receives all the care I can afford and participates in every event and activity possible. Hearing his voice makes the hardships of the last ten years unimportant. He has his own computer and spends time on line. He attends church and goes to Bible Study once a week. I drive him to events when possible but attend few myself since it is costly and interferes with my work. At our small church I usually read the weekly lesson.

The obvious thrust of the procedure the women followed was an attempt to get control of Arthur if money could be generated for their department. The presence of a deputy sheriff, although he said later he was only there to show them where I lived, was intimidating and embarrassing. I am nearly 60 and have suffered two heart attacks, I am no threat to anyone. Although the deputy then said he was only there to show them where I lived, the place is not served by the Post Office, he stayed, listening to what transpired making his explanation problematical.

Over and over Hammond implied that I was 'keeping Arthur away from his friends,' that he was not happy. They asserted that Arthur had a 'right' to make his own decisions regarding where he lives. If such a 'right' exists, and it is not included in the Bill of Rights, then most of us would choose to live in Beverly Hills. Arthur well knows that we live at the cabin because I do not have funds to live elsewhere. 

These well paid government 'workers' assumed as a matter of course that Arthur should be receiving welfare or disability; he is not and never has. The distress on their faces was obvious. Immediately they wanted to know if I would apply. 

There was a time when Americans stood tall, accepting help from friends and family in need. Government was not part of the equation. That was a better time for all of us. Why do those who make their living supposedly, making us safer, bring a message of fear? Why have so many families, already struggling, been forced over the edge from just this kind of predation from the agencies funded through our taxes? Why can they afford nice homes, goodies, and pensions when so many of us are struggling to stay off the street?

The answer is obvious.

Evidently during their time alone with Arthur they worked to persuade Arthur that he would be happier living elsewhere. It is hard to imagine that they could believe that a man who has had two major brain injuries is capable of deciding for himself that he is capable of making life-impacting decisions, or that they, having known him for around 30 minutes, were better qualified than myself to do so but this was, indeed, their attitude. It is amazing that they could, with straight faces and such fervor, maintain that it is appropriate to interfere with the most intimate choices a family makes. They showed no concern over the stability of any situation they might offer, simply rejecting the obvious fact that the economic meltdown every other part of America is feeling in the most visceral way could impact their small, ugly shake down. 

With bright, glassy smiles, they asserted Arthur's right to be happy over any other consideration. But his wellbeing and happiness were not on their agenda.

They promised Arthur that he could go back to Santa Barbara, something I considered to be doubtful. They ignored his need for further therapy. There are many new approaches now coming into availability for the victims of brain injuries. They demonstrated complete ignorance and indifference about the facts regarding brain injuries. They told me I would let him go if I cared about him. They were insulting, demeaning, and verbally abusive to both me and to my son. That was the underscoring and the message received by me and by countless others who find such 'workers' on their door steps.

One wonders what any of the three would do if someone trying to make their quota in human flesh arrived at their door with the power of a holstered gun and tried to intimidate them into handing over their child. What do you say about the moral fiber of people who profit from such a system? Nothing is ugly enough.

Americans need to demand answers. Among others we need to know what bounty is being put on each child or disabled adult sucked into the system. We need to know what such 'workers' are paid. We need to know the specifics about their benefits. We need to know how many disabled adults die after being sucked into their system, how many children end up sold into sex rings or used for pornographic films. In case you were unaware that is all too often their fate. Children present many possibilities to the greedy.

Hitler also instituted 'homes.' Those received there were put to death under the same benevolent rhetoric I heard yesterday. The long dead Germans were also told they would be happier and better cared for.

There are questions that need answers and now is the time to demand them. The disabled adults and children, now far more vulnerable because of the incessant need to pump more funds into a system intended solely to profit those in power, needs to be stopped.

Government has drawn a bead on all families, yours included. Listen for the knock on the door.

Those in power need to be charged and sued for the damage they have done to lives barely started and at risk. As Americans we have a right to justice and the time for that is now.

Protect Yourself from the CPS. Use Copper Cards and the Constitution. Our Founders intended us to be free, not the property of government. Have no doubts, these people are making war on us.  It is time to begin the LoveLution, restore the Constitutions, our freedoms, and the vision of America through non-violent action, starting exactly where you are.

  

Just a few links: Their greed knows no boundaries.

California refuses to reveal the number of children who die in foster care.

California – Foster Care Abuse costs 3.5 million in 3 months

Neglect Found in Residences for Disabled 

Have no doubt, Social Services has been effectively privatized, that means corporatized.  The government that runs it is a corporation that views children and disabled adults, and all of us, as unrealized profits.  Their scam is ugly and it is time it was stopped.

The Day I Broke My Arms

 

I actually started this group Facebook to refresh and extend the happy, funny, delightful, surprising, and other memories we share from our years of growing up on Colby Avenue and the surrounding locations.  For instance, who could forget 31 Flavors at Colonial Corners?

Things change in our lives, our families and over time, but looking back can be sweet and enriching.

So, I am going to start by sharing the story of when I broke both my arms, compound fractures, from falling off the swing  set in our back yard.

Events were set in motion because of a cautionary conversation Dad felt obligated to have with me about my habit of climbing the house.  I clearly remember looking up and wondering if it was possible to get there.  At the time I was about 18 months to 2 years of age. 

Mom, I mention her real name, Mary Alice Reasoner, her mother’s maiden name McReynolds,  as she did not generally use it, I learned later in life.  If you heard her called by a first name that was probably Pam, which is a nickname for Pamela.  But Dad began calling her PAM, MAP after they were married because she hated her first name. 

Mother was in the house when the question of climbing the side of the house occurred to me.  Roses had been growing on a lattice Dad had installed and I realized this was a possible avenue to my goal. 

Sometime later, this could have been several weeks, I began exploring this route and discovered it worked well.  Mom did not catch me for some time.  But when she did, she was very upset, and I refused to come down knowing she would then persuade Dad to eliminate this access. 

So, Dad was called to come home from the University to fetch me down.  I cooperated fully.  Dad knew I was likely to do it again, but the thick layer of roses persuaded him that could not be the way up, so instead tried to impress on me how dangerous this kind of adventure was. 

My response was, “Really, Daddy?”  Thereafter, I was more cautious about climbing and no misadventure ever took place regarding House Climbing.

But, on one of our journeys to Sears (Dad made a practice of taking each of us out alone so he could share interesting stories and time with us away from home. This also included going on trips with him to interesting locations around the state as he was consulting with various people on issues related to his work. 

He must have realized I was either still climbing the house when I was about 4 or other ways to get up higher.  So, one occasion, the one when we went to get paint for the house again. (Mom was always looking for ‘the right shade’ of green (Celedon), which had previously evaded Dad.)

Dad told me a story about his own terrible fear of heights, which came over him in the wake of his parents Dr. Ernest Sargent Pillsbury and Sylvia Florance Ball Pillsbury, dying in an auto crash on September 3, 1911. The road had washed out.  Dad, then 5, and his siblings Grace and Ernest Jr. were in the open back seat of their Auburn Six when they came around a curve going over the pass through the mountains to Santa Barbara, Casitas Pass Road.  They lived in Hollywood before there was a film industry, though Frank Baum’s home, Ozcot was across their back fence.

Dad and his siblings, after a real kerfuffle, were adopted six weeks later by Arthur Clarence Pillsbury, Dr. Ernest’s younger brother and relocated to Oakland. 

Dad’s new father was an inventor and very adventurous, but that is another story.

Anyway, Dad told me heights could be very dangerous and again cautioned me about climbing the house. Therefore, it is ironic that I broke my arms climbing down from the swings.  All I did was walk across the top of them, not as far off the ground as the roof at all. 

Anyway, I landed on my arms and felt them crack.  No one was in the back yard, so I carefully and slowly got up and walked to the backdoor.  I don’t know if your backdoor into the kitchen was glass, but ours was.  And there was a doorbell.  Seeing Mom giving Stevie, recently home from the hospital, where he was born, I rang the doorbell with my nose. 

Mom glanced at me over her shoulder and told me to open the door.  I responded with, “Can’t Mommy.”  She looked at Stevie and turned toward me, taking one or two steps.  Then she could see my arms, which were bleeding.  I held them up for this purpose. 

Mommy fainted.  I looked at Stevie sinking into the sink and suds.

Then, at exactly the right moment, my older sister, Anne, walked in.  Anne was then a student at UCLA majoring in Math (Computer Science), and grabbed Stevie, wrapped him in the towel on the counter, and stepped neatly over Mommy and opened the door for me, shepherding me to the couch where I was instructed to hold my arms up while she got supplies.  There were a couple of pillows and more towels. 

Dad was called and came home to take me to the doctor, who set my arms.  Because I did not cry, he bought me two double comics on the way home. 

So, this is my first story, which I will link from my blog, Melinda Pillsbury-Foster