Free Energy and Healing Humanity and the Planet
Free Energy and Healing Humanity and the Planet
An Audio Introduction to My Journey – Part 6
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An Audio Introduction to My Journey – Part 6

The beginning of my life’s worst year

This is not quite a transcript, but it is more of a summary of the audio. Substack provides transcripts of the audios that are not too bad. Also, you can turn on closed captions while listening to it by using Google’s Chrome browser and turning on Live Captioning (under “Settings” and “Accessibility”). You can also select any part of the transcript and Substack will play that sound clip. I am continually amazed at how these kinds of technologies are progressing. This is decidedly a less formal way of presenting my work, and we will see if people find it helpful.

I am going to spend more than one post on the next 2.5 years of my life, when we were wiped out, and the aftermath. Doing this is going to take a lot out of me. My life was ruined in those years, and I still can’t tell nearly all of it. That will have to wait until I outlive more people, if I do. Those were years of heartbreak and horror, but with strange compensation at times and miraculous victories. The people who run the world tried to permanently end the mischief that Dennis had been stirring up over the past decade. It all happened a few miles from where I was raised, and it was the education of my life. All of my studies and experiences since then have been the small stuff. Here we go.

On the morning of January 14, 1988, we occupied two buildings (2171 Portola Road, Ventura, California, which can be seen on Google Earth). Dennis’s corner office stayed where it originally was. I moved my office to the new building. Mr. Researcher, whom I had long known, had an office next to my original one, next to the warehouse and R&D lab in the back, with a door that opened to it. Dennis was out of the office that morning, having a meeting with his salespeople. Alison took the corner office in our new building, and I regularly made the 100-foot walk between our buildings during the day, as I helped run the business. I wore a suit and tie to work for the first 12 years of my career, until corporate America went casual in the mid-1990s. That morning at about 10 AM, as I was walking between the buildings, suddenly several cars and trucks sped around the nearby streets and into our parking lot, in a cloud of dust. I stood there, watching the spectacle, with no idea what was happening. A truck stopped ten feet away from me, a man got out, and asked me if the building behind me was the address of Conserve Financial Services (our company at the time). When I said yes, he told me that he had a search warrant for our facility, and 13 armed sheriff’s deputies stormed our building.

There were dozens of us working in the two buildings, and they herded us all into the conference room. They said that they were engaging in a search for evidence, and we were all essentially arrested and had to produce identification before we were ejected from the building’s front door. Alison was wise to what they were doing, but I wasn’t. I was about to lose my naïveté the hard way. She was all over them, challenging their right to be in our building. The man who served me the search warrant I have called Mr. Deputy. A picture of him is here.

I now know that I watched a disingenuous performance by Mr. Deputy that day. When he approached me in the parking lot, he acted like he was not sure that he was at the right building, but he had attended a Saturday show there and knew very well that it was our building. After they ejected us from our building, Mr. Deputy claimed that he did not know that we occupied two buildings, so he left to get the search warrant amended, to search our new building also. It was very convenient for him to be off the premises while the other deputies committed crimes.

The warehouse/R&D room in the back had mirrored windows, which meant that to somebody outside of the building, they could not see into the building in daylight. At night, with a light on inside, somebody could then see into that warehouse area.

After Mr. Researcher and the machinist were ejected from the building, they went around to the back of the building, where those mirrored windows were (there was an empty field behind our building in those days). As they stood there, they could suddenly see into the building because the interior was lit by bright flashes. With each flash, they could not only see into the building, but they saw the light’s source. The flash was coming from Mr. Researcher’s office, as his door to the warehouse was open. What they saw with each flash was that blueprints were laid across Mr. Researcher’s desk and a deputy was photographing them, which produced the flashes. That deputy with the camera is also in that photo collage that I presented.

The blueprints were of Mr. Mentor’s engine that we had been building a prototype of. Blueprints are pretty big, at least three feet wide, in a roll. They were too big to easily sneak out of the building, which was why they were photographing them. Mr. Researcher and the machinist were witnessing espionage. The official search would not begin for hours. Two years later, Mr. Researcher testified to witnessing those acts, at the prosecutorial misconduct hearing. About an hour later, Mr. Professor witnessed the deputies leave via the facility’s loading dock, from the R&D facility, carrying a box that they put into their car, and they drove away with it. That box was full of the documents in Mr. Researcher’s office that they stole, which were small enough to fit into the box. There might have been other boxes, because when Mr. Researcher was allowed back into his office the next morning, he discovered that his office had been stripped to the walls. No papers were left in his office, other than the blueprints and a receipt from the deputies, stating that they took only two pieces of paper in their search, which was a parts list for Dennis’s heat pump. Mr. Researcher was never the same after that. That box was full of technical documentation, not only of the technologies that we were pursuing, but many inventors sent us material that Mr. Researcher was evaluating, as well as his notes on his own innovations. I soon learned that stealing during raids was standard procedure in Ventura County, which I eventually understood was perhaps the most corrupt county in the USA. I had no idea until that raid.

I could spend weeks discussing what happened in 1988, and I am trying to keep it short. When I accompanied the deputies during their official search hours later, they feigned no interest in Mr. Researcher’s office and officially stated that it was the last office that they searched that day. When the attorney that my legal fund hired heard that, he laughed at the shoddy deception that those deputies performed. Many years later, I think that the case was that those deputies were so corrupt, and their victims almost never fought back, that they only provided perfunctory cover for their crimes. Why go to great length to disguise their crimes, when they always got away with it?

However, Mr. Deputy was good at what he did. He was the first psychopath who unmasked himself for me, before that year ended, and it was the turning point of my life. But until that fateful day, he had a well-honed Boy Scout charade, acting like some Dudley Do-Right protector of the public, just doing his job. That case made his career, as well as the careers of others who got their hands bloody with our case. Lives were ruined and shortened, like in Seattle, but far worse in ways. Dennis should not have survived, but got “lucky” and only had some fingers broken and teeth knocked out, before the ordeal ended.

In Seattle, Betsy “got” Dennis on the fact that one person in Washington State misunderstood one thing that Dennis said. Betsy took Dennis’s customers hostage, to force him to settle their fraudulent lawsuit. Dennis had his customers vote on whether to settle, and he called it the dirtiest deal he ever did. In Ventura, the judge held Dennis’s attorney hostage, to compel Dennis to plead guilty to not filing a form. Dennis spent two years behind bars for that “crime” and barely survived the experience, as the officials kept trying to get him murdered by the inmates.

Mr. Deputy’s crimes were legion, and happened even before the raid. A few weeks before the raid, Dennis’s assistant Cab called Mr. Deputy, as calls to the Better Business Bureau were being referred to Mr. Deputy. Cab’s affidavit is here. Cab asked why the Better Business Bureau was referring calls to Mr. Deputy, and if we were doing anything illegal. Cab had been a sheriff’s deputy himself and knew the law on this issue. Mr. Deputy was legally obligated to tell us if we were, but he declared that all was well, that he was just performing a perfunctory bureaucratic exercise, and that he would end his investigation. The crime that Mr. Deputy committed that day is called entrapment.

I went home, changed clothes, and planned to play some golf during the raid. I really had little idea that a death blow was being aimed at our company, in my naïveté. But I swung past the office on the way to the golf course and Alison drafted me to accompany the deputies on their search. After they stole those documents, they became cooperative with us, and Alison knew at the time that after they got what they came for, they then became friendly and cooperative.

When Dennis brought down the house at that free-energy conference the week before, the man who filmed the conference came to our office that morning to see about getting work from our company. He had the scoop of his career when he happened to be there as the raid commenced. He recorded those images from that day (1, 2). He stole $6K of camera equipment from us after Dennis was arrested, which was typical.

When I accompanied Mr. Deputy on the search, he tried to convince me that Dennis admitted to deceiving people in Seattle, but he tried that on the wrong man. I eventually asked him what we had done wrong, and he cited a civil law that almost nobody had ever heard of, but I had. When I replied that we had not violated that law, he kind of grinned and said that it was not for us to decide. The deputies told numerous lies during the search, such as saying that we could have copies of the seized documents to run our business. When I returned to my office the next morning, my office had been stripped to the walls. There were literally no documents in my office after the raid. I was already stressed out from the 70-hour weeks, and it began going downhill rapidly after the raid for me. I no longer walked between the buildings, but ran. Six weeks after the raid, I began going into a general physical collapse. My brother later told me that I looked like a raccoon in those days, with dark circles under my eyes. As fate would have it, I got involved with my future wife just as I physically began to collapse, and it was the beginning of the end of my days with Dennis.

So, whom did those deputies steal those technical documents for? I doubt that it was for their own edification, to peruse over beers while watching football on TV. Somebody high up wanted a peek, I believe that it was likely the global elite, and much more is coming on that in future posts.

I am just hitting the “highlights” of that year, and there is far more to tell.

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