PART FOUR: LIFE AS A BROADCASTER --- MORE OF THE SAME GAME

I started work as a news announcer/reporter at CFBV in Smithers, British Columbia, Canada on May 19, 1986. The day before this, it had been above 70 degrees Fahrenheit in my hometown, Mission, which is about 500 miles or 800 kilometres south of Smithers. When I arrived in Smithers, the temperature was about 27 degrees Fahrenheit and it was precipitating mixed snow and rain. I add this only to put a little more human interest in this story. If one could say that chilly weather is a bad omen of things to come, my brief career as a broadcaster started out in an ominous way.

The possible listenership for my radio station and its repeaters was about thirty thousand (30,000) persons. On my first day, I was to give the noon news with a sports summary and the weather. I opened up the microphone and I had a severe case of mike-anxiety. I froze. I did not and could not say anything for about one minute or one minute and a half! Even just one second is a long time for dead air. I was paralyzed. I finally did speak and gave my newscast. After that, I did fine. I was told beforehand and afterward by professionals that mike-anxiety is quite common. I got over it.

My station had a local news person give live newscasts on Mondays through Fridays from six a.m. to five p.m. with just headlines read by the local news person at six p.m. The newscasts were given hourly only. Outside of these hours, my station relied on a radio station from the Vancouver area and its news talent.

The typical schedule for a day was preparing and giving four to five newscasts and then the rest of the day was spent conducting in-station or phone interviews. A standard shift was eight hours long, but there were frequently night meetings, such as town council meetings, to attend. These meetings lasted about two hours from seven thirty p.m. to nine thirty p.m. After this, the reporter had to return to the radio station to write up reports on what was said. The area that my radio station serviced was quite large and so it could take up to one hour and a half one way to reach some of the towns in my station's listening area.

The rule for writing local stories was to provide one original and one rewrite for every minor story and one original and two rewrites for more important stories. Actualities, which are the statements made by the newsmakers, had to be recorded on cassettes and the story had to be written around it or to it. Major local stories required the originating reporter of that story to do a voiced report, as well. When I arrived at the Smithers radio station I suggested that all actualities be typed out in full. All my station's reporters did this almost faithfully.

The desking or announcing shift demanded that the announcer rewrote every story from the newswire service printer as was humanly possible before going to air with it. Of Course, some fast-breaking news stories came over the wire just a minute or two before broadcast time and, as a result, it was impossible to do a rewrite. Some phone interviews were done by the desker. Police checks, weather checks, and monitoring of the competition were also part of the desker's responsibility.

Either way one looks at it, the news job was a busy one. I, just as everyone else on the team, did not slack off. We were were industrious on our jobs just as most people are on any job.

While I was being hired for this news position over the phone, I was informed that CFBV did not have a News Director. The News Director of the station had gone to another station. I was asked if I would be interested in becoming News Director. I asked what the pay would be for the position and was told that it was one thousand dollars ($1,000) per month for the news position. I said that I did not want to be News Director and have the added responsibility for just $1,000 per month. They agreed to hire me as a novice news man and not as the News Director. I did not feel that I had enough experience in radio to be a News Director: I had not had a job in radio up to that point. I also felt that I should be paid more, if I were hired as the News Director. Moreover, I knew that there would be a few news people, who would be working at the station, who would have more experience, and who would be annoyed at being passed over for the position of News Director. I did not want to start my job with any feelings of animosity.

I had been working at the station for about two weeks, when the Programme Director, the Assistant Station Manager, and the Station Manager started to make demands on me concerning the operations of the newsroom. I promptly told them that I was not the News Director and that the job should fall to someone with more authority and seniority and that that person should be either the most experienced newsperson in the station or the Programme Director. This shocked them and they said very little in response. I proceeded to work in harmony as best I could with my fellow newspersons, but there seemed to be some friction between us. I managed to glean from each of them that they had been told that I had been hired as the News Director. I assured them all that I was not the News Director and that I felt that someone with more experience at the news job should be the candidate for the news directorship. About one week later, the Programme Director called me into his office and asked me to be the News Director. I said that I would accept the position, if I was paid twelve hundred ($1,200) dollars per month. This was refused by the Station Manager a few days later. I refused the offer of the title.

I must make it clear at this point that I cleared only about $810 per month in wages. About twice, I received small profit-sharing cheques. I was the only one not to receive a third profit-sharing cheque because the Station Manager decided that he did not like me.

On my first day on the job at CFBV and long before this news directorship fiasco, the Station Manager, (Theodore) Al Colison, called me into his office for a friendly conversation. He told me that his ex-wife's brother was Stuart, one of the carpenters at the Eaton's Pacific Centre, and that this Stuart, whom I knew and whose name is the same as mine, had told him everything about me with regards to my time at that store. He laughed as he told me this. I distrusted the Station Manager from that moment on. I was more than a little fearful that Eaton's would tamper with my new-found career.

Up to this point, I had felt that my life had been a part in a soap opera. It did not get better.

I fell 'in deep attraction' for the receptionist at CFBV. Any time that I asked her out or talked to her, she would scream at me: she literally screamed at me; she did not just raise her voice. I gave up on going out with her after the first four months of working at CFBV: I still had hopes for the two of us, but I knew that I could not rescue anything from a fire that I had not started and I knew that I could not put out the fire of destruction that had been started against any chance of a relationship between us. For the record, I only asked her out three times in the ten months, during which I worked at CFBV.

Please, understand that the CFBV radio station building was about as big as a small-town, one-room schoolhouse and so everything, that was said, was almost certain to become common knowledge among the staff in one way or another. Add to this fact that I have a peculiar ability to hear farther away than is normal and I can read lips quite well. I overheard that the receptionist actually liked me a lot. In fact, some people around the little town of Smithers of 4,800 persons actually found the time to talk about the receptionist's love interests, which included me. Almost no one in the town knew what I looked like as I was a radio announcer/reporter not a TV announcer/reporter, so therefore I was able to overhear quite a lot without being detected. I also overheard that the receptionist had been living with the previous News Director of CFBV and that he had suddenly got a job with another radio station and had left her without much more than a 'goodbye'.

In about June or July 1987, Eaton's started to phone the radio station about me and my supposed prospects within the Eaton's company. Sharon Turton and one other manager from Eaton's phoned about me, but never once was this information communicated to me, nor was I ever given a message to speak to or to phone Eaton's or any of its personnel. I knew that I was being extorted from again.

This type of extortion was ridiculous because it did not actually involve the wrenching of money from me as I did not have any money, but it involved a wrenching of my life and my freedom from me. Eaton's wanted to control me by making me look gay or too shy to be useful on the job in order to bleed me of ideas. They wanted to drive me into the ground as one might squash an insect. So far, I have proven that I am a little stronger than an insect. The problem for Eaton's at this point was that they would suffer grave embarrassment, if I got a girlfriend and if I became successful at another career. Eaton's had to make certain that I did not succeed at a career outside Eaton's because they had phoned too many other companies about wanting to hire me for some type of management position.

About the end of the summer of 1987 and after a few calls from Eaton's concerning my supposed employment possibilities with Eaton's and the existence of a young, female manager, who liked me, the receptionist at CFBV began living with one of her former boyfriends. The receptionist was made to believe that I was a high-risk possibility for romance. Eaton's played my romantic possibilities against each other.

Without my knowledge, it was decided that there would be a Hallowe'en party near the end of October 1987 and that the young manager from Eaton's was to attend. I was to be forced to make a choice between the receptionist and the young manager. I am not sure whether or not my future career possibilities were linked to the two women, but they might have been. In other words, if I had chosen the Eaton's manager, I might have been forced to take a position with Eaton's and, if I had chosen the CFBV receptionist, then my future as a broadcaster would have been sealed. This might not have been an issue at all. Eaton's might have sunk their claws into me and not have hired me. At any rate, I was planning on attending the weekend party, but I got a severe head cold and decided not to go. I passed the Eaton's manager on her way out of Smithers on the Monday after the party weekend. She had not contacted me. This was the Eaton's game. I recognized her immediately and I contacted hotels in the area and one was not fully honest with me: the personnel appeared to have something to hide. I knew that I had found the hotel where the manager had stayed, but I could not prove it. The manager had driven 500 miles or 800 kilometres for one weekend to see the phantom that chance had made me become. I felt empty to the pit of my stomach. I even had the dry wrenches, but I could not eject anything from my body. I knew that I would never be able to date anyone in that small town. I was the laughingstock of the radio station and lost the staff's respect. I also became the laughingstock of the town. Eaton's decided that I would have to wait until April 1988 to join their management team. I had no contact with anyone about this nor was I able to tell anyone right away that I did not want to work at Eaton's ever again as I could not prove any of my suspicions.

Eventually, I was able to talk to some of the radio station staff about my aversion to Eaton's, but these conversations only brought about more anger from the receptionist and mixed feelings from the rest of the staff. I was between a rock and a harder place. I knew that my days at the radio station were numbered.

In late summer 1987, a Vancouver news radio station, CKNW, decided that it liked my read on the reports that I had sent them and they sent scouts to Smithers to listen to me. I did not know about this until after they had come and gone. The other young broadcasters at the station found out about this possibility for me and some became jealous. One DJ flashed his bare bottom while I was giving the five-o'clock news. A fellow newsman blew cigar smoke at me at the same time. I choked, gagged, and laughed during my delivery. I was not hired because of their envious acts.

At about this time, I became increasingly aware that there was great rift between the female staff of the radio station and the Station Manager. I overheard and witnessed part scenarios that strongly indicated that the Station Manager was extorting sexual favours from most of the female staff by telling them that he would dismiss them, if they did not comply with his sexual wants. This threat would be real to any woman anywhere, but it was even greater in a small town with few employment opportunities. One boyfriend of a female staff member struck a deal with the Station Manager for having sexually assaulted his girlfriend on the job. Those two got a payoff and, in return, they promised to keep their silence about the Station Manager's untoward behaviour. I tried to get their co-operation mid-stream, so that I could stop the Station Manager from harming other woman including the receptionist, but they struck their foolish deal and ignored their promise to me. I was not able to do a thing. The Station Manager was a pariah to society as far as I was concerned. I could not go to the police with mere supposition. This problem was further amplified by the fact that I was a rookie news reporter. The police would wonder, if I were just trying to cause a commotion or just trying to make a name for myself.

One day in January 1988, I was in the video rental shop in Smithers and the receptionist came in with (interim?) 'boyfriend' and his friend. I overheard the two men making fun of me and saying how that I could have the receptionist as my girlfriend, if I just played it right. I did not say anything, but I knew that I would never ever succeed in the town of Smithers. I was afraid that I would never succeed in this life. The receptionist looked at me as if she thought that I was a model fresh from the pages of GQ Magazine. We did not communicate, but I did overhear part of her conversation with the mature, female, shop clerk. The gist of the conversation was that the receptionist liked me a lot and that she had to wait for Eaton's to tell her when she could date me or I would never be hired by Eaton's. The clerk said that she could not understand that and thought that the receptionist should end her relationship with her present boyfriend and take up with me, anyway. The shop clerk voiced her concern that Eaton's might never hire me. The receptionist remained stubborn in her stance and the clerk understood her even less.

In Early 1988, I sent out demos to three Los Angeles radio stations and few radio stations in British Columbia, my province. A News Director form and Okanagan radio station phoned me and said that he wanted to fly me down for an interview, but he said that he thought that he wanted to hire me, anyway. He said that he liked to meet people before he hired them. A week later, I did not receive the expected callback from him and so I called him. Within that week, Eaton's had purchased that station, dismissed nearly all the staff, and I lost the chance at that job. The News Director, to whom I had spoken, was forthcoming with all this information.

Two incidents form my news job stand out. These incidents might have infuriated some authorities against me, although they should not have. Judges and police officers have even told me that there were severe and strange reactions to my conduct, which I was told was blameless in these matters. In the first incident, I managed to get a callback from a (federal) Member of Parliament, Jim Fulton, the New Democratic Party MP for the Skeena Riding (Skeena electoral district). He heavily criticized Bill Vander Zalm, the Premier of British Columbia at that time and he criticized the provincial cabinet. He said that there was a large amount of in-fighting in Vander Zalm's cabinet. I had had Jim Fulton's permission to record our conversation and I phoned my reports to CKNW in Vancouver. These reports became national stories because they involved a federal politician commenting harshly on a province's politics. Shortly thereafter, it was reported that Jim Fulton had lost his temper with Canadian Prime Minister, who was Brian Mulroney at the time, and Jim Fulton had directed the f-word at the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister banned Jim Fulton from parliament until he had apologized, which he eventually did. It is considered taboo for a federal politician to comment on or criticize provincial politics. Jim Fulton was likely chastised for the comments that he had made to me by the Prime Minister. In the second incident, I was covering a trial, that involved botulism and that was being held at the Smithers Provincial Courthouse. The plaintiff was Caucasian and the defendant was Native. The Native was being accused of selling tainted smoked salmon to the Caucasian. No mention was made of a time limit being suggested for the consumption of the salmon. I mentioned this omission in my report. It is a reporter's right and responsibility to report the facts of a situation as they exist and to report any omissions or the absence of an important fact. The judge did not see my point of view and ordered me banned from the court. He felt that I was leading the outcome of the case and said that he would try to find some law proving my guilt and would have me sued. I had this message relayed to me and was not told directly. Of course, the judge could not find any guilt in what I had done. I was not in the wrong and was eventually allowed back into the courtroom SOMETIMES! I believe that I was allowed into the courtroom about two or three times after that incident.

Also in early 1988, the Station Manager was out one day as he doubled as the Sales Manager for the station and he phoned me on the newsroom phone line. He asked me to convey some trivial, useless piece of information to the receptionist immediately. He told me that I had to go to her in person and not phone her on her phone. I did so promptly and she informed me that she already knew what I had told her. She thought that the Station Manager was being strange, too. This was the only time that the receptionist did not get angry with me. She did confront the Station Manager about the matter when he came back in.

In mid-March 1988, I decided that I needed to talk to the receptionist about my dilemma with Eaton's. I wanted to fix my problem and move on. I thought that it would be best if I talked to the receptionist outside the radio station. One Friday after my shift, I went to the receptionist's 'boyfriend's' house and knocked on the door. I knew that her 'boyfriend' was off logging for a while. I had overheard this tidbit of information. When the receptionist opened the door, I told her very calmly and nicely that I just wanted to talk to her about my problem with Eaton's, ask her what she knew about it, and said that was all, about which I wanted to speak to her. She did not listen. She attacked me by hitting me. I blocked her blows and she chased me from the yard yelling the f-word at me. She called the police on me, but decided not to file charges against me. While I was in the back of the police car, I told the police officer about my complaint and problems with Eaton's: I told him that I thought that I was being subjected to extortion by Eaton's. The police officer told me that the police would investigate my complaint. I was wrongfully dismissed from my news job on the following Monday by the Station Manager. He merely asked me for my key to the radio station door and asked me to clear out my drawer. He also said that he had told me to stay away from the receptionist when in fact, he had never told me that and had said just the opposite! The Programme Director and the receptionist were sorry as was everyone at the station.

The police were going to tell me about my case, but they were misled into thinking that some other official would tell me. They refrained from informing and my case moved into court without me being told anything about it. The police were then not allowed to talk to me about my case as this would have constituted contempt of court. I was shut out from my case.

PART THREE: THE GAME CONTINUED

I thought that I would be free from the clutches of Sharon Turton and Eaton's once I was at university. I did not know the extent to which Sharon Turton was persecuting me. I attended the University of Victoria in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada from September 1983 to April 1986.

I managed to save a little money from my job at Eaton's for my education, but it was not enough. I applied for a student loan and was given a very minimal provincial student loan and a meager federal student loan. I received only a small loan because I had some savings. I got the maximum student loan for my third and fourth years at university, but the loans averaged only $5,500 annually. All expenses, including my tuition and textbooks had to be paid with this money. Tuition and textbooks averaged $2,000 yearly.

I ran out of money in late 1983 and I could not eat properly most of the time and often did not eat at all. I got ill in early 1984 and became bedridden for two weeks. I believe that I contracted the start of scurvy and I became malnourished, as well. My fingers became swollen and I had trouble bending them. I got a boil, that was the length of two one-dollar coins placed side by side and was the depth of the diameter of a one-dollar coin. I became too weak to get out of bed, but, one day, I chose to fight my illness. I chose to live and got out of bed.

I studied French and got my Bachelor of Arts at the University of Victoria. One of my teachers was an assistant professor with the last name Turton. I thought that this was very coincidental. The surname, Turton, is a fairly rare name and I wondered whether or not he was related to Sharon Turton. It turns out that he is related to her. He and two other professors at my university played the same game that Sharon Turton played on me. They were going to hire me as an assistant professor in the French faculty and train me as a full professor. They even rigged an exam against me.

I would sit down in my classroom and a female student would sit down beside me with no time to spare to talk to her before or after class. I was supposed to make a sexual pass at her and then I would have been hired as an assistant professor in the French faculty. I only had an inkling of what was going on, but I started to become aware of what Sharon Turton was doing to me.

In the middle of the spring of 1986, which was my final year of university, I began having three recurring dreams. One of these dreams had more than one ending. I had every one of these dreams several times each night for two weeks. Then, I dreamt each off and on for another two weeks. These dreams were very unsettling and they seemed to be harbingers of some future truth about me. The dreams were extremely real and seemed to come from an outside source: they did not seem to be merely a product of my imagination. Each time that I had one of these dreams, I would awake soaked in sweat. Each dream dealt with a possible take on an untimely death for me. One of these dreams seemed to indicate more of a problem than just my death. These prophetic-like visions, as I began to call them, unnerved me to the point that I phoned my mother and mentioned them to her. My mother dismissed my visions as nothing more than dreams, but I knew that they meant more than just an overactive imagination. I did not mention this subject again to her. When my mother asked me if I was still having the dreams several weeks later, I replied that they had stopped after four weeks and I told her not to worry about them.

The first of these three visions had me coming upon a full-grown, adult, black bear in the British Columbian forest. This type of encounter is not unusual in British Columbia and I had actually chanced upon a few black bears in the wild, but this dream sequence was peculiar. In the vision, I was walking through the forest and everything was pleasant and ordinary. Suddenly, a standing black bear materialized in front of me as if it were a spirit-like creature. It seemed to gloat over itself. Then, it gave an expression that signaled derision of me. I looked at the bear with a lack of understanding. The bear became angry with me and I looked at it in bewilderment. This seemed to make the bear furious. It took a step forward, growled, and sliced my face with its right paw. Blood gushed from my face. The bear then twisted its right paw and brought it back towards my neck in a semi-backhand. My neck was half severed and I fell to the ground dead. A miraculous thing happened next. I came back to life. I stood up and confronted the bear with anger. I shouted at the bear. I asked it why it was angry with me, why it had killed me, and what I had done to deserve death then and in that way. I spoke to the bear as if it were capable of speech. The bear looked confused, growled angrily once, and then it growled angrily twice more as it dematerialized. The initial fight with the bear seemed to be over, but I was still able to hear the angry growls of the bear faintly.

In the second vision, I was trotting up to the edge of a high cliff above a large body of water. Sometimes, this body of water appeared to be a huge lake and, at other times, it appeared to be the sea. I did not see a large tree root near the edge of the cliff. The root appeared suddenly, disappeared, and then, reappeared. I tripped over the root and plummeted to the bottom of the cliff. I scraped against the bare rock face of the cliff and slammed into the jagged boulders at the base of the cliff. My lifeless body started to roll into the waves of the water as a rag doll would. The wind increased. The waves rose higher and pushed me back into the cliff face. The wind became a gale-force wind and rolled me all the way back up to the top of the cliff. I stood up at the cliff top and I realized that I had died, that I was alive again, and that I was uninjured. From this point in the vision on, I fell from the cliff top repeatedly. At times, the initial sequence was replayed. At other times, I struck the cliff bottom differently and sometimes, the wind came up immediately, buoyed me up part way down the cliff, and then, pushed me back up into a standing position on the cliff top.

The third and final vision was likely the most puzzling. This vision was the shortest, the least detailed, and had the smallest number of consistencies to it. I would often redream the entire vision, but it was significantly different most times. There was a strong thread of similarity in each version, though. In the first version, I was driving quickly in my car along a twisting mountain road. One police car was following me. There were two police officers in the police car. Their lights were flashing and their siren was going. They were trying to catch up to me, get me to stop, and warn me about something. Finally, I looked back at the commotion and realized the police wanted to tell me something. Because of the obvious urgency of this situation, I was unnerved and lost control of my car. I plunged off the mountainside in my car. The police officer, who was driving, tried to stop their car where my car had gone off the road, but, as he was going too fast, he could not stop and they plummeted over the road's edge, too. After a few moments and after the dust had settled, all three of us stirred, rolled over, and climbed out of our cars unscathed. In the second version of this vision, I was in the back of the police car, but I was not a prisoner. I was telling the police officers in the front of the car where I had gone off the road with two other policer officers in the first version of this vision. In the final version of this vision, I was chasing after two police officers, who were in a police car. We were driving over the same stretch of mountain road as we were in the first two versions. I was not immediately able to get the attention of the two officers. When they noticed me, they did not understand what I wanted nor did they understand how I was alive. The driver was startled by all this and he failed to negotiate the same curve, where the police officers and I had gone off the road in the two previous versions. The police plummeted over the edge of the road. I failed to make a quick stop at the same spot and my car plunged down the mountainside, too. Once again, all three of us walked away unscathed from the wrecks.

I tried to get into a secondary school teacher programme at both the University of Victoria in Victoria, British Columbia and Simon Fraser University in Burnaby (a Vancouver suburb), British Columbia. The French faculty of the University of Victoria stopped me from getting into both programmes.

After this, I resolved to get a diploma in radio broadcasting and I wanted to get a part-time job while I was studying. The broadcasting school, in which I was interested, was in Victoria, but the owner decided to move his school to Vancouver.
I followed him. I picked his school for two reasons: the instructors at his school were more personable than at any other school and his school's tuition was about $6,500 cheaper than any other.

I tried to get hired part-time at the Hudson's Bay Company and at Sears in Vancouver, but they would not even give me an interview. They reacted to me as if I had the plague. I resolved to sleuth out my suspicions of being dealt a dirty hand at Eaton's. I went back to the Pacific Centre Eaton's store and they hired me immediately. I was hired in the display department. Everyone or nearly everyone in that department was a homosexual. This did not bother me. I was and still am heterosexual, but I can get along with anyone and enjoyed my job. I had no trouble with my co-workers. I do know that I was put in that department to make me look gay.

After six months of broadcast training, I was hired as a news announcer/reporter at a small radio station, which had the call letters CFBV, in Smithers, British Columbia, Canada. I quit Eaton's before I left to go work at the radio station. Eaton's had actually reduced my hours of weekly work from 37.5 to about 16. I had asked out a young woman, who was a manager at the same Eaton's store. I asked her out only three times in about six months. It was widely reported in the store that this young woman liked me and it was obvious that she did like me. Sharon Turton called me into her office about three weeks before I quit and told me that this young manager had reported me for harassment. It turned out that Sharon Turton had made up the charge.

A brief summary on my current status is in order at this point.

I have been told that all this has been proven in court. These and all my cases are before the Supreme Court of Canada. Extortion is a federal crime, of course. I spoke to one judge on the Supreme Court of Canada on September 11, 2004 through a sergeant on the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, who had the clearance and court order by the judge to speak to me. I spoke to another judge and a puisne judge on the Supreme Court of Canada on June 22, 2006 directly on a Royal Canadian Mounted Police constable's cell phone. A puisne judge is much like a deputy judge in Canada. Serious cases require at least two judges to sit on them. The Supreme Court of Canada has ten judges and nine puisne judges. I also spoke to my Crown Counsel representative on June 22, 2006 and had Crown Counsel removed from my case because of complicity on at least the part of some members in Crown Counsel in conspiracy to commit extortion against me and because of misrepresentation. My Crown Counsel representative admitted to collusion with the defendant in my case.

For those, who do not understand the machine that is Crown Counsel in Canada, it is a group of lawyers, who frequently double as judges and are a part or an offshoot of the government. On a federal and provincial level, Crown Counsel are a group that can and do function on their own and also have to take orders from the Attorney General, who is a politician appointed by the elected prime minister (federal) or by the elected premier (provincial leader) as the case may be. In addition to all this, Crown Counsel represents both the plaintiff and the defendant in large cases. Even though this is usually a free service provided to the plaintiff, it is rarely very productive for the victim (the plaintiff) or as productive for the victim as it should be. It appears as though this atmosphere of conflict of interest is prevalent in many cases, if not all: collusion by Crown Counsel with the richest court opponents seems common and garners these rich court opponents with many concessions. Nearly invariably, the richest court opponent BECOMES the plaintiff EVEN IF HE, SHE, OR IT STARTS OUT AS THE DEFENDANT. I will discuss these points at greater length later and I shall reiterate them. I felt that it was necessary to inform any possible reader of this blog that I have been told of the validity of my suspicions and charges against all the parties, whom I have named herein. There is yet more to tell and more that I have had validated within the two conversations involving Royal Canadian Mounted Police. In my case, no wrongdoing has been committed by any police officer. I have found the police to be impeccable in their conduct. The police have actually been used as scapegoats by Crown Counsel.

PART TWO: THE GAME

In October 1980, I had had one year of college behind me and I had embarked on a plan to see what the working world could offer me: I did not have enough money for my post-secondary education and I did not know what I wanted as my major area of study. At the age of nineteen, I began working part time at Eaton's department store in Abbotsford, British Columbia in a Shopping Centre, which is called Seven Oaks. I worked in Shipping and Receiving and then in various departments until May of 1981.

In that era of the workings of Eaton's department store, each employee usually had two managers. One manager was the floor manager or department manager, who was usually called the sales manager. The other manager was one's Personnel Manager, who would now be called a Human Resource(s) Manager. This Personnel Manager was often like an iron-fisted power lord or power broker of ability. If an employee wanted to apply for another position within Eaton's, he or she had to go to his or her Personnel Manager. All advancement within the company went through these personnel managers. These managers made or broke the employees. Some of these managers were nice and some were absolute controllers. Unknown to me during my time at the Seven Oaks Eaton's store, my personnel manager had her sights on me for a better position, possibly management. She did not tell me and would not hire me until I dated or bedded a female employee. I did not know this and I did not have enough money to go on a date. Moreover, I was shy. To make matters worse over the course of this period of time, the two women, on whom I had a crush, were actually a little shy of me. Eventually, I always managed to ask out or talk to the women, whom I liked, but it never worked out and it did not work out this time, either.

In June 1980, I walked into my Personnel Manager's office and asked for full-time employment. I was hired as a Stock Clerk at the Vancouver Pacific Centre Eaton's store within about two weeks of that conversation. I was Stock Clerk of the Cosmetics department and the Drug department. The focus of my job was the Cosmetic department. At Christmas, about three million dollars of merchandise went through my hands. It was a busy job. I enjoyed it. Fifty-five cosmeticians worked in the department and we all got along very well.

When I arrived in the downtown Vancouver store, my Personnel Manager was an older, very mature woman, whose name was Hazel Rogers: we got along very well and she helped me immensely. Hazel Rogers was a fantastic person and she helped me immensely. About a year after I started at that Vancouver store, my Personnel Manager retired and she was replaced with a younger woman with a highly manipulative manner. This was the beginning of trouble for me.

Up until 1983, I was making just over eight dollars an hour. This was not a bad wage, but most of my peers were nearly at a rate that was close to double that of mine. My fellow employees all thought that I was making fifteen dollars an hour and it would appear that my new Personnel Manager had implied that I was making fifteen dollars an hour. I later learned that this new Personnel Manager wanted to get me into bed and that she was determined that I should not get a promotion or a higher wage until I had gone to bed with her or played her game of cat and mouse with another female employee. I was not allowed to try to date more than one female employee in the store and I was not allowed to date anyone in the store at a time that I decided on. My new Personnel Manager, who was called Sharon Turton, orchestrated everything. As I say, this was all done behind my back. I had no knowledge of it. Sharon Turton also started to defame my character. She said that I was a homosexual, a pedophile, or a sexual tease or gigolo. I learned of this long after.

In about April 1983, the Eaton's family decided to decentralize its operations and consolidate many of its functions to Toronto, Canada. To me, this seemed more like centralization. They demoted many of their buyer/sales managers to mere sales managers. They laid off hundreds of managers across Canada. Some had forty years of service. One whole building close to Montreal, where around one thousand Eaton's employees worked, was shut down instantly. The employees in this building rioted and refused to leave for about three days. Anyone caught speaking to the media about the situation at Eaton's was dismissed immediately. Many managers were told that their positions had been done away with and they were offered another lower position. My job as stock clerk was offered to a buyer and I was given two weeks notice. In essence, I had lost my job. Just a little over a week after being given my notice, I was told that the buyer, who had been offered my position, had refused it and I was told that I could keep my job.

I stayed on, but I lost all interest in my job and Eaton's. I resolved to go to university that next September.

Some time around this point, I was verbally accosted by three managers, whom I did not know. They told me that any idea I had while I was employed at Eaton's was the property of Eaton's. I informed them that my ideas were my property. They got very angry with me and said that they would beat the ideas out of me and they would kill me, if they had to. I wished them good luck and that was the end of the conversation.
About two weeks later, a memorandum was circulated to the staff. We were told that we had to give all our ideas to Eaton's. Within a few months, this memorandum was rescinded.

Before, I went to university, I got up enough nerve to ask two women, to whom I was really attracted, to go for coffee with me. The relationships never did go anywhere, but I succeeded in asking them out.

Twice before I went to university in September 1983, two different female employees at Eaton's became attracted to me and went to Labour Canada, which was the federal Canadian agency helping employees with disputes, about me and my ill-treatment at Eaton's. These two women wanted to date me and wanted me to get the promotion that was being dangled at me behind my back. My parents were aware of all this, but they did not tell me or help me. One of these two women was a sales manager. These two women managed to get my situation into court, but I was never told and so I lost my case and the chance to date the women. They would have been dismissed, if they had talked to me or dated me.

Before I went to university, the management at Eaton's found out about my intentions of going to university. Behind my back, they promised to pay for my education, if I went in for a Masters in Business Administration. The management at Eaton's never once approached me about this or about a possible promotion within the company.

There was one occurrence worth mentioning. Every morning at about 8:30, I would head up to the Drug department and stock the tissues on the floor shelves. The store manager, Mr. Bill McCourt, would come walking up the escalator. He said hello to me every morning. This one particular morning, the president of Eaton's, Mr. Frederick Eaton, was in our store. This meant that Mr. McCourt's schedule was different. These two men came out of the Personnel office door. Mr. McCourt said my name and said that Sharon Turton was being mean to me. The president of Eaton's replied that any of his employees could do anything he or she wanted to do as long as that employee was not caught. He told Mr. McCourt that he did not want to talk about my situation anymore and he threatened Mr. McCourt's job security. I realized that my job did not mean anything and I knew that I had to quit Eaton's. I still did not know what Sharon Turton was doing to me.

I went to early registration in August 1983 and left for university in September 1983.

PART ONE: THE SET-UP

Until I was three years old, my mother sexually abused me. She made me sit in front of her in the bathtub and she demanded that I put my finger up her vagina as I faced the taps of the bathtub. On the final occasion of this horrible act and request on her part, I protested. Of course, my mother belittled me by saying that she was the adult and the parent and that I had to do whatever I was told. I massaged her clitoris as I was directed, while she massaged my penis. Boys will be boys and men will be men and I was no exception to the rule of hot-blooded males. My mother managed to get my sexual urges running wild within me and I begged her to let me copulate with her in the bathtub. She told me that that was wrong between a parent and child and that my penis was far too small to please her.

She had intimidated me, but at the same time she had shown too much conscience towards this sexual relationship of ours. I was able to reason that putting my finger in my mother's vagina was just as 'wrong' as copulating with her and so I shouted for my father, saying that my mother was doing something wrong. My father burst into the bathroom and demanded an explanation. He told me to go to the safety of my bedroom and that I had not done anything wrong. He reprimanded my mother and threatened her with divorce, if she did that sort of thing again. Neither my mother nor I ever went to therapy. Much later, my father said that it would have cost too much to have sent us to therapy.

There were always sexual tensions, sexual undertones, and sexual overtones between my mother and me.

About two or three times in my life, my mother was supportive and encouraging over my possible girlfriends, but she usually stopped any chance for romance for me behind my back. I overheard her once say on a phone call with someone else that she wanted sex with me.

This sexual tension and abuse from my mother made me feel guilty about my sexual desires and made me shy of the opposite sex. In addition to this, I had an extremely strong libido.

When I was about sixteen, I fell into puppy love with a member of my church. She was sweet on me and I on her. Her father was against our teenage relationship. He was afraid that his daughter would marry me at a young age and that our marriage would end up in divorce as his other two daughters' marriages had done. He and his wife phoned my mother and demanded that our relationship end. He won.

I was devastated. I was a strong believer in God, but I blamed myself for what was going wrong in my life. I was ill-equipped to fight the sexual issues in my life. I regressed. In so far as romance was concerned, I crawled into a shell. I become introverted with the young ladies whom I liked. If I liked a young lady, I would feel traumatized: I would go weak at the knees, red in the face, and be unable to speak to my love interest. I convinced myself that there was no way that the young ladies, whom I liked, could possibly like me. I was shy only around the women, whom I liked, though. I always managed to say something to these women in the end.

This was my frame of mind and the useless mental baggage that I carried around.

At the age of nineteen, I went to work for a major Canadian department store, which was called Eaton's.

INTRODUCTION & THE PROLOGUE

INTRODUCTION

In the next few months, I shall endeavour to tell my life story as lucidly and succinctly as I can.

My name is Stuart Martyn Bennett. I was born on January 8, 1961. I reckon that this made me born in the year of the bull or cow, if you wish. I think that the profile's automatic Chinese Zodiac search may be a little out. When I was in Japan and even according to paper place mats in Chinese restaurants in Canada, my take is correct. Whatever!

As of Monday, November 27, 2006, I am no longer homeless. I share a small, one-bedroom home with another inopportuned man. I was homeless from about June 8, 2006 to November 26, 2006. I was rendered homeless by circumstances that are ridiculous, cruel, and beyond my control.

I have attempted to spell everyone's name correctly within these pages. Any misspelling of a name does not indicate the innocence of an actual, guilty party, nor does the misspelling of a name signify the guilt of an actual, innocent party.

I have copyrighted the pages and postings on this website.


THE PROLOGUE

I was extremely spiritually minded as a young child. I had an unwavering faith and belief in God. I still have this. As a child, I knew that there were lots of people, who did not believe in God: I did not understand why or how this was possible, though. I was an innocent in many ways.

I believed that God would talk to any believer if the believer had an absolute faith in prayer and in God. I reasoned that God had spoken to many people throughout the Bible and that that type of relationship with God was still possible. As a result of this firm belief of mine, I prayed to God and spoke to God when I needed help and when I wanted to thank Him. I believed that God would answer me directly and verbally and He did. One day when I finally told my mother about God talking to me, she became furious with me and told me that God did not talk to anyone anymore and that He would especially not talk to little boys. This hurt me deeply because I knew that my mother was wrong and I realized that she was not close to God.

Before I turned three years of age, John F. Kennedy was assassinated. To my recollection, my brother and sister were at school and my mother and father were working out in the yard. My father had taken that day off or some time off for some reason. It was an Indian Summer and stayed very warm late into November. I was in the house watching cartoons on TV when a news flash interrupted my show. The video taken by an amateur was played on the TV. I saw the now-famous footage of the American President being shot in the head. On the first playing of this footage, I laughed because I thought that it was a cartoon. On the second playing of the footage, I realized that it was a serious item and I became scared. I even saw part of the back of the president's head be blown off. On the third playing of the footage, I became terrified and I froze as I watched it. When that playing ended, I went and hid behind the armchair. I peeked at the TV from time to time. Then I started to scream for my mother. Both my father and mother came running into the house. Initially, I was accused of having changed the channels. I had not done so. I became angry that the "TV people" had scared me and I voiced my annoyance over my show being pre-empted. My father chastised me for being callous and he sent me to my bedroom: he told me that I was a naughty boy.

As I went to my bedroom, God spoke to me through telepathy and told me that I would die the same way that John F. Kennedy had died, but God told me that I would live again right away. I forgot about this for years.