The War Comes Hom

Someone asked me recently how my mother died. I simply responded, "She got into a delivery system and I couldn't get her out."

"Delivery system" is a term I picked up from an FBI agent. It is a euphemism for the extermination process which has begun in the U.S. This process--which will result in the eradication of the Jewish population--is obviously not being publicized. It is at considerable personal risk that I am attempting, through a series of articles, to expose this agenda before it is too late. It is already too late for my mother. It may not be too late for others. Therefore, I consider the risk immaterial.

I have already detailed one delivery system in an article posted on this web-site, entitled "Public Extermination Project." That piece is the first in a series revealing the U.S.government's plan to use the water system to "deliver" human beings to the hereafter.

Only after my beloved mother got caught in the cogs of a legal "death machine" did I become aware that our present administration had put into place several "delivery systems."

Amalie Muriel Strauss Deren Phelan came from German Jewish stock, although she was born in the U.S. Educated on the East Coast, she received her Master's degree from Cornell University and her Ph.D in Clinical Psychology from Syracuse University in upstate New York.

At the age of 21, she married Solomon Deren, M.D., a professor of Psychiatry at S.U, and several decades her senior. Deren had escaped from Russia during the pograms in the early part of the 20th century. When he died of a heart attack seven years into their marriage, Amalie moved to Alton, Illinois, where she worked in the state psychiatric hospital. In Alton she met my father, James Phelan, who was at that time a fledgling reporter at the Alton Evening Telegraph. Six weeks later they married and remained so the rest of their lives.

My father went on to considerable prominence in his field. He worked as an investigative reporter at the Saturday Evening Post, as well as publishing widely as a free-lancer in national publications. His first book, "Howard Hughes: The Hidden Years," made the cover of Time Magazine in 1977 and became an international bestseller. He went on to author two more books, the latter of which he worked on while he was terminally ill with lung cancer. He received the advance copies from Random House the week before his death in the summer of 1997.

He did not know at what terrible risk he left my mother.

When I was a child, my mother used to sit on my small bed at night and tell me stories about her own childhood. One story I never forgot.

A young classmate followed her home from elementary school chanting, "Dirty Jew! Dirty Jew!" I recall experiencing enormous relief that our society had advanced to a point where I would never experience such a hateful and unprovoked attack. Little did I know at that time what lay in store for us.

The particulars of how Amalie Phelan was "delivered" is an extremely personal story. It is a recounting of the absolute refusal of our system to protect her life. It is imperative that, as you read this greatly abbreviated account, you understand that at many junctures there could have been intervention by societal safeguards--the courts, the police, Adult Protective Services, the District Attorney's office--which could have prevented her untimely demise. The fact that there was a blanket exodus from her situation is most telling.

Amalie Phelan was one of the first victims of an underlying extermination policy which is not being publicized. Those responsible for this policy are understandably not eager to have their agenda exposed. Elderly, vulnerable Jews across the U.S. have been targetted and "delivered" when the circumstances have been assessed by the authorities as being conducive to the extermination project. In Amalie's situation, a misassessment had been made. My sister Judith was correctly determined to be sufficiently sociopathic and amenable to bribery. The force of her younger daugherer's resistance to her "deliverance" had been unexpected. At the date of this publication, the situation has become quite messy. As it is apparent that information control is a high priority, the publication of this story becomes critical.

It is my deepest hope that you read this report not as a complaint, but as an illumination of how the system was manipulated to rob an elderly, vulnerable Jewish woman of her life. Parts of this story are merely circumstantial, such as the recounting of my sister's forgeries. When my mother met up with agents for a delivery system, Melodie Z. Scott and Attorney J. David Horspool, the story becomes as serious as murder.

In 1997, when my father realized he was terminally ill, he employed attorney Mark Anderson of Escondido, California, to draft a will and living trust. Money for his offspring, Judith and me, was to be held in trust at the "absolute and sole discretion" of the trustee, family friend James Henderson.

Unbeknownst to me, my sister had the trustee changed in order to further her down interests. When in 1999 this new trustee, Helen Locke, contacted me by phone and blasted me for squandering my parents' money, I was bewildered and confused.

It came to light later that my sister Judith had placed herself as co-signor on my mother's bank accounts. Unable to hold a job and living in my mother's home, Judith had been approaching Amalie requesting "checks for Janet" several times a week. My sister then forged my endorsement and deposited them into her own bank account.

By the time this came to my attention, Amalie was so deeply entrenched in a "delivery system" and I was at so much risk for desperately trying to aid her that is is impossible to get the police to follow through on what accounts to about fifty thousand dollars of forged checks. After repeated refusals by the Long Beach and Temecula Police Dpartments to even take a report concerning my sister's forgeries, I engaged an attorney to facilitate the filing. The case was assigned to Detective Dennis Winker, who has closed the case without investigating.

In an effort to curtail the hemorrhaging of the estate, my mother signed up for a conservator go handle her affiairs in December, 2001. She was not aware that Conservator Melodie Scott, president of C.A.R.E. in Redlands, California, was an agent for a "delivery system."

Scott moved quickly. She placed "aides" in my mother's home, ostensibly to care for Amalie, although none had been needed in the past. She began paying my sister, still residing with Amalie, several thousand dollars a month. In a moment of rare honesty, my sister referred to these payments as "hush money." Under the care of aide Linda Garcia and my sister, my mother's heart medicine was withheld from her for at least two months.

I received a desperate phone call from Amalie in June 2002. "I am very ill and no one is paying attention to me." Alarmed, I drove to Temecula to find my mother too ill to walk. I drove her to the emergency room at Rancho Springs Hospital, where she received emergency cardiac surgery.

I called the Temecula Police. A report was filed. The situation was never investigated. When I received a copy of this report and realized thta the police had made an error in the pill count, I immediately contacted the Riverside Sheriff's Department. I was told, "Don't call back."

Deeply concerned, I then contacted Special Investigations at the Riverside D.A.'s office. This was referred to Elder Abuse A.D.A. Mark Mandio, who immediately left on sabbatical. When he returned, I attempted to contact him. He left one message for me: "Please don't call."

I also contacted Adult Protective Services, more than once. No worker ever visited Amalie.

Three days after I took my sick mother to the emergency room, Riverside Probate Judge Stephen Cunnison issued a restraining order against me, stating that I was not to interfere in my mother's care.

When I showed up for the hearing on August 1st, Cunnison illegally ignored the docket, had no hearing whatsoever on the TRO, and signed the order in chambers without allowing me my legal opportunity to defend myself with the truth: I probably saved Amalie's life. To put it succinctly, Cunnison stripped me of my rights.

Jack Smith of West Hollywood accompanied me to the courthouse and produced the letter {Attachment A) detailing the events of that morning in court.

Some special attention needs to be paid to Jack's involvement in this situation. Jack, who is still residing at the condo we shared at 7911 1/8 Norton Avenue in West Hollywood, showed up at a critical point in this unfolding story. His self-presentation convinced me that he was the perfect mate for me, and I fell in love with him.

It became apparent that Jack was lying about quite a bit. The lies at first seemed quite innocent. For example, he had convinced me that he shared my passion for live theater, but he habituallly fell asleep at plays.

It eventually became glaringly obvious that Jack was also lying about his personal history, and had created a persona that was simply untrue.

Shortly after Jack sought me out, things went seriously wrong for my mother and me. I was asked to move from my apartment, and inexplicably unable to find another, I moved in with Jack.

There began to be a hang-ups when I answered the phone at our Norton Ave. residence. When I *69'ed the calls--that is, initiated a call back to the individual who hung up, it was Melodie Scott--twenty-one times in three weeks.

Note needs to be paid to the documentation Jack provided in Attachment A. This letter exposes illegal judicial conduct, but the letter is "double-dated," which legally mitigates the power of the document. A document needs to be fixed by a date in time in order to have legal standing, and Jack Smith gutted a powerful report by providing two dates for the letter.

Additional documentation of what appears to be a pay-off has surfaced, provided in Attachment B-C. Jack earned approximately $22.00 an hour at Imagic, a digital imaging outfit on Wilcox in Hollywood. His wages and hours had been cut. Given the lifestyle he was obviously enjoying on Norton, he would not have been able to pay off the $50,000 + on his condo between 1999 and 2001 indicated by these documents.

When I left Jack in late September of 2002, I had cause to file a Domestic Violence report with the West Hollywood Police. The reporting officer informed me I was reporting a felony. Jack was arrested and almost immediately released. I was never contacted by a detective, and Jack breezed blamelessly through his arraignment, where all charges were dropped.

When I pulled up the Police Report, the felony I reported was not mentioned.

I left my abuser, and moved back to my cottAge in Long Beach to reside alone full-time. Almost immediately, my situation became nearly lethal.

My cottage started to burn down while I slept. I awoke in time to call the Fire Department.

I returned homE after a two-day absence to find my home in disarray and drugs planted in my living room. I immediately locked and bolted my door and cleaned up the mess.

Moments later, the police arrived, apparently intent on arresting me for drug possession. Fortunately, I had already flushed the planted evidence down the toilet.

In a one-month period of time, I visited the emergency room three times after consuming food in my own refrigerator precipitated severe vomiting and physical collapse.

I moved out of the cottage on December 31, 2002, greatly relieved to be vacating what seemed to be a death trap.

Six days later, on January 5, I woke up from the coma induced by officers of the Long Beach Police Department. I returned home to my new apartment, located at 1100 13th St in Long Beach, to find it inhabited by new tenants. I hit the streets.

I will now return to the narrative concerning the situation that enveloped my mother.

A family friend, journalist and author Patricia Lambert, flew in from Arizona to interview Amalie in the facility in which she had been placed. Lambert prepared two reports for the court (Attachments D and E), recording my mother's fervent wish to end the conservatorship and to restore her normal relationship with me, whom Lambert referred to as "Amalie's life-line."

The court chose to ignore the reports.

Although I was permitted by the court to visit my mother a few times under "supervision," these visits were abruptly terminated by Melodie Scott when I offered Amalie a legal document to sign, prepared by Los Angeles attorney Jeffrey Lustman. Probate
Code1863 delineates the legal right to a jury trial under conservatorship law, placing in the hands of a jury the decision whether the conservatorship should be dissolved. She signed and dated this request September 25, 2002 (Attachments F and G).

With a judge issuing restraining orders barring life-saving efforts by a loving daughter, we felt that Amalie would have a fairer hearing from a jury than from this peculiar judge.

Judge Cunnison denied her request for a jury trial, once again violating the Probate Code and her rights. He then issued a second restraining order against me, preventing me from contacting the police, Adult Protective Services, the FBI, the CIA (?!), etc. The fact that a judge cannot legally prevent a citizen from contacting the police did not seem to bother Cunnison.

I was not permitted to see my mother again until February, 2004. By that time, the FBI had shut down my bank account, sezied my apartment, raided my safety deposit boxes, and for while, expunged my social security number. I was living on the streets of Santa Monica, had lost one-third of mybody weight, and was nearly starving to death.

And, on January 2, 2003, in the presence of and at the hands of Long Beach police officers, I lost consciousness. The lead officer Dawson, invoked "the protection of the President" shortly before I went down.

Even in the face of this level of "targetting," and living on the streets, I managed to land a job as a columnist at the Santa Monica Daily Press. That job ended abruptly in March of 2004 when I requested from the city of Sant Monica records on water line work. (I had become aware that there were plans in place to use the water system as a "delivery system,:" and I knew I needed documentation in order to be believed. The results of that investigation are archived on la.indymedia. org under the title "Public Extermination Project.)

When I could not reach my mother by phone in late April, I again contacted Adult Protective Services. Once again, no worker visited my my mother. After repeated phone calls from me and others in an attempt to reach Melodie Scott or her attorney Horspool, I was informed in late May that my mother had passed away on May 4, 2004.

She had been buried without my notification.

Considering ther past actions of Melodie Scott, I would have called for an autopsy.

As I sit on the bus bench in Santa Moncia, penning these words, a strange man rides by on a bicycle. "The FBI is watching you," he hisses at me, and rides off.

I laugh, wryly.

The sun is setting. From the bench I can see the blue terrain of the Pacific. Once again, light is being swallowed by darkness. It is the story of our planet.

As I remember Amalie, her grace, her intelligence, her profound sense of decency, I reffirm one utter truth: had I known back in 2001 that defending her life would have cost me everything I owned, I would have made the same decision again. It is possible that my efforts bought her two more years. She was worth it.

Welcome to the Fourth Reich.

Janet C. Phelan