We talked to the lawyer today. He is...nothing short of amazing. The consultation went even better than we could have expected. At this point, we're just waiting for one more thing to fall into place before it's settled. It's going to be a hard fight, but this is one of the biggest pieces of good news we've had.
Our Anonymous donor has said funds will arrive hopefully soon. Once it's done, we hope to have things covered. It's going to be tough - we're going to utterly destroy an already stretched budget, and frankly I don't know how we're going to do it yet. I'm going to be wracking my brain over our budget soon, trying to figure out what in the world I can try to drop or cut back or whatever. I don't know yet.
Anyway, great news. Not much more to say for now. Thanks again for all your support and concern. We will keep everybody posted while we keep up the fight!
Monday, March 25, 2013
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Weekend Drag
Weekends have become an interesting time for us, since this all began. With nothing open, all of our errands, phone calls and breakneck pace come to a sudden screeching halt - but then we're left compiling all of the things we couldn't work on during the week. We don't really get a break; just a sudden, dramatic change in what we're working on. Honestly, it's starting to wear on me after nearly two months of this. I slept in today for the first time in a long time. The moment I woke up though, I hit the ground running.
Today I'm listening to a recording of the confession. To be brutally honest, it angers me. The things the officer did to try and manipulate George are just crazy. I can see now why there are false confessions all the time. These guys will pry away at your brain until you truly believe you have no choice but to tell them what they want to hear - and they'll do it in a way that exploits legal loopholes, tiptoes on the lines of various laws, and sneaks past your ability to defend yourself faster than you even know what's going on. I'm pretty sure if an officer like this one came up to me today and asserted that I actually had purple skin and came from the planet Exelon, he'd probably be able to convince me with these tactics. It's unbelievable!
Anyway I'm taking notes. We managed to save George's mother. But we know that with her gone, the father of the accused is rifling through all their possessions searching for evidence to destroy, as he has been already. It's utterly exasperating. I don't know what, if any, kind of legal recourse we even have for this stuff. But the important thing is, George's mother is safe. We're going to do our best to get her some help; she's in a terrible situation and too afraid to get out.
Tomorrow we have an appointment with a potential lawyer - the one that I said hangs on a thread and a prayer. We should have more news on that tomorrow.
Today I'm listening to a recording of the confession. To be brutally honest, it angers me. The things the officer did to try and manipulate George are just crazy. I can see now why there are false confessions all the time. These guys will pry away at your brain until you truly believe you have no choice but to tell them what they want to hear - and they'll do it in a way that exploits legal loopholes, tiptoes on the lines of various laws, and sneaks past your ability to defend yourself faster than you even know what's going on. I'm pretty sure if an officer like this one came up to me today and asserted that I actually had purple skin and came from the planet Exelon, he'd probably be able to convince me with these tactics. It's unbelievable!
Anyway I'm taking notes. We managed to save George's mother. But we know that with her gone, the father of the accused is rifling through all their possessions searching for evidence to destroy, as he has been already. It's utterly exasperating. I don't know what, if any, kind of legal recourse we even have for this stuff. But the important thing is, George's mother is safe. We're going to do our best to get her some help; she's in a terrible situation and too afraid to get out.
Tomorrow we have an appointment with a potential lawyer - the one that I said hangs on a thread and a prayer. We should have more news on that tomorrow.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Never A Dull Moment
Today has taken off at a breakneck pace. I don't have long to type but I'd like to update everybody while I have just a few moments to spare. Bear with me, readers - I'm resorting to bullet points today.
1. We spoke with a lawyer from an hour and a half or so away who seems like he might be willing to work with us. With the help of our Anonymous donor, we are off to a good start. It's tenuous - we'll be destroying my paycheck to keep up with this guy. This hangs on a thread and a prayer, at this point.
2. We're going to be driving that hour-and-a-half, if we can make it, to meet with the lawyer and see how this goes. We won't really know the exact price range until we meet him. Just that, as I said, it's halfway hopeful but hangs by a thread and a prayer and maybe a miracle or two.
3. The father of the accuser has become dangerous lately. Child Protective Services has been investigating him (it's a long story), they're requiring him to register as a sex offender for a crime he has knowingly hidden for years, and now he's begun arguing, screaming, threatening, harming and endangering George's mother. He has also been actively seeking out and burning, hiding, or otherwise destroying evidence. It's a constant race against him at this point. George's mother will be staying with us for a while for her own safety, and we are trying to help her out as best we can. She's bringing along a few precious shreds of evidence she has managed to save. That's another thing hanging by a thread and a prayer right now. Gas money for a 2 and a half hour trip is hard to come by for all involved, and the accuser's father is just as likely to try and prevent George's mother from leaving (and has been so far).
4. Continuing work to gather further evidence and paperwork here and there. Swimming through red tape to get paperwork has become a constant reality for us; it's unbelievably hard to gather it up from countless places (check stubs, employment records, and so on) from a decade ago. I have to be honest, it's extremely annoying. Sign here, date here, fax this there, call this number, visit this website, sign this form, 10 to 15 business days for this, 7 business days for that, 30 days for that, five forms for one thing, three for another... At this point, I would not be surprised to hear "We need fingerprints, an iris scan, and a stool sample, sir" from the next person we speak to. It's quite a mess, moving at the speed of business (which is very slow).
Long story short, today has been incredibly hectic thus far, and we really don't know where it's going to land until the end of the day. Hopefully I'll have more concrete news by tonight or tomorrow.
Thank you again for all your support, everyone - the view count just keeps going higher and higher for our humble blog. Donations are slowly trickling in; right now we're at about $100, along with the generous donation from Anonymous and several people coming forward stating their donations are likely to show up soon as well. You guys are angels - we just don't know how to thank you enough, and we will do everything we can to keep you up to date on the latest. Stick with us, we're keeping up this fight no matter what.
1. We spoke with a lawyer from an hour and a half or so away who seems like he might be willing to work with us. With the help of our Anonymous donor, we are off to a good start. It's tenuous - we'll be destroying my paycheck to keep up with this guy. This hangs on a thread and a prayer, at this point.
2. We're going to be driving that hour-and-a-half, if we can make it, to meet with the lawyer and see how this goes. We won't really know the exact price range until we meet him. Just that, as I said, it's halfway hopeful but hangs by a thread and a prayer and maybe a miracle or two.
3. The father of the accuser has become dangerous lately. Child Protective Services has been investigating him (it's a long story), they're requiring him to register as a sex offender for a crime he has knowingly hidden for years, and now he's begun arguing, screaming, threatening, harming and endangering George's mother. He has also been actively seeking out and burning, hiding, or otherwise destroying evidence. It's a constant race against him at this point. George's mother will be staying with us for a while for her own safety, and we are trying to help her out as best we can. She's bringing along a few precious shreds of evidence she has managed to save. That's another thing hanging by a thread and a prayer right now. Gas money for a 2 and a half hour trip is hard to come by for all involved, and the accuser's father is just as likely to try and prevent George's mother from leaving (and has been so far).
4. Continuing work to gather further evidence and paperwork here and there. Swimming through red tape to get paperwork has become a constant reality for us; it's unbelievably hard to gather it up from countless places (check stubs, employment records, and so on) from a decade ago. I have to be honest, it's extremely annoying. Sign here, date here, fax this there, call this number, visit this website, sign this form, 10 to 15 business days for this, 7 business days for that, 30 days for that, five forms for one thing, three for another... At this point, I would not be surprised to hear "We need fingerprints, an iris scan, and a stool sample, sir" from the next person we speak to. It's quite a mess, moving at the speed of business (which is very slow).
Long story short, today has been incredibly hectic thus far, and we really don't know where it's going to land until the end of the day. Hopefully I'll have more concrete news by tonight or tomorrow.
Thank you again for all your support, everyone - the view count just keeps going higher and higher for our humble blog. Donations are slowly trickling in; right now we're at about $100, along with the generous donation from Anonymous and several people coming forward stating their donations are likely to show up soon as well. You guys are angels - we just don't know how to thank you enough, and we will do everything we can to keep you up to date on the latest. Stick with us, we're keeping up this fight no matter what.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
A Selfless Offer
Holy crap! An anonymous donor has come forward, offering to match any donations made by other donors. They are offering up to 50% of the cost of initial legal fees. George and I have been discussing this with the anonymous donor over Skype for the last hour or so, and we are just...speechless. I don't even know what else to say. Anonymous, thank you so much!
A Little Bit of Good News
Alright, first things first: Some vital paperwork has arrived today, extra evidence of George being four states away during the bulk of the time the accuser claims he was living with her. Some of this paperwork-gathering is painfully slow, so we are really glad to see it. Once we (hopefully) find better representation, this paperwork will be a huge help in exposing the truth in this case.
Second, our Twitter page should be back up soon. Seems we got caught up in some kind of auto spam filter (I still wonder how that happened, but oh well) according to what the site's told me. Here's the e-mail I got from Twitter support.
Once it's back up and running I'll update this post with a link to it for convenience. Thanks for hanging in there through our technical difficulties, everyone.
Second, our Twitter page should be back up soon. Seems we got caught up in some kind of auto spam filter (I still wonder how that happened, but oh well) according to what the site's told me. Here's the e-mail I got from Twitter support.
Hello,
Twitter has automated systems that find and remove multiple automated spam accounts in bulk. Unfortunately, it looks like your account got caught up in one of these spam groups by mistake. I've restored your account; sorry for the inconvenience. Please note that it may take an hour or so for your follower and following numbers to return to normal.
Thanks,
Zendesk
Once it's back up and running I'll update this post with a link to it for convenience. Thanks for hanging in there through our technical difficulties, everyone.
Meet Us On Skype
Because this is, well...the internet, and the internet is full of all kinds of weirdness (and cats, apparently), a few have been a little concerned as to our legitimacy. I think that's understandable, and we want to sort of put ourselves out there for any questions anyone might have for us - to let you meet us and really converse with us as human beings. With that in mind, we'd like to invite you to come chat with us on Skype. We'll be on camera, ready to take any questions, discuss things, and just say hello. I'm not great at being in the spotlight and neither is George, but we really feel it's important. We'd probably want the same if we were you. Below are the times, days, and Skype name to contact. Just message us at that time and we'll add you to the conversation.
Tonight, March 20th, at 7:00pm EST
Tomorrow night at 7:00pm EST
Userame to contact:
smalltown.injustice
In addition, we've set up an e-mail if anyone would like to contact us. We're trying to keep things sort of similar in name so it's easy to remember, so unsurprisingly, the e-mail is:
smalltowninjustice@gmail.com
The Latest
Alright, here is the latest update.
PayPal is finally live and working. The account is new, and to be verified and working it had to first go through some security measures which are now complete, thankfully. I've figured out how to embed a "Donate" button for it as well in the right panel here. I'm thinking that as donations come in, I will regularly post what amount we've currently received along with screencaps, our goal amount, and so on - so everyone knows the latest. Right now our goal remains at $10,000 as stated before - to pay for an attorney who can better work to present George's proof in court, since our current attorney has thus far done so little and we have so much at stake. That is the price we were quoted by a good local attorney, who comes highly recommended by some friends, and who said that price may even cover his services for the entire case.
In addition, I have also added a "share" function on this blog as you can see on your right. That should make it easier to spread the word, I think. Keep on sharing - I've heard people have already been sharing our blog all over and I cannot thank you all enough!
I honestly don't know what to say - we have been absolutely floored at the heartfelt support from so many people. We didn't really set out to spread the word at first, and certainly never thought we'd find ourselves here. In truth, this began late at night with George pouring out his thoughts on a site, thinking his words would likely just fall into the vacuum of the internet-space and disappear; people pour out their thoughts every day, after all. We were shocked to find that people really responded and urged us to get out there, and with every step forward we've found more and more response. Thank you all so much - we are just stunned and grateful.
PayPal is finally live and working. The account is new, and to be verified and working it had to first go through some security measures which are now complete, thankfully. I've figured out how to embed a "Donate" button for it as well in the right panel here. I'm thinking that as donations come in, I will regularly post what amount we've currently received along with screencaps, our goal amount, and so on - so everyone knows the latest. Right now our goal remains at $10,000 as stated before - to pay for an attorney who can better work to present George's proof in court, since our current attorney has thus far done so little and we have so much at stake. That is the price we were quoted by a good local attorney, who comes highly recommended by some friends, and who said that price may even cover his services for the entire case.
In addition, I have also added a "share" function on this blog as you can see on your right. That should make it easier to spread the word, I think. Keep on sharing - I've heard people have already been sharing our blog all over and I cannot thank you all enough!
I honestly don't know what to say - we have been absolutely floored at the heartfelt support from so many people. We didn't really set out to spread the word at first, and certainly never thought we'd find ourselves here. In truth, this began late at night with George pouring out his thoughts on a site, thinking his words would likely just fall into the vacuum of the internet-space and disappear; people pour out their thoughts every day, after all. We were shocked to find that people really responded and urged us to get out there, and with every step forward we've found more and more response. Thank you all so much - we are just stunned and grateful.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Update
I just want to post a quick update. We have contacted the ACLU and await their response with baited breath. We are holding off - at least for the time being - on contacting the media, until we hear back from the ACLU. We will soon be contacting lawyers requesting pro bono work if they are willing to offer it, as well. It can't hurt.
It has also come to our attention that a therapist who reported the accuser's claims (since therapists are, after all, required to report claims of criminal conduct of this nature, regardless of whether they believe it or not) apparently is the same therapist George met with after his incarceration seeking emergency counseling for this recent trauma. There appears to be a huge conflict of interest present - we aren't sure, but I believe she may not be able to testify, neither for George nor his accuser, because of this. What's curious about this is that George's attorney was visibly angry at having heard that she had counseled George, and urged him not to meet with her again. I wonder why? Would it not make sense that a conflict of interest which excludes her from testifying on either side is in fact a good thing for our case? She was, if anything, terribly sympathetic to our plight and seemed nothing short of horrified. The attorney has also urged him not to speak with CPS, who is investigating everything (including the vast amount of claims against those who actually molested the accuser) and in fact seem to imply that they believe that George is innocent. Why would the attorney not want them on our side? I'm more than a little confused.
We are worried that the attorney may be even much less interested in helping George than we initially feared. My stomach is in knots right now. I'm not really sure what to make of it all. It's scary to think that this town's legal system is potentially even more corrupt. But it's hard not to wonder.
A Humble Proposition
Dear Readers,
I'm really not sure who would be interested in this, but one idea I have had (that is, once the PayPal account has been verified and is fully active - according to PayPal this may take 24 to 48 hours, just so everyone is aware) is perhaps starting up a temporary Etsy shop. It isn't much, and perhaps it's sort of silly, but one of the things I can do well (and fast!) is sewing, and if anyone is interested, it's a little something I can give in return to donors. To be honest, I just feel more than a little guilt asking for handouts in any way, desperate or not. So if anyone is interested, this is a way that I can return the favor, at least a little bit. Here are a few designs I have found just as initial examples. Of course there are many, many, many other designs to choose from, and I would absolutely be open to requests as long as they are no larger than about 5" or so in dimensions! But here you go - a few initial ideas, with many more where these came from.
Please let me know if this sounds like something worth while or not! I'm a little bit...out of my element on this one. This is all very new territory for George and I, and we just want to do whatever we can.
Ever so humbly,
Kelly
I'm really not sure who would be interested in this, but one idea I have had (that is, once the PayPal account has been verified and is fully active - according to PayPal this may take 24 to 48 hours, just so everyone is aware) is perhaps starting up a temporary Etsy shop. It isn't much, and perhaps it's sort of silly, but one of the things I can do well (and fast!) is sewing, and if anyone is interested, it's a little something I can give in return to donors. To be honest, I just feel more than a little guilt asking for handouts in any way, desperate or not. So if anyone is interested, this is a way that I can return the favor, at least a little bit. Here are a few designs I have found just as initial examples. Of course there are many, many, many other designs to choose from, and I would absolutely be open to requests as long as they are no larger than about 5" or so in dimensions! But here you go - a few initial ideas, with many more where these came from.
Please let me know if this sounds like something worth while or not! I'm a little bit...out of my element on this one. This is all very new territory for George and I, and we just want to do whatever we can.
Ever so humbly,
Kelly
Twitter, YouTube, Etc.
EDIT: It appears Twitter has banned us for no apparent reason. We're not sure what is going on, and are working with them to resolve the matter as soon as possible. We apologize for the inconvenience.
We are also in the process of setting up PayPal in order to receive donations from any who are willing and able. Our first goal amount to cover legal fees is $10K - that would afford us the legal services of a local attorney who has quoted us that price at this point in time.
Meanwhile, here is the latest video from our YouTube channel...
Click Here
Thank you for your time and support. We hope to get everything up and going as soon as possible for those wishing to donate. Meanwhile, we will keep you posted on the latest.
False Confessions: Why?
One of the most serious questions we have frequently been asked is: Why did he confess if he didn't do it? It's a question that is not easy to answer. He hangs his head in embarrassment when it comes up, and though I try to explain, I know that the public is wary of these things. Most do not know what it is like to be in a situation where they feel they have no choice but to say they have done something they would never dream of doing. We often hear things like, "Well if I were you, I would have said..." And I don't blame them. How can they know without having been through it? We all want to believe there is no way such a tragedy could happen - that, when a police officer stares us down and accuses us of a crime, we could all answer with a resounding "No!" or "Get me a lawyer" or just stare back without a word.
The truth of the matter is not so easy to swallow. Police interrogations are no joke. Interrogators are trained to get into your head and pry out what they want to hear. False confessions are all too common. Just this year, Time Magazine posted an article on this very subject. The information is everywhere, just a Google search away! They happen all the time. The best of men have succumbed to them, only to be later proven innocent by DNA evidence (and remember, it is highly likely that even we have DNA evidence that another individual committed this crime). But not always.
Still the public remains suspicious. If nothing else, a world where innocent men are broken into confessing crimes, convicted, and punished wrongly is not a world most want to think of. It feels darker somehow. Less safe.
I'm afraid that is the world George and I are trapped in. The morning of his confession, we had barely slept a few restless hours, wracking our brains as to what to do, knowing that somewhere a young girl was fully prepared and armed to destroy our lives without a single regret. Our roomie woke us up, and we staggered into the living room to see a police officer stepping his way into the house, repeating firmly again and again and again that we had to go with him. We were nothing short of terrified; to us, it sounded like we had no choice. There was no reasoning with this guy, no telling him we weren't interested in talking. There was no lawyer in sight, none we could possibly afford, nobody to call. And when we arrived at the police station, there was nothing but a tiny, uncomfortable room, a bleary and exhausted George shaking as the officer slammed his hand to the table and worked as hard as he could to manipulate him for two and a half hours solid while I sat out in the blistering cold waiting in my car.
He said George was free to go - but locked the door. He said he wasn't arrested - but that he was going to jail for a long time. He said he just wanted to talk - but refused to hear anything but a confession. Lawyer? Absolutely not. Miranda rights? None - you see, if you say "You're not under arrest", you have invoked a legal loop hole. Two seconds later you can say "We have proof that can put you in jail for a long time", as long as you said "You're not under arrest" just that once. You can say "You're free to go", and then lock the door and smile. That seems to be the system we have found ourselves up against, at this point in time. What we're looking at are things like "technically legal" and "legal loophole" - skirting just under the radar and scoring a confession, and now, throwing George to the sharks.
There is a recording of the confession, but it is audio only. A recording cannot show the officer locking the door. A recording cannot show the desperate look on George's face, the officer towering over him. A recording cannot show the disheveled clothing and the bags under his eyes. It cannot tell you his state of mind. It cannot tell you why.
If we ever manage to find good representation, one of the first things we will pursue is a psychological evaluation. A bit of important proof of George's state of mind. A glimpse into his world, a world where, for just long enough - he truly believed, whether naively or not, that the officer standing over him had the ability to take him away right then and there and throw him in prison for 25 to life. A world where he was told, and believed - for just long enough - that if he just said whatever the officer wanted to hear, he could go home and hold his fiancee tight, and help me through another seizure-prone day. He wondered what I would do without him. He wondered what he would do without me. The choice seemed clear - if he had no other choice, he was willing to be smeared as a criminal as long as he could keep us safe.
If you felt you had no other choice - would you give up everything you loved and held dear? Or would you give up your reputation to preserve your life, freedom, and love?
The truth of the matter is not so easy to swallow. Police interrogations are no joke. Interrogators are trained to get into your head and pry out what they want to hear. False confessions are all too common. Just this year, Time Magazine posted an article on this very subject. The information is everywhere, just a Google search away! They happen all the time. The best of men have succumbed to them, only to be later proven innocent by DNA evidence (and remember, it is highly likely that even we have DNA evidence that another individual committed this crime). But not always.
Still the public remains suspicious. If nothing else, a world where innocent men are broken into confessing crimes, convicted, and punished wrongly is not a world most want to think of. It feels darker somehow. Less safe.
I'm afraid that is the world George and I are trapped in. The morning of his confession, we had barely slept a few restless hours, wracking our brains as to what to do, knowing that somewhere a young girl was fully prepared and armed to destroy our lives without a single regret. Our roomie woke us up, and we staggered into the living room to see a police officer stepping his way into the house, repeating firmly again and again and again that we had to go with him. We were nothing short of terrified; to us, it sounded like we had no choice. There was no reasoning with this guy, no telling him we weren't interested in talking. There was no lawyer in sight, none we could possibly afford, nobody to call. And when we arrived at the police station, there was nothing but a tiny, uncomfortable room, a bleary and exhausted George shaking as the officer slammed his hand to the table and worked as hard as he could to manipulate him for two and a half hours solid while I sat out in the blistering cold waiting in my car.
He said George was free to go - but locked the door. He said he wasn't arrested - but that he was going to jail for a long time. He said he just wanted to talk - but refused to hear anything but a confession. Lawyer? Absolutely not. Miranda rights? None - you see, if you say "You're not under arrest", you have invoked a legal loop hole. Two seconds later you can say "We have proof that can put you in jail for a long time", as long as you said "You're not under arrest" just that once. You can say "You're free to go", and then lock the door and smile. That seems to be the system we have found ourselves up against, at this point in time. What we're looking at are things like "technically legal" and "legal loophole" - skirting just under the radar and scoring a confession, and now, throwing George to the sharks.
There is a recording of the confession, but it is audio only. A recording cannot show the officer locking the door. A recording cannot show the desperate look on George's face, the officer towering over him. A recording cannot show the disheveled clothing and the bags under his eyes. It cannot tell you his state of mind. It cannot tell you why.
If we ever manage to find good representation, one of the first things we will pursue is a psychological evaluation. A bit of important proof of George's state of mind. A glimpse into his world, a world where, for just long enough - he truly believed, whether naively or not, that the officer standing over him had the ability to take him away right then and there and throw him in prison for 25 to life. A world where he was told, and believed - for just long enough - that if he just said whatever the officer wanted to hear, he could go home and hold his fiancee tight, and help me through another seizure-prone day. He wondered what I would do without him. He wondered what he would do without me. The choice seemed clear - if he had no other choice, he was willing to be smeared as a criminal as long as he could keep us safe.
If you felt you had no other choice - would you give up everything you loved and held dear? Or would you give up your reputation to preserve your life, freedom, and love?
To Bail, Or Not To Bail
A good number of friends, family and concerned strangers have asked us: Why did I bail him out, instead of trying to hire a lawyer? I think that's a valid question; I myself agonized over it for several days before I could make the final decision. There are several reasons that we took the path we did, and I'd like to share them with you if you will.
Firstly, all of the attorneys we consulted were quoting prices far above the amount needed for bail. While it was possible to raise the amount needed for bail, it was simply not possible for us to scrape together the amount we needed to hire a proper attorney. Most were more than a little gun shy at the prospect of working to defend someone who had been pushed into a confession to begin with. The moment they understood what they were up against, the price began to go up. They also know all too well how the system works here. Hearing how fiercely the town's officials were fighting to put George behind bars left them wary. In short, this fight is going to be costly. Far more costly than we could have afforded, even with the money we raised and ended up using for his bail.
Second, it quickly became clear to me that Mason County Jail was more than a little abusive towards George. Thinking they had a pedophile in their midst, they went well out of their way to make his life Hell, and I would later learn of fun little tactics like leaving razors in the cells for hours on end (for anyone to pick up and use as a weapon if they felt like it) or pairing George up with a cell mate who somehow knew he was accused of this crime and was ready to attack him for it. I knew George was in very real danger. I knew he may not live to defend himself. And I knew they were denying him legal counsel outright, as well as stalling (even after I began making calls to ensure that he received a lawyer) to try and put him through arraignment and even the preliminary hearing before he had a chance to receive a court appointed attorney. It was far too dangerous to leave him in their control. I had to get him out so we could fight together. So he could live to fight another day. And so they couldn't continue to traumatize him and attempt to break him down before his trial.
Third, due to the trauma of it all, George's mental state was on the decline. He already has PTSD, a stroke history, and a few other problems. It was not wise to leave him in an abusive and dangerous environment, for obvious reasons. I didn't know if they'd break him completely - he could only remain silent and request a lawyer for so long before potentially just losing it. If we were going to fight for his innocence, we needed to get him back on solid ground.
I don't regret the decision in the least. After he emerged from jail, George found the strength to survive. He had a court appointed lawyer in a matter of a couple of days (although, unfortunately, we have since found the lawyer to be overworked and downright disinterested). Things hit the ground running. Much of the evidence, papers, statements, and so on, we could only start to get after he was out of jail. While in jail, they had him in a place where he truly could not defend himself in any way. Of course on a more emotional note, he is a little more stable now that he's safe (scarred and broken though he may be), and we are trying to treasure every moment we have together, knowing it may be our last.
Firstly, all of the attorneys we consulted were quoting prices far above the amount needed for bail. While it was possible to raise the amount needed for bail, it was simply not possible for us to scrape together the amount we needed to hire a proper attorney. Most were more than a little gun shy at the prospect of working to defend someone who had been pushed into a confession to begin with. The moment they understood what they were up against, the price began to go up. They also know all too well how the system works here. Hearing how fiercely the town's officials were fighting to put George behind bars left them wary. In short, this fight is going to be costly. Far more costly than we could have afforded, even with the money we raised and ended up using for his bail.
Second, it quickly became clear to me that Mason County Jail was more than a little abusive towards George. Thinking they had a pedophile in their midst, they went well out of their way to make his life Hell, and I would later learn of fun little tactics like leaving razors in the cells for hours on end (for anyone to pick up and use as a weapon if they felt like it) or pairing George up with a cell mate who somehow knew he was accused of this crime and was ready to attack him for it. I knew George was in very real danger. I knew he may not live to defend himself. And I knew they were denying him legal counsel outright, as well as stalling (even after I began making calls to ensure that he received a lawyer) to try and put him through arraignment and even the preliminary hearing before he had a chance to receive a court appointed attorney. It was far too dangerous to leave him in their control. I had to get him out so we could fight together. So he could live to fight another day. And so they couldn't continue to traumatize him and attempt to break him down before his trial.
Third, due to the trauma of it all, George's mental state was on the decline. He already has PTSD, a stroke history, and a few other problems. It was not wise to leave him in an abusive and dangerous environment, for obvious reasons. I didn't know if they'd break him completely - he could only remain silent and request a lawyer for so long before potentially just losing it. If we were going to fight for his innocence, we needed to get him back on solid ground.
I don't regret the decision in the least. After he emerged from jail, George found the strength to survive. He had a court appointed lawyer in a matter of a couple of days (although, unfortunately, we have since found the lawyer to be overworked and downright disinterested). Things hit the ground running. Much of the evidence, papers, statements, and so on, we could only start to get after he was out of jail. While in jail, they had him in a place where he truly could not defend himself in any way. Of course on a more emotional note, he is a little more stable now that he's safe (scarred and broken though he may be), and we are trying to treasure every moment we have together, knowing it may be our last.
Never The Same
In this effort to present the truth to the public, I felt it was important to present facts first, leaving emotional context for last. I imagine a courtroom - a good one - cares more about proof and evidence than the tears of either side. But now that I have shown you a great deal of information, I would like to step back and breathe a heavy sigh. I'd like to talk on a more personal level.
George and I met online in 2010 through a mutual friend who introduced us. I was living in Texas, about five miles away from family members who sought to control my every move. My family harbors dark secrets of abuse and neglect, and I was always the "loudmouth" - the one who never took it lying down, never accepted bribes, never allowed threats to sway me. I grew up rich, and my refusal to hide the family secret meant being thrown out into the ghetto and having to claw my way out day by day. Now I was 22 and had carved myself a slice of Texas that I could be proud of - renting a humble room in a beautiful house with a sprawling kitchen, leather furniture, gleaming hard wood floors, and a perfect neatly-mowed lawn. Despite it all I was not doing well. Money wasn't coming in fast enough to keep up with money going out, and my family was a constant crushing influence. My resolve was beginning to give way. I didn't see any hope of finding a life on my own, escaping the lingering threats and control. After things got dark enough, I resolved to just exist, nothing more, until it was my time to go.
Over time, we fell in love. But he didn't want to let a beautiful thing stagnate with distance. I was terrified - I knew my family would never let me out of their sight. I knew they'd do anything they could to stop me, and I didn't know how far they'd go this time. Over several months, George held my hand - a comforting voice on the phone, a word of advice, and lots and lots of careful planning. While they worked to keep me within their reach, with bribes and manipulation and efforts to ruin my every step, he assured me there was still hope, that he would be there every step of the way. I can say without a doubt that he saved me from a terrifying situation. In the end, I fled my family on the heels of threats and outrage, stuffing my tiny car full of what possessions I could and driving for 24 hours straight in the middle of one of the worst winters I'd ever seen.
Since then, he has always been there for me, and I for him. He has held my hand as I lay in a hospital bed on the brink of death, held me in his arms through countless good and bad times. We've faced fraudsters, lived in little holes in the wall trying to get by, woken up to the ceiling leaking onto our bed, always glad to have each other above all else. He's watched me collapse into seizures countless times for the last year, argued with small town doctors in a small town hospital where the sick go to die, and through it all we have managed to survive. In the midst of the destroyed economy of one of the poorest states in America, we managed to find a cozy, beautiful little house we could rent with the help of a roomie or two and call home.
Then came the phone call from his mother in late January. "It's about your step sister," she said, her voice trembling and tearful. "She's saying you did something to her."
Since that day, I have forgotten what it is to really sleep. We have tossed and turned on the living room couches, scared out of our minds that we might wake to the sound of another pounding knock at the door. We've been followed by police officers in unmarked cars and uniforms riding my bumper before they turn down a tiny road along the way and disappear. They've sat just yards away from our house, watching, waiting. They've cruised by our house slowly. We have heard the words "That's him!", gasps, giggles, angry growls, from a public that has been told only that he is a pedophile. And we have forgotten what it was like to feel safe.
During George's time in jail, he called me every day. He could say nothing of real value to me. Only that he loved me. That he was safe - for now. That he just wanted to go home. I didn't know what was going on, but I knew it was bad. Every time I tried to ask, I heard distant sounds of clanging metal and George, suddenly quiet and shaking, said "I ...I have to go." He had bought me a Valentine's day present early this year, knowing every day might be the last chance; I clung to the soft stuffed toy every night, wondering whether I would ever hear his voice again. For days I struggled to raise money, and after selling our truck and begging everywhere, I raised about $2100. His mother reluctantly gave the rest. "Betty," I told her, "If you get here in time and we get George out today, I swear, I will buy you Burger King from the money I was going to use for his calls from jail. We'll all go together. I bet he'll want some real food."
The jail was cold and dead. There were screams and clanging metal echoing behind the walls of the grey lobby. Officers walked back and forth across the window, quiet grins on their faces, heads down. The bondsman was a gruff old man struggling to walk and squinting to see. To us he might as well have been Jesus. We scribbled on papers and handed over a plastic bag full of mixed bills. He shuffled to the glass and handed everything in. A few agonizing minutes later, he was turned away outright by a woman with a stern tone. Betty and I broke down, clinging to each other in desperation - the bondsman heaved a sigh and sat down. "I've done bonds of 500,000 dollars and I have never seen anything like it," he muttered. "...like they just don't want to let him go." He was ready to give up. We pleaded with him to try one more time. "They can't just ignore a judge's orders," I said. He gave me a look, a wry smile that seemed to say, "You don't know these people, kid."
In the end, I was right. The jail couldn't ignore the judge's orders, although they did everything in their power to stall the process. Hours passed while we waited and wept. Finally, George stumbled out into the snow and stood pale and sickly, looking like a wayward breeze could blow him over to his grave. We hugged him tight, ushering him to the car as fast as we could. He whispered, trembling, "Let's just get the f*** out of here."
Later on, clinging to me that night, he told me about his time in jail. Cells infested with roaches and mites, waking him up in the middle of the night crawling over his face. Cell mates threatening him, jeering him, saying they knew what he had done. Screams, day and night. Lights that never go off. The sound of the wind the only piece of the outside world he clung to, pressing his ear to the window. Razors brought to the cells for shaving, and left for hours at a time. The sounds of men in nearby cells engaging in sex acts loudly. Three days in holding, one wall a giant mirror, officers walking by laughing and taunting. He shook and stuttered, his stroke symptoms in full swing - and they smirked and jeered, "Don't play games, we know you're faking." Hours turning into days, and a loss of time. A loss of his sanity, slowly eating him away.
George's sense of safety is forever shattered. Every time blue and red lights flash on TV, his eyes glaze over and he starts to rock back and forth, frozen in terror. I hold him tight every time. "It's okay, honey, shhh - you're here. You're safe now." He becomes like a statue every time he sees the officer who arrested him. "Is that him?" he asks me, his eyes wide and desperate. "Is that him right there?" I squeeze his hand and try to assure him, but it doesn't go far. At night he curls up and whimpers, shakes and jolts suddenly. As I whisper his name, he begins to relax, and my heart melts inside.
I have tried every day to comfort him. "We can fight this," I tell him. "We can make it through. We can make them see the truth if we just keep at it. Just stay strong, honey, we can do this."
But I know the truth. The truth is, there is no going back now. No returning to the innocence of a happy couple ready to start a life together.
Even if we win, we will never be the same.
George and I met online in 2010 through a mutual friend who introduced us. I was living in Texas, about five miles away from family members who sought to control my every move. My family harbors dark secrets of abuse and neglect, and I was always the "loudmouth" - the one who never took it lying down, never accepted bribes, never allowed threats to sway me. I grew up rich, and my refusal to hide the family secret meant being thrown out into the ghetto and having to claw my way out day by day. Now I was 22 and had carved myself a slice of Texas that I could be proud of - renting a humble room in a beautiful house with a sprawling kitchen, leather furniture, gleaming hard wood floors, and a perfect neatly-mowed lawn. Despite it all I was not doing well. Money wasn't coming in fast enough to keep up with money going out, and my family was a constant crushing influence. My resolve was beginning to give way. I didn't see any hope of finding a life on my own, escaping the lingering threats and control. After things got dark enough, I resolved to just exist, nothing more, until it was my time to go.
Over time, we fell in love. But he didn't want to let a beautiful thing stagnate with distance. I was terrified - I knew my family would never let me out of their sight. I knew they'd do anything they could to stop me, and I didn't know how far they'd go this time. Over several months, George held my hand - a comforting voice on the phone, a word of advice, and lots and lots of careful planning. While they worked to keep me within their reach, with bribes and manipulation and efforts to ruin my every step, he assured me there was still hope, that he would be there every step of the way. I can say without a doubt that he saved me from a terrifying situation. In the end, I fled my family on the heels of threats and outrage, stuffing my tiny car full of what possessions I could and driving for 24 hours straight in the middle of one of the worst winters I'd ever seen.
Since then, he has always been there for me, and I for him. He has held my hand as I lay in a hospital bed on the brink of death, held me in his arms through countless good and bad times. We've faced fraudsters, lived in little holes in the wall trying to get by, woken up to the ceiling leaking onto our bed, always glad to have each other above all else. He's watched me collapse into seizures countless times for the last year, argued with small town doctors in a small town hospital where the sick go to die, and through it all we have managed to survive. In the midst of the destroyed economy of one of the poorest states in America, we managed to find a cozy, beautiful little house we could rent with the help of a roomie or two and call home.
Then came the phone call from his mother in late January. "It's about your step sister," she said, her voice trembling and tearful. "She's saying you did something to her."
Since that day, I have forgotten what it is to really sleep. We have tossed and turned on the living room couches, scared out of our minds that we might wake to the sound of another pounding knock at the door. We've been followed by police officers in unmarked cars and uniforms riding my bumper before they turn down a tiny road along the way and disappear. They've sat just yards away from our house, watching, waiting. They've cruised by our house slowly. We have heard the words "That's him!", gasps, giggles, angry growls, from a public that has been told only that he is a pedophile. And we have forgotten what it was like to feel safe.
During George's time in jail, he called me every day. He could say nothing of real value to me. Only that he loved me. That he was safe - for now. That he just wanted to go home. I didn't know what was going on, but I knew it was bad. Every time I tried to ask, I heard distant sounds of clanging metal and George, suddenly quiet and shaking, said "I ...I have to go." He had bought me a Valentine's day present early this year, knowing every day might be the last chance; I clung to the soft stuffed toy every night, wondering whether I would ever hear his voice again. For days I struggled to raise money, and after selling our truck and begging everywhere, I raised about $2100. His mother reluctantly gave the rest. "Betty," I told her, "If you get here in time and we get George out today, I swear, I will buy you Burger King from the money I was going to use for his calls from jail. We'll all go together. I bet he'll want some real food."
The jail was cold and dead. There were screams and clanging metal echoing behind the walls of the grey lobby. Officers walked back and forth across the window, quiet grins on their faces, heads down. The bondsman was a gruff old man struggling to walk and squinting to see. To us he might as well have been Jesus. We scribbled on papers and handed over a plastic bag full of mixed bills. He shuffled to the glass and handed everything in. A few agonizing minutes later, he was turned away outright by a woman with a stern tone. Betty and I broke down, clinging to each other in desperation - the bondsman heaved a sigh and sat down. "I've done bonds of 500,000 dollars and I have never seen anything like it," he muttered. "...like they just don't want to let him go." He was ready to give up. We pleaded with him to try one more time. "They can't just ignore a judge's orders," I said. He gave me a look, a wry smile that seemed to say, "You don't know these people, kid."
In the end, I was right. The jail couldn't ignore the judge's orders, although they did everything in their power to stall the process. Hours passed while we waited and wept. Finally, George stumbled out into the snow and stood pale and sickly, looking like a wayward breeze could blow him over to his grave. We hugged him tight, ushering him to the car as fast as we could. He whispered, trembling, "Let's just get the f*** out of here."
Later on, clinging to me that night, he told me about his time in jail. Cells infested with roaches and mites, waking him up in the middle of the night crawling over his face. Cell mates threatening him, jeering him, saying they knew what he had done. Screams, day and night. Lights that never go off. The sound of the wind the only piece of the outside world he clung to, pressing his ear to the window. Razors brought to the cells for shaving, and left for hours at a time. The sounds of men in nearby cells engaging in sex acts loudly. Three days in holding, one wall a giant mirror, officers walking by laughing and taunting. He shook and stuttered, his stroke symptoms in full swing - and they smirked and jeered, "Don't play games, we know you're faking." Hours turning into days, and a loss of time. A loss of his sanity, slowly eating him away.
George's sense of safety is forever shattered. Every time blue and red lights flash on TV, his eyes glaze over and he starts to rock back and forth, frozen in terror. I hold him tight every time. "It's okay, honey, shhh - you're here. You're safe now." He becomes like a statue every time he sees the officer who arrested him. "Is that him?" he asks me, his eyes wide and desperate. "Is that him right there?" I squeeze his hand and try to assure him, but it doesn't go far. At night he curls up and whimpers, shakes and jolts suddenly. As I whisper his name, he begins to relax, and my heart melts inside.
I have tried every day to comfort him. "We can fight this," I tell him. "We can make it through. We can make them see the truth if we just keep at it. Just stay strong, honey, we can do this."
But I know the truth. The truth is, there is no going back now. No returning to the innocence of a happy couple ready to start a life together.
Even if we win, we will never be the same.
Putting A Face To The Name
At the advice of concerned supporters, George has decided to post video blogs on YouTube in addition to the written blog I am doing here. I am likely to post videos to the channel as well - it seems only fair that if people would like to support us, they know who they are supporting. If you'd like to take a look, please feel free to visit our new youtube channel below. Since it is brand new, it will be under construction for a little while, so please forgive the thrown-together look. Thank you for your time.
Our YouTube Channel
UPDATE:
Some of our videos have been set "private" temporarily as a precautionary measure, since this is after all a legal case. They might be up again before too long. In the meantime we'll be posting new video-blogs when we can.
UPDATE:
Some of our videos have been set "private" temporarily as a precautionary measure, since this is after all a legal case. They might be up again before too long. In the meantime we'll be posting new video-blogs when we can.
The Evidence: For And Against
Now that you know a little bit about our plight, let me give you the evidence - both for, and against us. I will do my best to present it well. Ultimately, in any situation involving the justice system, it is up to the system, and the public, to decide what to believe based on evidence - not me, not George, and not his accuser. So I feel it's only right to present both sides. I cannot claim a lack of bias by any means; he is my fiancee, after all. But I will do my best.
The accuser is the step-sister of George. Her father is married to his mother, and despite a relationship full of abuse and deception, they remain married to this day. The accuser has alleged that from the years of 2003 to 2006, George, whom she claimed was living in the same house at the time, would sneak into her room to rape her, at night and while babysitting her, threatening her with knives to keep her quiet, and then helping her clean up afterward.
There are several holes in this story which can be proven. George was not living with the accused, as early as late 2003, and in 2004 he lived many states away. He is not able to drive due to his vision and has no driver's license, therefore he literally would have had to ask someone to drive him to her house in order to rape her. When he lived in the same house, his friend, E.M., also lived in the same room, and of course never once heard him sneak out of the room for any reason. He locked the door to his room to prevent frequent theft on the part of the accuser and her brother and to keep them out. He also moved away because he disliked the family and was tired of their drama. Any time he was babysitting her, he invited friends over, so there are many witnesses who were present at the time and know that nothing strange took place. While living away from her house, when called to babysit he of course had to ask a friend to drive him over - they would then hang out and/or invite other friends over to hang out. At no time did he ever babysit her alone; frankly he considered it annoying and his friends provided some distraction from the drudgery. We have many things like check stubs, receipts, employment history, and so on and so forth to prove George's alibi.
The accusation came about in late January, after the accuser attempted suicide. In the days following her suicide attempt, she gave four different explanations as to why she attempted suicide, according to our witnesses. One of those asserted that George was the reason, and proceeded to accuse him of raping her. The other three don't line up. The stories are as follows:
The accuser is the step-sister of George. Her father is married to his mother, and despite a relationship full of abuse and deception, they remain married to this day. The accuser has alleged that from the years of 2003 to 2006, George, whom she claimed was living in the same house at the time, would sneak into her room to rape her, at night and while babysitting her, threatening her with knives to keep her quiet, and then helping her clean up afterward.
There are several holes in this story which can be proven. George was not living with the accused, as early as late 2003, and in 2004 he lived many states away. He is not able to drive due to his vision and has no driver's license, therefore he literally would have had to ask someone to drive him to her house in order to rape her. When he lived in the same house, his friend, E.M., also lived in the same room, and of course never once heard him sneak out of the room for any reason. He locked the door to his room to prevent frequent theft on the part of the accuser and her brother and to keep them out. He also moved away because he disliked the family and was tired of their drama. Any time he was babysitting her, he invited friends over, so there are many witnesses who were present at the time and know that nothing strange took place. While living away from her house, when called to babysit he of course had to ask a friend to drive him over - they would then hang out and/or invite other friends over to hang out. At no time did he ever babysit her alone; frankly he considered it annoying and his friends provided some distraction from the drudgery. We have many things like check stubs, receipts, employment history, and so on and so forth to prove George's alibi.
The accusation came about in late January, after the accuser attempted suicide. In the days following her suicide attempt, she gave four different explanations as to why she attempted suicide, according to our witnesses. One of those asserted that George was the reason, and proceeded to accuse him of raping her. The other three don't line up. The stories are as follows:
Story A:
The accuser's mother, who we will call Michelle, tried to tell her that her father, who we will call Buck, doesn't love her anymore and that's why he doesn't come to see her (she resides at her mother's house, and the two are divorced). Her mother attempted to blame her father for her suicide attempt, saying his unloving nature drove her over the edge.
Story B:
Michelle and the accuser's sister texted the accuser the following: "Go to your new family, and don't come back here. We are replacing you, and I am saving up to get my own place." The constant rejection of her mother and sister drove the accuser over the edge.
Story C:
The accuser accused George, stating to Buck over the phone that George was the reason she attempted suicide - this is also what has been filed in the police report.
Story D:
The accuser claims that her suicide attempt was because Michelle dislikes her boyfriend and forbade her to be with him anymore, stating, "You won't be with him in a couple months!" This story is the version she gave to her boyfriend.
Shortly after George's arrest, the accuser called her father 60 times in about 3 days, proceeding to brag to him over the phone that George had been arrested and that she and Buck could be together again. Betty was present and suspected something wrong, and so hid and began to write what she overheard.
Betty writes:
"Buck talked to [the accuser]...and he told her he's not taking sides[,] he told her he's losing his marbles over here and she said 'None of this that's going on has to do with you.' He said 'Yes it does, figure it out. There's your side, and there's this side.' Then he said he's not going to stop for her every little whim. ...And he said, 'Yeah I know about that', and raised his voice and said 'Ahh, I'm not going to wreck my marriage, you have your life over there and I have my life over here!' And [the accuser] said, 'Oh, I'm not that important?!' Buck told her, 'What you do over there is your thing' and she began fake crying. I said 'Oh there she goes with that fake cry just to get to you'. Then she wanted to know when Buck was going to visit her and he said he didn't know."
Introductions
Greetings, readers. Please, call me Kelly. I am beginning this blog in response to grave injustices committed against my fiancee, whom I've always called George. Some of you may know us. Some of you have never met us before. I am not much of a writer, but I want to introduce ourselves and present our situation. I feel strongly, as do others, that it needs to be heard.
George and I live in a small town straddling the vast waters of Lake Michigan, where the sirens still ring once at noon and 10pm every day, remnants of a time when industrial workers and fishermen took these as reminders to put their nets down and get some lunch or go home to see their wives. A town that seems lost to time, where everybody knows everybody and word spreads quickly, where tourists are smirkingly dubbed "fudgies" and locals stroll daily through old downtown's array of antique and oddity shops.
It is also a town rife with corruption. Police officers covering drug dealers and prostitutes, prostitutes and drug dealers covering police officers - everyone in the town aware of it but unable to stop it. Fudgies are the first to be ticketted for anything, and everyone knows all too well that if you have a true emergency, you'd better be equipped to handle it yourself - it's more than likely the police will not be there to help. Most people will drive a good 45 minutes away just to get their driver's licenses, go to a hospital, or any other important thing; they all know if you seek assistance here, you'll be met with a blank stare and a shrug.
We've been told to move away. But there was just something about the sunset on the quiet beach every evening, the peaceful quiet of a place time forgot. We couldn't stay away. I digress, perhaps - but to me it seems important to point out. This is where we are from; and this is the town that has turned against us. And when this place decides to turn on you, it goes for the jugular.
To begin with, I would like to show a copy of the e-mail I sent to the Secretary of State for our state. I think it covers the beginning of our plight very well. Names have been removed for propriety's sake. Thank you for your time.
On Friday, 2/1/13, a state police officer by the name of J. H. awoke George and myself at approximately 10:30am and insisted repeatedly that we were required to go with him to the P.M. police station and fire department so that George could be questioned. Prior to this we had been told by George's mother that a false accusation had been leveled against him by his stepsister after she attempted suicide and that she was planning something terrible. George, already shocked that these accusations had been leveled against him, tried to reason with the officer, who refused to accept no for an answer in any way shape or form and continued to state that we were required, in no uncertain terms, to go the station so that George could be questioned, while stepping further and further into the house. Feeling that we had no choice, I drove George to the station and he was interrogated for 2 1/2 hours while I was told to stay in my car in the cold and wait.
During these 2 1/2 hours, officer H. threatened George repeatedly, stating that if he did not confess to the exact allegations leveled against him, he would be immediately arrested and taken away. He would not accept any other terms than the exact allegations, and any attempt made to explain the truth was laughed off with sarcasm, mild intimidation and threats. George was not allowed to leave at any time, was not advised of his Miranda rights in any way shape or form, and was repeatedly threatened with jail if he did not confess. Feeling that he had no hope and no options, he broke down and tried to write a statement of the truth, at which point the officer began to slam his hand to the table and yell and threaten that George had to confess, dictating to him exactly what to write matching the accusation precisely, and refusing to let him leave until he wrote it. Afterward, he told George not to speak to anyone for 72 hours or he would be arrested immediately.
During this time I was in need of a restroom and had waved down a nearby firefighter to please allow me to use the facilities inside. The entire time I was inside and on my way out, I could hear the officer speaking in increasingly very loud and intimidating tones and George being brought to tears. I was unable to assist as I had been told I was not allowed into the room, and inevitably had to wait in the car once again. When he returned to the car, he was visibly shaken and told me that he could not say what had happened for 72 hours, but that he was forced into giving a false confession and had no hope.
On Tuesday, 2/12/13, Officer J. H. once again knocked on our door. He stated in both of our presence that he was here to arrest George. He then asked, "So, did you speak to anyone?" and moved his hand towards his gun pointedly. We told him that we had spoken to a lawyer briefly, but I reminded George that he needed to get a court appointed one (since we cannot afford to hire one) and to not speak to anyone in the meantime, and that we would all fight to prove his innocence and he would be alright. The officer became increasingly agitated and mocking, and tried repeatedly to cut me off from advising and calming down George, who was of course overwhelmed. George has had a stroke twice in his life and, due to what was taking place, began to show neurological signs from distress: stuttering, shaking and becoming weak on his left side (the side that his stroke affected). The officer accused him of "playing games" and I explained carefully that George displays these symptoms in high stress situations; I was ignored and shrugged off, as George was handcuffed and taken stumbling away.
Approximately thirty minutes to an hour after George's arrest, I was on my way to run some errands and start an all out effort to raise money for him, accompanied by our room mate, E.M.. As we drove to the front entrance of our residential community (River Meadows), we found that an unmarked red truck was parked slightly in the way of our exit, with a policeman clearly visible sitting inside wearing his uniform. He spotted me and gave a grimace, started his truck, waited for me to pass and began to follow extremely close behind me, riding my bumper. He followed me in this manner for a short distance before eventually turning the opposite direction and slowly driving away.
George was taken to M.C. Jail, where he was held until Saturday, 2/16/13, when his mother and I managed to raise the amount needed for bail via donations from ourselves and other concerned friends and loved ones. George called me approximately one to three times daily, and informed me repeatedly that despite his constant requests for a court appointed attorney, not only had his requests been ignored but they had been outright denied. He had indicated to the officers at the jail that while we were doing what we could to raise the amount of money we needed for an attorney, it was not likely to happen and he was in need of a court appointed one as soon as possible because we could not afford one. This request was laughed off and he was given no such thing.
Shocked at being told of this violation of his constitutional rights, I began making phone calls to inquire as to what reasons may have been given for his outright denial and to request again that he be given an attorney since he had been asking for one since the 12th, already arraigned without one (with bail set at the amount of $25,000), and his trial set for a mere two weeks from the date of his arraignment (giving us a very short time to work with) on 2/27/13.
I found myself being told several different stories, between the courthouse and the officers at M. C. Jail, all of which were discourteous and unwilling to help. I was told by the courthouse that they had been told George never asked for one and that we would be hiring one - at which point I stated in no uncertain terms that this was not the case and that he had been asking for a court appointed attorney since the 12th. Upon calling M. C. Jail, I was told by the first officer I spoke to that he never asked for one at all, and when I informed him otherwise, I was transferred to the seargent. The seargent was agitated and discourteously told me that "verbal requests don't count" (verbatim) and that George needed to fill out a KITE form to request an attorney. I begged the question, why had nobody then given him this paperwork if he was asking? The seargent sarcastically told me that he would go and speak to George. He then waited several hours to do so until the end of the day, and since it was Friday, this effectively means that George will not be given a lawyer until Wednesday, 2/20/13, giving us very little time for legal consult.
On Saturday, 2/16/13: Myself, George's mother (B.F.), and our friend C.W., arrived with a bail bondsman at 6:00pm with cash and surety at the ready to have George released on bail. Upon filling out the necessary forms and turning them in, the bondsman was turned away outright, given a false account that the judge required $25,000 in cash. The bondsman of course had spoken to the courthouse and been told otherwise; as had 3 to 4 other bail bonds companies we had spoken with in preceeding days. The officers, in contrast, told him in no uncertain terms that they would accept no less than $25,000. Disturbed by the actions of the officers, we asked the bondsman to please try submitting the forms again. In the end we were made to wait two and one half hours before they reluctantly released George to us on bail.
George has informed me that at no point in time were his Miranda rights read to him in any way shape or form until his arraignment on the 13th, at which point the judge was the one to read said rights to him. Afterward no attempt was made by any officer at any time to uphold these rights. His neurological symptoms have been in full swing, with weakness on his left side, chest pains, dizziness, disorientation, stuttering and aphasia (difficulty speaking), pain, loss of fine motor control (ability to move his fingers), and difficulty walking. These dangerous symptoms were ignored and mocked by the officers at M.C. Jail, who told him things like "If you were really in pain, you wouldn't be limping that way; we know you're acting."
We are concerned that George has not been treated in a legal and upright manner and that there seems to be an attempt to stall or even thwart his right to a fair trial, instead rushing for swift prosecution. We would like to request your assistance in these matters as there is so much at stake.
George and I live in a small town straddling the vast waters of Lake Michigan, where the sirens still ring once at noon and 10pm every day, remnants of a time when industrial workers and fishermen took these as reminders to put their nets down and get some lunch or go home to see their wives. A town that seems lost to time, where everybody knows everybody and word spreads quickly, where tourists are smirkingly dubbed "fudgies" and locals stroll daily through old downtown's array of antique and oddity shops.
It is also a town rife with corruption. Police officers covering drug dealers and prostitutes, prostitutes and drug dealers covering police officers - everyone in the town aware of it but unable to stop it. Fudgies are the first to be ticketted for anything, and everyone knows all too well that if you have a true emergency, you'd better be equipped to handle it yourself - it's more than likely the police will not be there to help. Most people will drive a good 45 minutes away just to get their driver's licenses, go to a hospital, or any other important thing; they all know if you seek assistance here, you'll be met with a blank stare and a shrug.
We've been told to move away. But there was just something about the sunset on the quiet beach every evening, the peaceful quiet of a place time forgot. We couldn't stay away. I digress, perhaps - but to me it seems important to point out. This is where we are from; and this is the town that has turned against us. And when this place decides to turn on you, it goes for the jugular.
To begin with, I would like to show a copy of the e-mail I sent to the Secretary of State for our state. I think it covers the beginning of our plight very well. Names have been removed for propriety's sake. Thank you for your time.
On Friday, 2/1/13, a state police officer by the name of J. H. awoke George and myself at approximately 10:30am and insisted repeatedly that we were required to go with him to the P.M. police station and fire department so that George could be questioned. Prior to this we had been told by George's mother that a false accusation had been leveled against him by his stepsister after she attempted suicide and that she was planning something terrible. George, already shocked that these accusations had been leveled against him, tried to reason with the officer, who refused to accept no for an answer in any way shape or form and continued to state that we were required, in no uncertain terms, to go the station so that George could be questioned, while stepping further and further into the house. Feeling that we had no choice, I drove George to the station and he was interrogated for 2 1/2 hours while I was told to stay in my car in the cold and wait.
During these 2 1/2 hours, officer H. threatened George repeatedly, stating that if he did not confess to the exact allegations leveled against him, he would be immediately arrested and taken away. He would not accept any other terms than the exact allegations, and any attempt made to explain the truth was laughed off with sarcasm, mild intimidation and threats. George was not allowed to leave at any time, was not advised of his Miranda rights in any way shape or form, and was repeatedly threatened with jail if he did not confess. Feeling that he had no hope and no options, he broke down and tried to write a statement of the truth, at which point the officer began to slam his hand to the table and yell and threaten that George had to confess, dictating to him exactly what to write matching the accusation precisely, and refusing to let him leave until he wrote it. Afterward, he told George not to speak to anyone for 72 hours or he would be arrested immediately.
During this time I was in need of a restroom and had waved down a nearby firefighter to please allow me to use the facilities inside. The entire time I was inside and on my way out, I could hear the officer speaking in increasingly very loud and intimidating tones and George being brought to tears. I was unable to assist as I had been told I was not allowed into the room, and inevitably had to wait in the car once again. When he returned to the car, he was visibly shaken and told me that he could not say what had happened for 72 hours, but that he was forced into giving a false confession and had no hope.
On Tuesday, 2/12/13, Officer J. H. once again knocked on our door. He stated in both of our presence that he was here to arrest George. He then asked, "So, did you speak to anyone?" and moved his hand towards his gun pointedly. We told him that we had spoken to a lawyer briefly, but I reminded George that he needed to get a court appointed one (since we cannot afford to hire one) and to not speak to anyone in the meantime, and that we would all fight to prove his innocence and he would be alright. The officer became increasingly agitated and mocking, and tried repeatedly to cut me off from advising and calming down George, who was of course overwhelmed. George has had a stroke twice in his life and, due to what was taking place, began to show neurological signs from distress: stuttering, shaking and becoming weak on his left side (the side that his stroke affected). The officer accused him of "playing games" and I explained carefully that George displays these symptoms in high stress situations; I was ignored and shrugged off, as George was handcuffed and taken stumbling away.
Approximately thirty minutes to an hour after George's arrest, I was on my way to run some errands and start an all out effort to raise money for him, accompanied by our room mate, E.M.. As we drove to the front entrance of our residential community (River Meadows), we found that an unmarked red truck was parked slightly in the way of our exit, with a policeman clearly visible sitting inside wearing his uniform. He spotted me and gave a grimace, started his truck, waited for me to pass and began to follow extremely close behind me, riding my bumper. He followed me in this manner for a short distance before eventually turning the opposite direction and slowly driving away.
George was taken to M.C. Jail, where he was held until Saturday, 2/16/13, when his mother and I managed to raise the amount needed for bail via donations from ourselves and other concerned friends and loved ones. George called me approximately one to three times daily, and informed me repeatedly that despite his constant requests for a court appointed attorney, not only had his requests been ignored but they had been outright denied. He had indicated to the officers at the jail that while we were doing what we could to raise the amount of money we needed for an attorney, it was not likely to happen and he was in need of a court appointed one as soon as possible because we could not afford one. This request was laughed off and he was given no such thing.
Shocked at being told of this violation of his constitutional rights, I began making phone calls to inquire as to what reasons may have been given for his outright denial and to request again that he be given an attorney since he had been asking for one since the 12th, already arraigned without one (with bail set at the amount of $25,000), and his trial set for a mere two weeks from the date of his arraignment (giving us a very short time to work with) on 2/27/13.
I found myself being told several different stories, between the courthouse and the officers at M. C. Jail, all of which were discourteous and unwilling to help. I was told by the courthouse that they had been told George never asked for one and that we would be hiring one - at which point I stated in no uncertain terms that this was not the case and that he had been asking for a court appointed attorney since the 12th. Upon calling M. C. Jail, I was told by the first officer I spoke to that he never asked for one at all, and when I informed him otherwise, I was transferred to the seargent. The seargent was agitated and discourteously told me that "verbal requests don't count" (verbatim) and that George needed to fill out a KITE form to request an attorney. I begged the question, why had nobody then given him this paperwork if he was asking? The seargent sarcastically told me that he would go and speak to George. He then waited several hours to do so until the end of the day, and since it was Friday, this effectively means that George will not be given a lawyer until Wednesday, 2/20/13, giving us very little time for legal consult.
On Saturday, 2/16/13: Myself, George's mother (B.F.), and our friend C.W., arrived with a bail bondsman at 6:00pm with cash and surety at the ready to have George released on bail. Upon filling out the necessary forms and turning them in, the bondsman was turned away outright, given a false account that the judge required $25,000 in cash. The bondsman of course had spoken to the courthouse and been told otherwise; as had 3 to 4 other bail bonds companies we had spoken with in preceeding days. The officers, in contrast, told him in no uncertain terms that they would accept no less than $25,000. Disturbed by the actions of the officers, we asked the bondsman to please try submitting the forms again. In the end we were made to wait two and one half hours before they reluctantly released George to us on bail.
George has informed me that at no point in time were his Miranda rights read to him in any way shape or form until his arraignment on the 13th, at which point the judge was the one to read said rights to him. Afterward no attempt was made by any officer at any time to uphold these rights. His neurological symptoms have been in full swing, with weakness on his left side, chest pains, dizziness, disorientation, stuttering and aphasia (difficulty speaking), pain, loss of fine motor control (ability to move his fingers), and difficulty walking. These dangerous symptoms were ignored and mocked by the officers at M.C. Jail, who told him things like "If you were really in pain, you wouldn't be limping that way; we know you're acting."
We are concerned that George has not been treated in a legal and upright manner and that there seems to be an attempt to stall or even thwart his right to a fair trial, instead rushing for swift prosecution. We would like to request your assistance in these matters as there is so much at stake.
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