Monday, July 25, 2011

Gumshoe Update

As readers may have noticed, I have not updated this website for a while and don't plan to anytime soon.
As I explained in my bio, I created this blog to discuss some of my cases and to post observations I've made as a private investigator and retired LAPD officer.
Everything changed after I posted this report and Gallo's Egg in 2008.  Like most Americans, I wasn't aware of the widespread corruption that permeates the healthcare and pharmaceutical industries.  I didn't know that the pharmaceutical industry has paid more than $9 billion since 2004 to settle thousands of criminal and civil cases related to the illegal marketing of drugs that kill or injure more than a million Americans EVERY YEAR.
I discovered that - like the LAPD - local, state and federal prosecutors are not interested in evidence that implicates industries that make huge political contributions to legislators who appoint industry regulators.  In this way, corrupt industries (i.e. finance, housing, healthcare and pharmaceuticals) own and control their own regulators, rendering the executive and legislative branches of government (and a large chunk of the judiciary) and the media entirely useless.
For this reason, I founded OMSJ to investigate individual cases of corruption.  So if you're looking for the latest info about what I'm up to, visit http://www.omsj.org/.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Dispatch from Egypt

An Egyptian friend named Nesreen - a beautiful woman and charm, business sense and a yearning for freedom - sent this message to us last Thursday from Cairo.  We've heard nothing since.

Poem on Freedom of Expression

I am the one you call "Freedom of expression"
Dying fast in an acquaintance, by hands of obsession


Love brought care
Care brought possession
While keeping the smiles between the cheeks
'Control' took over the possession


No choice, no word to say
Existence is always being kept at bay
Every few days, things come to hault
Battle starts again on who is at fault


Worst to add,
He didn't shower His blessings
Thousands around got one or two
Here, it always went missing


Nothing at help, I am still surviving
Raise your voice suggested a few
I continue keeping mum, 
As I know days won't get same as they were blue


I should be still happy
With what I have and Who I am
I loose and You always win
Has become an everyday game.


Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Norman Run Over by Car - SURVIVES!

Last week, our dauchshund/chihuahua mix went for a walk and got hit by a car.  (You'll see him on the center-left side of the video.)  He miraculously survived with only a few aches and scratches and made a full recovery!  Who says miracles don't happen?


Norman catches some zees with Nick...

Liberal Taxation Explained

Global Warming Explained

Liberals Explained

Saturday, December 25, 2010

One Policeman's Christmas

In 1974 when I first joined the police department, I new there would be special occasions my family would spend without me.  Knowing that fact didn't make the task any easier.  The celebrations I missed those first year's depressed me and sometimes made me feel bitter. Working on Christmas Eve was always the worst.

On Christmas Eve in 1977, I learned that a blessing can come disguised as misfortune, and honor is more than just a word.

I was riding a one man patrol on the 4x12 shift.  The night was cold.  Everywhere I looked I saw reminders of the holiday: families packing their cars with presents,beautifully decorated trees in living room windows and roofs adorned with tiny sleighs. It all added to my holiday funk.  The evening had been relatively quiet; there were calls for barking dogs and a residential  false burglar alarm.  There  was nothing to make the night pass any quicker.I thought of my own family and sunk further into depression.

Shortly after 2200 hours I got a radio call to the home of an elderly, terminally ill man.  I parked my patrol car in front of a simple cape cod style home. First aid kit in hand, I walked up  the short path to the front door.As I approached, a woman who seemed to be about 80 years old opened the door.  He's in here she said, leading me to a back bedroom.

We passed through a living room that was furnished in a style I had come to associate with older people.  The sofa has an afghan blanket draped over it's back and a dark, solid queen Anne chair say next to a unused fireplace. The mantle was cluttered with an eccentric mix of several photos, some ceramic figurines and an antique clock. A floor lamp provided soft lighting.

We entered a small bedroom where a frail looking man lay in bed with a blanket pulled up to his chin.  He wore a blank stare on his ashen, skeletal face.  His breathing was shallow and labored.  He was barely alive.
The trappings of illness all around his bed. The nightstand was littered with a large number of pill vials.  An oxygen bottle stood nearby.  Its plastic hose, with face mask attached rested on the blanket.

I asked the old woman why she called the police.

She simply shrugged and nodded sadly toward her husband,indicating it was his request.  I looked at him and he stared intently into my eyes.  He seemed relaxed now. I didn't understand the suddenly calm expression on his face.

I looked around the room again.  A dresser stood along the wall to the left of the bed.  On it was the usual memorabilia:  ornate perfume bottles,a white porcelain pin case, and a wooden jewelry case.   There were also several photos in simple frames.  One caught my eye and I walked closer to the dresser for a closer look. The picture showed a young man dressed in a police uniform. It was unmistakably a photo of the man in bed. I knew then why I was there.

I looked at the old man and he motioned with his hand toward the side of the bed. I walked over and stood beside him. He slid a thin arm from under the covers and took my hand. Soon,I felt his hand go limp, I looked at his face. There was no fear there. I saw only peace. He knew he was dying; he was aware his time was very near. I know now that he was afraid of what was about to happen and he wanted the protection of a fellow cop on his journey.  A caring God had seen to it that his child would be delivered safely to him. The honor of being his escort fell to me.

When I left at the end of my tour that night, the temperature had seemed to have risen considerably, and all the holiday displays I saw on the way home made me smile.

I no longer feel sorry for myself for having to work on Christmas Eve. I have chosen an honorable profession. I pray that when it's my turn to leave this world there will be a cop there to hold my hand and remind  me that I have nothing to fear.

Author is unknown


I wish all my brother's and sister's who work or have worked in this noble profession a Merry Christmas and all the Joy and Warmth of the Season..

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