THE RECLAMATION OF CATHY'S MIND
"The greatest gift anyone can give another is a good memory."
It was now the week after Christmas 1988. I was fulfilling half of my pledge to the Vegas mob. With all of our remaining personal belongings containerized and secretly in transit on a different ship, I, my "new family" and pets were ferry-bound for Anchorage, Alaska. The sixteen hundred mile trip through ice and snow would take about three days to complete. Unfortunately, it gave me time to think.
Due to our negative cash flow situation, realistically I knew there was no place to run or hide from the CIA. Cathy and Kelly seemed happy and believed they were safe. This was my number one priority! For me, I had to trust that my escape plan would convince interested CIA personnel that we no longer represented a threat to their security. The plan was based on an ancient psychological warfare formula developed by the Romans, I wanted to portray myself as akin to a character in a bad Reagan (western) movie and ride into the sunset never to be heard from again. Thinking to myself that where we were headed geographically, there was no sun to set, at least until spring. Late one night about mid way into our voyage, I sought the solitude that the outside forward deck would afford me. I was thankful for the wind-driven sleet and snow that stung and closed my eyes and opened my mind for focused thought. At the time, I was psychologically "strung out" from a combination of rage and unbearable emotional headache.
To safeguard my precious teenage son, Mason, from being hurt and/or unwittingly used as a pawn to force me to remain silent, I had virtually destroyed our father/son bond. I loved and missed him very much, and still do. The resultant emotional pain from the deception and separation seemed to be compounding within me and was consuming-my being.
I had, in the course of rescuing Cathy and Kelly, shunned and insulted my son, collapsed my company, simultaneously orchestrated two divorces and sold all personal treasures. I worried I would never see my elderly mother again. Her health was deteriorating. The tailored clothes I wore no longer fit me, as I had lost over forty pounds and looked skeletal. Chronic insomnia, a symptom of the severe depression I secretly fell, was slowly driving me mad. My own short-term memory was beginning to fail. I had noticed for the first time in over thirty years that I was stuttering when enunciating certain words. I knew this was just the beginning of a long and dangerous expedition in search of answers.
As I stood alone, with eyes closed, on the ship's ice-covered steel deck, a strange feeling of relief washed over me. I had somehow managed to remember from where I could draw "emergency strength." I began silently praying for inner strength and guidance through a meditation technique I'd learned years ago. Immediately, I experienced a feeling of peaceful self-assurance that we would survive to tell our story.
Suddenly I became aware that the icy wind was freezing my face and hands. I was elated that I could feel again. Apparently I had repressed my tactile senses along with my emotions. For the first time since I learned of Cathy's and Kelly's mind-control existence, I felt functionally alive.
I opened my eyes to discover I wasn't alone any more. A voice was coming from somewhere. I looked around and saw, crouched down and wrapped in a dark green blanket almost beside me, the source of the voice. Again I heard, "Hey man, you OK?" This good man whom I later came to know and respect was Mark Demont. He was a classic example of what Alaskans term a "sour dough". Roughly defined, a sour dough was anybody from the "lower 48" (states) who was disenchanted with their home and low on money. We were both sour doughs and refugees from a sick society gone mad from CIA drugs, media violence, and uncontrolled greed.
I offered him a cigarette and my hand in friendship, something I had not done voluntarily in almost a year. We agreed to stay in contact after our arrival.
About two days later, we landed safely at the Juneau docks. We were told by the ferry's Captain that it was the coldest day of the decade. The ship's thermometer read a minus forty degrees fahrenheit. For me, this was an anticipated weather condition, and for Cathy and Kelly, a physical challenge.
I had spent about two years in Alaska around 1980. It was then that I helped my former boss from Capital International Airways, George Kamats put a new carrier on line known briefly as Great Northern Airlines. I left Alaska back then, not because of the environment, which I loved, but due to my inability to cope with Kamats' daily tirades. This rigid fellow had a long, colorful history working for other CIA controlled airlines. Among other jobs, he had held top executive positions of authority with the infamous air support section of the U.S, Forestry Service, Air America, and Evergreen (CIA) carriers.
Now I was back in Alaska, unemployed, and knowing I was being tracked like an animal by the same organization I had previously indirectly worked for, the Central Intelligence Agency. Having slept the past couple of nights, I was feeling much better and the thoughts of being tracked did not concern me. I recall having more productive things on my mind. I could not allow raw fear to become any part of my daily diet of thought process.
Cathy and I dedicated every possible moment to locate a house we could call home. We finally found a fourplex apartment that was inexpensive, with two bedrooms and a heated garage. We had to have a heated garage for my three beloved pet raccoons and two dogs. Our new home would never have furniture beyond a TV, two beds, and a table and chairs. This inconvenience never was discussed. We were comfortable.
After settling into "our place" in the remote rural town of Chugiak, we immediately began doing normal things. We enrolled Kelly in a great public school, met our new neighbors, and played in the snow. All of this was being enjoyed in a traditional family way-something Cathy and Kelly had never before known.
Our remaining meager resources were disappearing before my eyes. The cost of asthma medication that Kelly now required to keep her alive was over $400 per month. I strongly suspected that much of the reason for her declining health resulted from the two weeks "in hell" she had recently spent with alleged serial killer, Wayne Cox, She told me so, by detailing the hideous satanic rituals she and her four-year-old step brother, Jacob, had been subjected to,
Fortunately, I had held onto my expensive Niton camera, guns, and personal jewelry items. These were the last real assets I had remaining to sell. I sold them and the proceeds paid our living expenses for five more months until Kelly's health needs and circumstances forced us on welfare.
During this five-month period, with Kelly in school and no telephone to distract us, I began intensifying my deprogramming efforts with Cathy, Most stays, our work started the moment we returned home from taking Kelly to school. As soon as Kelly was in bed at night, after dinner and homework, we resumed our «session». We worked like this day and night, seven days a week, focused intensely on the deprogramming process, until I would pass out from exhaustion around three o'clock in the morning.
The deprogramming formula for pulling Cathy's fragmented mind back together was inherently free of problems. The small problems I did experience with the formula stemmed from having to «expertly» apply it based on my educated memory of almost twenty years previous. I had no communication with any recognized authority other than Cory Hammond to guide the initial therapy. My single greatest challenge was to learn how to control Cathy's constant state of trance as she journaled her memories.
In spite of reporting to the FBI that I was a hypnotist, I knew that if the FBI and CIA could prove through my admissions I was using hypnosis on Cathy, her testimony in court would be worthless. Therefore, the threat of reprisal from the CIA was averted. In fact, through my own intensive research of hypnotherapy I learned how to control Cathy's trance states. T regarded it as unhypnotizing her. Eventually I would be regarded by mental health physicians as an «expert» in the application of this little-used clinical tool for recovering memory.
Aside from my learned deprogramming skill, the balance of the formula I used consisted of elements which are actually rules of ethical therapy conduct. Those therapy rules were strictly enforced, Cathy understood and agreed that, in order for her to have absolute control of her mind, she must place total trust in me and the therapy regime.
1. I maintained a constant vigil to ensure Cathy's physical and psychological safety from all outside influences.
2. No memories could be verbalized by Cathy until after they were written by her. The only questions I could ask were history oriented and directed to Cathy's presenting personality that was recovering the memory. Those questions could only address the who, what, when, how, and where of the memory. Even if I could have known the answers in advance, I could not inject. Our perceptions would have differed radically and could have created more memory barriers between personality fragments.
3. I fundamentally explained mind control to Cathy and she then understood that what happened to her was not her fault. However, she understood she was becoming responsible for her actions here and now. Through therapy, she was asserting control over her own mind.
4. We devoted many hours to "intellectual discussions" of Cathy's learned religious beliefs and they were «logically» debunked, just as if I were explaining how the illusions of a magician's tricks worked lo confuse reality.
5. No expression of emotion by Cathy would be permitted during the memory recovery and journaling process. I never asked her "how does that make you feel?" This is as important as the safety issue for the rapid recovery of memories.
6. I provided Cathy adequate food, vitamins, water, and sleep to restore her failing physical health.
7. I taught Cathy how to view her memories on a "mind movie screen" rather than re-experience them through the mind's "virtual reality" mechanism.
8. I instructed Cathy how to trance herself and control the depth of her trance state through a self-hypnosis technique (some regard as meditation). This was put in place to avoid possible contamination and/or confusion of her memories, which might have happened had I used a hypnotic induction technique known as guided imagery.
9. Cathy was not allowed to read books, newspapers, or magazines, to watch TV, or to discuss with Kelly anything she recalled. Cathy had experienced a lifetime of information control and therefore had minimal contamination of memory to sort through. This rule was also understood and respected by Kelly, whose memories were beginning to surface.
10. All behavior patterns and social habits Cathy exhibited were re-examined through logical discussion between us. All pre-established behavior patterns, including daily routines, were re-scheduled or stopped completely.
11. I required her to wear a wrist watch twenty-four hours a day, to alert me of any "lost time" she felt she was experiencing. Losing time, without trauma, is a strong indication that personality switching is occurring. Whereas being able to account for time is an indicator that recovery is occurring.
The memories Cathy was recovering were horrible beyond anything I had ever heard anyone speak about, I often wondered if I had fallen in love with Cathy as a result of my developing the psychological malady known as the Stockholm Syndrome. Those thoughts never bothered me for I knew I had grown to love Cathy. I had heard enough horror from Cathy and Kelly to know I was now suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). The symptoms of this disorder went unnoticed by Cathy and Kelly because they too were PTSDed, and had been all their lives.
My own health began to deteriorate rapidly. My regained body weight began to melt away once again. I was experiencing incredible stomach pain, vomiting, and diarrhea. I was literally living on a patent medicine known to ulcer sufferers as Maalox. A «secure» phone call to a doctor friend in the "lower 48" produced the name of a local internal medicine specialist I could trust. Aware of my predicament, my physician friend made the appointment on my behalf for this doctor to prepare certain in-office tests. One of the tests, using a fiberoptic stomach tube, showed that as a result of a water borne parasite, there were holes in the walls of my stomach. He recommended emergency surgery. I replied, "No. How much longer can I live with this before surgery?"
He said, "It depends on how well you can follow my instructions"*
"No problem," I said. Within a few days of feeding myself intravenously and taking the prescribed medications, I began to recover.
It was during this recovery period that I began my telephone search for answers to speed Cathy's recovery process. Again I was told by my former "well connected" associates that I knew it all. I was not convinced. However, my persistence soon paid off as one particular phone call resulted in my striking proverbial "pay dirt".
The medical books on clandestine experimental research for treating dissociative disorders mysteriously appeared "on hold" for me at the Eagle
River branch of the Anchorage Public Library. I was covertly alerted to pick them up on a certain day at an exact time. I complied.
As I was leaving the library, a middle-aged woman with a grocery sack in her arms approached me. She asked if the library was open. I thought this odd since I was walking out the opened library entrance. My curiosity was short lived when she asked, "Have you read any good books by Dr. Milton Erickson lately?"
I replied, "No, but I am checking one out by (psychiatrist) Dr. William S. Kroger entitled Clinical and Experimental Hypnosis,"
"Oh, yes," she said. "I'm a real fan of Dr. Kroger and he is a real fan of Dr. Erickson who you know is considered the father of subliminal mind-control (theory) research. She began walking away and turned, smiled and said, "Enjoy your books and use the book, Mark."
I assumed she was addressing me by name while referring to the book itself. I also concluded from this comment that she was obviously the person responsible for delivering the books to the library. Soon I learned she was referring to a bookmark placed inside one of the books which provided me a desperately needed communications vehicle. Recorded on the book-mark" was a toll free 800# with a time and date to use it. I used this 800# and many others similarly provided me for a communications vehicle to covertly access the spooks' (spies) subway to information. For two more years, this method provided me with telephonic guidance through a maze of mind work with Cathy.
When I called the bookmark «800» number, it was answered by an electronic voice which said, in part, "Please enter your employee number now". I complied, using a series of numbers that I had been previously «assigned» by someone who must remain anonymous because I do not know their identity. The next sound I heard was that of a phone being rung. After exactly eight rings, my call was answered by someone I did not know. He asked, "What's the problem?" I fell like a vacuum cleaner salesman with his foot in the door, delivering a canned sales presentation. I began nervously emphasizing my desperate need for a quicker therapy regime for Cathy.
The voice asked, "Have you read the books?"
"Yes," I replied. "But many of the clinical terms were foreign to me." The voice then instructed me to go back to the library and "pick up a psych reference book on term definitions". I then interrupted his instruction to ask if I could speak with somebody who could make this deprogramming process go faster. He said, "Well, there are only two deprogrammers in this country-one in Boston (Massachusetts) and the other in Phoenix (Arizona) and neither one could be of much help or be trusted with the kind of information you are getting (from Cathy)." He hesitated, then said, "You're going to need a referral, which I can't provide. But you know how to do it" I asked, "A referral for what?"
"To have the chance to speak with a doctor who knows about this and might be of some value," he told me,
"OK," I said. "Who's the doctor?"
"Cory Hammond, out of Salt Lake City (Utah)."
"Gees," I said. "That's Mormon headquarters, and that was the last religious trauma base for Cathy."
'Yes! — the voice continued. "But you can trust this doctor if you're careful and don't give up too much (information) on yourself. He's paranoid like all the rest (who know about mind-control atrocities) but he could be of some help.
Oh, be alert. Everybody's watching this guy so anything you say, they (the bad guys) will know."
"Thank you very much," I replied.
Somewhere in the process of finding a referral professionally acquainted with Dr. Hammond, I telephoned dissociative disorders specialist, Dr. Bennett Braun, a well-known and published psychiatrist in Chicago, Illinois. I learned from our conversation that he had an entire hospital unit dedicated to therapy for people like Cathy and Kelly. I wondered at the time why his name wasn't previously provided to me for a consultation. As a result of this brief telephone encounter, I learned that Dr. Braun had a number of patients on a long waiting list for a «bed» within this facility. The doctor then provided me the name and telephone number of a «friend» he confided in, People Magazine senior investigative reporter Civia Tamarkin,
Contacting this People/Time Life magazine reporter was to be my biggest single judgement error in the pursuit of helpful information. I would soon learn she was indirectly responsible for nearly costing me my life, and did indirectly cost Kelly her chance for «expert» therapy- which is another book in itself.
When I first spoke with Civia, she dropped important names like a maple tree drops leaves after a frost. I audio tape recorded practically all conversations with this seemingly well informed source, then and in the years to follow, Civia first provided me the name and phone number of the Boston "deprogrammer," an ex-Moonie programmer by the name of Steve Hassen. Next, she provided the name and phone number to contact Jolyn «Jolly» West at UCLA. Reluctantly, she gave me the referral I needed to communicate with Dr. Cory Hammond. "The later contact being the only "briefly helpful" one with whom I would speak.
Maximizing my PTSD impaired judgement, I telephoned programmer Steve Hassen, for advice on how to help Kelly (only), which resulted in his coming to our home in Alaska, Apparently, his agenda was to traumatize Cathy by using a well-known code to trigger her to run for her life — from me. The method he employed could have been effective, but fortunately for Cathy and Kelly, his robotic delivery like his moral ethics was very poor. I learned that Hassen's voiced and recorded professional respect for his UCLA psychiatrist friends, Dr, West and Dr. Margaret Singer, derived from sinister reasons. Little did I know that Dr. West had worked for the CIA in Project MK-Ultra mind-control research for decades, it seems some of Dr. West's CIA supported research had been exposed by a Congressional investigator of the MK-Ultra Project in the 1970s. However he survived the public scrutiny because the U.S. Government had, in essence, halted further investigation of him and his work under the National Security guise. His only reported crime was for killing an elephant with an overdose of LSD in the presence of school children. These facts I would learn after Cathy and I spoke with him by phone and subsequent disaster struck us, This too is another story in itself
The phone calls between Dr. Cory Hammond and myself were informative and supportive. He proved himself to be the single, most valuable live information asset I would know in my quest for expert therapy advice. Later Dr. Hammond delivered to the mental health community through a symposium presentation in 1991, the whole truth as he knew it on the topic of mind control. His advisory instruction to me on a particular Erickson technique for painless, non abreactive memory recovery, called «revivification», literally saved my predious Cathy from reliving the horrors as she remembered them. This man is my personal hero.
Spring in Alaska was a very different experience from what I was accustomed to in Tennessee. The Alaskans just refer to it as «break-up». In place of hearing the sounds of chirping birds, I listened to the drip noises from the ice melting off everything. The streets had become an ugly brown mush. For spring as normally a welcomed seasonal change, it was depressing to say the least. The only good news was that the days had slowly changed from darkness to warm sunlight. With this seasonal change, a time bomb I did not know existed began its countdown. Kelly's asthma and behavior were radically deteriorating for no apparent reason.
One Friday morning in May, Cathy received a call from Kelly's school principal requesting we pick her up as soon as possible and have her examined by a doctor. The school nurse said Kelly was having a severe asthmatic attack that did not respond to the medication she had with her. We picked her up only to find that her condition seemed to improve miraculously at the sight of us. But this improvement would be short lived,
The following Sunday, Kelly's coughing became almost constant. She had exhausted our supply of an important asthma medication which she regularly used in her respirator pump, I covertly substituted distilled water and sat with her while she struggled for her breath. Using an Erickson technique of guided imagery, I began telling her a story about a little girl who huffed and puffed and climbed a mountain. The story I told ended with the little girl reaching the top of the mountain only to be so tired that she fell asleep in a bed of wild flowers, Kelly responded by breathing normally and actually falling into a sound asleep for a few hours, only to awaken and repeat her coughing spell. I returned to her bedside and I asked why she coughed.
Kelly, somewhat agitated, responded, "I have asthma". I repeated the water substitution trick and she responded favorably and said, "Dad, Wayne (the father and alleged serial killer Satanist) told me I was gonna' die."
I said, "Well, he's not a doctor".
Kelly continued, "He really did say that over and over and over again."
I then asked, "When did he say this?"
"When school's out," she replied.
I asked, "What do you mean?"
She robotically repeated, "When school's out."
"Do you remember when Wayne said this to you?" I asked.
"In bed," she continued. "He thought I was asleep and he was talking on the phone to Alex (Houston) and then to me," I knew then Wayne Cox had programmed her to die using a clinical technique known as hypnosleep. Alex Houston was guiding Cox through the program.
I interrupted her (as I saw she was entering a deep state of trance) and responded, "Well, school's not out and tomorrow you will be well enough to go back to school."
As I suggested, Kelly did feel good the next morning and returned to school. This day would be her last day in Birchwood Elementary.
Only a few hours passed before Cathy and I again were called, this time by the nurse who became agitated when Cathy truthfully answered her question, "Didn't you take her to the doctor?" Cathy said. "No. but we will."
Later that evening, Cathy, Kelly and I would make the last of our emergency drives to seek medical help for Kelly.
At Anchorage's Humana Hospital, Cathy and I met with the young, very bright and beautiful physician, Dr. Lorrie Shepherd, who seemed perplexed and, perhaps, frightened as to Kelly's unexplainable deteriorating condition. I requested a private meeting and she complied.
After about thirty minutes of my explaining what Cathy and Kelly had been rescued from, I defined mind control for her. Learning this, Dr. Shepherd then consulted with a local female psychiatrist, Dr. Pat Patrick to evaluate Kelly,
The evaluation was completed and Dr. Patrick invited Cathy, and eventually me, to her office for a consultation. This was to be Kelly's first official evaluation that indicated she suffered from Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD), a serious psychological disorder resulting from severe and repeated trauma.
I then asked Dr. Patrick if she could arrange for a sexual abuse specialist to verify if Kelly had been abused. She complied. The results were positive. Dr. Patrick and Cathy seemed almost relieved at this validation. The result sickened me.
Kelly's asthma stabilized at Humana and she was transferred to Charter North Psychiatric Hospital for in-hospital care. Dr. Patrick apparently provided the best care she knew. Unfortunately it was inadequate. Months passed and the State of Alaska welfare authorities began to realise Kelly was not improving and her ineffective care costs were mounting by thousands of dollars weekly.
Dr. Patrick, Cathy, and I, with the cooperation of the Tennessee Violent Crimes Claims Commission, began searching for a hospital that would accept Medicaid insurance. Finally, one was located in Owensboro, Kentucky which advertised a specialty in working with ritually abused children. Kelly was transferred to this facility and the State of Alaska paid all the bills for her move there. Later we would learn that this elegant hospital facility was nothing more than a human warehouse that collected whatever fees the federal and state governments would pay them per child resident. A pretty place to see, but the care for Kelly would prove to be "less than nothing".
During the summer before Kelly was transferred to this Kentucky hospital, and Cathy was recovering satisfactorily, I felt it was safe to leave their side so that I could find work. We desperately needed money to travel, to live, and to return to the "lower 48" with Kelly in the winter.
I quickly secured a job at Alaska Business College as an interviewer of prospective students. My sales «performance» resulted in my being promoted in two weeks from an admissions representative to Director of Admissions. I banked as much money as possible from my earnings over the next five months to provide for our move, to be closer to Kelly. The thought of the separation agony that would exist between Cathy and Kelly served as a reminder of my ongoing separation from my son, whom I had not heard from in almost a year.
Cathy, on ill advice from me, called her father and begged for some financial help for Kelly's sake. Her father wired $500 to confirm our location and commented, "This is America. Unless you come back to Michigan alone, no more money!" It was this statement that triggered Cathy's repressed memories of her own tortured childhood by this alleged pervert and slave salesman, Earl O'Brien.
Soon the FBI telephoned Cathy and told her that she needed to «voluntarily» conic to the Anchorage FBI office for questioning. Upon arrival, Cathy was informed that she was under federal investigation for attempting to extort money from her father.
Cathy looked strangely relieved when she heard these charges. Later I would learn that she felt better knowing for sure she was not «crazy» or delusional and that her father did in fact do those things to her and her brothers and sisters.
The FBI Agent was openly sympathetic and reportedly the DOJ «inspired» investigation was subsequently dropped upon his recommendation. This agent went on to secure a cash donation through his Mormon church that enabled us to leave his jurisdiction.
It is noteworthy that during this same time; through another special agent at the Anchorage FBI office, I was interrogated for "what I knew" regarding an unrelated crime involving my ex-wife and her lawyer boss in Florida. I knew nothing, I now know that the FBI was, in effect, attempting to destroy my credibility as advocate for Cathy and Kelly through their investigation efforts of me. Their case against my ex-wife and her lawyer was solved, and her lawyer accomplice was convicted of first degree murder. My ex-wife became a state's witness and was acquitted.
However, days later I would «see» my ex-wife being arrested and processed on the popular national television show "Unsolved Mysteries". That unfortunate case involved only one homicide and made the national news for weeks to come. In contrast, Calhy's testimony, with proofs provided FBI officials, was filed and deliberately covered up — For Reasons of National Security.
The fall season in Alaska was now quickly giving in to winter and the "termination dust" (snow) was re-coating the surrounding mountains. The air was definitely becoming nippy. The change of seasons signaled another change within my new family. Kelly was going to be transferred soon to the Kentucky Valley Institute of Psychiatry (V.I.P.).
Cathy and I had been saving every dollar I could earn during my brief tenure at Alaska Business College in preparation for our move back to the "lower 48".
I realized now that Cathy had gone into a state of recovery known as «fusion». She had long since stopped switching personalities and had become a beautiful, intelligent, and logical lady. She was no longer susceptible to anyone triggering her to go against or away from me. She continued to journal her traumatic memories and was professionally adjudged stable.
The passage on ships and ferries out of Anchorage to Seattle was booked solid for months ahead. They would only accept freight and/or vehicles. I purchased two, one-way tickets on Alaska Airlines and brought our family car, a 1976 AMC Pacer, and remaining belongings to the Anchorage docks for shipment.
Suddenly, as we packed our bags and were ready to board our flight, a nearby volcano erupted and halted all air traffic in or out of Anchorage for the following two weeks. We waited anxiously for the airport to reopen. We would leave first and Kelly and her nurse would soon follow. This would be the first step of what would be an endless journey in our pursuit of justice.