The Saga of Joel Barr
Chapter 1: Who Is Joel Barr?
I know that by writing this story, I am simply going to get myself deeper in trouble. But I’m already in prison,
doing what is virtually a life sentence for crimes that did not occur, so what have I got to lose? I can’t afford to
miss this once in a lifetime opportunity to tell this story, so here goes...
I had no idea that Senator John McCain’s path and mine would cross some day - become entangled. Back then,
in 1967, he was a nobody - so was I. I still am.
I can’t say he was a nobody. I mean that he was somebody I didn’t know existed. Nor did I know he knew my
brother, John Barr, or that they had been stationed together on the aircraft carrier, the U.S.S. Oriskany; or that
they were, both, Lieutenant Commanders, and flew the same type of Navy jet (A-4 Skyhawk attack bombers)
over the same targets in North Vietnam; and even had chow together almost every day.
“Joel Barr, come to the superintendent’s office,” was paged over the loud speaker system of my high school. I
had been expecting this page, but not to the office of the superintendent who presided over our entire school
district! Ouch! I was expecting to be called to the principal’s office. After all, he was the target of my latest
shenanigan. And it was a real doozy.
Yep! This one was probably going to get me expelled. But I had accepted that possibility when I published the
latest story in the high school newspaper, The Barton Bugle, which I had resurrected and then edited and
published.
I had already been in trouble the week before for publishing the second in a series of articles about our high
school principal and his perceived affair with a younger, recently hired, secretary who worked on his staff. Both
were married.
Even though I didn’t reveal his identity by name, the thinly veiled references to “Mr. A.” were easy to see
through.
So, I left my seat in class and began the walk to the superintendents’s office located in the grade school next
door.
As I left the high school building and began walking across the gravel drive (which separated the high school
and grade school) I saw Mr. A purposefully striding down an adjacent sidewalk on a course that would intersect
mine just about the time we would be entering the grade school doors. Yep. This was it.
What had brought this all about, I thought, was not only the most recent story I had published about Mr. A., but
how I had accomplished it.
You see, after the first two stories Mr. A. was so pissed at me that he demanded all future editions of the high
school newspaper to be submitted to him for final approval (censorship) before being printed and distributed to
the student body.
I didn’t like the idea about being censored by anyone, especially when I had the hottest, final segment, of his
story ready to publish. So, I created two editions of that week’s newspaper. One for Mr. A. to approve, and the
other for publication and distribution.
I knew Mr. A. would find out about the ruse. I just wanted to get the paper fully circulated before he caught on.
I really wasn’t worried about what he may do to me, after all, the truth was on my side. And if he really pissed
me off, I would reveal the whole story. I felt strong.
I figured the worst that would happen would be that I would get called into the principal’s office and we would
have a stare-down contest. But the Superintendents’s office? I hadn’t counted on that.
I was screwing up my courage, preparing to accept my fate, as I was walking between the cars parked in front
of the grade school. This was going to be especially tough because my expulsion would probably occur in front
of my Mother who had become the secretary to the superintendent since my Father, a teacher, had passed
away four years earlier. She had become the bread winner of our family.
“Oh, well. Here goes...” I thought, as a little girl, probably a second grader, came running out of the school
building in a panic, yelling to anyone who could hear: “Mrs. Barr’s son’s been killed! Mrs. Barr’s son’s been
killed!”
I almost laughed at the obviously erroneous conclusion the little girl was spreading about me. I hadn’t even
been into the superintendent’s office, yet. I was in trouble, yes; but I hadn’t been killed over it!
I took one more step before it hit me. I wasn’t the only son Mrs. Barr had. My brother! My brother, John! My
hero!... had been shot down!
Like I said, I didn’t even know John McCain existed at that time. I didn’t know he had been shot down the week
after my brother. My grief over my brother blotted out everything else. I barely paid attention to the stories and
photos about John McCain that were publicized by the North Vietnamese from time to time over the next five
years... stories of John McCain renouncing the war in Vietnam and America; photos of him making these
announcements to the North Vietnamese.
Besides that, I was too busy. Within two months of the announcement that my brother had been shot down, I
had enlisted in the Marine Corps. I picked the Marines because it was a surefire path to Vietnam.
I had enlisted while on a school trip to the Beta Club Convention held in Little Rock, Arkansas, in December of
1967. The Marines postponed my reporting date to boot camp in San Diego, California, until after my graduation
from high school.
Since you know I’m writing this story from prison, and I’ve already described the trouble I got into as a senior in
high school, I’d better toss in some of the other things I was recognized for at that time before you conclude
that I am where I belong... in a negative way. During my Junior and Senior years at Barton High School (1967-
68) I was elected as the student body president and president of the French Club, Drama Club and Beta Club. I
was elected as the “Most Friendly” person in my high school, and at our graduation ceremony I was awarded
the American Legion Award for Patriotism. And if I had not gone into the Marine Corps when I did, my next rank
in the Boy Scouts of America would have been that of an Eagle, the highest award. And our Boy Scout Troop
(Troop 55), although it was the smallest troop in the state of Arkansas, won more awards than any other troop
had ever done. For these stories and more, check out my high school yearbook, The Barton Bear, for 1968.
Barton is a small farming community (also known as Walnut Corner) about 15 miles west of Helena, in Phillips
County, Arkansas. On the map, Helena is on the Arkansas side of the Mississippi River, about 60 miles south of
Memphis, Tennessee. And according to Paul Harvey, the renowned news commentator, the Barton Bears
football team holds the longest record for consecutive winning football games of any high school in America. I
thought you’d like to know that (smile).
And while we’re on the subject of prison, remember, a lot of innocent men have gone to prison for crimes that
did not occur, or they did not commit. Joseph of Egypt was imprisoned on the false charges of an attempted
rape (see Genesis 39: 7-19). Nineteen innocent people were hanged for being witches on the word of 5 young
girls at the Salem Witchcraft Trials. Nelson Mandella did more than 20 years in prison on false charges before
becoming the President of South Africa. And every week we hear of more and more persons exonerated from
wrongful convictions and coerced confessions based upon DNA evidence. This age old problem of wrongful
convictions is recognized in Ecclesiastics 4:14 which reads: “From a prison house one comes forth to rule;” and
is warned against in the Ten Commandments which contains the admonition: “You shall not bear false witness.”
(Exodus 20:16). Evidently, the practice of lying on the witness stand to achieve the wrongful conviction of an
innocent man is one of the Top Ten problems in our justice system to this day.
As for my high school principal and myself, he offered me a deal that almost any high school student would love
to have. He told me that if I would agree to drop out of school, he would see to it that I would receive “passing
grades” in all of my classes, and would receive a high school diploma. I was flattered that he evidently felt so
unnerved by what I could potentially reveal that he would make me such an offer. But I turned it down because
I was already getting much better than “passing” grades in all of my classes. I felt that if I accepted his offer,
the record would imply that I had barely squeaked by with only “passing grades”. Had he guaranteed me all “A”
s, it would have been a different matter.
After boot camp and a battery of tests, I was selected to serve in the Marine Corp’s division under the Office of
Naval Intelligence (0. N. I. ). After a careful background search I was granted a Top Secret “Crypto” security
clearance, and was trained in electronic intelligence (elint) before being sent to Vietnam.
One of the areas of expertise I had been trained in was in the search and recognition of particular types of
enemy radar signals. Especially the radar signals emitted by enemy antiaircraft sites to “lock on” to, and guide
their surface to air missiles (SAMs) to shoot down American aircraft like those flown by John McCain and my
brother, John Barr.
I can tell you this information, now, because it is no longer classified information, but back in the late 1960’s,
specifically, October of 1967, when my brother and John McCain were shot down, it was Top Secret information.
Here’s why: back in the late 1960’s computers were not capable of doing the things they are now. They were
slow and bulky compared to today’s computers, because they were built from vacuum tubes and transistors.
Microchips had not been invented yet. Computers weighed tons, filled up entire rooms, and due to their glass
vacuum tubes, they were too fragile to be operated aboard electronic surveillance aircraft. Therefore, most of
the tasks computers easily accomplish in real-time today, took our military weeks, months and years to do back
then. For example, discovering the radio frequencies on which an enemy antiaircraft site operated its targeting
radar.
We needed to know those frequencies so we could tune in to them and listen for that targeting radar, because
whenever the targeting radar would come on, it meant that the North Vietnamese were about to launch a
missile toward one of our aircraft. We could then warn the pilot of the targeted aircraft, and he could break off
his attack before coming into range of the surface to air missile (SAM), or take other evasive action that could
save his life, such as preparing to eject over water, as John McCain did when he was shot down.
But finding these frequencies was like finding a needle in a haystack, because they were used by the enemy for
only a few seconds at a time - only long enough to guide a missile to its 500 mile per hour target. To find a
targeting frequency we had to be extremely lucky because, unlike general surveillance radar with its rhythmic
“beep” constantly and predictably sweeping the skies, the radio frequency of the enemy’s targeting radar - with
its distinctive sound (described as a centipede with a wooden leg, walking across a wooden floor) - could only
be found during those few seconds it was in use. So, when we would find a targeting frequency, we never let
the enemy know that we knew, otherwise they would change the frequency, and we would be back at square
one. That’s why that information was Top Secret.
Another reason those targeting frequencies were so hard to find was that we had to search for them, manually.
As I said before, we could not use computers to aid in the real-time search for those frequencies because the
computers back then, were too big and fragile to be used aboard our electronic surveillance aircraft. And we had
to use aircraft to search for those radar frequencies because the enemy radar would deliberately use only
enough power to bounce off its target and return. We could fly our electronic surveillance aircraft in a holding
pattern, slightly outside of their effective range - too far away for their radar beam to “illuminate” us and return,
but close enough for us to pick up their targeting frequencies whenever they may be in use, targeting one of
our aircraft between us and the enemy.
Whether or not the American military was aware of the targeting frequencies used to shoot down American
planes was information the North Vietnamese wanted to know. That’s why it was Top Secret. American lives,
like my brother’s, depended on us knowing those frequencies without the North Vietnamese knowing that we
knew.
As Marines we were taught, as every other member of the armed forces is taught, that in the event we are ever
captured by the enemy, we are to give up no more information than our name and serial number. Just enough
information that can be used to identify us under the Geneva Convention, so that it can be confirmed that we
have been captured, and are not simply missing in action and presumed dead. As Marines, we weren’t even
supposed to tell them our rank. Let the enemy figure that out for themselves, wasting their time on an enlisted
man, thinking he may be an officer.
Understandably, I was a bit disappointed in John McCain every time the news showed photos (or film clips) of
him saying whatever the North Vietnamese wanted him to say. Sure, I felt sorry for him, and I knew he was
responding to threats of torture and the promise of rewards to make him cooperate with the enemy. But that is
precisely what we, including my brother and John McCain, were warned and taught not to do! We were aware
of those risks, and the possibility of torture, to coerce us into giving up more information than our “name, rank
and serial number.”
Like so many other Americans, I too looked the other way regarding the concessions John McCain had made to
the enemy. After all, I thought, what could he tell the enemy that would affect their ability to conduct the war?
Chapter 2: Super Bowl Sunday
After my Honorable Discharge from the Marine Corps in 1970, and a brief hiatus (living in a cave in New Mexico in
order to find out what God wanted me to do with the rest of my life), I went to Arizona; Nixon was President of
the United States; and I began to lose faith in the integrity of my government.
On Super Bowl Sunday, 1979, I became primed to become politically active when I finally figured out that our
government was no more of a democracy than our political nemesis, the Soviet Union (the United Soviet
Socialist Republic/ U.S.S.R.). We just pretended to be democratic (and still do today), and they did not.
Let me tell you about Super Bowl Sunday, 1979. I worked for Tom Fanin and Associates Realty at the time. I
was new to the company, so I was low man on the totem pole, so to speak. Therefore it fell to me to be the
only agent/employee on duty on Super Bowl Sunday. Everyone else in the world was at home watching the
game. I was by myself, sitting behind the desk, in the office, at the southwest corner of Horne and University in
Mesa, Arizona.
With all that time and silence on my hands, it was easy to daydream. For some reason I began chiding myself
for having never, ever, written a letter to my congressman (whomever that may have been). Perhaps it was
because, with all that time on my hands at that moment, and nothing else to do, perhaps writing a letter would
have been an appropriate use of the time. And since I had heard, so many times, the admonition to “Write your
congressman! Write your congressman!”, perhaps the thought of the word “write” triggered my mind to finish
the phrase with the words, “your congressman”. Nonetheless, regardless of the reason why, I began feeling a
little bit guilty for having never taken the time to do my citizen’s duty to write my congressman for any reason.
Like I said, I didn’t even know who my congressman was.
It’s not that I considered myself a worthless scoundrel for not having written my congressman, after all I had
volunteered to serve in the Marine Corps during a time of war. I did serve in a war zone. And I did receive the
Vietnamese Service medal and the Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry to prove it (somebody threw a war and I
showed up). But I did feel I was hiding behind those facts to cover up my belief that I was too lazy to be
categorized as a “good” citizen. So, as I sat there behind the front desk, I made myself a stern promise that
“tomorrow” I would find out the name of my congressman, and I would write him a letter, even if it was just to
say “Hi”.
Having resolved to resolve that sin of omission, but still feeling the effects of the adrenaline of guilt, I couldn’t
quite “just drop the topic” and switch gears, mentally, on that issue. I was still caught up in the curiosity of the
moment wondering: Who was my congressman?
I wondered what he would be doing when the mailman brought him my letter? Would he stop what he was
doing to read it? And answer it? Would my letter arrive all by itself, or would the mailman deliver it with a
handful of other letters arriving at the same time from other constituents? Would there be so many letters that
they would need to be delivered in a gray canvas bag marked “U. S. Mail” for him (and his staff?) to go through
that day? Would the bag be half full, or completely full? Would there be more than one bag? Several?
Embarrassingly, I was frustrated by this seemingly trivial detail, and with nothing to take my mind off of this
feedback loop, I decided to insert some arbitrary numbers into the equation so I could go on with my
imagination. Maybe “arbitrary” isn’t the right word. “Guesstimate” would be better. I wanted to insert a number
that I could justify, even if I knew it wasn’t perfect, so I did some quick math.
Back then, in 1979, Arizona had about a million registered voters (my guess) and only four congressional
districts. Anyway, I divided the estimated number of registered voters (1,000,000) by the number of
congressional districts (4) to arrive at the estimated number of constituents (250,000) who could, possibly, send
a letter to their Arizona congressman.
That still didn’t tell me how many bags of mail that would equate to, but it did give me enough data to go on to
calculate, roughly, how much time it would take the congressman - and his staff - to read that much mail.
For the sake of simplicity, I allowed that it would take one minute per letter (this includes opening and collating
the letters) to read the mail. Voila! Two hundred and fifty thousand minutes. Uh... but what does that mean in
real time? How many hours?
A few moments later I was looking at the answer - a huge amount of time. Almost two years! And that’s if his
staff did nothing but read letters at a rate of one letter per minute, 8 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days
a year!
Instantly, I realized that it was statistically impossible for the congressman - any congressman - to be aware of
what the majority of his constituents wanted him to do on any piece of pending legislation. Not even one piece!
Never mind about the thousands of other legislative issues he’s supposed to be representing them on... or
trying to read.
And don’t believe that bull crap about them “voting their conscience.” How can a legislator vote his conscience
on a thousand pieces of legislation he has never read?!
In short, I was confronted with the undeniable truth that the democracy I, and my brother - and countless
others - had fought and died for... did not exist. I felt cheated, duped, robbed and raped by my own country. At
least by its government.
Democracy. I had been raised on that word. From the time I was born. Always, I had had at least one brother in
the Army or Navy (my two brothers were 18 and 16 years older, respectively, than me). I had always been told
that democracy was what we were fighting for. I had repeatedly heard the age old quote that “although
democracy is a poor form of government, it’s the best among all the others,” and on, and on, and on.
And now, there it was in black and white. Democracy doesn’t exist! Anywhere! And my brother died for nothing.
That’s too big of a loss to just sweep under the carpet and “learn to accept it” like I had to do with the myths
we lie to our children about so casually these days such as Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and so on. My instant
reaction after my moment of “this can’t be true!” was to wonder if it could be made to come true, even
theoretically.
The fundamental question I asked myself, next, upon which my entire faith in the future rested was : “Is it
possible for a legislator to tally the votes of his 250,000 constituents in one day, every day?”
It was in the early days of computers, and everyone had access to a telephone, so it occurred to me with great
relief that, “Yes,” it is possible. Putting the system together would be the next step. But it would be possible -
that my brother did not die “for nothing at all.”
Over the next few years I became more involved in politics. I became chairman of the legislative affairs
committee for the Mesa Chamber of Commerce in 1981. There, I became acquainted with my state senator, Karl
Kunasek. One day I called him at his office and spoke to Mr. Kunasek about the idea of enabling all voters to
voice their opinions to their legislators, on all pending legislation, from any touch-tone telephone. Karl said he
liked the idea.
When I hung up the phone I felt excited. I had done the right thing. I had started the ball rolling. Or so I
thought.
Over the next several days, weeks and months I kept my eye open for the news report that would surely
follow, I thought, telling the world of the coming technological step toward true democracy. I waited. And
waited. And waited.
One morning in 1989 I awoke in my bed, and as I lay in bed collecting my thoughts, I realized that TEN YEARS
had gone by since my revelation on Super Bowl Sunday, 1979... and no one had done anything to make it come
true. As I lay there in my bed, my dream deflated. I knew that the next action had to be mine, or there would be
no action at all. I remember thinking to myself: “I can continue to lie here, in this bed, close my eyes and go
back to sleep, and wake up TEN YEARS FURTHER DOWN THE ROAD” with still nothing further accomplished, “or I
can get up now and start working to make it happen.”
That was the day I began working on the toll-free telephone polling system that would become known as 1-800-
THE-VOTE. In January of 1989 I created the toll free polling system “1-800-THE-VOTE”, which permitted every
Arizona voter to voice, toll free, their opinions on every piece of legislation, then pending, before the Arizona
Legislature.
On a lighter note was how I obtained that specific telephone number that spelled out “1-800-THE-VOTE.” I had
asked the phone company if that number was available, and was told that it was not, and that they could not
reveal the business who held it. So I dialed the number myself and learned it was possessed by Dial America.
After explaining my need and paying $300, their manager transferred the phone number to me.
Chapter 3: How I Learned John McCain Knew My Brother
I think it was in the fall of 1987. Probably October. I was casually reading a story in the newspaper
commemorating the 10th (?) anniversary of John McCain’s capture by the North Vietnamese. The story was
nothing special to me... until I read that John McCain had been stationed aboard the aircraft carrier U.S.S.
Oriskany at the time he was shot down. My brother had been stationed aboard the same aircraft carrier at the
same time, and they both had been pilots... of the same kind of aircraft (A-4 Skyhawk, attack bombers). My
eyes were now glued to the article! My heart was pounding - and they both held the same rank as Lieutenant
Commanders. Finally, according to the newspaper, they had been shot down within one week of each other.
John McCain was shot down first. Seven days later my brother was shot down. I didn’t see the connection.
After reading the article again and again, I was convinced that John McCain and my brother must have known
each other. How could they not? Not only must they have seen each other every day as they went to and from
the same hangar bay where they held the same rank, they were probably housed in the same officers’ quarters.
The next day when I went to my office (by then I was again self employed in my original profession as a
corporate recruiter or “head hunter”), I placed a telephone call to the office of Senator John McCain in
Washington, D.C., the message was a question. The question was, simply; “Did you know my brother, Lt.
Commander John Barr?”
Two hours later my receptionist paged me in my office. She said, “Senator McCain is calling you on line one.”
Nervously I pressed the blinking button on my telephone and said, smiling, “Hello?”
The female voice on the other end of the line said: “Please hold for Senator McCain.” A moment later the
Senator came on the line. We exchanged some cordial greetings. I gushed, all over the phone, my thanks for his
return of my call.
Then I explained to him what I had read about his service aboard the Oriskany and how that raised the
question of whether he had known my brother.
“Yes,” he answered. I didn’t know what to say. Here I was, talking to one of the last human beings to see my
brother alive. I was almost speechless. I was on the verge of tears.
“What was he like?” I asked as the tears welled up in my eyes.
“He had a great sense of humor,” McCain said, “and he was one of the friendliest persons I’ve known. He loved
his family very much.”
I couldn’t think of anything else, meaningful, to say or ask. The last time I had seen (or spoken with) my brother
had been when I was 7 years old, when he and his wife - with their baby boy - had visited us on their way to
their new duty station on the east coast. He had been about twenty-three at the time.
I thanked the Senator for his time. The telephone call had lasted about 3 minutes.
Chapter 4: 1-800-THE-VOTE
In January of 1989 I created the toll free polling system “1-800-THE-VOTE”, which permitted every Arizona voter
to voice, toll free, their opinions on every piece of legislation, then pending, before the Arizona Legislature.
The people of Arizona loved the system, placing, sometimes, more than a thousand telephone calls a day to
vote for or against pending legislation. To my shock and dismay, however, many Arizona legislators did not like
the idea of being told how to vote on legislative issues by their constituents.
As one legislator from Tucson put it:
“This is not some Greek city/state democracy. This is a republic. If my constituents don’t like the way I
vote, they can elect someone else.”
Faced with such resistance - and still angry over my brother’s sacrifice for a democracy that never existed - I
realized that the only way I could incorporate such a statewide toll free polling system into our legislative
system would be if I were to be elected as governor. Then I could bring it in as a part of the executive branch of
government. So, in 1990 I threw my hat into the ring and ran as an independent candidate for governor against
the former Mayor of Phoenix (currently the Arizona Attorney General), Terry Goddard, and the former Chairman
of the Arizona Republican Party, the wealthy Fife Symington.
The press made quite a thing about the fact that both Goddard and Symington were graduates from Harvard
University as if that was proof that they were brilliant men. To me it indicated that they both had come from very
wealthy families who could afford to buy credentials for their children.
Me? I had a high school diploma from Barton, Arkansas, and four years of study at Scottsdale Community
College in Scottsdale, Arizona. But as far as measures of intelligence go only an I.Q. test gives an indication,
however questionable, of who may be smarter than whom. I couldn’t get into Harvard because I didn’t have the
money, but maybe I could get into Mensa, “the high I.Q. society.” Maybe Goddard and Symington couldn’t get
into Mensa, no matter how much money they had, because they didn’t have the I.Q. It was worth a try.
I called the phone number (in the Phoenix white pages of the phone book) for Mensa. I found out when and
where the next test would be administered. I took the test and passed it. That’s why and how I joined Mensa.
But when I informed the press of my acceptance into Mensa, the Arizona Republic newspaper (which by then had
endorsed Goddard and Symington as its choices for Democrat and Republican candidates) described me as a
“self proclaimed near genius.” Ouch! Which goes to prove “it’s not what you know, but who you know” and
also, that “money talks” (as if you didn’t know that).
My candidacy for governor taught me quite a few things and made me some powerful political enemies. One, in
particular, was an assistant director for the Arizona Department of Transportation (ADOT). Terry Campbell, an
accountant for the Arizona Department of Transportation, had come to me to inform me of a huge waste of
money, time and resources within ADOT because an Assistant Director, who knew nothing about computers,
had spent millions of dollars trying to implement a computer system, throughout ADOT, that would never do the
job it was supposed to do.
KFYI radio, a major news radio station in Arizona, invited both Terry Campbell and me onto a talk show to
discuss the computer fiasco. After the talk show, and as I was preparing to leave the studio, I was informed
that a telephone call had come in for me and the caller was waiting on hold. When I took the call, I discovered it
was the Assistant Director from ADOT whom we had just discussed on the air. He informed me that, thanks to
my radio appearance, he had been called into the Director’s office and fired. He warned me that he would get
even with me, informing me that he had many well placed friends in high places, and that I would never
know where his retaliation would be coming from.
The next several weeks were uneventful. Even though my campaign committee collected several thousand more
nominating signatures than Goddard and Symington, combined, it still wasn’t enough - the way the law was
written - for an independent candidate to get onto the ballot.
But 1-800-THE-VOTE was still going strong with the people, in spite of its unpopularity with the legislature,
and the wealthy plutocrats running the state. Democracy still had a chance.
Then a funny thing happened. I thought it was a good thing, at first. I was flattered. The Arizona Corporation
Commission had contacted me. They wanted to know about my business enterprise in Apache County, Arizona.
I was flattered because I had created a business corporation through which rural land owners could obtain
access to water without having to drill their own prohibitively expensive ($20,000 - $100,000) water wells (by
letting them buy into my well), and I thought the Corporation Commission wanted to encourage my business
plan in other rural areas.
And I was helping land owners apply, with me, to the federal government to obtain the mineral rights to our
lands. It was during the attempted acquisition of our mineral rights that I learned that corruption had even
infiltrated the Bureau of Land Management. Several hundred of my fellow land owners, with me, had filed the
appropriate paperwork and paid the necessary fee to have the Federal Government transfer to us the mineral
rights associated with our respective lands. It’s not that we thought there may be extractable minerals beneath
our lands, we simply wanted to secure our lands from others who may wish to live on them, without our
permission, under the guise of “prospecting.”
However, because several hundred of us in one area were making simultaneous applications to obtain our
mineral rights, someone in the Bureau of Land Management sensed that a significant mineral discovery had
been made on our lands when in fact nothing of the sort had occurred. That person then contacted a mining
company and told that company that it appeared that a significant mineral discovery had been made in Showlow
Pines, and that the land owners were attempting to acquire those rights.
Shortly thereafter I received a notice from the Bureau of Land Management telling me that I must refile a
document with them in order to proceed with our mineral rights acquisition. I telephoned the BLM to challenge
the need for filing the document a second time. But by the time I had received the notice in the mail, all of our
mineral rights had been sold to a large mining interest (less than 24 hours)!
To learn the identify of the mining interest to whom the BLM unscrupulously sold our mineral rights, find out who
owns the mineral rights on our former property located at lot 128, Showlow Pines Unit 1, in Apache County,
Arizona. Then, let me know, because I never did find out. (See Postscript for my address.)
Not a single person had complained about the way I was doing business, so I could not imagine anything but
good from the Corporation Commission’s inquiry. Besides, it was the obvious source of funds that paid for the
operation of 1-800-THE-VOTE.
The first indication I had that anything might be wrong came at the meeting the Corporation Commission
arranged with me at their offices. After introducing the people around the table, one of whom was an attorney
from the Attorney General’s Office, I was read my Miranda Rights!
Knowing I had done nothing wrong, and since the questions asked did not seem pointed, I perceived the
reading of my rights as merely a procedure. After the meeting we shook hands and I left.
A few weeks later, at about 8:30 in the morning, a knock came at my door. When I answered it, a young
woman, whom I recognized from the meeting at the Corporation Commission stood there. She handed me some
papers, then turned and left.
Moments later, as I read through the documents, I was stunned to realize that the Arizona Attorney General
and Arizona Corporation Commission were accusing me of having committed securities fraud! Their logic was
that by permitting local residents to become co-owners in my water well, was akin to selling them stock in a
company.
Stock is usually considered a security. Stock is not always a security. Only when it is offered as an investment
for the purpose of making money, merely by the passage of time, is it considered a security. Requiring persons
to become shareholders in a private water company (or owners in its well ) in order to receive water from that
company or its well, is not the same as offering stock for sale merely in the hopes of reselling it for a higher
price or receiving cash dividends.
To sell securities you must have a license to do so. The sale of a security without a license is deemed to be
security fraud. That’s the law.
I was pissed! What had I done to deserve this accusation? Had I unknowingly offended one of the persons who
had bought into the well? Had someone filed a complaint against me? No.
As I read further into the documents it became clear what the State of Arizona, through its Attorney General
and Corporation Commission wanted. Deep within the document the Arizona Attorney General was seeking an
order from the Corporation Commission commanding me to “cease and desist funding 1-800-THE-VOTE, a
legislative polling service.” There it was, clear as a bell.
The Corporation Commission’s next move was to create a press release to all of the news media in Arizona in
which it announced that I was under investigation for fraud.
The next day, after the Arizona Republic newspaper reprinted the press release as a front page article, the
prosecutor, Wendy Coy, from the Attorney General’s office, made hundreds of photocopies of the newspaper
article and mailed them to every person with whom I did business, along with a letter inviting them to contact
her with any complaints they might have against me. Not one person complained. But the article and the letter
left the distinct impression among these people that they had been the lucky ones, and that I must have
defrauded many others.
To me, it was obvious what the Corporation Commission and Attorney General were attempting to do. They
were attempting to taint the jury pool with pretrial publicity to such an extent that any jury that may be
selected to hear my case, would already have heard enough negative publicity about me that they would
already have made up their minds about my case, even before they would have been selected to be jurors. In
other words, the government was doing everything in its power to make sure I would not get a fair trial.
Well, two can play at that game, I decided. Rather than look like some guilty slob, caught red handed, and now
trembling silently for mercy; I decided to fight back and plant in the jury’s mind an image of an honest man being
persecuted by the government for his political convictions. And a picture is worth a thousand words.
So, I gathered up some chains and locks I borrowed from some friends, and I went downtown and chained
myself to the flagpole in front of the Arizona Corporation Commission; but not before I telephoned the Arizona
Republic newspaper and told them what I was about to do. I told them to send a photographer to photograph
me chained to the flagpole.
I also sent out a press release. It was a copy of the letter I hand delivered to the Corporation Commission
demanding my right to a speedy trial by jury. And, just to be sure, I brought with me a four foot by eight foot
piece of plywood to which I had thumb-tacked dozens of letters of thanks from many of the people who had
done business with me.
That flustered them. Now they looked like the bad guys, and they knew they had no power to influence me into
signing a plea deal. They already knew they had no case against me. Now everybody knew.
But keep in mind, their objective at that time was not to put me behind bars. All they wanted was for me to
“cease and desist funding 1-800-THE-VOTE,” the legislative polling service. They didn’t need (or want) a jury to
obtain a court order for that.
Over my incessant demands for a speedy trial by jury the A. G. and Corporation Commission conducted, instead,
an “administrative hearing”. An administrative hearing is exactly like a criminal trial except that the jury is the
Corporation Commissioners, and they cannot sentence you to prison (they can only fine you - big time), and you
are not entitled to be represented by a lawyer unless you can afford one! How does that fit in with the Miranda
Rights, which were read to me, and contained the phrase: “If you cannot afford an attorney one will be
appointed for you”?
By then I was almost flat broke, My business had been so disrupted by the A. G.’s tactic of mailing photocopies
to my clients that I could barely pay my bills. I couldn’t afford to hire an attorney, and the government refused
to appoint one for me. I had to represent myself.
The first day of the hearing drew so many spectators to the Corporation Commission that, on day two, the
hearing was moved, without notice, to the Arizona Attorney General’s office and was conducted behind closed
doors.
As for the Corporation Commissioners who were to be my jury, not one of them ever showed up for one minute
of the two week long hearing.
At the end of the hearing we all went back to the Corporation Commission. There, finally, sat 3 of the
Commissioners. By now I was no longer the same optimistic idealist I had always been. I had learned that good
doesn’t always prevail over corruption. I realized that in spite of the facts and evidence on my side, these three
commissioners could still vote against me. So I came prepared.
I brought with me a six foot long, four inch thick limb I had sawn from an olive tree. After stripping it of all its
leaves and twigs, this symbol of peace now stood capable of becoming a weapon. I wanted the members of the
press who were present there that day to appreciate the irony of an olive branch as a club. The message I
wanted to convey was “peace through strength.”
I also brought with me, in my truck, a stencil and a can of red spray paint. In words 1 foot high, the stencil read
“ARTICLE 6” in reference to the Sixth Amendment of the U. S. Constitution. I was prepared to stencil those
words onto the Corporation Commission’s wall, and the marquee across the street at the Attorney General’s
office, if the three-commissioner panel ( in lieu of the jury I was entitled to) found me guilty of breaking the law.
The Corporation Commissioners knew what I intended to do. It had been published, shortly beforehand in the
Arizona Republic or Phoenix Gazette, that I would spray paint the words “Article 6” on their wall if they - not a
jury of my peers - found me guilty of breaking the law. Not only that, but I had clipped the article from the
newspaper, photocopied it, and mailed a copy of what I intended to do to each of the Corporation
Commissioners and the Attorney General’s office.
So when the day came, and the commissioners (without hearing even one word of testimony) followed the
recommendation of the hearing officer and found me guilty - I went out to my truck, retrieved the stencil and
spray paint, and with a dozen people gasping at what I was doing, I stenciled the words “Article 6” on the
inside wall of the Corporation Commission, then walked across the street and stenciled those words on the
marquee of the Arizona Attorney General.
Shortly afterward, a photographer from the Arizona Republic/Phoenix Gazette came to the Corporation
Commission to photograph my handiwork which was published the next day in the paper.
A few days later a member of the Arizona Capital Police force came to my residence and wrote me a ticket for
“criminal damage.”
At first the State could not find a judge willing to hear the case against me. The first two judges to whom the
case was assigned, recused themselves. But finally the state found someone who owed it a big favor to sit on
my case.
Her name is Donna Hamm, and her husband was in prison for a murder in Tucson. He would be released if she
would find me guilty.
Because I had notified the Corporation Commissioners and the Attorney General of my intent to spray paint the
words “ARTICLE 6,” and they had voiced no objection, my argument in my defense was going to be that my
actions were done with their tacit approval, and therefore could not be criminal damage. In order to make that
argument, however, I needed the Corporation Commissioners to testify that I had, in fact, notified them of my
intent to spray paint the walls. So I issued subpoenas to compel the commissioners to testify in my defense.
But before they could testify, Judge Hamm quashed all of my subpoenas. When the day of my trial came, I had
no witnesses for my defense, and no jury to hear my case.
I did, however, have quite a few supporters who had helped me put together an 1/8th mile long paper banner
on which we had stenciled, in 1 foot high letters, on both sides, the entire text of the Sixth Amendment. An hour
before the trial began, we marched with that banner from the Arizona Corporation Commission to the
courthouse.
My first argument at trial was that I should have a jury to hear my case instead of Donna Hamm. Donna and the
prosecutor argued that I was not entitled to a jury because the offense was a misdemeanor and not a felony.
Then they called forth a witness who was supposedly an expert in calculating damages. He testified that the
amount of damages I had caused was more than twelve hundred dollars!
Rather than challenge his damage estimate as ridiculous, I pointed to the law where it said that criminal
damage in excess of $500 is a felony. Therefore, I reiterated, I must have a jury.
In the end I was found guilty, by Donna Hamm, of criminal damage and fined $500. But the amount of damages
was finally estimated to be “zero dollars.” Shortly thereafter her husband, Larry Hamm, was released from
prison.
My case was then transferred back to one of the judges who had recused himself from presiding at my trial. His
name was, I believe, Justice of the Peace, Peterson.
I telephoned Judge Peterson’s office and told them to tell the Judge that I did not intend to pay the fine, and
that since it was election season and he was seeking reelection, if he signed a warrant for my arrest, I would
position myself in front of one of his large campaign signs, then using my cell phone I would turn myself in and
videotape my arrest, in front of his poster, for use on the five o’clock news. The warrant became “lost.” More on
that later.
In spite of the humiliating beating I had suffered at the hands of Arizona’s “politicians against democracy,” I had
learned an even more powerful lesson from the people. I learned that the people do want to participate in the
legislative process, and will do so voluntarily if the barriers are lowered sufficiently to allow them to do so easily
from their home, or office or cell phone.
To borrow a line from the movie Field of Dreams: “If you build it, they will come.” I, then, moved on to the next
phase, which was the task of providing to the voters the complete list of all the proposed new laws pending
before the Arizona Legislature. No one was doing that.
First I went to the Arizona Republic newspaper which, at the time, was holding several “town hall” type meetings
throughout Phoenix in an attempt to find out what changes its readers wanted to see. The Arizona Republic had
bought out its chief rival, The Phoenix Gazette, and was closing down the Gazette, so the “town hall” meetings
were a gesture to the subscribers of the, now defunct, Phoenix Gazette, inviting them to become friendly
subscribers of the Arizona Republic newspaper.
I attended the town hall meetings and asked the Arizona Republic to begin publishing a complete list of all
Senate and house bills pending before the Arizona Legislature, so people could vote on them using 1-800-THE-
VOTE - not just the dozen or so bills that the newspaper found interesting. I was told by spokespersons for the
Arizona Republic that the newspaper would not print such a complete list because, in its opinion, no one would
be interested in reading it. “It would be a waste of ink and paper,” I was told.
“Okay,” I said to myself, “then I’ll publish the list.” And while I’m at it, I thought, I might as well start a new
political party that would do what the Republicans and Democrats won’t, and that is REPRESENT THE WILL OF
THE PEOPLE! From that frustration the Grapevine Newspaper was born. And the Arizona Tea Party.
The mission and purpose of the Grapevine was to publish a complete list of all senate and house bills pending
before the Arizona Legislature. The mission and purpose of the Tea Party was/is to recruit and elect candidates
to the Arizona Legislature who will vote on pending legislation in accordance with the will of the majority of their
constituents, so long as they are not being asked to do something that is unconstitutional.
Chapter 5: The Grapevine Newspaper
First there was the Arizona Tea Party. Then there was the Grapevine.
In 1993 or 1994 I established the political action committee known as the Arizona Tea Party. I began actively
recruiting citizens to become legislative candidates for the Tea Party. I created a logo (a wooden crate of tea)
and stenciled it on T (tea) shirts. I wrote a campaign theme song based on he Boston Tea Party, and a poem
entitled “The Greatest Democrat.” I created small cardboard boxes designed to look like little crates of tea - with
tea bags inside. And I rented out a grade school cafeteria for an evening to host a stage show and
entertainment for the public. But due to lack of publicity, hardly anyone showed up.
Publicity. I needed an affordable (cheap) avenue of publicity. And not just for the Tea Party, but for the
publication and distribution of pending senate and house bills. More and more it was becoming feasible to start
my own newspaper. And I could fill it with “news” stories about the candidates for the Arizona Tea Party. The
way I saw it, I would be able to fill several editions of the paper with stories about the Tea Party candidates.
After all, I was looking to recruit 90 candidates (30 senate, 60 house of representatives), and I had already
recruited at least four.
I explained my plan to some of my associates in Mensa, one of whom had already been helping me with 1-800-
THE-VOTE, Phil Janes, and another, David Broome, who said he could get me a computer program for laying out
newspaper proofs for printing.
We discussed the plan over lunch at Leigh Butler’s home, even wondering what to name the paper. Phil Janes
suggested we call it “Tea Leaves” as in “reading tea leaves.” But in the back of my head kept drumming the
beat of the melody of the popular song “I Heard It Through the Grapevine.” That’s how the paper got its name.
Finding a printer that could print a newspaper was another matter. Not just any ol’ printer could do the job. I
had to find a printer with a “web” press - whatever that was - and I didn’t know where to start.
I contacted the Arizona Republic newspaper to see if they could do the job. “No,” they said. Then I remembered
seeing a small newspaper that was published from time to time by the Libertarian party. I knew people in the
Libertarian party. I had met them when I was running for governor.
One phone call later I had the name of their printer located in Payson, Arizona. Soon I had a price quote. All I
had to do was raise the money.
Money wasn’t as easy as it used to be. After the Corporation commission ruined my business, I was on the
verge of bankruptcy. My house had been foreclosed on. I had been forced to sell virtually everything I owned. In
fact, I had now moved in to live with my friend, Leigh Butler, a woman and socialite 20 years my senior.
Leigh was helpful, but she was gun-shy of investing any money in my newspaper project. She had been scared
off by the allegations of the Corporation Commission and a piece of wood that someone had tossed down my
water well decades ago. That piece of wood, I later discovered when I installed a pump, was submerged slightly
below the water line in the well, and had prevented a video camera equipment team (hired by Butler) from
submerging their video camera. Thus, it appeared to Leigh that the water in the well was only six inches deep -
not 60 feet deep as indicated by the well driller’s log from the mid 1960’s. Hiring that camera crew cost Leigh
about $1,000. So she wasn’t eager to pay for the printing costs for a new newspaper of questionable merit.
It just so happened that another acquaintance of mine - a computer nerd/ genius who had no motivation to
clean up after himself, Ed Voelkel - was expecting a visit from his parents from Colorado. He didn’t want them to
see his house and property as it was - lawns NEVER mowed; pool never used or cleaned; same inside, every
room of the house including kitchen and bathrooms. In a panic he asked me if he could hire me to clean up his
house and property before his parents arrived in a couple of weeks. Problems solved.
With the money I made cleaning his house and yard, I paid for the first print run of the Grapevine newspaper in
May of 1994. I was ecstatic! But then my bubble burst.
I had misunderstood the campaign laws. The deadline for turning in the petitions to establish the Arizona Tea
Party as a bona fide political party had passed. I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. I was sick.
I had counted on the Grapevine newspaper to be the publicity machine to help us get the ten thousand
signatures we would need to achieve ballot status and put our candidates on the ballot along with the
Republicans and Democrats, and our dear friends, the Libertarians. Now it was over. Just like that. Boy, that
hurt.
Plus, we had thousands of newspapers still to distribute. That, alone, had been an exhausting job. Every day,
after bringing the newspapers back from the printer in Payson, Phil Janes and I would deliver hundreds of
newspapers to valley businesses, bars, barber shops and beauty salons. Anywhere we thought customers
might be sitting around with a little time on their hands, and might be willing to read something while they
waited. It took almost an entire month to distribute most of that print run. I did not want to do that again.
There had to be an easier way.
The fact is, I was so frustrated with the whole thing that I was ready to throw up my hands and call it quits. “To
hell with a second print run,” I thought. What’s the point? To work my ass off for nothing?
Phil Janes wasn’t as disheartened as I was. In fact he was plugging away, putting together the next edition of
the Grapevine. I was amazed. We didn’t even have the money for the next print run and here he was, arriving
every day on his bicycle at Butler’s house (10 miles, round trip) to put together another edition of a newspaper I
had given up hope for. He wouldn’t stop.
So, I couldn’t. I figured, as long as he’s willing to put in his time to edit the paper, I’ll find the money to print it.
After all, that’s what publishers are for.
I took my best shot. I contacted the executive Vice President of Dimension Cable Company, whom I had grown
to know over the past year through a public access television show I produced at Dimension’s studios (it was
free, so what the heck?). I showed him my first edition of the Grapevine, explained our mission and purpose,
and told him I would like to have Dimension Cable as a sponsor/advertiser of the Grapevine. He gave me $500
for an 1/8 th page ad. I was ecstatic.
When Butler saw the $500 check from Dimension Cable, she became ecstatic too. She saw the Grapevine as a
potential money making machine. Suddenly, she wanted in.
But I still did not relish the idea of having to spend another month distributing newspapers all over Phoenix and
the valley. There had to be a better way.
Then I remembered something. It was a suggestion I had made to Ferdinand Haverly, publisher of another
small newspaper in Phoenix, shortly before it had gone out of business. He had put the word out that he was
looking for ways to expand his circulation without increasing his costs.
It had just so happened that a few days before Ferd made that request that I had encountered the answer to
his question - and if he had taken my advice his paper would have lasted a few years longer - at least as long
as the Grapevine did.
What I had observed was the result of having missed my exit on the freeway. So I had to go on to the next
exit, get off there, cross over the freeway and get back on, headed back to the exit I had missed. Doing so, I
saw a man standing by the roadside as I waited for the first left turn arrow. He was holding up a large
cardboard sign, hand printed with the words “Will Work For Food.” After making my second left turn, and as I
waited for the green light on the on ramp, I saw another man standing by the roadside. He was holding up an
Arizona Republic newspaper for sale.
One man wanted a job by the roadside; the other man HAD a job by the roadside. It clicked. I told Ferd that he
should employ the homeless, standing by the roadside, to sell his newspaper as the Arizona Republic was doing.
Having remembered all that, I quickly decided to try an experiment. Using a copy of the first edition, I fabricated
a mock-up of another “edition” of the Grapevine. This “edition” had a large sign as its back page. The page read
in huge letters, “HELP THE NEEDY - BUY THE GRAPEVINE - 50¢”.
I posed two men on a traffic island in an intersection and photographed them holding up the mock-up, as if it
were a bona fide edition being offered by them for sale to passing traffic. I published that photo on the front
page of the “real” second or third edition of the Grapevine to go along with the cover story announcing our new
method of distribution.
Next, I paid one of the men who had posed in the photo five dollars an hour to stand at an off ramp underpass
of the Piestewa (then Squaw Peak) Parkway and hold up the back page of the Grapevine newspaper for drivers
to read. I told him he could keep all the money from any sales he made. Two hours later he had made $20. Ten
from me, and ten from the sales of the Grapevine.
Now that I knew that the paper would sell if offered from the roadside by homeless vendors. I drove further
down the parkway and found a homeless couple “flying a sign” to work for food. I gave them at least 50 papers
to attempt to sell, and told them to call me when they ran out... which I expected to occur within 24 hours.
On day “three” I drove down to the intersection where I had last seen them, hoping they could tell me what the
problem was. Hopefully, they would still be there.
As I drove up to them, they rushed out in the traffic to meet me. They were ecstatic to see me! What had
happened, they explained gratefully, was that they had sold the last of the newspapers before they realized
that they had forgotten to retrieve my phone number from the paper. “Yes!” they said. They wanted more
Grapevines to sell!
Word about the Grapevine spread quickly through the homeless community. Within days we had dozens of
vendors selling the Grapevine from the roadside. Our next big challenge was getting the newspapers to the ever
growing number of vendors spreading further and further throughout the valley - daily!
What began as one trip a day to deliver newspapers to vendors, quickly became two trips, then three, then
four. Every time I would return from delivering newspapers to vendors, several more telephone calls would have
come in requesting deliveries. Soon, instead of returning to the “office”, I would call first to see if any more
delivery requests had come in. Eventually, my day consisted of doing nothing but making deliveries to vendors
throughout the valley. I would load the vehicle up with as many bundles of newspapers at 50 per bundle as I
could, and I would be gone all day making deliveries.
By then the news media had caught on to the Grapevine’s existence (after all, there were now vendors at every
major intersection in Phoenix, Mesa, Tempe and other cities). Keeping up the supply became a challenge.
At the same time, many vendors were reporting requests from the public as to when the next edition would be
coming out? Once a month wasn’t often enough, said our vendors. They were beginning to lose customers. The
Grapevine began going through a maddening growth phase. We decided to become a weekly newspaper in
order to meet the demand for new editions. But in order to do that we had to make three big changes.
Number one: We would have to bring on a new editor who could produce a new edition weekly. Phil Janes had
been doing a heroic effort producing a monthly newspaper, because he was using a computer program that
none of us knew how to use. He was learning as we went along, and there was still so much to learn ... and no
manual to teach us. We were truly flying by the seat of our pants. We needed someone who knew what he was
doing!
Fortunately, at one of our Mensa gatherings we had run into Kevin Birnbaum. Kevin was a budding movie
producer who had just produced an exceptional western/horror movie that met with good reviews, and he was
fluent in the computer layout program we were using to produce the Grapevine.
Number two: We had to bring on a full time delivery staff to meet the wholesale demand for the newspaper
throughout the valley on a daily basis of resupply.
Number three: We had to charge vendors 10 cents a paper ($5 per bundle) to cover the costs of the first two
changes. I presented the problems of weekly publication and consistent delivery to the vendors. They met and
discussed it overnight. They agreed it would be in all of our best interests for them to begin paying a wholesale
price of 10 cents a paper so we could continue as a weekly newspaper.
As the Grapevine became so successful, so rapidly, I realized it was time to start protecting it. I decided it was
time to register the name of the Grapevine Newspaper as a trade name with the office of the Arizona Secretary of
State. I discussed the matter with Butler and offered to register the paper in both her name and mine as equal
partners since she had permitted the Grapevine to grow out of her home, and had even volunteered to cover
some of its expenses not met by the wholesale pricing.
Butler even volunteered to drive downtown and register the trade name for me. Very nice. However, when she
returned and I saw the paperwork, I learned that she had registered the trade name of the Grapevine
Newspaper in her name only, as her sole and separate property! When I asked her why she had done that she
said it was done “accidentally.”
I was angry that Leigh Butler had registered the paper in her own name, only, as if she owned the newspaper,
but my legal research had already shown me that I had nothing to be concerned about there. With proof
published in the first edition that I was the publisher and founder of the Grapevine I would always be able to
publish the Grapevine unless I sold it. By registering the trade name as her own Leigh simply reserved the right
to also publish a newspaper using the name Grapevine. But she could not exclude me from using the name for
my own newspaper. Soon it would come down to that.
By December of 1994 the circulation of the Grapevine had increased to almost 60,000 papers per week. It had
one of the largest circulations of any newspaper in Arizona, except the Arizona Republic. We had employed more
than one thousand vendors.
Then Leigh got greedy. She came up with the idea that we should double the retail price of the Grapevine to
$1.00 per edition, and start charging the vendors a much higher wholesale price, immediately. I expressed to
Leigh that changes like that had to be gradually worked in over a much longer period of time, otherwise it could
have disastrous results. I thought I had made my point, and went to bed.
But to my chagrin I awoke in the night to hear Leigh talking on the telephone to the managers of our delivery
crews. She was telling them how she thought they should handle any disgruntled vendors who objected to
paying the higher price she was ordering that they must now charge, beginning “tomorrow.”
The shit was about to hit the fan. Leigh had already changed the cover price on the back of page of the
Grapevine to read “$1.00”, and the original had been sent to the printer. All we could do now was wait.
It didn’t take long. Within an hour of the first deliveries the calls started coming in, from vendors objecting to the
new prices, and their customers as well. By the end of the day dozens of vendors had announced they were
quitting, and so did many more customers.
Many customers called to say that they had previously bought the Grapevine using a dollar bill and saying “Keep
the change” to the vendor, knowing that the extra 50 cents was going to help the vendor who was selling the
paper. But now that the price of the paper itself, had gone to one dollar, and the extra 50 cents would be going
to the publisher, they would rather not buy the Grapevine at all. Chaos reigned.
The second day after the price increase, delivery drivers reported that more than half of the vendors were not
at their regular spots. Apparently they had quit. Those still remaining were hiding the retail price from the public
and still selling what papers they could for the previous price of 50 cents, just to keep what customers they
could.
As a last ditch effort to save what was left of the Grapevine, I had our printer print a new front and back page
changing the price back to 50 cents. Then I had our delivery drivers distribute those new pages along with the
remainder of the papers. Things stabilized.
But problems worsened within the management of the Grapevine. Leigh resented that I had reversed her middle
of the night price increase. She didn’t get along with the advertising sales staff, refusing to allow the manager
to come into her home. That meant we had to move the advertising sales office to other quarters. And then one
day, while I was outside, Leigh Butler locked me out of her house and refused to let me come in. I had to find a
new place to live... before dark!
I stayed at Phil Janes’ house and made sure that I had enough money to continue to pay our editor, Kevin
Birnbaum, to produce the next several editions while teaching Phil Janes and me how to effectively use the
computer layout program. It was imperative that Phil Janes learned how to streamline production and layout
because of what we had to do next to survive.
For the next couple of weeks there would be two different versions of the Grapevine on the street. One
produced by Leigh Butler and her friends, and the other by the regular Grapevine staff that had followed me.
I wanted to minimize conflict between the two groups, so I took our printing business to a different printer.
However, Leigh Butler had someone follow us from Phil Janes’ house to the printer. When there she called the
Phoenix police and told them I had stolen her newspaper and asked them to come arrest me.
The police came. But they told Leigh our problem was a civil one, not a criminal one. Then they arrested me
anyway. Remember that warrant for my arrest from Judge Peterson’s office that disappeared during the
elections? Yep. It reappeared as mysteriously as it had disappeared in the first place.
The fine for spray painting “Article 6” on government property was $500. I had the money, but I needed it to
pay for the next print run of the Grapevine. The alternative was 20 days in jail. What an experience.
Sheriff Joe Arpaio recognized my face while I was in his new “tent city” (this was before the days of pink
underwear). He had appeared along with some Arizona legislators on a public access television debate I had
produced for Dimension Cable. He remembered that, and asked me what I was doing in his jail. When I told him,
he laughed, and had me brought out to his car in the parking lot where he telephoned KTAR news radio and
had them interview both of us over the phone and on the air. For a time reference, the Oklahoma City bombing
occurred while I was in jail. When it was announced, the inmates cheered.
While in jail, several inmates brought me stories they thought were newsworthy. I read the stories, out loud,
over the telephone to Phil Janes who tape-recorded our conversations and transcribed the stories later that
day for publication in the Grapevine.
In the meantime, Leigh Butler published an edition of the Grapevine announcing that I had been arrested and
fired from the Grapevine. The vendors didn’t know what to think or who to believe. After all, there were TWO
Grapevines now, and except for the stories, they looked almost exactly the same.
But I had a plan. I knew that the vendors always preferred to sell the most current edition of the Grapevine.
They would only sell an-out-of-date Grapevine if they had no other choice and that’s all they had. So I decided to
make our Grapevine a daily newspaper, at least for a while; long enough for Butler to throw in the towel.
Two weeks is all it took. On day one of becoming a daily paper, I made sure the television news crews were at
our printer’s plant to videotape the presses running. I wanted everyone, especially the vendors and Butler to
get the message that the most current version of the Grapevine would be mine. It took only a matter of a few
days for vendors to catch on to the idea that the Grapevine was now a daily paper whose date would always be
current. So when Butler’s weekly version came out, it was already out of date, and no vendor wanted to
purchase it. Butler only published one more edition of her Grapevine, then acknowledged that she would not be
printing any more editions of the Grapevine.
We quietly went back to being a weekly newspaper and about a month or two later, Butler began publishing,
truly, her own newspaper, “Southwest Solutions” and our paths never crossed again.
But things were heating up in another area, though. Someone was putting pressure on the various police
agencies throughout the valley to begin harassing and arresting the Grapevine vendors, even though they were
not breaking any laws. Various police agencies began prohibiting vendors from standing on medians, or traffic
islands, or selling newspapers to the occupants of any vehicle. Some vendors who refused to cease and desist
selling the Grapevine were given tickets and sometimes arrested.
The police said the vendors were a safety hazard, yet never once was a vendor cited for causing a traffic
accident, or injured while on the job. And never was the issue of safety raised while the Arizona Republic
newspaper sold its copies by the roadside. The Arizona Republic ceased selling its papers from the roadside
because the vendors preferred selling the Grapevine, because Grapevine vendors got to keep ALL of the money
they received from their sales, not just half.
One of the persons who sold the Arizona Republic newspaper from the roadside was a young man named
Jayhawk Arnoldi. Jayhawk claimed to be a paralegal whose uncle was a retiring Federal judge. Judge Mickey or
Muecke? In spite of all my skepticism, I did need someone to handle our growing legal confrontations with the
city of Phoenix. So I took Jayhawk on as our legal department, and taught him how to edit a newspaper.
Chapter 6: The Coldest Winter of My Life
In order for any legislator to represent the will of his/her people, that legislator must learn the will of the people
on every piece of pending legislation. Thus the people must be informed of every senate and house bill as it is
created, not just the “Top Ten.” That’s what the Grapevine was for.
The mission and purpose of the Grapevine newspaper was to publish a complete menu of the Senate and House
bills pending before the Arizona Legislature. Citizens could then call the toll free telephone number of 1-800-THE-
VOTE (or one like it) and vote for or against the pending legislation. A computer would tabulate the votes and
direct them to the appropriate legislators who represent those constituents. That way legislators would have a
broad knowledge of the will of their people regarding all pending legislation - not just a few vocal lobbyists. And
not just on the handful of issues they were able to find time to read.
I thought that the legislators would deeply appreciate knowing how their own constituents felt about pending
legislation. Some did not. I was amazed!
I was even more amazed as I watched lobbyists and legislators band together and put pressure on the city
councils of Phoenix, Mesa, Glendale and other Arizona cities to outlaw the sales of the Grapevine on their
streets! I had Jayhawk file a lawsuit against the city of Phoenix, in Federal Court, on behalf of the Grapevine’s
First Amendment Rights.
The Grapevine argued that not only was its' right to sell newspapers from the roadside protected by the First
Amendment of the United States Constitution’s “Freedom of the press”, but local laws as well.
Phil Janes had previously pointed out an ordinance of the Phoenix City Council which clearly stated that it was
not unlawful to sell handbills [newspapers] to the occupant of any vehicle. Confronted with this fact, the
Phoenix City Council met and passed a new ordinance to replace that one. The new ordinance read: “No person
shall remain on or adjacent to a street or highway and solicit business, employment, or contributions from the
occupant of any vehicle,” and was a class 1 misdemeanor, the most severe class of misdemeanor there is,
punishable by up to one year in jail.
As far as the Grapevine goes, it was also “the writing on the wall”, so to speak. Advertisers did not want to
advertise in the Grapevine if it could no longer reach the vast volumes of people it did from the streets of
Phoenix. And I did not want to see the vendors going to jail for selling a newspaper.
So, on the last day of fall, 1996, my new editor, Pamela deSpencer (a.k.a. “Paloma”) - [who, by the way had
been introduced to me by Kevin Birnbaum before he went onto start his own businesses (thank you, Kevin)] -
and I moved all of our belongings into a tee pee of sorts, on land I possessed in Apache County, Arizona.
Sleeping on the ground in a tent, when it’s five below zero, is impossible. The ground sucks the heat right out of
your body, right through the sleeping bag. You have to roll over every five minutes just to let your “ground side”
warm up. All night long you keep thinking: “When is the sun going to come up? When is the sun going to come
up? Come on!”
Jayhawk Arnoldi remained in the office space in Phoenix, living there as well as editing the final editions of the
weekly Grapevine. Paloma and I could no longer afford the rent on our one bedroom apartment, and it would be
impossible for all three of us to live in the office, permanently. But it was so cold in Apache County, at 6,500 feet
elevation, in December and January, that Paloma and I welcomed the trips back to Phoenix in the weeks before
the Phoenix City Council voted to, effectively, outlaw the Grapevine. So, temporarily, in January of 1997, all three
of us lived out of the Grapevine office... even though by then, we were several months delinquent on paying the
office rent.
One of our contributing writers, Paul Bechtel, recognized our housing dilemma in Apache County and donated to
Paloma and me, the use of his full sized camper which he had on the back of his pickup truck. One day he took
me with him in his truck with the camper shell all the way to the property in Apache County. There, we off-
loaded the camper onto the property, then returned to Phoenix. That camper made all the difference in the
world to Paloma and me. Because of it we were able to survive the winter of 1996. It’s propane stove provided
us the much needed heat, so we could take off our coats. Its bed with mattress made sleeping at night not only
possible, but a relative luxury. And the burners on the stove meant we could have coffee anytime we wanted,
and hot water to bathe. We could fry eggs. We were ecstatic!
Another one of our former advertisers, Dave Simpson, had given us a vehicle to use for deliveries of
newspapers to our vendors after Paloma’s truck had been damaged in an accident. When we moved to Apache
County, he let us keep it, giving us the title with the understanding that we would pay for it at some
undetermined time in the future. With his permission we sold that vehicle to raise money to start another small
newspaper, the White Mountain Highroads in Show Low, Arizona, in the spring of 1997.
The White Mountain High Roads was a, purely, “fluff” publication. Paloma and I created it as a source of
advertising revenue because we had no income. We deliberately avoided any mention of politics, and all topics
that could possibly polarize our readers or advertisers.
The word “Highroads", in the mast, was a deliberate double entendre. Not only were we located,
geographically, more than a mile high (6,000 + feet), but we were pledged to remain above the fray, politically,
as well. At least that was the intent.
I was burned out on politics. I had tried my best to achieve a noble cause that I believed in. I had failed. I had
not quit. I had been beaten. Yet, there was still a smoldering ember inside me. And just in case it would ever
catch fire again, I registered with the Arizona Secretary of State’s Office, in 1997, the trade name of the Arizona
Democrat newspaper (Azdem). Its day would come.
With the Grapevine now defunct and its office closed, Jayhawk Arnoldi had no place to stay, even though he was
still pursuing the lawsuit against the City of Phoenix. The White Mountain Highroads was becoming financially
successful, so we moved to larger offices; large enough for Jayhawk to have an office of his own, in which he
came to live. Eventually we made enough money to afford to rent another small office for Jayhawk to live in,
Tempe, Arizona. This was necessary for him to continue working on the Grapevine legal case.
Then, one day, as Paloma and I were talking at the property in Apache County, an unusual feeling came over
me. Later on, I described it to the doctors at the Navapache Regional Medical Center in Show Low, (now
renamed Summit Health Care Medical Center) as a “buzzing sensation.” But most remarkable, it affected my
short term memory so profoundly that I could not remember what was behind me, out of my sight, nor could I
remember (as I was told later) events that would transpire, even a few minutes after they occurred. Paloma
rushed me to the hospital. The doctors could find no obvious cause for the condition (like a blood clot in the
brain) so they classified it as stress related and told me, effectively, that I was going to have to quit my job as a
newspaper publisher. That ended the White Mountain Highroads.
From time to time, however, Paloma and I still found it necessary to travel to Phoenix, especially while litigation
was still ongoing between the Grapevine and the City of Phoenix. Somehow, we had stayed in contact with
several of the people we had met through the Grapevine, the Tea Party, or other associations. One couple we
had met was Ed and Marjorie Gaudreau, who invited us to stay with them whenever we would be in the valley.
For this we were mighty grateful.
I had met Ed Gaudreau, originally, in 1994. I don’t remember exactly how or where, but I do know he was one
of the several persons I had inspired to become legislative candidates of the Arizona Tea Party; and he had
submitted an article opposing a piece of proposed legislation that would have affected the earnings of notary
publics, such as he, and his wife Marjorie, and his mother.
Ed seemed to share some of my beliefs about the benefits of a truly democratic form of republic. He said he was
willing to represent the will of the people (from his legislative district) if he were elected as a legislator from the
Tea Party.
He and his wife also shared my affinity for marijuana (I am, after all, the chairman of the political action
committee For the Taxation of Decriminalized Marijuana). Ed told me once that he could not remember the last
day in which he had NOT smoked marijuana! Ed and Marge always had plenty to smoke whenever we stopped
by, and if he didn’t have any at the moment, he would always go get some.
But it troubled me when, after it had become apparent that the Tea Party would not obtain ballot status, that
he renigged on his promise that he would be willing to represent his constituents, and switched his political
affiliation to another party. But mostly it troubled me that Ed told me that he would never, as a candidate,
support the legalization of marijuana - even if the people of his district wanted him to - because he felt such an
admission could lessen the likelihood of him being elected! It seemed as if Ed was willing to say anything or do
anything to get elected. In other words, getting elected was an ego trip for him, not a public service. Perhaps as
an attempt to make up for the fact, I learned later, that he had never completed high school. He had, however,
obtained a G. E. D.
My personal disappointments, however, were no grounds to judge him as unworthy of my friendship. Besides,
he always had pot; and actions speak louder than words.
But sometimes, people’s actions are symptoms of deeper and more serious problems, as I would some day
learn.
Jayhawk Arnoldi, for example, was a person who some persons would describe as a pathological liar. And
though I suspected as much, the issues he lied about, pathologically, had usually had little effect on my life or
business. For example, his claim that Federal Judge Mickey (Muecke?) was his uncle, was a complete fabrication,
as I would later learn by asking the judge through his judicial secretary. And I did not want to create an
unnecessary confrontation which could result in Jayhawk’s angry resignation during the pending litigation. But
all good things must come to an end.
Near the end of our litigation with the City of Phoenix, Jayhawk told me that the presiding judge had called a
special meeting in his office and had ruled in favor of the Grapevine. I was jubilant to hear the news. Jayhawk
would be moving all of our equipment, computers, etcetera to the new office in the next few days.
Several minutes later I returned a telephone call to the Gaudreaus, only to receive from them condolences over
having lost the Grapevine’s lawsuit against the City of Phoenix, which they had just heard on the news! I was
stunned. Not only over having lost the lawsuit, but over Jayhawk’s lie to me claiming we had won.
My next call was the office of the Maricopa County Superior Court judge who had presided over the case. I
spoke with his secretary. She confirmed that the case had been dismissed, and denied that any special meeting
had
been called at the judge’s offices as Jayhawk had claimed.
I was chagrined to tell Paloma the bad news, but we both knew what we had to do next. We immediately
climbed into Paloma’s truck and began the four hour drive from Show Low to Tempe to grab our equipment and
computers before Jayhawk took them with him to his next, yet undisclosed, destination.
Jayhawk was not at the office when we arrived, but returned without incident while we were loading up the
equipment on the truck. I told Jayhawk that I had called the judge’s office and learned the truth about the
dismissal of the law suit. That was the last I heard about Jayhawk; except as an ancedote a few months later, I
was informed that Jayhawk had announced to the news media that I had given the Grapevine newspaper to
him! Paul Bechtel had heard it on the Phoenix news and drove all the way to Apache County to confirm that
questionable fact with me. I told Paul it wasn’t true, and rode back with him to the valley to issue a press
release, by fax, to all of the news media denying the story.
Chapter 7: Ed Gaudreau
In 1998 or 1999 the U. S. Government notified my family that it had recovered remains from a crash site in North
Vietnam, and had confirmed through DNA that the remains were my brother’s. The government then paid for the
transportation costs of myself and other family members to attend the funeral service for my brother to be held
in Texas. I thought perhaps that we might receive a word in condolences from John McCain, or perhaps that he
may attend the funeral, but there was no comment. Enough said.
When I returned to Arizona from my brother’s funeral, I was flown into Sky Harbor Airport, in Phoenix, on a
Sunday. The only problem with that was that the bus service between Phoenix and Show Low did not run on
Sunday, and I had only enough money on me to pay for the bus ticket. Not the bus ticket and a place to stay
overnight. So I placed a call to the Gaudreaus, hoping that I could spend the night at their place.
To my surprise I learned that Ed and Marge had lost their house, and had moved in with Ed’s mother, Estelle,
taking their two adolescent children with them. Still, Ed and a friend of his came to the airport and picked me up,
and took me back to his mother’s house in Phoenix.
As we turned onto the street where Estelle Gaudreau lived, a tow truck was just pulling away from Estelle’s
house - with Ed’s car in tow. It was being repossessed! In a rage, Ed jumped out of his friend’s car and flew
into a tirade against the tow truck driver who ignored him and slowly drove away with the car. It was a very
uncomfortable circumstance for all of us. And it just got worse.
Moments later Ed’s 18 year old son came back from the store where he had gone to get cigarettes. Ed further
vented his wrath on his son, and it seemed they were about to come to blows. They were standing toe to toe in
Estelle’s living room, exchanging horrific words and threats. I had never seen such an expression of violence as
was pouring from Ed Gaudreau toward his son.
It was then that his wife, Marge, and fourteen year old daughter, Crystal, took me by the arm and led me away
into the family room. With the door closed behind them, and no chance that Ed could hear them - with fear in
their faces they told me with their words that they were afraid... of Ed Gaudreau.
No sooner had they revealed their fears to me than Estelle came up to me and volunteered to drive me, with
her husband, all the way to my home in Apache County, now! Right this very minute! And without further ado, I
got into their car, and they drove me all the way home, arriving about 10 p. m..
But in the moments before we left Estelle’s home in Phoenix, I told Marge that I had several pieces of land in
Apache County, and if she and Ed wanted to, they could come live on one of those lots - in the used motor
home they had recently purchased to live in.
A few weeks later, Ed, Marge and their daughter, Crystal arrived in Apache County. I took them to some
property I owned (through my water company, Showlow Pines Water Utility Corporation) a few miles away and
told them they could live there for the next year if they so desired.
A couple of weeks later, after several visits during that time, Ed drove up with his wife and daughter in their
motor home. He told me that his mom was providing him with a second, also used, motor home they had
acquired in Phoenix, and that he and his family would be going back to Phoenix to get it and return. He asked if
I had any other property, nearer to my house, that they could stay on?
I had deliberately chosen property, for them to stay on, knowing that good distances make good neighbors. But
now that he had asked, “yes”, I had a lot available that was, literally, just around the corner. When Ed returned
he moved both of their motor homes onto the property.
On or about October 6, 1999, the following events transpired:
Now that Ed had moved to Apache County, and his wife had gotten a job working in the kitchen at Summit
Health Care Medical Center, I realized that I really did not know Ed Gaudreau very well, at all. So, I decided I
had better spend some time deliberately getting to know him. With that intent, I walked over to Ed’s place so
we could tell each other our life’s stories.
In the course of the evening’s conversation, and while discussing our childhoods, Ed made a statement that I
had never heard or read before. He said: “Most fathers have a sexual relationship with a daughter.”
I could not believe that statement to be true for two significant reasons: (1) I had never heard or read that
claim before; and (2) I had never seen any evidence that over 50% of the fathers I have met have had a sexual
relationship with any of their daughters.
In an effort to demonstrate the obvious flaw in that thinking, and using myself and Ed Gaudreau as illustrative
examples, since each of us has only one daughter, (if his statement were true then, statistically, one of us
would have had to have had a sexual relationship with a daughter), I said to Ed Gaudreau; “Have you had a
sexual relationship with your daughter?”
The first time I asked the question, he was still talking, and seemed not to hear me. So I waited until he finished
what he was saying, and asked him again. He just sat there, across the table from me, with a slight smile on his
face, but he did not answer. I thought perhaps, he was still enraptured by his own statements, and still hadn’t
registered what I had just asked him. So, in the prolonged silence between us, I asked the question a third
time - getting just a “little” nervous - “Ed, have you had a sexual relationship with your daughter?”
[By the way, the entire account I am describing to you here - and much, much more - can be found in my lawsuit
filed against Ed Gaudreau in the Apache County Superior Court in 2000. The case number is CV-2000-121 “Joel
K. Barr v. Edward and Marjorie Gaudreau, husband and wife.” Please read it along with the other civil suits I
have filed in Apache County Superior Court, especially Barr v. Navopache Electric Cooperative, Inc. S-0100-CV-
99102 and Barr v. State of Arizona et al., CV-2004-022; and CV-1997-? State of Arizona ex rel the Arizona
Corporation Commission v. Barr.]
With a sheepish smile on his face, Ed got up from his seat without answering, and walked out of the motor
home we were in, and went into the other motor home where his daughter was reading a book. Now, my worst
fear had become that I had inadvertently stumbled upon a dark secret that Ed wanted to share with me, and
that he had gone next door to ask his daughter’s permission to share it with me.
Moments later he returned. No sooner had he entered the motor home where I waited, and before he could say
anything or change the subject, I blurted out the question one more time - prepared for the worst:
Ed stood facing me. He said one word. That word was: “Yes.”
I was dumbfounded. I did not know what to do, or what to say. I had stumbled into territory that was far too
sensitive for what I had come prepared to deal with. Getting out of this sticky situation was like groping in the
dark.
I was confronted with the dilemma of a man who had just confessed to me, a publisher, a crime that could put
him in prison for the rest of his life; and I suspected that he had trusted me with that information in the hopes
that I would confess something similar to him. I could not.
I stammered that my ex-wife and I had divorced when my daughter was only five years old, and I had never
had an “opportunity” (much less entertained the thought) to develop such a relationship with my daughter. I
was trying to tiptoe nonchalantly out of those dangerous waters, (next, I’ll part the Red Sea) when the
publisher in me kicked in, and I figured I’d try to capitalize on the circumstances and ask some questions I may
never, ever, get a chance to ask again. So I asked him when he first had begun having a sexual relationship
with his daughter? By then, however, he had realized he had said more than he should, and he became
defensive. He asked me “What were we talking about?” - as if he had lost his chain of thought.
I responded, “Your sexual relationship with your daughter.”
With that he reacted as if he were horribly offended. He told me to leave his motor home, and said that he and
his family would be gone from my property the next day. Apparently he had some second thoughts about
leaving me behind with the information I now had. So, he stayed there for another two weeks.
I returned home and informed Paloma. We both felt shell shocked at this turn of events. Paloma suggested I call
the Apache County Sheriff's office - which I did - and the matter was investigated by then Deputy Sheriff
Matrese Avila, the Sheriff's child abuse "expert".
Apparently, even though we witnessed very bizarre behavior exhibited by Ed, the findings of sexual child abuse
were never filed, perhaps, as the Apache County "law enforcement" agencies "go easy" on someone if they
play the role of snitch.
Eventually, he moved his family to some property his brother owns in Navajo County. Later, I discovered that
Gaudreau had contacted some of the people I had introduced him to in Apache and Navajo Counties, and had
surreptitiously told them that I had been the one who had admitted having the sexual relationship with a
daughter. So in 2000 I filed the aforementioned lawsuit against Ed Gaudreau for slander and libel.
Chapter 8: Deputy Scruggs
At the time I filed the lawsuit against Ed Gaudreau, I was already helping the former wife of Dave Simpson (the
Grapevine advertiser who gave Paloma and me the car) in a lawsuit that had been filed against her for breach of
contract by a con artist who had already cheated her out of a hundred thousand dollars. I eventually got the
lawsuit dismissed, but in order to help her, her former husband, Dave Simpson (who asked me to help her) had
to loan me his computer (which he had shipped to me from Phoenix), and I had to find a place with electrical
power where I could work on her case.
By then we had met a woman by the name of Victoria Ries who had joined our Limited Partnership to obtain
water from our well. Victoria lived about 2 miles from our place and had electricity to her house, but her
telephone service had been recently disconnected for non payment of her phone bill. She and Paloma became
friends, as well, and soon there was talk of installing Dave Simpson’s computer at her house for me to use to
work on his former wife’s civil case, in exchange for me installing two telephones at Victoria’s house. One line for
the computer, and the other for our mutual telephone usage. As part of the deal, Victoria would have complete
use of the computer and phone whenever I was not there. We all agreed, and when Dave’s computer arrived, it
was immediately delivered to Victoria Ries’ house and she hooked it up to the new phone system which I used
not only for Dave’s wife’s case, but on the nascent Arizona Democrat newspaper whose trade name I had
already registered with the Arizona Secretary of State; and on my lawsuit against Ed Gaudreau which was filed
on October 2nd of 2000 (CV-2000-121 Barr v. Gaudreau). Victoria Ries was aware of my litigation with Ed
Gaudreau and why I had filed it. I let her read my pleadings as I wrote and edited them. She was aware that Ed
Gaudreau had claimed (to people we both knew) that I had had a sexual relationship with my own daughter.
This is where, I believe, Victoria Ries got the idea, later on, to accuse me of having molested her, then, 12 year
old daughter, Victoria Roderick. But I’ll get to that in a minute.
Dave’s computer stayed at Ries’ house until we finally managed to get electrical power installed to the well site
in the fall of 2001. Then the computer was moved to my property.
During the time that the computer was at Victoria Ries house we learned a lot about her. She is a British
National and a “former” “London Call Girl” as she called herself. Almost all of her upper teeth had crumbled and
fallen out due to methamphetamine abuse. She had six children, ages 2 - 27 fathered by five different
husbands. Only four of her underage children lived with her; three younger boys and a girl who was 12 years
old at the time of my arrest.
This may be a good place to interject how I met, and became involved with Victoria Ries and her daughter,
Victoria Roderick. This is important because my testimony, and that of my witnesses, differs from that of Victoria
Ries (which the court has chosen to believe over ours).
Victoria Ries testified that I volunteered to tutor her daughter, Victoria Roderick, when in fact it was the other
way around. Here’s what happened.
Victoria Ries and my fiancee, Pamela deSpencer (“Paloma”) became friends. During one of their conversations
Paloma revealed to Victoria Ries that I am a member of Mensa. With that in mind, Victoria Ries asked Paloma if
she (Paloma) would approach me and ask if I would be willing to tutor her daughter, Victoria Roderick.
I wasn’t immediately fond of the idea, so I told Paloma to tell Ries that I would “think about it.” After several
days I concluded that if I did not agree to help Victoria Ries in the home schooling (none of Ries’s children were
enrolled in school) of her daughter, then this backwoods prostitute and former drug addict would have no one
to help her.
I agreed to come to her house once a week to help in the home schooling of her daughter. But within two
weeks Victoria Ries’ two youngest sons had totally destroyed the teaching aids necessary to follow the
curriculum I had outlined. Consequently I was forced to abandon the structured tutelage of Victoria Roderick,
that Victoria Ries had asked me to do.
I should have suspected something was amiss shortly after we met Victoria Ries and her daughter, Victoria
Roderick (Big Vic and Little Vic) and learned that Little Vic had, with her mother’s assistance, previously accused
her father and Big Vic’s subsequent husbands of having molested her. And each time, the accusations occurred
after her mother had a falling out with the accused. Only two of the allegations had been reported to the
Apache County Sheriff’s Office, and it was determined that there was no evidence to support her allegations.
The cases were dropped.
But then, again, those men had not, 90 days earlier, filed a lawsuit against the Apache County Sheriff and
Deputies for false arrest. I had. So when I had a falling out with Big Vic (and simultaneously initiated a lawsuit
against the, then, 19 year old best friend of Little Vic, Chelsea Hoffman Farris) Apache County already had an
axe to grind against me. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I mentioned earlier some lawsuits I had been involved with that you should check out. The reason is that they
hold evidence of a pattern of practice by the office of the Arizona Attorney General to shut me up.
Remember the A. G./ Corporation Commission’s litigation in 1991 seeking an Order for me to “cease and desist
funding 1-800-THE-VOTE”? And the $15,000 fine?
They did it by filing a lawsuit in Apache County Superior Court (I don’t remember the year, 1997 or 1998?)
captioned as : “State of Arizona ex rel the Arizona Corporation Commission v. Joel K. Barr and Showlow Pines
Water Utility Corporation...” The purpose of the lawsuit was to renew their $15,000 judgement. I defended
myself arguing that the state had waited too long to renew the judgement (judgements of this kind have to be
renewed every four years or they become un-collectible), but the courts ignored my arguments and renewed
the judgements anyway. Then, in 1999, after I had contracted for, and paid in full for, the extension of power
lines to our property, the local power company, Navopache Electric Cooperative [NEC], suddenly stopped
construction at my property line, renigged on the contract, and removed the half mile of power lines they had
installed to my property line!
In my subsequent lawsuit against NEC for breach of contract, a witness statement would reveal that someone
in the Arizona State Government had contacted a high ranking official in Apache County and had asked that
official to interfere with my lawsuit against Navopache Electric Cooperative, an electric utility regulated by the
Arizona Corporation Commission.
I believe that is why my mailbox on Highway 61 was staked out. And I was arrested by Deputy John Scruggs.
And held in jail for several days (for driving on a suspended license). At the same time, an important hearing
was scheduled in my law suit against NEC. Which raises an interesting subplot.
Remember the car that Dave Simpson let me use to deliver the Grapevine to vendors after Paloma’s truck had
been damaged in an accident? Dave had recently purchased the vehicle from a man in Scottsdale, but had not
yet registered the vehicle in his own name (he forgot to tell me that when he gave me the keys). Subsequently
I got pulled over for expired plates and cited for expired plates, and no insurance, etc.
The court date set for me to appear on those charges (in Mesa) was several months after Paloma and I had
moved to the White Mountains. So we had to make a special trip to Mesa. But when we got to the Mesa court,
we discovered that only one of the issues I had been ticketed for was scheduled to be heard. We resolved the
one issue and asked to be notified of the court date for the resolution of the other issue. We were never
notified, therefore I failed to appear on that issue and my driver license was suspended without my knowledge.
I learned of it later when I was pulled over in Gila County for a cracked windshield.
But the Apache County Sheriff’s office knew my driver license was suspended. And they knew I was driving on
the back ways, (not actual “streets or highways” subject to licensing and registration of vehicles) of Apache
County. And they were determined to arrest me.
My first indication of this scheme came in something Ed Gaudreau had said after he had been interviewed by the
Apache County Sheriff’s office of suspicion of child abuse. Gaudreau said [the exact quote is in my lawsuit
against Gaudreau] that a “judge” in Apache County had told him that I was a no-good so and so and that
they would get me. This happened before I even met Victoria Ries!
A month later (November 1999?) an Apache County Deputy Sheriff (John Scruggs) followed Paloma and me
several miles deeper into the wilderness where we had gone to explore (with our dogs on long leashes). While
we were away from Paloma’s truck, with the dogs, Scruggs pulled up behind the truck and waited for our return.
The first thing Scruggs said to me as I restrained the dog I had was, “I’ll shoot your dog.”
Scruggs then demanded to see my driver license. I refused arguing that he had no “reasonable, articulable
suspicion” that a crime had been committed. Also, I knew by then, that my driver license had been suspended
and that he would confiscate it. I wanted to keep it because it was an easily recognized and acceptable form of
identification. Without it, I would have only my “food stamp card” as ID. So I gave him my food stamp card as
ID. Scruggs got on his radio and “called in” my social security number (which I had forgotten was on the card).
Then he left.
The next day, while Paloma and I were returning from Show Low, guess who was parked within 50 feet of our
mailbox? Deputy Scruggs and a second Sheriff’s vehicle.
Never before, since we had moved to Apache County, had a Sheriff’s vehicle been parked anywhere near our
mail boxes. Obviously, he was waiting there (our postman had just delivered the mail at the regular time)
hoping I would drive up to get the mail and he would arrest me for driving on a suspended license. When we
got home, I called the Apache County Sheriff’s office and complained to a Lieutenant who told me he would see
to it that Scruggs moved his vehicle.
But 40 days later Scruggs had staked me out again. This time, he parked his vehicle off of the two mile dirt road
I had to take to the mailbox. Fewer than a dozen vehicles traveled that road on any day, back then, so he
certainly wasn’t looking for speeders. He was waiting for me.
Scruggs knew my routine, which was the same as so many others who received mail at a mailbox. The postal
carrier would arrive on her route at approximately the same time every day. We would wait until she had
delivered the mail, then we would drive up and get it shortly afterward. So it wasn’t like Scruggs had to stake
out my route all day long. He only needed to be there for five minutes - half an hour at the most - and he could
count on certain people (me being one of them) driving by to pick up their mail.
No sooner had I driven by and checked my rear view mirror, Scruggs’ flashing lights were on. After I had
stopped, Scruggs swaggered up to the truck and said, “I know your driver license is suspended.”
As he was preparing to handcuff me I asked him if I could go pee first (I was planning on going after I picked up
the mail). He said, “You can hold it.” And he made me hold it, and hold it, and hold it as we waited for Paloma to
be notified of my arrest so she could come pick up her truck. Otherwise, Scruggs said he would have it towed
and impounded.
At the top of the rise overlooking Saint Johns, as we were approaching the lone tree at mile post 367 I could
hold it no longer, and as Scruggs chuckled, I pled with him to pull over so I could urinate. Then I pissed through
my pants into the back seat of his patrol vehicle. He didn’t think that was so funny.
It appeared that I would miss the upcoming hearing in my lawsuit against Navopache Electric Cooperative,
because I would be in jail, and I would lose by default. But Paloma got on the phone and made a few politically
threatening phone calls to the Justice of the Peace, Herman Mineer (who had been J. P. of St. Johns for
decades). After 5 days in jail I was released on my own recognizance. At my release Herman Mineer said, “Your
release doesn’t have anything to do with your girlfriend’s telephone calls.” Yeah, right.
Of course my civil complaint against NEC was eventually dismissed by the Superior Court Judge, Michael Nelson.
I expected as much, especially after I learned that the lawyer representing NEC was a “Udall” from Phoenix,
while the Apache County Attorney at the time was also a Udall. Small world???
When it came time for my trial on Scrugg’s ticket for driving without a license on one of Apache County’s back
“ways” (I use the term “way” to describe a well known route that has never been adopted as a street or
highway), Judge Herman Mineer recused himself and brought in another J. P. to hear my case. Even though I
pointed out that there was no record, anywhere, of the way I was on having ever been adopted as a street or
highway by the State, County, or any local or federal government, I was summarily found guilty.
For your information there is a specific procedure described in Title 28 (Transportation Code) of the Arizona
Revised Statutes. It requires designating beginning and ending points for the “way” proposed to be adopted as
a street or highway (it makes no difference if it is paved or not). Then a survey must be conducted or provided
to the county board of supervisors, or other appropriate agency (depending on whether the way is being
adopted by a city, county, state or federal government). The purpose of the survey is to determine the
boundary lines of the proposed street or highway (the width of the right of way).
Prior to my arrest none of these things had been done. The way had simply evolved from a dirt cattle trail
(leading from a ranch to state route 61), to an infrequently graded route that home owners used after Showlow
Pines was created in the ‘60’s. The route number “8024” assigned to the way was for 911 purposes only, and
had no meaning as to a designation for a bona fide street or highway. But Apache County had never adopted it
as a street or highway, because that would entail routine maintenance and upkeep on a schedule fixed by law.
Apache County wanted no such liability. And Apache County resented me for making such a big issue out of that
fact, and how it may affect thousands of other so called “roads” in Apache County. I never paid that fine either.
It was an arrest and litigation that would eventually culminate in a Federal lawsuit that I would file against
Apache County, its Sheriff, Brian Hounshell, and the State of Arizona three months before my arrest on the
bogus charges that have landed me in prison.
Chapter 9: Chelsea Hoffman Farris
I believe it was sometime in 2000 or 2001, Chelsea Hoffman Farris crept into our community and into our lives.
And no one, but her family, knew she was a murder suspect from Hackleburg, Alabama, or that her name was
Hoffman-Freeman. In fact, Chelsea is known to have three different names, or combinations thereof. Those
names are FARRIS, HOFFMAN and FREEMAN.
When I first met Chelsea, she was overweight in a too tight, too short dress, with a piercing through one
eyebrow, and a tattoo of a Chinese character on the back of her neck. She was coming through the gate to visit
some people who were temporarily occupying (squatting) a house located across the way from her
grandparents’ house where she was staying.
In the brief conversation I had with her then (sometime in 2000 or 2001) I learned that she was, then, 17 years
old and was taking a computer course at Vernon High School, and was working somewhere, part-time. Later I
would learn that not only was she living at her grandparents’ house, but also her father (who had just been
released from prison after serving 8 years for selling meth), an aunt (whose husband was facing murder
charges), and several cousins.
Chelsea’s relationship with her family was not a happy one. After several months she moved out of her
grandparent’s house, and took up residence living in a small trailer/camper combination on the property of
Victoria Ries. There, Chelsea became the best friend of Victoria’s daughter, 10 or 11 year old, Victoria Roderick.
Soon, Tammy Stothart would move onto the Ries property as well.
Sometime around then I also was introduced to a young man, Steven Wheeler, who would become good
buddies with Chelsea until Chelsea was accused of molesting the daughter of his girlfriend. But, I’ll get to that in
a minute.
While Chelsea still lived at Victoria Ries’ (and Victoria Roderick’s) place, she became friends with Steven
Wheeler. Chelsea met Steve through Victoria Ries who relied upon Steve’s father, Paul Wheeler, to help her
with many tasks and errands. Chelsea and Steve’s relationship was more akin to “good buddies” with some
sexual favors thrown in when Steve could afford to pay for them. Sometimes he and Chelsea would get into
competitive brawls in Ries’ driveway, simply to determine who could win a wrestling match. Then, a week later
they would be driving around Showlow Pines with Chelsea offering up sexual favors just to raise money to go to
town to have a good time.
Over time Chelsea wore out her welcome with Victoria Ries, although she still remained best friends with Ries’
young daughter, “Little Vic”. The problem, according to Ries, was that Chelsea bummed too many cigarettes
from her without buying enough of her own.
So Chelsea asked if she could stay at my place for a while because she didn’t want to move back in with her
grandparents. I agreed, with the understanding that it would be temporary, and let Chelsea sleep on my couch
for a few weeks.
Soon Chelsea found an abandoned camping trailer and persuaded Steve Wheeler and some others to help her
move it onto my property. Chelsea and I agreed that she could hook her trailer up to my electricity, and use my
telephone in exchange for paying me at least $50 a month.
During those few months other things had happened as well. Steve Wheeler had acquired a girlfriend who had
two young daughters ages 5 and 7; and Tammy Stothart had given birth to a baby girl fathered by Danny
Owen, Victoria Ries’ oldest son. And I was getting to learn more about Chelsea Hoffman Farris, who she was,
what she was like, where she was from and why. I finally came to the conclusion that she may be a psychopath
- and even a murderer.
I learned a lot about Chelsea. She told me that before her mother and father had divorced that she had been
physically and sexually abused by her father. Chelsea then moved with her mother to Alabama, and married a
young man by the last name of Freeman when she was thirteen or fourteen. The marriage didn’t last, and
Chelsea continued going to high school in or near Hackleburg, Alabama. (Chelsea says she is incapable of
having children due to a genetic defect that links her to dwarfism and related physical deformities.)
One day Chelsea showed me a snapshot of herself when she was about 16 years old with another girl who she
said was about 13 years old at the time of the photograph. She told me that the other girl in the photo had
been mysteriously decapitated - and no one knew who did it or why... in such a small town.
Of course, I was taken aback when Chelsea told me, and I stated my condolences... but over the next several
days I would learn some things from Chelsea that led me to believe I know who the young girl’s murderer is,
and why she was murdered.
I learned from Chelsea that her idol was a famous female photo model who was especially renowned for her
photos of sadomasochistic bondage in black leather and whips and chains. The woman truly is famous, but I can’
t think of her name at the moment. Chelsea even had made a collage of photos featuring the model which she
had framed and mounted.
When I learned these facts, I asked Chelsea if she would be interested in compiling information about websites
that could be useful in a series of stories called “Net Porn Story” for the Arizona Democrat newspaper, an online
newspaper. Chelsea eagerly jumped at the opportunity.
Over the next few weeks she applied her special knowledge of the internet (she had studied at the Vernon High
School) and compiled a substantial number of websites that catered almost exclusively to lesbian and bisexual
interests.
Our conversations became more open, and Chelsea talked freely of her sexual experiences with some of the
young men she was currently dating. That, mixed with her commentaries on the life of her female idol, allowed
her to glibly say to me that, sexually, she preferred females to males, and gave me several reasons why.
Once she had made that statement to me, I asked her, point blank, if she had had a sexual relationship with
her best friend, who had been murdered in Alabama. Chelsea admitted that she and the girl, did have a sexual
relationship. Hmmm. That added a mysteriously interesting facet to her friend’s unexplained murder. But there is
much more to learn about Chelsea Hoffman Farris, for example her diabolical penchant for horrible revenge for
even the slightest wrongs.
Chelsea told me of two such attacks: the first, in which she burned down a “friend’s” house in Hackleburg,
Alabama a few years earlier; and more recently, how she had killed her grandmother’s small pet dog - that
her grandmother had kept for more than ten years - while her grandparents were shopping in Show Low...
because they wouldn’t take Chelsea shopping with them.
Based upon these pieces of information, I began to wonder if there may be more to the murder of Chelsea’s
girlfriend than Chelsea was letting on. My curiosity got the best of me and I began asking Chelsea some
questions that should have been obvious to me at first, but weren’t, such as: “Did the police interview you
regarding your friend’s death? Did they ask you when you had last seen her or talked to her?”
Chelsea told me that the police had interviewed her, and other friends; and that the police wanted to interview
Chelsea a second time, but did not because her grandparents, by then, had driven all the way from Arizona to
Alabama and whisked Chelsea away before the second interview could occur. I found that to be quite odd, to
say the least!
I asked Chelsea why they had done that? Why did they suddenly drive from Arizona to Alabama to pick her up?
Why then? Why not just fly her out? Whose idea was it, etc.?
Here’s where Chelsea began to get a little vague, but not before she told me that her grandparents, in addition
to picking her up, gave $2,500.00 to her mother. That, too, seemed odd. It smacked of some kind of a payoff, or
bribe, or attorney’s fee. It sounded like Chelsea was about to be in trouble for the murder of her decapitated
“best friend”, and that Grandma and Grandpa - at the request of mama - had driven to Alabama with the payoff
or lawyer’s fee, and were allowed, therefore, to take Chelsea out of the state to avoid prosecution by hindering
the investigation.
But why would Chelsea murder her best friend? And why would she decapitate the body and hide the head
(which has never been found)? I think I know the answers to these questions and have published my
hypothesis, and told it to the Apache County Sheriff’s department. Chelsea has not denied my hypothesis. She
has not complained that I am slandering or libeling her. She has, however, left the state of Arizona, and knows
how to contact me. (see footnote on last page herein).
Chapter 10: HOW AND WHY CHELSEA HOFFMAN FARRIS murdered her best friend.
An hypothesis.
Chelsea Hoffman Farris had already demonstrated to me her willingness to commit crimes against the people
closest to her. She had killed her grandmother’s favorite pet out of spite, and had burned another “friend’s”
house to the ground before the gruesome murder of her best friend. Go here and enter Chelsea Hoffman, ALL
courts and you will get her court dates and charges.
Chelsea had admitted to me that she had had/was having a sexual relationship with her girlfriend before the
girl was murdered. It is my assessment that the young 13 year old girl wanted to end the sexual part of her
relationship with Chelsea, but Chelsea did not want it to end. I believe that Chelsea continued to pressure her
for sex, and the girl refused to comply. Chelsea became angry and threatened to force the girl to have sex with
her.
I believe at that point that the girl threatened to tell her parents, or the police, if Chelsea were to force herself
onto the girl or continue to harass her for sex. Chelsea backed off, but only long enough to set up another
private encounter in which she intended to intimidate the girl into either continuing their sexual relationship, or
keeping quiet about it if nothing else.
I believe Chelsea intended to scare the girl by bringing a gun to their last encounter. I believe she borrowed the
gun from someone (her mom?) without the owner’s knowledge, and intended to return it after she had used it
for her purposes.
Let me inject here that Chelsea claimed to be quite familiar and proficient with guns, including handguns, as she
attempted to demonstrate to Scott Cantrell and myself in 2002.
I believe, however, that when Chelsea confronted her young girlfriend with the prospect of being killed if she
told on Chelsea, the young girl further infuriated Chelsea by calling Chelsea’s bluff. In a rage, Chelsea shot the
girl in the head, and the bullet lodged in her brain.
At first, Chelsea thought of getting rid of the gun and pretending she had found the girl’s body, already shot by
some unknown assailant. But she quickly realized that in the subsequent police investigation, the police would
ask her mother (and the parents of the young girl’s other friends) if she owned a gun of the caliber used to kill
the girl. And if the gun were suddenly and inexplicably missing, it could cast suspicion toward Chelsea.
Chelsea thought of making the murder look like a suicide. At least that would explain why the bullet in the girl’s
brain would match the ballistic test on the gun which could be planted by Chelsea in the girl’s hand. But still, it
would cast suspicion on Chelsea because the gun would be traced back to Chelsea’s mom, and from there,
implicate Chelsea.
And Chelsea could not simply return the gun to where she had taken it and act as if she knew nothing about
the murder, because the subsequent ballistic tests that would be performed on every handgun owned by every
family that knew the slain girl... would identify Chelsea’s mother’s handgun as the murder weapon.
The only way Chelsea could slip the gun back to her mother’s gun case without directly implicating herself would
be if the police did not have the bullet from the girl’s head to match with the gun. But at the time of the murder
Chelsea did not have the means to extricate the bullet from the murdered girl’s skull. It would be much simpler
to just decapitate the head, bullet and all, and throw the head into a nearby dumpster. Finding the head, once
it had been disposed of at the local dump, would be beyond the resources of the local police... if they even had
a reasonable, articulable, suspicion that the girl’s head was in the dump, and not somewhere else.
And with $2,500.00 in motivational fees to drop the investigation, they did.
***
Now back to Chelsea and the goings-on around her while she still lived at my place.
Chelsea had lived on my property for two or three months, and had paid nothing on the rent we had agreed on.
I wanted Chelsea to move, but knowing how vindictive she could be, I wanted her to move of her own volition. I
did not want her poisoning my well or my dogs if I were to evict her.
Fortunately, at that time, Tammy Stothart had just given birth to a baby daughter. And since Tammy and
Chelsea were good friends (and possibly more), I began to plant the idea into Chelsea’s and Tammy’s minds
that it would be a good idea for both of them if Chelsea’s trailer would be moved to where Tammy lived in
Navajo County, and Chelsea could help her good friend Tammy look after Tammy’s newborn baby girl. They
were about to move Chelsea’s trailer to Tammy’s place when all hell broke loose, again.
That’s when the youngest daughter of Steve Wheeler’s girlfriend, Sandra Brown-Patrick, claimed she had been
molested by Chelsea Hoffman. (See Affidavit of Steven Wheeler in my criminal defense pleadings.) Needless to
say, that put the kabosh on any plans for Chelsea to baby-sit Tammy’s new baby girl. At least for a while.
Shortly thereafter, Chelsea’s father, a man who was almost 7 feet tall and weighed about 300 pounds,
threatened Steven Wheeler and Sandra Brown-Patrick. He forced Steve to go to every person he had told about
Chelsea’s molestation of the Patrick girl and tell them it had been a mistake.
The following is a synopsis of Steve Wheeler’s affidavit regarding the molestation of his girlfriend’s daughter by
Chelsea Hoffman.
***
One day, during the fall of 2002, Steve Wheeler and his girlfriend and her two daughters were visiting Victoria
Ries. Also there were Chelsea Hoffman and of course, Victoria Roderick, a.k.a. “Little Vic”, who lived there.
Several of the kids were jumping around on a trampoline outside the front door of the house. Chelsea was in
the house and came to the front door. Little Vic saw her and said, “Chelsea is the queen of...”
Steve Wheeler interjected spontaneously, “Chelsea is the queen of masturbation.” The youngest daughter of
Sandra overheard him and asked, “What is masturbation?”
Chelsea volunteered, “I’ll show you later.”
Steve said, “You tell her later. You don’t show her.”
Chelsea did not respond to Steve.
A few days later, back over at Steve’s place (which was next door to Chelsea’s grandparent’s house), Steve
was outside when his girlfriend’s youngest daughter came crying to him as she returned from Chelsea’s
grandparents’ house where Chelsea was visiting.
Steve asked her what was wrong, and she replied tearfully, “Chelsea stuck her finger up inside me!” The girl
explained that Chelsea had inserted her middle finger into the girl’s vagina.
Angry, Steve had the girl tell her mother what had happened, expecting her to contact the Sheriff’s office.
Then Steve began contacting all of their friends with children, including Tammy Stothart, and telling them what
had happened. Someone called Chelsea, at my place, and told her what they had heard.
I was there when Chelsea received the call. She became afraid and burst into tears. She, next, called her
grandparents and denied the allegations.
Apparently, the grandparents told Chelsea’s dad, the giant who had just gotten out of prison, and he later
confronted Steve Wheeler telling Steve and his girlfriend, Sandy and her daughters to change their story and to
tell everyone it had been a misunderstanding. He told Steve that if he did not do that, immediately, he, Frank
Hoffman, Jr., would do everything in his power to put Steve into prison, even if he (Hoffman) had to spend the
rest of his own life in prison to do it. And don’t forget that this man had molested his own daughter, Chelsea.
For that reason and that reason only, Steve Wheeler went back to all of the persons he had warned of Chelsea
Hoffman’s molestation of his girlfriend’s youngest daughter, and told them that it had all been a mistake.
***
After Steve recanted his warning about Chelsea Hoffman, her father, Frank Hoffman, Jr., acknowledged to Steve
Wheeler that he had heard of Steve’s retractions and withdrew his threats against Steve. Chelsea, then,
reestablished her friendship with Tammy Stothart and began to spend more and more time at Tammy’s
residence with Danny Owen.
Danny Owen was also a friend of Steve Wheeler. And he would often visit Danny and Tammy. One day, in mid-
December, 2002, Steve stopped by to visit Danny. Danny wasn’t home from work yet, so Steve waited for him to
arrive. As he waited outside, smoking a cigarette, he could hear a conversation that Chelsea Hoffman Farrris
was having with Tammy Stothart and Victoria Roderick who was also there.
But I’m getting ahead of myself again. Let me go back a week or so.
Chapter 11: Evicting Chelsea
The strain had been building between myself and Chelsea. She had stayed at my place for several months,
now, and had paid nothing in the rent we had agreed on. Furthermore, she was monopolizing the computer
from the time she got up, around 10 to 11 a. m., cranky as hell, until she went to bed sometime between
midnight and 5 a. m.. It was beginning to be difficult for me to get any decent sleep with the lights on and the
conversations she was having on the telephone with persons she had met over the internet, or friends that she
would have over to chat while she explored the internet.
Her pranks were getting out of hand and dangerous. On one occasion, while a friend was visiting in the late
night, Chelsea got on the internet, as they told me the next day, and persuaded a middle-aged man from Mesa,
Arizona, to masturbate for her as she watched his images transmitted over the internet. Then, she invited him
to call her on the telephone for phone sex. However, the telephone number she gave - and the name she used
- was that of the mother of one of Chelsea’s younger teenage girlfriends who, I believe, had been temporarily
grounded.
The man from Mesa was greatly embarrassed and angered by Chelsea’s ruse when he called the girl’s mother
the next day... and perhaps may have gotten in trouble with the law. Chelsea heard all of this from her girlfriend
who overheard her mother’s reaction to the misguided telephone call... by then Chelsea had changed her online
name, account, and had deleted, hurriedly, all records of her conversations with the man. I was astounded by
the casual meanness and disregard Chelsea had toward other people - friends and strangers. So it did not
come as a shock to me when, a few days later, Chelsea admitted to me in a conversation that she really didn’t
like “people” at all.
I was near the end of my rope with Chelsea when the phone bill came (November or December, 2002).. Aside
from the numerous small long distance charges, there was a single charge for almost $150.00 for a collect
phone call that “someone” had accepted from England in the wee hours of the morning between midnight and 4
a.m. Chelsea denied knowing anything about the call, but I knew better. I had watched her tell too many casual
lies to too many people. Like the lie on Thanksgiving, 2002, after she had returned from Thanksgiving Day
dinner at her grandparent’s house.
No sooner had Chelsea arrived back at my place after the Thanksgiving dinner with her family, Chelsea bragged
about how she had stolen a pack of cigarettes from her older, twenty something, female cousin while at the
dinner. Minutes later the telephone rang. It was the cousin calling to ask Chelsea if knew anything about her
missing cigarettes. Without a trace of guilt or anxiety, Chelsea non chanlantly told her she hadn’t seen them,
then laughed when she hung up the phone.
But the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, and led to my angry eviction of Chelsea Hoffman, was
about to come. Chelsea’s presence in my life had driven all of my business costs up far more than I had
anticipated. The phone was at risk of being shut off; possibly the electricity; and I was almost out of propane.
As bad as it would be to have my telephone shut off (as my business relied on it), or my electricity - my LIFE
depended on having enough propane to heat our dwellings and cook our food in the bitter cold of the first week
of December, at 6,500 feet elevation. You can’t drink water until you thaw it out.
So I set aside $150.00 to pay the propane delivery man who was due to deliver propane “any day now.” At
least we wouldn’t freeze to death. My spirits even went up a bit when Chelsea announced that her
grandparents had given her $50.00 for Christmas. I thought she might give me some of that money for the
unpaid rent. But Chelsea spent it all on beer and drugs to throw a party for her friends in her trailer on my
property.
I don’t remember if it was that night or a night shortly thereafter, but the night before I evicted Chelsea, Little
Vic (Roderick) spent the night with Chelsea in her trailer. I know that because Little Vic was present, I’m sorry to
say, the morning I evicted Chelsea, and watched me angrily evict her “best friend.”
Here’s what happened. I was already up and around taking care of chores when Chelsea and Little Vic got up. I
had noticed that someone had obviously vomited outside Chelsea’s trailer during the night. I commented on
that, and Chelsea told me that it had been Little Vic, because Chelsea had gotten her drunk. Chelsea was 18
years old, Little Vic was twelve. That admission, alone, was enough for me to evict Chelsea, but at that moment
the propane delivery truck arrived. Hooray! We would not run out of propane!
As the driver hooked up to my almost empty 150 gallon propane tank, I went to get the $150.00 in cash that I
had given one of the other persons on my property (Eddie “Fee” Bailey) to hold for me in case the propane
delivery truck showed up when I was not there. The money was gone.
I was infuriated! I was humiliated! Now, I had to plead with the propane delivery man to fill my tank without
getting paid. It looked like I was trying to pull a scam on the delivery driver. I saw the look on his face... the
scowl! But he let me have the propane anyway - thank God! - and began to drive away... when a sharp piece of
wood punctured the side of one of his rear tires, ruining it; before he had ever left the property. Those truck
tires cost several hundred dollars apiece, at least! The propane truck remained parked on the cinder roadway in
front of my property for several hours until the tire could be changed.
When he finally drove away, I went over to Chelsea Hoffman’s trailer, and while Little Vic watched, I told
Chelsea to pack up her bags and leave. I told her to call her family on the telephone, and tell them to come get
her RIGHT NOW! It was a bad scene. I was very angry. Chelsea was in tears. Within the hour one of her uncles
and a cousin arrived with a pickup truck to take Chelsea and her belongings away. And as vindictive as I knew
she was, I could not afford her presence any longer.
Now let’s fast forward a week or two to where I left off with Steve Wheeler overhearing a conversation
between Chelsea Hoffman, Victoria Roderick - a.k.a. “Little Vic” and Tammy Stothart at Tammy’s place. Keep in
mind that feelings were still sore between Steve and Chelsea over the molestation by Chelsea of Steve’s
girlfriend’s daughter, and the apology coerced out of Steve by Chelsea’s father. So what Steve heard next he
thought was about him, when he heard Chelsea say to Victoria Roderick and Tammy Stothart: “He can always
be set up.”
That’s when Steve deliberately broke up the conversation by interjecting a greeting to the girls... “What’s up
ladies?” or words to that effect (again see affidavit of Steve Wheeler). Only later, (after my arrest based on the
claims of Chelsea Hoffman, Victoria Roderick and Tammy Stothart) did Steve Wheeler realize that the girls were
talking about setting me up in retaliation for evicting Chelsea Hoffman.
Chapter 12: False Arrest
“Mr. Barr, you’re under arrest for child molestation,” the deputy sheriff said as he snapped the handcuffs on my
wrists behind my back. My first thoughts were that he must have me confused with someone else’s case. Who
in the world would accuse me of molesting them? And who could have enough of a grudge against me to
fabricate such an outrageous accusation?
I mean, besides the Sheriff, himself, whom I had just sued in Federal court only ninety days before: or Chelsea
Hoffman, the nineteen-year-old juvenile delinquent whom I had forcibly evicted from my property a month ago.
“Let me see the warrant,” I said to the deputy as he put me into the back seat of his vehicle. Someone brought
out the warrant and held it in front of my face at a reading distance, because my hands were still cuffed behind
my back.
By the light of the roof lamp I scanned down the first page of the arrest warrant looking for the name - any
name - of my accuser.
Who could do this to me? I wondered. Only Chelsea Hoffman had exhibited the kind of animosity capable of
such deliberately cruel actions toward people. But Chelsea was too old to be able to accuse me of molesting
her. She was nineteen. And I didn’t get to know her until she was eighteen years old - after she had been
brought into our rural neighborhood from the town of Hackleburg, Alabama, where she had been under
investigation for the decapitation-murder of her best friend.
“I knew it!” I exclaimed. The words jumped out of my mouth as soon as I read in the warrant, “Chelsea said... ”
“I knew Chelsea was behind this!” I exclaimed triumphantly to the several deputies who had, now, gathered
‘round my still-open door.
“It isn’t Chelsea,” said the smug female voice of Deputy Matrese Avila who, along with a dozen other deputies -
and the Sheriff Hounshell, himself - had appeared out of the darkness.
“No?” I was taken aback. “Well, she’s behind it!” I declared, based on the evidence of her name within the
warrant.
“Who is my accuser?” I demanded of Avila, but she refused to say.
“I demand my Sixth Amendment right to a speedy trial,” was what I said next, drawing upon my experience as a
political activist when I had previously chained myself to a flagpole at the State Capitol in 1991.
Only three days earlier Chelsea Hoffman had held a second meeting, this time at her grandparents’ house with
her two best friends, 21-year-old Tammy Stothart and twelve year old Victoria Roderick. The meeting had been
called by Chelsea in response to the “Notice of Intent to Sue” that I had served on Chelsea and her
grandparents (Frank and Shirley Hoffman) six days before, regarding Chelsea’s unpaid rent and other damages
to my business.
Now, some of the pieces began falling into place. Perhaps Chelsea and Tammy had persuaded Victoria to say
something slanderous. It wouldn’t be out of character for so-called “Little Vic” to make such an accusation. It
was common knowledge in our rural area community of Showlow Pines that she and her mother, “Big Vic”
(Victoria Ries) had previously accused four other men of molesting her. No one believed the stories, though; not
even Child Protective Services agency or the Sheriff’s Office, because the stories, all, seemed motivated by
revenge on Big Vic’s part. After all, in each of the previous alleged molestations, the men accused by Little Vic of
molesting her had recently had a falling out with her mother, Big Vic. I was, now, the fifth man to be accused of
molesting Victoria Roderick. And I had just had a falling out with her best friend, Chelsea Hoffman.
It seemed to be a simple enough case, (CR-2003- 017/069). It was obvious - at least to me - that I was
being falsely accused by Victoria Roderick, of molesting her, out of spite for suing her best friend, Chelsea
Hoffman. I figured this case would go the same way the four previous cases had gone: the charges would be
dismissed, and I would be released to deal with the false arrest as a civil matter.
But the four other men did not, already, have a Federal lawsuit pending against the Sheriff. I did. And now I
was in his jail - the Apache County Jail - and he knew it. And as long as I was in his jail, I could not effectively
pursue my lawsuit against him for a previous false arrest, two years earlier. And he knew that, too. As long as I
was in his jail, all of my legal paperwork had to go through his hands.
It didn’t take long for Sheriff Brian Hounshell to capitalize on that fact. First of all, the day of my arrest had been
a significant day in my lawsuit (CV-02-1585, PCT JAT. BARR v. STATE/HOUNSHELL) against Hounshell. It was the
deadline for preparing my response to his lawyer’s motion to dismiss my case. Now that I was under his arrest,
I could not complete my response on time, even with a five-day, automatic grace period for mail. I risked losing
my case against Sheriff Hounshell, unless I could file another motion - quickly - explaining the circumstances to
the Federal Court, and asking for an extension of time.
After much struggle to obtain paper, pencil and an envelope from Hounshell’s jail, I quickly prepared a hand
written pleading to the Federal Court in Phoenix, Arizona, and gave it to one of Hounshell’s officers to mail for
me before the grace period ran out.
Over a week later - after the time to file the motion had expired - the letter to the Federal Court in Phoenix
came back to me. It had never been mailed! Instead of mailing it as the envelope was addressed, “someone” in
the Sheriff’s Office had hand-carried the letter to the Clerk of the Apache County Superior Court, which is next
door to the Sheriff’s Office. The Clerk of the Superior Court date/time stamped the pleading before realizing it
was captioned for the Federal District Court. (That’s how I eventually knew what happened). Several days later
a detention officer returned the date/time stamped pleading to me.
Within the month, my case against Sheriff Hounshell would be dismissed in the Federal Courts. My only chance
to save the case was to take it to the U. S. Supreme Court, and I was in no position to seek such a review.
Hounshell would win, besides, I had a more serious matter to deal with, now. The charges of child molestation
were not being dropped!
By now, I had been informed by a hearing officer, Chloe Mineer (daughter-in-law of Herman Mineer, the former
Justice of the peace whom I had, also, previously sued), that my accuser was, in deed, Victoria Roderick.
“I saw the video tape,” said Chloe, referring to the video taped interview of Victoria Roderick by Apache County
Deputy Sheriff, Matrese Avila. “How could you do that to that little girl?!”
“What little girl?” I shot back.
“Victoria,” said Chloe.
“Which Victoria?” I asked. “Big Vic or Little Vic?”
“Little Vic,” replied Chloe seemingly growing irritated with my questions.
But, at least now I knew there was a video tape of my accuser’s allegations! All I had to do was get my hands
on a copy of it, then I could proceed to disprove whatever Roderick had claimed, and move to dismiss the case
against me. Immediately, I prepared another handwritten motion. This time, demanding my right to view the
videotape of my accuser making her claims. I intended to get to the bottom of this outrageous stunt,
immediately. All I had to do was view the videotape.
But my motion to view the videotape never made it to the Judge. Instead, it was returned to me by the Clerk of
the Court. The court would accept no further motions from me unless I could come up with a way to produce
photocopies of the motions and serve those photocopies on the office of the newly elected County Attorney,
Criss Candelaria. And Sheriff Hounshell certainly wouldn’t make those copies for me. So I had to send those
motions - including the Motion requesting an Order to let me view Roderick’s videotape - to a friend outside the
jail to have copies made. It took over a month to get those copies made and returned to me in jail.
That delay of several weeks was precisely what Criss Candelaria and his Chief Deputy County Attorney (what a
title for someone who has not prosecuted his first case!), Bradley Carlyon, wanted. They had already seen the
videotape, and knew how obvious it was that Roderick was making up her entire story about being molested.
But it wasn’t the molestation charge that the Sheriff and the County Attorney wanted to prosecute, anyway.
Roderick’s stories were so unbelievable... for example, her claim that she and I had to be treated at a local
hospital for injuries, mutually inflicted, during an alleged molestation attempt... they never expected a jury to
believe her.
What they were betting their careers on was something else that Chelsea Hoffman had told them. Chelsea had
told them that there was child pornography on the computer I was using to publish the Arizona Democrat, a
political newspaper which I owned. And Roderick said on the videotape that I had forced her to watch it while I
allegedly molested her.
Roderick’s story about molestation was, simply, the Sheriff’s excuse to seize the computer, claiming it was part
of the molestation investigation. And as long as the molestation investigation was ongoing, the State could
retain the computer and search it for the alleged child pornography that Roderick claimed I forced her to watch.
If any child pornography would be found on the computer, the State could then dismiss the bogus molestation
charges, and file new charges for the possession of child pornography, and have real evidence that could be
shown to a jury to win their first conviction. Hoffman (who had unrestricted access to the computer when she
was still a renter of mine) and Roderick, gave a file name and password to the computer in which the child
pornography could allegedly be found - “C:\...Net Porn Story;” “democrat1.” Finding it would be easy.
There was just one nagging problem. What if there were no images of child pornography on the computer?
Chapter 13: Fraudulent Schemes
“Please cover for me by pretending that the computer analyses experts found the
evidence while working on Joel’s computer.”(Record on Appeal-CR 2003-017, document 32).
Those are the words of Victoria Ries, the mother of Victoria Roderick, in an email, sent to Deputy Matrese Avila
on Friday, February 1, 2003. The Apache County Sheriff’s Office had failed to find evidence of child pornography
on the computer that Barr’s newspaper had borrowed to research and write a series of articles about
pornography on the internet. The series was entitled, “Net Porn Story.”
The Apache County Sheriff’s Office (ACSO) had been led to believe by Victoria Ries, Victoria Roderick, and
Chelsea Hoffman (who had recently been evicted by Barr), that evidence of child pornography would be found
on the computer in a file labeled “C:/.../azdem/netpornstory.” But when personnel at the Sheriff’s Office
examined the file, there was no evidence of child pornography.
This posed a serious problem for the ACSO which was already being sued by Barr for a previous false arrest.
Personnel at the Apache County Sheriff’s Office realized they were betting their careers on finding evidence of
child pornography on the computer Barr used to publish the Arizona Democrat (“Azdem”) newspaper. In the
meantime, Barr sat in his cell preparing his new lawsuits.
Victoria Ries was very concerned, too, when she learned from Deputy Avila that no child porn had been found
where Ries had assured Avila it would be found. That’s when Ries asked Avila to cover for her by having the
computer analysis experts pretend they found the evidence on the computer used by Barr’s newspaper.
Easier said than done. Up until that time, the ACSO had never - or perhaps only once (if then) - employed the
services of an outside agency to obtain evidence from a confiscated computer. They had always handled that
forensic task using their own ACSO personnel.
Deputy Avila: “We go ahead and put, first of all we log it that we took it and give it, you know, give it an item
number. And then we take it and have the computer where we can work it.” (Transcript of Preliminary
Hearing 4/4/2003 Day 1. Volume 2, page 207).
That’s because finding evidence on a computer is simple when the file name and password are known. The
ACSO had been provided the file name and password by Victoria Roderick and Chelsea Hoffman.
But putting evidence on a computer, without getting caught, is a different matter. That’s when Deputy Matrese
Avila decided she had to find someone who would be willing to bend the rules (or break the law) in a forensic
examination of the “Azdem” computer. That’s when the “Rocky Mountain Information Network” (RMIN) and its
ambitious employee, Joann Kennedy, came into the picture.
Forensic examinations of computers for Arizona’s law enforcement agencies, when not conducted by the police
agency, itself, are routinely conducted by the Arizona Department of Public Safety’s forensic Laboratory. It is
standard procedure, when a seized computer is received by a forensic laboratory, to remove the hard drive and
make a duplicate copy of that hard drive before doing anything else. If it is later discovered there is any
variation between the two, then it is proof that somebody has done something to either the copy disk or the
source disk.
Deputy Avila wanted to find someone who would be willing to examine the images on the hard drive before
acquiring a forensic image (duplicate copy) of the hard drive. That way, in case no illegal images were found,
some could be put on the hard drive, and would appear to have been there when the computer was
confiscated. That’s why Deputy Avila avoided the Department of Public Safety, and hired Joann Kennedy of
Rocky Mountain Information Network, instead.
Joann Kennedy was a relatively new, young, computer technician who was looking for a fast track to be
promoted. Up until that time, Kennedy had examined only five computers, and had never testified as an expert
witness at any trial.
BARR: Q. Okay. Have you even been called to testify as an expert witness before?
KENNEDY: A. No.
BARR: Q. Other than Matrese Avila, who did you speak with from the Apache County Sheriff’s Office regarding
this case?
KENNEDY: A. I’m not sure. Is Terry Wagner with the County Attorney’s Office? Nobody.
BARR: Q. Did you speak with Terry Wagner?
KENNEDY: A. Yes.
BARR: Q. And when did you speak with Terry Wagner?
KENNEDY: A. I spoke with him on February 4th and 5th to advise him on the procedure for requesting assistance
from RMIN and how to package evidence. Just the preliminary steps in opening a case with us.
BARR: Q. Is this the first time you’ve done business with the Apache County Sheriff’s Office?
KENNEDY : A. Yes, it is.
BARR: Q. And how many times did you speak with the Apache County Sheriff’s Office?
KENNEDY: A. I would say less than ten total, maybe no more than five.
After a half dozen telephone conversations (an unusually large number of calls to hire a forensic examiner,
according to Rick Garsha, a former deputy sheriff who is now a private investigator) with Deputy Avila, Joann
Kennedy was hired to be the computer analysis “expert” who would pretend she found evidence of child
pornography on the “Azdem” computer.
When the computer was transferred to Joann Kennedy on February 12, 2003, a forensic image of the
computer’s hard drive should have been made by Kennedy as part of the standard forensic procedure for the
intake/inspection of evidence. It wasn’t! Instead, the forensic imaging of the hard drive did not take place for
another two weeks!
During that two week period, the computer remained in the office of Joann Kennedy where she had constant,
unmonitored, access to it - instead of being locked up in the RMIN Property Room as it should have been for
security purposes. (See Kennedy’s “Supplemental Report,” page 4 of 13, paragraphs 1, 3 and 8.)
At the trial the prosecutor, Carlyon, asked questions - and Kennedy gave answers - that made it appear to the
jury as if Kennedy had followed the normal procedures when examining the “Azdem” computer, when in fact she
had not.
The following is a synopsis of Carlyon’s and Kennedy’s questions and answers at trial.
CARLYON: Q. When you get your evidence in the computer to be examined, what’s the first thing you do with it?
KENNEDY: A. Usually I look at the case file...
CARLYON: Q. What do you do next?
KENNEDY: A. I open the package it came in... then I proceed with an external examination of the computer...
CARLYON: Q. What did you do after your external examination?
KENNEDY: A. Conduct an internal examination...
CARLYON: Q. So you conduct an internal examination. What’s the next step in your general procedure when
you do an examination?
KENNEDY: A. To acquire a forensic image.
***
CARLYON: Q. Let’s go back to the computer that was seized from Mr. Barr’s residence. Did you follow the normal
procedures, take it out, external, internal exams?
KENNEDY: A. Yes I did.
CARLYON: Q. I believe your next step in the general process was to make a forensic image using EnCase
Software?
KENNEDY: A. Correct. (see page 99, Jury Trial, Day 2, Vol. 2)
To the jury it appeared that the forensic image of the hard drive occurred on the same day that the external
and internal examinations occurred (February 12, 2003). But, in fact, according to Kennedy’s “Supplemental
Report”(which the jury did not see), Kennedy did not acquire a forensic image until fourteen days later!
Why?
Here’s what the Supplemental Report said:
“Examination Process:
On 2/10/03, I was assigned to complete the forensic analysis [that had been begun by the] Apache County
Sheriff’s Office... originally requested by Chief Deputy County Attorney Brad Carlyon...
On 2/12/03, at approximately 15:25 hours, I conducted an internal and external examination of Item 5, a
white Nexstar desktop computer...
On 2/26/03, at approximately 14:56 hours,... I acquired a forensic image of the hard disk drive (HDD) located
in “Item 5”... (see Kennedy’s “Supplemental Report”, page 4 of 13)
Although Kennedy says she did not review or tamper with the images on the computer’s hard drive during those
two weeks, her statement cannot possibly be true. Why? Because in order for Kennedy to have reviewed the
43,097 images she said she reviewed in a “long, tedious, manual process... [in which] there are no shortcuts:”
it would have required two hours a day, five days a week, for two weeks to review those images (Kennedy
testified that she viewed each image for approximately two seconds).
However, her Supplemental Report (again) states that she reviewed all 43,097 images in approximately
three minutes on February 27, 2003.
CARLYON: Q. Did you get a big list of things to look at?
KENNEDY: A. Yes.
CARLYON: Q. Do you have any recollection off the top of your head how many different things you had to
examine?
KENNEDY: A. ...that resulted in 28,302 images which I reviewed.
CARLYON: Q. You have to look at all 28,000?
KENNEDY: A. Yes.
CARLYON: Q. There’s more?
KENNEDY: A. Yes.
CARLYON: Q. Okay.
KENNEDY: A. I also viewed the existing files... of those there were 14,795 images to view.
CARLYON: Q. On top of the 28,000 already?
KENNEDY: A. Correct.
CARLYON: Q. Take a while?
KENNEDY: A. Yes.”
Cross Examination
“BARR: Q. Okay. You mentioned that you had to examine a lot of images on that computer; is that correct?
KENNEDY: A. Yes.
BARR: Q. And you said you had to do this one at a time... How much time do you think you spent examining
each one of those images?
KENNEDY: A. A couple seconds.”
***
BARR: Q. Over 40,000 images at 2 seconds a pop, over 80,000 seconds. Anybody want to do the math on how
many hours that is?” (See transcript, Jury Trial, Day 2, Vol. 2, pages 177-179). [23 hours, 56 minutes]
Where did Joann Kennedy find the time to examine 43,097 images, for two seconds each, for 24 hours?
Certainly not on February 27, 2003, as she claimed in her Supplemental Report (28,202 images from “13:28
hours until 13:30 hours,” and the remaining images “at approximately 13:30 hours”).
Barr maintains that Kennedy spent more than two hours a day, 5 days a week, for the two weeks the computer
remained in her office (2/12/03 - 2/27/03), searching for child pornography she never found. Then, on February
27, 2003, between the hours of 07:35 and 16:25 (as indicated on pages 4 and 5 of her Supplemental Report)
Joann Kennedy “pretended she found the evidence on Joel’s computer” as Victoria Ries and Matrese Avila asked
her to do.
Why did Joann Kennedy choose to keep the computer in her office for two weeks before capturing an image of
its hard drive, instead of locking it in the RMIN Property Room as she should have done?
“On 2/27/03, at approximately 12:35 hours, all evidence items were resealed in their original packaging. The
packages were initialed and transferred to the RMIN Property Room for storage [for the first time]”.
(See Kennedy’s Supplemental Report, page 4 of 13)
Barr asserts that Kennedy did that to preserve her option to put postage stamp size illegal images (from RMIN’s
forensic inventory from other computers) on the computer if she found none during her secret, two-week,
forensic examination of the computer.
Sound ridiculous? Not when you consider that Barr had already served the Arizona State Attorney General and
the Apache County Attorney with “Constructive Notice of Intent to Sue” them for false arrest, malicious
prosecution, false imprisonment, slander, and libel. Barr was demanding damages of several million dollars! And
they knew Barr was capable of following through on his threat, because he had already sued Apache County’s
Sheriff in Federal Court (CV-02-1585) for the identical charges, four months earlier.
The State and Apache County were deeply concerned about the possibility that there may be no illegal images
on the hard drive. Personnel at the Apache County Sheriff’s Office had failed to find any such images, even
though Deputy Avila had been informed by so-called “witnesses” (Chelsea Hoffman and Victoria Roderick) of the
password and file name where such images, if they existed, should allegedly be found.
Joann Kennedy knew she must find illegal images if they were there, or put them there if they were not! And
she must do it without getting caught. Which brings us to another issue: the obstruction of justice by Joann
Kennedy and Matrese Avila.
Barr had sensed something illegal was going on the moment he read the Prosecutor’s motion to hire RMIN to do
the forensic examination, instead of the Arizona Department of Public Safety Forensic Laboratory. The motion
was challenged by Barr on February 25, 2003. Barr’s “CHALLENGE” pleading read:
“[T]he witness, Victoria Roderick, is conspiring with Apache County Deputy Sheriff Matrese Avila to
fabricate evidence and ‘pretend’ that the computer analysis experts at the Rocky Mountain Information
Network ‘[find] the evidence while working on Joel’s computer.’ ”
Later, at trial, Ries was confronted with the e-mail she had sent to Deputy Avila. Ries responded by going into a
wild story explaining that the "evidence" she wanted the computer analysis experts to pretend they had found
was evidence of a huge "mafia export of marijuana", not child pornography.
Ries: This involves mafia as it's an international thing... We have to... tell the F. B. I. and Interpol.
Barr: What evidence did you want the computer analysis experts to say they found while working on the
computer?
Ries: The fact that one of the general partners... is a known multimillion dollar marijuana grower, cultivator,
distributor in Northern California, and your well has been receiving funds from him for a long time, which is
money laundering...
Barr: What does Interpol have to do with this"
Ries: Because it's not just the confines of the U. S. A.
Barr: ...I'm trying to figure out how Interpol is involved in this?
Ries: Because Interpol is a worldwide police agency that goes beyond the confines of countries.
Barr: Does Interpol collect information on child pornography?
At this point the prosecutor, Bradley Carlyon, interrupted the line of questioning.
Barr argues that Ries' e-mail was, in fact, a request for Deputy Avila to fabricate evidence of child pornography,
not international marijuana sales. And to pretend that such fabricated evidence was found on the computer
used by the Arizona Democrat to publish a series of articles about pornography on the internet.
To support this argument Barr points out that the only "evidence" claimed to be found on the computer was not
of mafia exports of marijuana from California to other countries, but was of child pornography from Europe!
Ergo, Interpol.
Ries' story of mafia marijuana sales was just a lame excuse that she and Avila had come up with to explain
away Ries' use of the word "Interpol" in her e-mail to Avila. If Ries' e-mail to Deputy Avila had truly been about
"mafia marijuana sales" an investigation would have been commenced and a case number would have been
assigned to it. None was.
In an audio taped interview of Deputy Avila by the private investigator, Rick Garsha (a former deputy sheriff),
Deputy Avila admitted that she knew, in fact, that no investigation had been initiated into any marijuana
trafficking allegations against Barr or any of his assiciates.
The only investigation into any evidence alleged to be on the computer, was the investigation into the
allegation of child pornography. And that investigation (by RMIN's Joann Kennedy) did not begin until several
days after the e-mail was sent by Ries requesting Avila to:
"... please cover for me by pretending the computer analysis experts found the evidence on Joel's computer."
But why would Joann Kennedy of Rocky Mountain Information Network falsify evidence for Matrese Avila of the
Apache County Sheriff’s Office?
(1) She was asked to do so by Matrese Avila, prompted by Victoria Ries’ plea to “cover for me by pretending the
computer analysis experts found the evidence while working on Joel’s computer;” (Record on Appeal CR-2003-
017 document 32.)
(2) Joann Kennedy knew that in exchange for her false testimony and evidence tampering she would be
rewarded by being offered a better paying “Computer Forensic Analyst” position with another Arizona law
enforcement forensic laboratory. (see transcript of Preliminary Hearing, pages 20-23 and 32)
On April 26, 2003, - three weeks after her false testimony resulted in a finding of “probable cause” - Joann
Kennedy resigned from Rocky Mountain Information Network, and accepted a “Computer Forensic Analyst”
position at the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office.
Kennedy wrote:
“NOTE: On April 26, 2003, I resigned from Rocky Mountain Information Network (RMIN) and accepted a
Computer Forensic Analyst position at the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office.”
(See Kennedy’s Supplemental Report, page 6 of 13).
Subsequently Barr filed a “Motion for Scientific Examination and Report” on 6/30/03 asking the court to appoint
a computer expert to examine the evidence that Joann Kennedy claimed to have found on the computer.
On July 29, 2003, the court wrote in its Minute Entry:
“IT IS FURTHER ORDERED granting the [Defendant Barr’s] Motion for Scientific Examination and Report” ...
IT IS FURTHER ORDERED that the Apache County Sheriff’s Office shall transport Mr. Barr and have him
present for that examination.”
The Apache County Sheriff disobeyed the court’s order. Barr was never transported to the Scientific
Examination. Furthermore, his court appointed Forensic Examiner, Bob Bianca, was denied access to the
information he sought by Joann Kennedy.
Bob Bianca wrote in a letter to Barr’s legal advisor, Pat Patterson:
“Please pass this information on to Joel Barr... As instructed by [the prosecutor] Mr. Carlyon, I brought a
blank disk to the DPS Computer Crime Lab. I was told to wait fifteen minutes while the disk was copied.
I was told by Mrs. Kennedy that they could not provide a copy of the disk without an additional court
order.... I offered to bring my forensics computer to examine a copy of the disk at their lab, and was
refused. I offered to bring a CD with a copy of my tools to examine a copy of the disk. This was also
refused... Because the reports are in such a different format than the data on a copy of the disk, standard
forensics tools cannot be used to answer Mr. Barr’s key question, ‘Is it probable that the disk evidence
was altered and that files were added at a later date?’ ”
What other reason does Barr have to believe that Joann Kennedy altered evidence by adding files containing
illegal images? The following is a transcription from a letter by Joel Barr to another attorney:
“When you review Joann Kennedy’s ‘En Case Examination Report’ (pages 243 - 263) which lists and describes
all of the ‘Charged Images’, you will note at the beginning of each paragraph the terms ‘File Created’ and ‘Last
Written.’
Following each of these terms is a date and a time written in the following format example:
‘File Created 12/04/02 11:08:50’ and
‘Last Written 12/04/02 11:09:02.’
Please note that each notation of time is written out to the exact second.
I want you to notice something about these exact times that is statistically impossible. They all end in ‘even’
numbered seconds. For example, the above referenced times (which were copied from the first ‘Charged
Image’) end in the even numbered seconds of ‘50’ and ‘02’ instead of ‘51’ and ‘03.’
That occurrence is not unusual when taken out of context from the other [120] Charged Items. However, when
considered in context with the other charged images, statistically speaking, approximately half of the notated
times should end in odd numbered seconds. None do.
Since there are [121] charged items, and each charged item, contains two entries of times (‘File Created’ and
‘Last Written’), there are 242 notations of times of which approximately half should have occurred at odd
numbered times. None do.
This is evidence of something artificial going on in connection with the creation of these files. It is not an
anomaly of the computer, as you will see by examining the ‘Recycle Bin Information’ and ‘Unallocated
Clusters’ data on pages 264 - 268, or the ‘Search Sessions’ found on pages 270 - 272 of the En Case
Examination Report, which contain 191 notations of time (of which 95 occur on odd numbered seconds).
As you will see from the enclosed letter from my computer expert, Bob Bianca, the Apache County
Prosecutor and Joann Kennedy actively interfered with and prohibited Mr. Bianca from examining the
computer to answer the question:
‘Is it probable that the disk evidence was altered and that files were added at a later date?’ ... in defiance
of the court order of July 29, 2003 [!]
But where is the smoking gun? It is in the email from Victoria Ries (the mother of the so-called ‘victim’) to
[Deputy] Matrese Avila in which Ries wrote:
‘... please cover for me by pretending that the computer analyses experts found the evidence while
working on Joel’s computer.” (ROA - 017 doc. 32)
Under these circumstances the evidence from the computer should never have been permitted to be used
against me.”
Chapter 14: Where Angels Fear To Tread
It is said that a man who acts as his own lawyer has a fool for a client. To which I reply: It is a matter of greater
or lesser fools... or a matter of degrees.
I chose to represent myself in this case for several reasons. And after much research I remain convinced I have
done the right thing. It is the lesser of two evils. Here’s why.
At first, I decided to have a lawyer, appointed by the Court, to represent me. After all, my life was in the
balance, here. This was not some civil lawsuit I could afford to lose, and then go on about my life as if nothing
had happened. But by morning I had concluded, for those very same reasons, that I would be the best
defender of my case. At least by defending myself I would make certain that every fact, witness, and defense
would be entered into the record and preserved for appeal, if I were to lose at trial.
I have learned this from many other defendants who have had court appointed lawyers. Their “public
defenders” barely scratched the surface investigating their cases; usually resting their entire defense on one
detail instead of the many facts that were available. Instead of working on their client’s defense, public
defenders are spending almost all of their efforts trying to convince defendants that they will lose if they go to
trial... but that they can get them a really good plea bargain! That’s why less than one percent of the cases in
Apache County go to trial. (My trial was the only trial conducted in Apache County, Arizona, in 2003.)
That’s also why I sponsored the initiative (I-02-2008) for the 2008 elections known as “NO MORE PLEA
BARGAINS” whose full text can be found near the end of this book in the chapter captioned as “The Initiatives.”
Perhaps I would not have made that decision to represent myself if I had been in any other county. But then,
again, if I had been in any other county I wouldn’t be facing these false charges. Let me be more clear.
As I pondered how “good” of an attorney could be appointed to defend me (because I couldn’t afford to hire a
“real” lawyer), I considered the fact that all of this was transpiring in Apache County, Arizona.
Only months before, I had heard on National Public Radio (NPR) that Apache County, Arizona, was the eleventh
poorest county in the nation! And as the old saying goes “ignorance and poverty go hand in hand.” In other
words, the lawyers in Apache County, Arizona, may not be very bright.
Not only that, but the State of Arizona had recently been declared to be in last place in several categories of
education. Therefore, to be in the most ignorant county of the stupidest state in the nation did not bode well for
the quality of a lawyer who might be appointed to represent me. Furthermore, I remembered that in 1990,
news reports revealed that Arizona was ranked 51st in mental health care-ranking behind Puerto Rico, a U.S.
Territory. “Gulp!” He might be crazy as well!
So, I girded my loins about me, and prepared to do battle. I did, however, ask the Court to appoint a lawyer to
act as my Advisory counsel. G. L. “Pat” Patterson was appointed to act in that capacity.
Pat appeared to be in his late sixties or mid seventies in age, and had not, from the records I obtained from the
Court, defended anyone at trial in Apache County. I would soon learn why.
In March, 2003, I was called into the chambers of Apache County’s only Superior Court Judge, Michael Nelson.
The occasion was for a hearing regarding an ongoing civil lawsuit I had filed two years earlier. After the hearing,
as Judge Nelson and I sat alone in his chambers, I asked him how many criminal trials had been conducted, so
far, in his court that year (2003).
The judge looked stunned at the question. His jaw dropped open. I was surprised that he was surprised. Then
he said, “I can’t say.”
I thought to myself that there must have been so many trials, so far, that year, that he couldn’t be sure of the
exact number. Then a detention officer came in and escorted me back to my cell.
On March 15, 2003, I wrote a letter to the Clerk of the Apache County Superior Court asking her how many
criminal trials had been conducted, so far, in 2003. A week later I received a response. The Clerk wrote: “There
have been no trials, so far, in 2003.”
Then she went on and volunteered: “There were only two trials in 2002.”
Now it was my turn to be stunned. Why had Judge Nelson not told me that? It’s not like he didn’t know! How
much uncertainty can there be in the number “zero”?
My further investigation of the two trials held in 2002 showed that my advisory counsel, Pat Patterson, had
been appointed, originally, to represent one of the defendants - a man who had also been charged with child
molestation - but had been removed from the case because the defendant claimed that Pat wasn’t doing
enough to prepare for trial.
Eventually, my trial was the only trial conducted in Apache County in 2003. And that was only after I had filed
more than half a dozen motions demanding that trial. Even then, the trial was conducted only after the “speedy
trial” time limit had expired, and several “hostile” witnesses who were important to my defense were enabled
to leave the State of Arizona - even though I had filed liens against their property to prevent them from doing
so.
Along the way, Judge Nelson was arrested and removed from office for beating and threatening to kill his wife!
She had caught the Judge having an affair with a female prosecutor. The prosecutor had used her sexual
influence over the Judge to unlawfully double the lengths of the sentences of some female defendants whom
the prosecution disliked.
Things were not going well, either, for the lower (Justice Court) judge in the same courthouse. There, Judge R.
Bruce Overson was under investigation for misconduct in public office. I had sought to have Judge Overson
removed as the presiding judge over my Preliminary Hearing, but Pat Patterson would not file the paperwork to
do so, which I had prepared for him to sign.
Let me tell you a little bit about Judge Overson. Better yet, read what the White Mountain Independent
Newspaper has to say at its web site.
By: Judy Hayes, The Independent
10/19/2007
ST. JOHNS - After four years on the bench as the St. Johns city magistrate and justice of the peace, the
Commission on Judicial Conduct (CJC) filed formal charges against Judge R. Bruce Overson.
The charges follow a series of disciplinary actions.
In a Statement of Charges filed Sept. 14, the CJC alleges misconduct in office and charges Overson with
incompetence, failure to follow the law, illegally holding private conversations with litigants and failure to
discharge administrative responsibilities.
Overson was removed from the bench early last month by the CJC and temporarily reassigned to other duties
pending an investigation. At that time, the order said the chief justice had concurred with a report and
recommendations submitted by the CJC’s disciplinary counsel who requested Overson be temporarily
reassigned. The specific nature of the investigation was not available to the public.
In the first count against Overson, the CJC alleges Overson has shown incompetence in several courtroom
proceedings:
- In a change of plea hearing, the judge did not tell the defendant what the sentence was and did not advise
him of his rights.
- In June 2007, a defendant went to the court to make payments on a fine. Overson had failed to document the
details of the plea agreement for the court staff and a constable, who is not a court employee, had to tell the
court staff what the terms of the agreement were.
- Testimony from court staff and witnesses indicates Overson continues to confuse civil and criminal matters,
issues warrants on civil matters, does not review his cases prior to court hearings and does not refer to his
“bench book” while presiding over cases despite repeated directions to do so.
“By continually failing to give litigants their rights, failing to distinguish between criminal and civil
matters, failing to review his bench book before sentencing and failing to complete minute entries
despite numerous and extended reminders and training sessions, (Overson) has demonstrated a lack of
competence to sit as a judge,” reads the Statement of Charges.
The second count against Overson highlights his alleged failure to follow the law. Overson allegedly instructed a
court clerk to change a citation designation without authority, failed to follow state statute which requires
imposing incarceration costs against all guilty DUI defendants, waived mandatory fines on at least one DUI in
2007 and offered special favors to juvenile offenders by dismissing citations with no prosecutor or court officer
present and such actions not being authorized by the state in writing.
“Further, testimony from staff and witnesses shows (Overson) does not always impose the mandatory
time payment fee and sometimes either gives defendants a few days to pay in full before adding in the
fee or simply sets up payment plans where no fee is included; (Overson) routinely fails to advise
defendants of their appeal rights; prior to the spring of 2007, and despite numerous urgings to follow the
law and read the rules and statutes, (Overson) accepted oral plea agreements in direct contravention of
Rule 17.4(b) of the Arizona Rules of Criminal Procedure.”
The third count brought against Overson details “ex parte” communications the judge allegedly engaged in. “Ex
parte,” Latin for “on one side only,” occurs when a party in a case communicates with a judge without the other
parties’ knowledge. The Judicial Code of Conduct requires judges decide cases fairly based on the evidence and
arguments presented in the case and they must not consider ex parte communications in deciding a case.
The Statement of Charges alleges the judge advised a defendant to plead not guilty in an ex parte conversation
held in the judge’s chambers in March 2007. Overson is alleged to start and stop the digital recorder in his
chambers when he wants to speak or advise people “off the record.” “Litigants who are acquainted with
(Overson) call the court and ask for (Overson) to discuss their cases and when intercepted by court staff say
they will call (Overson) at home or that they will meet with (Overson) outside court,” the statement reads.
The statement says that by continuing to engage in prohibited ex parte contacts, Overson violated Canon 3B
(7), which states, “A judge shall accord to every person who has a legal interest in a proceeding, or that person’
s lawyer, the right to be heard according to law. A judge shall not initiate, permit or consider ex parte
communications or consider other communications made to the judge outside the presence of the parties
concerning a pending or impending proceeding.”
Canon 2 requires a judge avoid impropriety or the appearance of impropriety in all of his activities.
“By meeting with litigants behind closed doors or off the record in chambers and disposing of cases or
giving legal advice, (Overson) has presented a strong and continuing appearance of impropriety despite
repeated reminders and discipline,” the statement reads.
The fourth and final count against Overson, “failure to discharge administrative responsibilities,” discusses
examples where Overson reportedly wasted judicial resources. After being specifically advised to set his
hearings throughout the day, Overson “routinely continues almost every case and sets all changes of plea,
preliminary hearings, and trials at 9 a.m. one day a week, requiring officers and other witnesses to have to wait
for hours.”
The statement indicates Overson continued to ask his staff to fill out his case paperwork after being advised
repeatedly during mentoring sessions that he should do his own work, and that he frequently takes extended
lunch breaks and reads or plays cards during working hours.
“By shifting his administrative duties to his staff and by failing to appropriately complete his minute
entries and orders and by setting all his hearing at the same time, causing undue waits and wasting
county and city resources, (Overson) violated Canon 3C(1), which mandates that a judge maintain
competence in judicial administration.
“By choosing to take long lunches, read at his desk, and play cards on the computer instead of preparing
for court and reviewing the law, (Overson) violated Canon 3B(8), which states, “A judge shall dispose of
all judicial matters promptly, efficiently and fairly.”
The conclusion of the Statement of Charges states Rule 6 of the Commission Rules provides that grounds for
discipline include “conduct prejudicial to the administration of justice that brings the judicial office into
disrepute, or a violation of the code." Each of the charges alleged in this pleading constitute conduct
prejudicial to the administration of justice that brings the judicial office into disrepute.
“Additionally, each count violates Canon 1A, which requires that a judge maintain, enforce and
personally observe high standards of conduct and uphold the integrity of the judiciary, and Canon 2A (“A
judge shall ... act at all times in a manner that promotes public confidence in the integrity and
impartiality of the judiciary”).
Linda Haynes, disciplinary counsel for the CJC, concluded the Statement of Charges by indicating that the
commission, after a hearing and finding of good cause, “may recommend to the Supreme Court that
(Overson) be publicly censured, suspended or removed from judicial office, and that the court grant
other relief as may be deemed appropriate.”
The Statement of Charges outlines a history of disciplinary actions against Overson which began shortly after he
took the bench in 2003. In May of that year, Overson was admonished by the CJC for failing to follow the
approved scripts while engaged in courtroom procedures.
A litigant in a small claims hearing filed a complaint against the judge and a later review of the tape-recorded
proceeding by the CJC found Overson “lost control of his courtroom and told a party to hush up and then shut
up.”
In December 2003, Overson was admonished by the CJC and advised to follow approved courtroom scripts in
the future.
Later that year, a second litigant filed a complaint against Overson after learning that the judgment in the case
was written in its entirety by a deputy county attorney and used verbatim by Overson as though it were his
own work. Although he never admitted that he had done anything wrong, Overson was reprimanded in October
2003 by the CJC for failure to decide his own matters.
In August 2004, Overson was reprimanded by the CJC for an “ex parte” conversation with a defense attorney
wherein Overson allegedly said he “had his mind mostly made up with regard to how he was going to rule on
the motions.”
Overson was publicly censured in 2005 when the CJC found he had reportedly failed to follow proper court
procedures. Examples cited by the CJC at the time included ignoring mandatory sentencing guidelines, repeated
clerical errors, showing both bias and favoritism in his case handling and demonstrating a demeanor
inappropriate of a judge.
In a stipulation agreement signed by Overson, he admitted his conduct was inappropriate and agreed to a
public censure and to work with a mentor judge for 12 months.
Just six months after being censured, Overson was publicly reprimanded by the CJC for bringing a personnel
action against a clerk who had filed a judicial complaint against him in 2005. CJC Executive Director Keith Stott
said at the time that the personnel matter gave the appearance of retaliation, which is clearly prohibited by the
code of judicial conduct.
Overson was said to have cooperated with the commission “and agreed that although he did not intend to
retaliate against the clerk, his action did give the appearance of retaliation.” Overson subsequently agreed to
the issuance of a public reprimand in March 2006.
Overson’s Phoenix attorney requested an extension of time in which to file a written response to the charges,
and a judge granted an extension to Oct. 23.
Overson won reelection in 2006 and began his second term as St. Johns municipal court judge and justice of the
peace. Prior to taking the bench, Overson spent 20 years with the Arizona Department of Public Safety and 19
years with the St. Johns Police Department, 14 of those years as police chief.
*Reach the reporter at wmisp@frontiernet.net
©WMICentral 2008
Judge Nelson was replaced by Judge John Taylor who was called out of retirement after 14 years to preside
over my trial. A lot can happen in fourteen years. Memories fade. Laws change. It had been twenty years or
more since he had sat on a trial.
My decision to act as my own attorney created an additional, political, problem for Judge Taylor. And for the
County Attorney as well.
The new County Attorney, Criss Candelaria, had just been elected in November after the former County
Attorney had resigned from office. Judges are political beings, and Judge Taylor knew the impact on Criss
Candelaria’s career (and that of his prosecutor, Bradley Carlyon) that would occur if his office was to lose its
very first prosecution... to a non lawyer who was representing himself. Candelaria and Carlyon would be viewed
as greater fools than me - regardless of their degrees. At all costs Candelaria and Carlyon knew they had to win
a conviction or lose their jobs. My trial became a make it or break it ultimatum for the offices of the County
Attorney and the Sheriff, Hounshell, as well. More lies would become necessary.
First and foremost the Sheriff’s Office and County Attorney would have to find ways to postpone my “speedy”
trial until some of the witnesses crucial to my defense could leave the state. My trial date was set for April 29,
2003. I was ready to go to trial. I had already submitted to the Sheriff’s Offices of Apache and neighboring
Navajo Counties, all of the subpoenas to be served on my witnesses.
Navajo County’s Sheriff’s Deputies promptly served all of their subpoenas in a matter of a few days. But not a
single subpoena was served on any of my witnesses in Apache County! Why?! Because Judge Nelson, before
he was defrocked, assigned all of my subpoenas (to be served in Apache County) to Deputy Matrese Avila!
On April 2nd, 2003, - after three weeks - Deputy Avila, returned unserved all twenty-two subpoenas that had
been issued to compel witnesses in Apache County to testify at my upcoming trial. The reason given by Avila for
returning the subpoenas, without ever having attempted to serve them, was written on the face of the cover
sheet with the words, “new trial date,” and was signed, “Matrese Avila.”
A new trial date?! Impossible! The trial date had not been changed, and no motion had been made to do so.
How, on April 2, 2003, did Deputy Avila know that on April 14, 2003, Judge Nelson would set a new trial date
without a motion to do so ever being filed?
I was prepared to go to trial and the trial date was set. The prosecutor, however, did not want to go to trial
because he had no case. No jury would believe Roderick’s fantastic story claiming I had broken her finger, and
that her dog had torn a bone out of my leg, in an attempted molestation that supposedly landed all 3 of us in
the hospital! Apache County knew it would be sued for false arrest and malicious prosecution. Careers would
end. They had to postpone the trial!
In the meantime I was closing in on Deputy Avila. I had submitted a list of written questions called
“interrogatories” that I wanted her to provide written answers to. Bradley Carlyon objected.
Then he did something unusual. He made a motion, and claimed it was on my behalf (even though he didn’t
have the right to do so). In it he said he would not object to my interrogatories if the Court would allow a return
to the Preliminary Hearing we had held on January 29, 2003. Huh? He wasn’t asking for a new Preliminary
Hearing because he couldn’t. He had filed no new charges that could require one.
He wasn’t asking for a new Preliminary Hearing because he couldn’t. He had filed no new charges that could
require one.
He was asking the Court to reopen the Preliminary Hearing and continue where we had left off, which was
highly unusual. In fact, unbeknownst to me at the time, Carlyon’s motion to review the Preliminary Hearing was
an illegal motion because it was made more than 25 days after the completion of the Preliminary Hearing on
January 29, 2003.
“Timeliness. A motion under Rule 5.5(a) [Review of preliminary hearing; Grounds] may be filed no later
than 25 days after the completion of the preliminary hearing.” Arizona Rules of Criminal Procedure, Rule
5.5 (b).
Carlyon’s motion was made on March 13, 2003. The preliminary hearing had been completed on
January 29, 2003. That’s more than the 25 days allowed by law.
Smelling a rat, I stipulated that I wouldn’t object to the review if the Court would agree not to postpone our
scheduled trial date of April 29, 2003. Judge Nelson had no problem with that.
Then all hell broke loose. At the continuation of the preliminary hearing on April 4, 2003, I met Joann Kennedy of
RMIN for the first time. It was there she displayed for the justice court judge, Bruce Overson, the 121 images of
child pornography she claimed to have found on the computer used by the Arizona Democrat newspaper to
write the series of articles known as “Net Porn Story.”
I was stunned! I didn’t think we had images of child pornography saved on the computer. How could we?
Although we had visited the home pages of some pornographic web sites, we had never downloaded any
images for several reasons: (1) we didn’t need to; (2) it cost money; (3) it required a credit card; (4) none of us
had a credit card.
I was so stunned, in fact, that it did not register with me, at the time, that none of the 121 images alleged to
have been found by Kennedy bore the file name of “Net Porn Story.” They bore the name of the “Temporary
Internet File.”
The file names were critically important for several reasons: (1) Chelsea Hoffman and Victoria Roderick claimed
that the child porn was in the computer file “Net Porn Story;” (2) Roderick swore that she was forced to look at
images of child pornography that bore the file name of “Net Porn Story” - not “Temporary Internet File;” (3) if
these images Kennedy claimed to have found were not the images Roderick claimed she was forced to look at,
then they could not be used as evidence to support her claim of molestation (she had claimed that she had
been forced to watch child pornography while I allegedly molested her!). And without the images of child
pornography to inflame the jury, I would never be convicted of the ridiculous charges fabricated by Roderick.
And Avila, and Carlyon, and Candelaria knew it.
They knew also, that a separate trial, by a different jury, for the possession of their child pornography wouldn’t
work either, because there was no way to prove I, or anyone associated with me, “knowingly possessed” those
images. It wasn’t my computer they were found on (it was on loan to the Arizona Democrat newspaper from
another person). It wasn’t my camper the computer was seized from. It wasn’t my property the camper was on
when the computer was seized (Yes, I was a shareholder in the company that owned the land, but so were 20
other people). I was just one of a dozen people who knew the computer’s password and had 24/7 access to it.
And there was no way to identify who may have viewed such images.
Carlyon needed to have both trials rolled into one, before the same jury, so the child porn could be used to
inflame the emotions of the jury so they would disregard the impossibility of Roderick’s story. And once the jury
would begin to believe that I had molested Roderick, they wouldn’t care if there was no evidence tying me to
the child porn. They would go on their gut feeling - their emotions - based upon what Joann Kennedy wanted
them to believe. According to NEWSWEEK Magazine (10/29/07 page 39)
“Nobody is saying American voters are crazy [and all jurors are voters], just that we are not especially
rational. When reason and emotion collide, we go with our gut - roughly four out of five times.” Carlyon
was counting on this reaction from jurors.
At the conclusion of the “review” of the preliminary hearing, Judge Overson found that there was probable
cause that I knowingly possessed the child pornography. And I found out that he and Matrese Avila had worked
together during the 20 years he had been the Chief of Police of St. Johns, Arizona. No wonder Avila knew,
weeks in advance, that there was going to be a new trial date! She also knew Kennedy was going to appear at
the review, and that Kennedy would pretend she had found the evidence of child porn on the computer (as Avila
had asked her to do.) And Avila knew that her friend, Judge Bruce Overson, would rule in her favor. [Two years
later (September of 2005) Judge Overson would be censured by the Commission on Judicial Conduct for his bias
and favoritism.] Amy Moss of Florence, Arizona, posted the following statement on www.wmicentral.com on
10/21/07: “Did everyone forget that when Overson was Chief of Police in St. Johns he and the entire police
force was removed due to incompetence?”
I moved to have the charges of child molestation and the possession of child pornography tried as two separate
trials, but the motion was denied on a technicality. That technicality was that such a motion for separate trials
has to be made two times, not just once. My advisory counsel didn’t advise me of that.
My next strategy was to keep the jury from becoming emotionally incensed by the child porn Kennedy had
placed on the computer. I didn’t come to the conclusion, by myself, that the images of child pornography would
irrationally inflame the jury. I got help from the editor of another local newspaper, The Apache County Reporter,
who happened to be the cousin of the Apache County Attorney, Criss Candelaria!
In his letter of July 7, 2003, Glenn Jacobs wrote to me voicing his opinion of the jurors who would be selected to
hear my case in the most ignorant county, in the stupidest state in the nation:
“I spoke to my cousin about your case. ...I really do expect that they [the jury] will be so incensed... that
they will not care to check whether you did it... that fact will probably go right over their heads...”
The only way I could keep the jury from becoming inflamed by the child pornography would be to keep them
from seeing it. And to keep them from seeing it, I had to remove any need for the jury to see it.
I knew the jury would need to see the images of child porn for only one reason, and that would be so they
could determine if the images were truly images of child pornography and not cartoons or adults dressed up
and posing as children.
By now, Judge Nelson had been replaced by Judge Taylor. I proposed to Judge Taylor that I would be willing to
stipulate that all 121 images were, indeed child pornography, thus removing the need for the jury to see the
images in order to make that determination. All the jury would need to do would be to consider the State’s
evidence (if any) indicating whether I “knowingly possessed” those images.
Of course, Carlyon objected. His entire case relied upon emotionally inflaming the jury - not on valid evidence or
credible witnesses.
The Judge considered our arguments. He then told us he wanted to think about it, and informed us that he
would give us his decision during the trial when the issue came up again. “Whew”! I thought. “I’m half way
there.”
Carlyon knew his case was in jeopardy. And with it, his new job and career. Without child porn to inflame the
jury, he knew that no one would believe Roderick’s outrageous claims that I had chased her down, molested
her, broken her finger and fought with her dog - who allegedly tore a bone out of my leg, thus requiring all 3 of
us (including the dog) to go to a hospital for treatment of our injuries!
Where were the doctors? Where were the nurses? Where were the ambulance drivers to corroborate her
stories?
If the Judge were to accept my stipulation, thus removing the need for the jury to view the State’s child porn,
Carlyon and Candelaria would lose their very first trial - and to a non lawyer to boot! It would be devastating to
their political careers.
Holes were forming in the State’s case faster than they could fix them. Deputy Avila had been caught in several
lies; Kennedy’s evidence didn’t hold water; Roderick’s stories were obvious fabrications; one of Candelaria’s
prosecutors got caught having an affair with the Superior Court Judge; the judge was arrested and defrocked
for beating his wife, who caught him (no jail time for a judge, though); and new reports were coming in from
someone inside the courthouse that the Justice court judge, Bruce Overson, was showing favoritism to his
friends and was about to be sanctioned by the Arizona Commission on Judicial Conduct. And, as I write this,
Sheriff Hounshell is under indictment in Maricopa County for eleven felonies including fraudulent schemes and
artifices!
Deputy Matrese Avila (friend of Judge Bruce Overson) had changed the date of the alleged molestation twice
during the first week after my arrest. Then she colluded with Victoria Ries and Bradley Carlyon to cover for Ries
by having the computer analysis expert, Joann Kennedy, pretend she found evidence of child pornography on
the Azdem’s borrowed computer. Then she refused to serve my subpoenas, and had “inside information” from
one of the judges (Overson?) that the outcome of the upcoming review of the preliminary hearing was a “done
deal” that would result in the postponement of my trial.
Next, at the review of the preliminary hearing, during my cross examination of Deputy Avila (who claimed to be
an expert in child molestation cases), I asked her how many trials she had testified at the previous year (2002).
I already knew the answer, because the Clerk of the Superior Court had informed me that there had been only
two trials in 2002: one was a child molestation case and the other a drunk driving case. So, when Avila
answered “four”, I knew she was lying.
“You’re lying!” I said, “There were only two trials in Apache County last year!” Avila’s face flushed. She was
obviously embarrassed being caught in a lie, on the stand, under oath.
Immediately, Carlyon objected, stammering that I was “harassing the witness.” The Judge called for order in the
Court. Carlyon then asked Judge Overson to order our entire exchange regarding Avila’s false statement to be
stricken from the record (April, 4, 2003). Carlyon and Judge Overson discussed striking our exchange, and then
we recessed for the weekend.
The following Monday ( April 7, 2003) I continued with my questioning of Deputy Avila. At one point we referred
back to the verbal exchange on Friday (April 4, 2003) in which I had called her a liar. I was pressing Avila for a
more precise answer to a question, and asked her why she was avoiding a direct answer? Avila expressed that
she didn’t want to get into another predicament as she had done on the previous Friday.
I’m glad I brought it up again because when the transcript of the preliminary hearing was published, my
question, and Avila’s answer, and my accusation of her as a liar, had been stricken from the record so carefully,
that there was no way to tell, from the record, that such an exchange had occurred - except from our comments
referring back to it the following Monday... but they are still on the original audiotape of the hearing.
As far as Judge Overson’s bias and favoritism resulting in misconduct is concerned, the White Mountain
Independent Newspaper (www.wmicentral.com) reported on 09/20/2005;
“A complaint filed with the State of Arizona Commission on Judicial Conduct (CJC) has resulted in a
finding of misconduct in office by Judge R. Bruce Overson who has served as both a municipal court
judge and as Justice of the Peace in St. Johns since June 2, 2003."
“Filed earlier this year, the complaint cited many examples where the judge ignored mandatory
sentencing guidelines, made repeated clerical errors, showed both bias and favoritism in his case
handling and demonstrated a demeanor inappropriate of a judge.”
As to the corruption in Apache County Sheriff’s Office, the Arizona Republic newspaper (azcentral.com) reported
on January 3, 2007:
“Investigations and prosecutions of corruption in the Apache County Sheriff’s Office are continuing. A
deputy sheriff pleaded guilty this week to several counts of lying to a state grand jury, which has been
investigating the Sheriff’s Office.”
The White Mountain Independent (wmicentral.com) reported on January 16, 2007, that Sheriff Hounshell will
stand trial in Maricopa County on eleven felony charges, including the charges of fraud, fraudulent schemes, and
fraudulent schemes and artifices. It is not ironic that several of these crimes were committed, allegedly, by the
Sheriff while I was under his arrest and during my trial. I will allege, someday, that my arrest and trial were, in
fact, more of his fraudulent schemes and artifices!
So: (1) Sheriff Brain Hounshell has resigned and has pled guilty to a felony count; (2) Judge R. Bruce Overson
was removed from the bench and temporarily reassigned to other duties pending an investigation by the
Commission on Judicial Conduct (3) And it appears that an investigation may be gearing up against Apache
County Attorney, Criss Candelaria, and his Chief Deputy County Attorney, Bradley Carlyon.
The White Mountain Independent Online Edition carried the following commentary from October 2, 2007:
“[A]s a county employee I would like to know why Mr. Candelaria is not being investigated also. I have
personal knowledge of the following... Your chief deputy (Brad Carlyon) and his wife (Anna Atencio)
both work for you in the county attorney’s office. Husband and wife in the same office is a violation of
Apache County Human Resource manual. Specifically, Section 1.26 states that ‘no person shall be
supervised by a relative.’ Please do not try to wiggle around the question by saying that your chief
deputy does not supervise her. I am frequently in the court and see him supervising her all the time. It
appears you are in violation of the law.
... [A] search of your criminal record indicates you have been arrested or investigated for crimes in at
least 3 counties. Apache for assaulting an elderly man. Navajo for child abuse, and Mohave County for
assault and a few other crimes which are not specified on your public records search. You seem less law
abiding than most Apache County residents. Correct? Who is going to investigate you? (www.wmicentral.
com 10/02/2007).
(4) Matrese Avila has been promoted tot he position of Commander of the Apache County jail and according to
the White Mountain Independent newspaper (09/27/2007) has “denied a jail inmate a subscription to a Sunday
newspaper because the swimsuit and underwear ads are too suggestive.”
The article goes on to say:
“Ms. Avila is just promoting her brand of morality... and that is what is scary. She actually believes she is right
and sees nothing wrong with banning a newspaper. It seems that total sensory deprivation of anything outside
the walls of the jail is her goal.”
Chapter 15: Nothing But The Truth
After two postponements (over my objections), the trial finally began. But not until after several witnesses I
wanted to call had, finally, left the state. Just like Carlyon had planned.
The Hoffmans were a family of six witnesses I wanted to compel to testify. And had they been served
subpoenas by Matrese Avila, they would have. They all lived in the same house. Everybody knew where they
lived. They were easy to find twenty-four hours a day, 7 days a week. But Deputy Avila would not serve them
with their subpoenas.
According to Victoria Roderick’s videotaped interview with Matrese Avila, Victoria had told the Hoffmans the
same story/stories about my alleged attempt(s) to molest her (which purportedly resulted in a broken finger for
Roderick, a third degree fracture from a dog bite for me, and a trip to the hospital for both of us), as she had
told Deputy Avila in their videotaped interview.
“Avila: Q. Okay. So everything we’ve talked about here has only been the truth.
Roderick: A. I’ve told all of this to my Mom, Chelsea, David, and Tammy, Shirley, the Grandma, and my friend
Bertha. What I’m telling you now, I’ve told them, and that’s all I can remember for now.
Avila: Q. Okay.
Roderick: A. Okay.”
But did she? Would the Hoffmans corroborate her claim that she had told them the same stories she told to
Avila? Or would they testify that Roderick had told them different stories, or nothing at all, thus damaging
Roderick’s credibility in the eyes of the jury? Let’s go back to the beginning of this videotaped interview of
Roderick by Avila.
“Avila: Q. Okay. What did you come to tell me about Joel Barr?
Roderick: A. Well, he, like, molested me... he made me sit on his lap and watch porn with him on his computer...
and I just say ‘No’ and get off his lap and start running and he tries to catch me and I say ‘No.’
Avila: Q. ...Okay, and when did he show you this?
Roderick: A. Like a few days ago.
Avila: Q. ... And he had you sit on his lap at that time?
Roderick: A. Uh-huh.
Avila: Q. Okay. Was anyone else there when...
Roderick: A. No.
Avila: Q. Just you and him?
Roderick: A. Just him.
Avila: Q. How many times did Joel do this?
Roderick: A. About, I forgot to count. I just stopped counting.
Avila: Q. More than five? More than ten? A bunch of times?
Roderick: A. (Nods)
Avila: Q. Okay. Every time, did he just sit you on ...
Roderick: A. Uh-huh.
Avila: Q. ... his lap and have you watch the porn?
Roderick: A. Uh-huh.
Avila: Q. ...on the computer?
Roderick: A. Uh-huh.
Avila: Q. Okay. Anything else ever happen?
Roderick: A. Well, he fingered me in the you know what... and he made me sit on the bed with him, and I didn’t
want to. And then he said he’d kick me out of his house. And I said ‘fine,’ and I walked all the way home. Mom
didn’t believe me the first time I told her, but my brother Travis, I told him in the past, because he’s the only one
I can trust around there for now. And so, when he told Mom ‘it really did happen’, Mom started believing it.
Avila: Q. ...Where were you at that time?
Roderick: A. At his camper with him because we all spent the night over there. And he told me that if I didn’t
go over there, with him and Travis, he’d hurt my family even more. And I told him I didn’t want to, and he said,
‘Fine. I’ll hurt your family.’ I tried to tell Mom, but she said... ‘Go with him. He’s okay.’ But I said ‘I don’t want to.’
I tried to stay there but he kept dragging me outside, like, ‘Come on.’
Avila: Q. Okay. And how many times did he put his finger down there?
Roderick: A. A couple of times. Maybe five or six.
Q. ... When was the first time anything ever happened?
A. Like the second day I met him.
Q. How long have you known him?
A. Two years.
Q. Okay. And what happened then?
A. Well, the first time I met him he looked at me kind of funny. And he said, ‘How would you like to come to my
house?’ I thought it was okay until I got there and he started talking pretty weird, and he told me he wanted
to rub me with baby oil, and get me up in the bed. I told him I didn’t want to. So he said, ‘Get out of my house,
then.’ And I said, ‘Fine.’ I went back to mine. [Mom said] ‘Why are you here again? And I told her then, and then
she believed me. But then she just stopped believing it. Joel wouldn’t fess up.
Q. She asked Joel about it?
A. Joel said, ‘I never did anything like that.’
Q. ... So, that was the first time... So, when is the first time he ever fingered [you]?
A. Well, it was like the fourth time I was with him. I didn’t know him that well.
Q. ... And do you know when that was?
A. About a long time ago... Well, he stopped doing it until last Sunday ago, and then he did it again. I told him
to stop it, and he said ‘No.’
Q. Was it Sunday that he showed you the porn?
A. Uh-huh.
Q. Did he do anything at that time, this past Sunday? [01/19/03]
A. Well, no. He just had me on his lap and ... he was just watching porn, and whenever I looked away, he’d put
my head onto the screen and make me look at it. I told him I didn’t want to. He was kind of mean, and he
pushed me off his lap to where my head almost hit the wall... He’ll grab my hand and twist it like that ... and
almost break it. He almost did once. He broke it right up here, my finger. He... twisted it... He’d hold right here
and twist it. And it hurt real bad... and I couldn’t move it. And I was crying real bad in pain. And my Mom was
like, ‘What’s wrong?’ And I told her, ‘Oh, I fell down and I hurt my finger!’
Q. So, how old were you when he did that to your finger?
A. Ten.
Q. Did he do anything else that day when he did that to your finger?
A. ...He talked dirty to me... But I told him, ‘No.’ I slapped him across the face once, and it left a great big welt.
And he cried... and I ran out of the house, and I started running and he was right behind me. And my dog,
Harley... he snapped at his heels, grabbed him by the heel and pulled him over. And I think he ruptured a vein...
And Harley ran with me. In the meantime, Joel got up and tried to run. Harley would grab him and always bite
for his nut sack. He was trained that way. He’s trained to do that.
Q. Okay. And then... he wanted to put his thing in you, but he didn’t.
A. (Nods) When he was getting ready to, I decked him in the face and made him fly. And then he had a big old
bloody nose. And I had to run. And Harley, that’s the day that Harley grabbed him right where the bone is...
with his teeth and ripped it. It was kind of out of his skin... He had to go to the hospital for that. I told the
hospital what happened. They didn’t believe me. I showed them proof of what happened, because they saw
the bite marks. What was left.
Q. Did they look at your finger?
A. Uh-huh. And I told them, that’s how it happened. And they didn’t believe me. But then they ran Harley’s
teeth to see if the bite marks were his. And they were Harley’s bite marks. And they almost took Harley away
from me for that...
Q. Okay. What did they tell you about your finger?
A. Well, they told me it’s just a little break, and we’ll just put a cast on it and go home...
Q. Okay. At any time did Joel put his thing inside you?
A. No. I decked him that one time, and then he didn’t try again, because I full forced. Because when I use full
force, I go like that! I go full force, boom! And it just hit. I almost broke his neck. I’m sorry. I almost did. But I
guess he deserved it.”
(Roderick/Avila interview videotaped January 22, 2003)
Would the Hoffmans testify that they too, had heard these stories from Roderick? We’ll never know.
Now, let’s take a quick recap of this interview between my accuser, Roderick, and Apache County Deputy Avila.
We’ll take Roderick’s accusations and her self-contradictions in the order in which they occurred.
(1) “Avila: Q. Okay, and when did he show you this [pornography]?
Roderick: A. Like a few days ago.
Q. ... Was it Sunday he showed you the porn?
A. Uh-huh.
Q. Did he do anything that time, this past Sunday? [January 19, 2003]
A. ... He was just watching porn, and whenever I’d look away, he’d put my head onto the screen and make me
look at it...”
Roderick also testified at trial that this alleged forced viewing of pornography occurred on Sunday, January 19,
2003. However, under cross examination Roderick was confronted with evidence and witness statements
that she had spent the entire 24 hours of Sunday, January 19, 2003, with her coconspirators Chelsea
Hoffman, Tammy Stothart and the Hoffman family... writing the statements claiming to have been sexually
harassed and molested by me.
(2) “Avila: Q. How many times did Joel do this [molest you]?
Roderick: A. About, I forgot to count. I just stopped counting.
Q. More than five? More than ten? A bunch of times?
A. (Nods)
Q. Okay. Every time, did he just sit you on...
A. Uh-huh.
Q. ...his lap and have you watch the porn...
A. Uh-huh.
Q. ... on the computer?
A. Uh-huh.
Q. Okay, and how many times did he put his finger down there?
A. A couple of times. Maybe five or six.”
Now, compare those answers with the answer Roderick gave when she was asked the same question on the
witness stand at trial.
“Barr: Q. Just once or a whole bunch of times?
Roderick: A. Just once.”
(3) In her videotaped interview with Deputy Avila, Roderick claimed that she had told her mother, several
times, that I had molested her.
“Roderick: A. ...Mom didn’t believe me the first time I told her, but my brother Travis... when he told Mom it
really did happen, Mom started believing it.”
***
“Well, the first time I met him... he wanted to rub me with baby oil and get me up in the bed... And I told her
then, and she believed me...
Avila: Q. She asked Joel about it?
A. Joel said, ‘I never did anything like that’.”
But when her mother, Victoria Ries, was questioned on the witness stand, Ries denied having ever been told
any such thing until 3 days before my arrest. And then, not by her daughter, but by Chelsea Hoffman.
The following excerpts are from the Preliminary Hearing (April 7, 2003: Day 2, Volume 1, pages 278-279.)
“Barr: Q. ... Sunday, the 19th of January, 2003, was in fact the first time you heard anything from your
daughter regarding any sexual improprieties?
Ries: A. Yes, it was.
Q. ... Had you, from time to time, inquired, just to be a diligent mother, as to whether or not there may have
been improprieties going on?
A. Yes.
Q. And what were the answers you were given?
A. None. She said, ‘No.’
Q. ... Did Tammy Stothart say anything to you on the 19th, or about the 19th?
A. They were the ones who actually told me that Victoria had admitted to them, Chelsea and Tammy, that she
had been molested by you.
Q. Did they tell you when she made those statements to them?
A. On a Sunday.
Q. So all this happened on Sunday the 19th?
A. Yeah.”
So, it was Chelsea and Tammy who first told Victoria Ries about the purported molestation of her daughter,
Victoria Roderick. When did Ries actually talk to Roderick about the allegations? Read the following cross
examination of Victoria Ries by the Prosecutor, Bradley Carlyon.
“Carlyon: Q. It sounds like you talked with Little Vickie, about what happened to her with Mr. Barr, on the 19th,
after you learned of it from [Chelsea or Tammy], is that correct?
Ries: A. Well, I didn’t actually talk to her that day.
Q. Okay, when did you talk to her?
A. I talked to her, like, about midweek, I think it was.”
Now, doesn’t it strike you as unusual that the conspirators, Chelsea Hoffman and Tammy Stothart, would be the
only ones to speak with Ries about the supposed molestation of her daughter? Why didn’t Ries or Roderick
make any attempt to speak to each other about such a traumatic experience for 3 more days? Unless, Ries was,
by then, part of the conspiracy as well as Hoffman, Stothart and Roderick - and soon to include Deputy Avila
with Ries’ request for Avila to “please cover for me by pretending the computer analyses experts found the
evidence while working on Joel’s computer.”
What did Ries think she could gain by participating in the conspiracy? According to telephone conversations with
a lawyer, Emily Danies, and my editor (and fiance), Pamela deSpencer, and a mutual friend, Steve Johnson: Ries
anticipated receiving five to fifteen thousand dollars, in cash; and the deed to my property (valued at over
$100,000) as compensatory damages for the alleged molestation of her daughter.
And although the Court did not award any monetary damages to Victoria Roderick or Victoria Roderick, Apache
County did transfer the property, in May of 2005 (almost two years after the “trial”), without notification or due
process, to an unnamed party. That party then, immediately, transferred the property to a “Valarie O’Donnell,
6133 Northwest Highway, Chicago, IL 60631.” As I write this I am attempting to file a lawsuit against Apache
County, in its Superior Court, for illegally appropriating the property. So far, their Court has refused to accept my
complaint, instead they have returned it to me claiming that , as a prisoner, I am not entitled to a deferral of the
payment of my filing fees associated with the case. In a nice way I have told them “Hogwash!” and have
resubmitted my lawsuit.
(4) Next, compare Roderick’s descriptions of the location where she claimed I made a threat to harm her family
if she didn’t let me molest her. In the videotaped interview of January 22, 2003, she told Deputy Avila that I
said, “Fine. I’ll hurt your family!”, as I was dragging her out of her house. But on the witness stand, at trial,
Roderick testified that the alleged threat against her family was made as she and I stood next to a pond of
water near my house.
(5) But the most blatant of the lies told by Roderick is the story she told on the videotape in which she
described the alleged emergency medical treatment that she and I purportedly received at a local hospital as
the result of injuries she claimed we received during an alleged molestation attempt. According to the following
excerpt of the transcript of the videotaped interview, the failed molestation, and resultant hospital treatment,
occurred while she was ten years old, putting it sometime between May 25, 2000, and May 25, 2001 - her tenth
and eleventh birthdays.
“Avila: Q. So how old were you when he did that to your finger?
Roderick: A. Ten... that’s the day Harley grabbed him right here where the bone is ... with his teeth and ripped
it. It was kind of out of his skin. He had to go to the hospital for that. I told the hospital what happened... I
showed them proof of what happened because they saw the bite marks...
Q. Did they look at your finger?
A. Uh-huh... then they ran Harley’s teeth to see if the bite marks were his. And they were Harley’s bite marks...
Q. Okay. What did they tell you about your finger?
A. Well, they just told me that it’s just a little break, and we’ll just put a cast on it and go home.”
Aside from the fact that all hospitals and schools in Arizona are required by law to report any suspicion of
assault on children to either Child Protective Services or law enforcement, the above described assault would
have been very easy for Avila to investigate and confirm if it was true, even two years later. Doctors and nurses
wouldn’t forget such an unusual medical emergency ever- and there would be a written entry into the
emergency room log of the treatment of Victoria Roderick and Joel Barr. Even today, the American Medical
Association could locate those doctors that Avila says “have moved away...” if they exist.
Certainly such an alleged assault would be worthy of reporting to the local police department of the cities of
“Pinetop-Lakeside” where the Summit Health Care Medical Center is located. A teacher of the Pinetop-Lakeside
school district, in December of 2006, thought it was worthwhile to report that the 17 year old son of Criss
Candelaria (the Apache County Attorney whose office was prosecuting me) had confided that his Father had hit
him during a disagreement. The Pinetop-Lakeside Police Department was contacted (the young Candelaria
attends school in Navajo County, not Apache County where he lives) conducted an interview with the teen. The
matter was referred to the Apache County Sheriff’s Office, the jurisdiction where the Candelaria family resides,
and two deputies completed a preliminary investigation.
Apache County Sheriff, Brian Hounshell, referred the case to the DPS claiming conflict of interest. On February
20, 2007, a letter from the Assistant Attorney General, Kelly O’Connor was issued which said:
“After all the information available was carefully considered, it was determined that the filing of a felony
charge was not appropriate. The State must be able to prove all elements of a crime beyond a reasonable
doubt. If it is unable to do so, there is no reasonable likelihood of a conviction at trial. For this reason,
prosecution is being declined at this time.” (www.wmicentral.com, 03/26/2007).
Give me a break! Why didn’t Deputy Avila of the Apache County Sheriff’s Office contact, immediately, the Summit
Health Care Medical Center (formerly Navapache Medical Center) to investigate Roderick’s “broken finger” story?
Answer: Because Roderick’s story about molestation was simply Sheriff Hounshell’s excuse to seize the
computer that Roderick and Hoffman claimed contained child pornography (claiming it was part of the
molestation investigation). As long as the molestation investigation was ongoing, the State could retain the
computer and have Joann Kennedy search it for evidence of the child pornography Roderick claimed I forced her
to watch.
Deputy Avila and Sheriff Hounshell knew that if/when they contacted the hospital, the hospital staff would
deny any such incident had occurred, and the investigation into the alleged molestation would end before
Joann Kennedy could do what she was hired to do - find child pornography if it was on the computer, or put it
there if it was not!
But didn’t my preexisting Federal lawsuit against Sheriff Hounshell create a conflict of interest as well?
The foregoing stories by Roderick are just a few of more than a dozen obvious lies told in the videotaped
interview with Matrese Avila.
I wanted to ask the Hoffman’s - while the jury listened - if Roderick did, in fact, tell them the same stories she
told to Matrese Avila; or if she told them completely different fabrications; or if she told them nothing at all.
I wanted to find out to what extent the Hoffmans were involved in creating Roderick’s stories. I wanted to know
what they had done in response to my notice I served upon them, of my intent to sue them - six days before I
was arrested. Had they contacted a lawyer? If not, why not? Was this fraudulent scheme, in fact, their defense
against my “notice of intent to sue”?
But Bradley Carlyon kept postponing the trial until the Hoffmans were able to pack their bags and move to
Raymondville, Missouri; eventually to be followed, after the trial, by Victoria Ries and her four children, including
Victoria Roderick, to the nearby town of Climax Springs, Missouri. There, Ries, a “former” prostitute, has
evidently started her own online adult web site called “ ‘ Incubus’ - Fear the Demon of The Night”, @ www.lulu.
com/victoriaries.
Mysteriously, however, less than a year after my trial, three of the Hoffmans suddenly died. On July 4, 2004,
Frank Hoffman, Jr. dropped dead in Apache Junction, Arizona. The next day, Frank Hoffman, Sr., suddenly died in
Raymondville, Missouri. And within the month, Shirley Hoffman reportedly died in a single car accident, also in
Missouri. What really happened to my witnesses?
Chapter 16: The Presumption of Guilt
Jury selection was tougher than I had thought it would be. Each side (the State and I) was allowed to strike up
to six jurors from the jury. That wasn’t enough for me. There were still 2 jurors that I wanted to have dismissed
from the jury, but the State objected, and the Judge would not allow it. So Florence Sopko and one other juror
remained as part of the jury.
The problem I had with Florence Sopko was that, just a few months earlier, I had had a serious disagreement
with two of her supervisors in the government agency Florence worked for. It almost resulted in my filing a
lawsuit against her supervisors. Consequently, I became a persona non grata to Florence Sopko and others in
her agency. I had to take my business elsewhere. For that reason I did not want Florence Sopko on my jury.
The demeanor of the other juror to whom I objected indicated she had already made up her mind about my
case. And it wasn’t in my favor. Her attitude seemed to be that of, “You wouldn’t have been arrested if you hadn’
t done something wrong.”
But even with two jurors who may have already made up their minds against me, I was confident I would win.
Then, after explaining the procedures of the trial to the jury, Judge Taylor said to Bradley Carlyon, “You may
proceed with your opening statement.”
Suddenly, the jury gasped! Before a word had been spoken, Bradley Carlyon and Joann Kennedy had begun
projecting giant images of child pornography in front of the jury. Each of the five images projected,
unannounced, before the jury, was more than one hundred times larger than the one inch square pictures that
Kennedy had claimed to have found on the Azdem’s borrowed computer.
My advisory counsel, Pat Patterson, leaned over to me and said, “Move for a mistrial!” I did.
The Judge then called all three of us, Bradley Carlyon, Pat Patterson, and myself to the bench. He chided
Carlyon for displaying the images without the Judge having made a ruling on whether to allow the images to be
shown. But he did not declare a mistrial.
“Now...,” as Glenn Jacobs, Editor of the Apache County Reporter, had written in his letter to me, regarding the
jury’s reaction if they were to view the child pornography:
“... you will have an uphill battle to even get the judge and jury to look at [your] evidence... that fact
will probably go right over their heads in their... burning desire to hang you.”
I still thought I would, eventually, win the trial. But like Glenn Jacobs had written, it would be an uphill battle. To
win, all I had to do was get the jury to listen to the witnesses and look at my evidence. Surely, they would
listen. Wouldn’t they? Or would those FACTS go right over their heads, now?
I thought I scored well when I got Joann Kennedy to swear that she had viewed every one of the 43,097
images; and had spent two seconds examining each one. That made sense. Just enough time to bring a new
image into view, then into focus, and then pass on to the next image 43,097 times. But obviously an impossible
task to accomplish in the three minutes of time that Joann Kennedy claimed to have done it in.
And I thought the jury would see the corruption in Matrese Avila when I asked her why she didn’t rebuff Victoria
Ries’ email request, in which Ries asked Deputy Avila to lie in a criminal investigation. After all, Ries had asked
Deputy Avila to lie when she wrote:
“Please cover for me by pretending the computer analyses experts found the evidence while working on
Joel’s computer.”
But most blatantly, the videotape of Roderick’s outrageous story about a trip to the hospital would speak for
itself. Especially since the State could not produce any doctors, nurses, or ambulance drivers to corroborate
Roderick’s stories. Surely, the jury, if they looked at the evidence piece by piece, would see that none of it fit
together against me.
Even Roderick’s newest story, which was coached by Deputy Avila and the prosecutor, Carlyon, during two
additional interviews, didn’t hold water. I had so many witnesses denying its possibility that the State wouldn’t
let me call them, all, to testify! (See Rule 403, Arizona Rules of Evidence, re; cumulative evidence).
Nor would the State let me question Roderick or her mother about the four previous false accusations of child
molestation made by them against 4 other innocent men. And the Court quashed, without the required hearing,
my subpoenas of the two Child Protective Agency case workers who investigated those charges and found
them to be groundless.
Roderick’s newest fabrication, coached by Avila and Carlyon, claimed that on “Sunday, December 29th, 2002...
four days after Christmas” (those were Roderick’s words), I had driven my Nissan pickup truck to Roderick’s
house, dragged her outside, took her to my house, and forced her to sit on my lap and watch child pornography
while I molested her.
“Roderick: ... I tried to stay there but he kept dragging me outside, like, ‘come on’.
Avila: Q. Okay. Then you went to his house. ...
A. ... then he switched on child porn and he made me sit on his lap and that’s when.
Q. And so he fingered you over your clothes or under your clothes?
A. Under the clothes.”
(See transcript of videotaped Interview of Roderick 1/22/03 pages 16-17).
Then she testified that I drove her back to her house and let her go, after threatening that I would harm her
family if she told anyone! She said there were no witnesses.
In response to that allegation I produced half a dozen witnesses who testified that Roderick’s story could not
possibly be true because they had seen my Nissan pickup truck stuck in the snow for almost a month at that
time - from mid-December, 2002, until mid-January, 2003. There was no way I could have driven to Roderick’s
house “on or about December 29, 2002.”
Eventually, I rebuffed every allegation made by the State! I was confident I would win, even when the juror,
Florence Sopko, told Judge Taylor during the trial that she thought I may have broken the law by renting space
to Chelsea Hoffman. To which I replied: “Chelsea never paid me a dime! That’s why I had to evict her.”
But I first began to sense there was something wrong when the jury foreman sent a note to the Judge asking:
“How much time is ‘on or about’?”
I quickly reviewed the charges against me to see which had used the phrase “on or about.” It was the
molestation charge. It read, “On or about December 29, 2002...”
My stomach turned. Obviously the jury was trying to find some way of finding me guilty of that charge, even
though it could not possibly have happened on that date.
This was on top of Judge Taylor’s previous admonition that if the jury did not come up with a verdict within two
days, he would declare a mistrial.
“At 12:09 p.m. on Thursday, August 21, 2003, the jury began deliberations. At 4:50 p.m. Judge Taylor stated that he
had received a note from the foreman stating the deliberations may take Friday and Saturday to reach a verdict. (See
MINUTE ENTRY : Jury Trial/Day 8)
Judge Taylor then addressed the jurors about their deliberations. He conversed with Mrs. Crosby, a juror who stated
she was planning to leave on Sunday. Judge Taylor asked her if it would cause considerable hardship for her to remain
deliberating as a juror beyond Saturday. She said, ‘It would probably cause a divorce.” She said she could stay
“through Saturday.”
Judge Taylor then echoed: “Through Saturday. If you haven’t reached a verdict by Saturday, even then, in all
probability we declare a mistrial.”
The jury remained and the verdicts came in at 6:05 p.m. on Friday evening.
The trial Judge coerced the jury to come back with a verdict; and there was fundamental error in making remarks that
affected jury deliberations.” (See Habeas Petitions 3:07 - CV - 8012, 8013. 8014, R. IX pages 13(a) and (b) )
It was the next day, Friday, that the jury foreman submitted the question, “How much time is ‘on or about’?”
Judge Taylor could not be present that day, so a judge “pro tem” was sitting in for him. Her name was Donna
Grimsley. She had never presided over a Superior Court trial before.
I tried to get Judge Grimsley to explain to the jurors that the phrase “on or about” was not part of the evidence
or testimony they were to consider. It was a preface added by the State, not the witness. In fact Roderick had
been specifically clear that the alleged molestation had occurred on “Sunday, December 29, ... four days after
Christmas,” - not some uncertain day or date “on or about” then.
But the Judge, Grimsley, who has two children of her own, whose photographs were displayed prominently on
her bookcase, gave the jurors latitude to include any date they wished, not limited to Roderick’s testimony
which was specific. Judge Grimsley gave the jurors unprecedented latitude to find me guilty of a charge that was
impossible to be true. And they did.
Shortly after the jurors were excused, and began to leave the Courthouse, two of the jurors, Florence Sopko
and another juror, were interviewed, briefly by a witness who knew Victoria Ries and her family, and knew me.
Her name is Pat Jacobs. When asked by Pat Jacobs how they could possibly have believed Victoria Roderick’s
testimony, both of the jurors volunteered that they did not believe Roderick’s testimony, but had found me
guilty because they felt I had not proven my innocence to their satisfaction! What ever happened to: “Innocent
until proven guilty”?
Not only did they find me guilty of the one count of child molestation (for which I was sentenced, originally, to 27
years in prison), but also of forcing Roderick to view child pornography (for which I was sentenced to 3 years),
and of knowingly possessing 121 images of child pornography.
Chapter 17: Truck Problems
Paloma bought her truck in 1996. It was a grey 1987 Nissan pickup truck that she bought from a dealer in
Phoenix. That truck was extraordinarily important to us. It hauled many loads of Grapevine newspapers from
the printer in Prescott Valley to Phoenix. It hauled all of our possessions from Phoenix to the White Mountains,
and made many more trips back and forth. It made our survival possible.
Unfortunately, it had a poor heater, which is a pretty important device in the fall and winter at 6,500 feet
elevation where we lived in Apache County. And over time the problem with the heater seemed to spread to
other engine functions. Specifically the thermostatic sensor and controls involved in starting the engine in cool
weather.
The first problems in starting the engine in cold weather occurred in subzero weather. I believe it was in the
winter of 1999 or 2000. A friend of ours, Roberta Walker, loaned us a propane heater to warm the engine on
the coldest mornings.
Over time, the truck began having problems starting in temperatures below freezing, then below forty degrees
Fahrenheit, then below sixty degrees. In fact, the truck did not start at all from the day after 9/11, 2001, until
April of 2002.
I remember that because on 9/11 Michael Patrick or Lynn Hawes had driven Paloma and me to the Amtrack train
depot in Winslow, Arizona, so she could go visit her mom in California. The truck sat in the driveway for almost 6
months, in which time one of our neighbors, Terry Wilhite offered to buy it.
In April of 2002, after the temperatures climbed above 60 degrees, the truck began starting again, so long as
the temperature remained above 60 degrees. But in November of 2002, as the nighttime temperatures began
to drop below 60 degrees, the truck began to become stranded overnight at various locations.
Then during a cold snap in November, 2002, the truck became stranded for several weeks on the street in front
of Victoria Ries’ house. Finally, about a week before Christmas, 2002, the weatherman forecast a major winter
storm would be coming into the area from the north and west. I knew that if I did not get the truck moved from
Victoria’s house before the major winter storm hit, the truck would be stranded at her place for the entire
winter. (Like it had at my place from 2001-2002).
My hopes for heating the truck’s engine in order to start it had been dashed a few weeks before when the
electric heater we had been using for that purpose had been run over and crushed by Fee Bailey. And I had had
a falling out with Roberta Walker, so borrowing her heater was not permissible. I had to find some other way
to start that truck, and I had to find it quickly, because the storm was moving in.
Then an idea occurred to me. It would be risky, and if it didn’t work the truck would be stuck even further down
the road and more susceptible to vandalism or an accidental collision.
About 150 feet down the road, east of Victoria Ries’ house, the gravel road descended steeply almost 20 feet
vertically, before making a ninety degree turn to the left and continuing on. It was possible, I thought, that I
could push the truck by myself far enough that it would begin to roll down that steep hill. Then, I could jump in,
turn the engine to “on”, put the truck in second gear, and release the clutch on the way down. I didn’t have
much to lose. I tried it. It worked! The truck started!
I immediately began to drive home. The storm was coming in. It was beginning to snow, and was getting dark. I
did not have snow tires or snow chains on the light weight, empty, pickup truck.
It was now snowing hard. In fact, by the time I had driven the 2 or 3 miles to the road my house was on, the
last third of a mile of road to my place was snowed in! The only way I could keep from getting stuck there for
the next weeks or months would be to plow my way through the small but accumulating drifts by driving into
them at full speed until I got bogged down, then backing up more than a quarter of a mile to the next crossroad
and doing it again. And again. And again. I did not have snow chains on the truck and could get stuck easily.
After about a dozen attempts of ramming the accumulating snowdrifts at my highest speed, I finally broke
through the last snowdrift and was able to park the truck where it belonged. But no sooner had I parked it and
gotten out than Fee Bailey and Glen Stothart met me and asked if they could borrow the truck to run an errand
before we got snowed in.
I figured there were two of them, so they could get unstuck a lot easier than I could by myself, so I let them
borrow the truck. Sadly, they didn’t get more than 500 feet down the road before getting stuck in one of the
growing snow drifts I had previously plowed through. Now it was dark. And bitterly cold. We had given up on
the truck, and hoped for better luck the next day. It was not meant to be.
The next day the landscape was covered with a foot of snow. It was too cold to start the truck even though we
carried a parade of batteries back and forth from the battery charger at my place to the truck 500 feet down the
road.
It snowed again on Christmas Day, further burying the truck. And that’s where the truck stayed, stuck in the
snow until the middle of January, 2003.
Many different people drove around the truck on their way to get water from our well. I particularly remember
when David George and Patricia Jacobs stopped by, and almost got stuck themselves on December 29th, four
days after Christmas, 2002. I remember that day because it was Patricia’s (Pat’s) birthday, and Pat and David
took me with them, back to their house to celebrate Pat’s birthday.
Unfortunately, the truck remained stuck on the road for several weeks. We finally got it started after almost all
of the snow had melted, and Richard Johnson gave me a push with another pickup truck.
From then on I began parking the pickup truck down the road at the top of a small rise. I would leave it there so
I could push it, hop in, turn it on, put it in gear and pop the clutch to start it!
One day as I was working on my property, David George and Richard Johnson came by. On the way, however,
they saw the truck at the top of the rise and mistakenly thought it had became stuck there. Thinking they were
doing me a favor, they pushed the truck from the rise to my property. And that’s where it stayed.
Several days later I was arrested and charged with the bogus crimes for which I am now in prison; and from
where I am attempting to bring this case and the corrupt motives behind it to your attention.
And it must come to your attention. The people. Because in Arizona the Court of Appeals is mandated to uphold
the convictions of questionable sentences, not to correct injustices. Arizona case law clearly states that
whenever a conviction is questionable, the Court of Appeals must uphold the conviction, rather than remand the
case for a new trial.
This is part of the reason for Arizona’s overcrowded prisons. Half of the people in its prisons are innocent of the
charges against them. I am convinced this is so based upon my personal interviews of the several prisoners I
have been housed with over the past years. One inmate was prosecuted and convicted even after the accuser
admitted, 3 times (including to the jury) that she had made up the story she told to a friend, who told it to her
mother, who called the Sheriff. Every day brings new reports of innocent men, wrongly convicted of crimes that
did not occur, or they did not commit.
Chapter 18: Greetings from Eyman Prison
The following is a synopsis of a letter written to Paul Rubin of the New Times in Phoenix, Arizona, on July 4,
2004
To: Paul Rubin
New Times Newspaper
Phoenix, Arizona
Greetings from Eyman Prison:
I hope you find this letter interesting. I don’t expect you to take me seriously, off the bat. After all, I am in
prison; this letter is hand written in pencil; and you have to consider the source, “Joel Barr,” who has at least a
mixed reputation and so-called “checkered past” (Arizona Republic Newspaper).
Me? I’m proud of my reputation. It proves I stick up for what I believe in, no matter how embarrassing it gets.
And I believe that the things I believe in are best for humankind, beginning here in Arizona, and spreading out
to the rest of the United States, and the world. So, humor me for the time being. There’ll be plenty of time to
take me seriously later on. But I’ve got to start somewhere. And thank you for spending the time to read this
letter. Consider it “open” to the world.
I’ve been trying to get into prison for a long time, I guess. I know that sounds crazy, and maybe it is, but what
do you expect from a person whose role models since childhood have been men who have gone to prison,
and/or solitary confinement or died for their ideals? It’s always been in the back of my mind.
And political activists are never sent to prison for being “political activists. ”They are always charged with some
other serious crime. But that’s what it takes to get them into prison. So, there are never any holds barred. All’s
fair in love and war.
I’m not going to ignore the charges against me. That’s going to be a big attraction to a lot of people. But
eventually the charges are going to evaporate, leaving people with their heads shaking.
But it’s a hook. And I have to capitalize on every opportunity I have. I’d be an idiot if I let this one pass. I may
have only one life to live. So, I cannot afford to let opportunities like this pass by as if I will have another chance
at another time. If I don’t choose to act in this life, who’s to say there will be a second chance? And what if
there’s not? That’s what makes this life exciting. A man either lives for something, or he lives for nothing at all.
And if there is such a thing as death, then it holds equally true that a man either dies for something or he dies
for nothing at all. If this is the only life I have, I do not intend to have lived and died for nothing.
So, now I’m going to tell you a story. It’s the story of how we’re going to change the world - starting here, in
Arizona, from prison. I couldn’t think of a better place to start... At the very bottom. Maximum Security. Solitary
confinement. “From a prison house one comes forth to rule” (Ecclesiastics 4:14).
We’re going to turn the entire government of Arizona upside down. The entire Arizona Legislature will be
replaced by candidates from the soon to be “Tea Party.” And that’s just the start. I’ll lay out the inevitable
details in a moment.
Equally important, and as a result of the same election, Arizona is about to become the richest state in the
Union; and its crime rate will tumble by more than fifty percent within the first seven months we are in office.
The 125 billion dollars of new business income we will bring into this state annually will fund more than a dozen
new programs that will put Arizona into the lead forever.
Among these programs well be: PAID PRESCRIPTIONS for the retired who cannot afford them; FREE DAY CARE
available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year (for single working parents); ARIZONA
PRISON REFORM; the BEST DRUG TREATMENT/REHABILITATION in the nation; the BEST MENTAL HEALTH
CARE/TREATMENT in the nation; the BEST LAW ENFORCEMENT in the nation; and the list goes on.
One of the most surprising things I have learned on my way into prison is that only two percent of the people in
prison received a trial. Until I was arrested, I thought almost everybody got one. Ironically, I have discovered
that by eliminating plea bargains, entirely, Arizona’s crime rate will plummet by over fifty percent.
Our initiative for NO MORE PLEA BARGAINS will cause Arizona’s police agencies to quit making questionable
arrests, because prosecutors will no longer have the option of intimidating tens of thousands of innocent men
into signing “confessions” in lieu of the threatened prospect of long prison terms if they do not. As a result the
number of false arrests will begin to drop immediately. Remember the false confessions of the “Tucson Five” and
the “Central Park Jogger,” Robert Louis Armstrong, Abu Grahib prison, and many, many more?
The only arrests that will be made will be those in which the police honestly believe they have the witnesses
and/or evidence to win a conviction. Arresting officers will not want to spend all of their time appearing in court
cases they are not likely to win. Subsequently, the crime rate statistics will crumble.
Two billion dollars will be spent to more–than–double the size of our currently overwhelmed judicial system.
That means hundreds more new courthouses and judicial staff, prosecutors and defense attorneys. I know you’
re wondering where all this money to do this will be coming from. I’ll get to that in a minute.
By passing the NO MORE PLEA BARGAINS initiative, Arizona’s crime rate will collapse no matter how many
courthouses we build, because questionable arrests will cease and prison overcrowding will be resolved.
Where are we going to get all of the money to do this? It’s going through our state all the time. We can’t stop
it. We waste billions of dollars fighting an un-winnable war (will we ever learn?) against it. And the first state
whose voters have the guts and intelligence to pass the law to tax decriminalized marijuana will take the lead
they will never lose as the rest of the states eventually follow suit. Take note how the tobacco producing states
have never been supplanted by other farming states. And the good news about marijuana, now, far outweighs
the “reefer madness” we had unquestioningly believed before.
Arizona doesn’t need to grow marijuana to supply the nation’s 125 billion dollar demand. We only need to
regulate and tax its existing import from Mexico. In other words we can start making money immediately so long
as we are the first to do so.
The 125 billion dollars includes a 25% tax placed on the sales of all marijuana. Essentially, Mexico would make
50 billion dollars, annually, from the sale of marijuana to Arizona businesses. With that kind of money going to
Mexico, no one would need to leave Mexico looking for good paying jobs in America. The motivation behind
illegal immigration (the lack of good paying jobs in Mexico) would be resolved. In turn, Arizona businesses would
also clear 50 billion dollars in profit, while another 25 billion dollars would go, as new tax revenue, to our state.
Our state budget is only 8 or 9 billion dollars (the last time I checked). So, the extra 25 billion dollars in new
Arizona tax revenue, annually, will more than pay for the new programs I mentioned earlier. Plus, it will easily
fund the following projects: revamp mandatory insurance and driver license laws; revamp child abuse laws;
revamp legislative procedures to include sunset clauses in all new laws passed by the Arizona Legislature,
passing that power of permanence back to the people via referendums on all Arizona legislative acts which are
intended to exist indefinitely.
As our pollution solution - “put it back where you got it.” If it was safe underground for a billion years where we
found it, it can be safe underground there for a billion years more. And if we ever need it again, the same facility
used to dig or pump it out the first time will already be in place to do it again. That’s efficiency.
We will also have the best National Guard/Border Patrol in the nation. Until our country is no longer at war with
the world, it cannot afford to divide its forces to provide border patrol of Arizona’s international border. Plus, we
have to be able to be responsible for our own protection against enemy infiltrators who would readily target
some of Arizona’s large civilian and military structures.
And even though Arizona will be swimming in cash from the taxation of decriminalized marijuana, we want to
persuade Arizonans to replace our Arizona Income Tax with a flat ten percent sales tax on all sales. Those with
the least amount of money to spend pay the least amount of tax. It is the ultimate, least painful insurance
Arizonans need to install as protection against any potentially diluted marijuana market.
So, what are Arizonans going to do with 50 billion dollars in new private income, annually? Even one billion
dollars is more money than most banks ever see at once. We don’t have banks big enough to handle that
amount of cash.
Answer: We (Arizona’s business enterprises) can loan that money to the other 49 states so they, too, can begin
to more than double the size of their judicial systems while cutting their crime rates in half, following Arizona’s
lead. That should give Arizona about thirty-five billion dollars, annually, in its general fund; and the State should
be completely self supportive (needing no federal assistance of any kind), and leading the other states in every
respect. Arizona will have become a smooth running machine that anyone, especially the people (including the
legislature) can maintain with little effort. Very peaceably, too.
By then the rest of the nation will have heard about what we are doing. And virtually every state will be gladly
indebted to Arizona for their collective drop in crime, and positive outlook on life.
Our Tea Party candidates will be the dark horses who win many of the subsequent elections, not only for what
the Tea Party will have done for the rest of the nation, but for the prospects of what it is poised to do to win
back the trust of the people. After all, I too was an American prisoner when our government attacked Iraq.
Chapter 19: The Initiatives
Once upon a time - after the Salem Witchcraft Trials - Sir William Blackstone wrote in his Commentaries on the
Laws of England, (1765 - 1769): “It is better that ten guilty persons escape than one innocent suffer.” Today
we have the thesis that it is better that ten innocent men be condemned, rather than one guilty man be set
free. Crucify them all. Let God sort them out.
But at what cost? Because it costs more than $20,000 per annum to house each prisoner in Arizona, the State
must import 6 new taxpayers for every new conviction. And all of their tax dollars are dedicated exclusively to
support the incarceration of that one man, when he could be on the outside paying taxes (and fines) instead of
absorbing them.
To correct these injustices and more, I and the American/Arizona Tea Party have proposed the following
initiatives for your consideration:
1. NO MORE PLEA BARGAINS
2. EQUAL TIME FOR EQUAL CRIME
3. TWO WITNESSES INITIATIVE
4. INTERNET PETITION FORMS
5. ARIZONA SUNSET LAW
6. TAXATION OF DECRIMINALIZED MARIJUANA
1. NO MORE PLEA BARGAINS: # I-02-2008
1. The purpose of the NO MORE PLEA BARGAINS initiative is to ensure the guilty do not avoid appropriate
mandatory sentences by pleading guilty to lesser crimes; and innocent people are no longer coerced into
signing false confessions. False confessions harm the innocent, protect the guilty, insult victims, defeat the
purpose of mandatory sentencing, and defraud taxpayers. The text of the NO MORE PLEA BARGAINS initiative is
as follows: “EVERY PERSON ACCUSED OF VIOLATING ANY LAW OF THE STATE OF ARIZONA SHALL STAND TRIAL
ON EVERY CHARGE. NO INFORMATION, COMPLAINT OR INDICTMENT MAY BE WITHDRAWN OR DISMISSED PRIOR
TO ITS TRIAL.”
The Arizona Republic newspaper reported on 2/11/05, page A - 9:
“Thousands of suspects unable to afford lawyers are wrongly convicted each
year because they are pressured to accept guilty pleas or have incompetent
attorneys, says the American Bar Association in a recent report.
The study by a committee of the nation’s largest lawyers’ group says that
legal representation of indigents is in ‘a state of crisis.’ These defendants are
at a constant risk of wrongful conviction and unjust punishment, including the
death penalty, according to the study being released today.”
And who pays for the wrongful incarceration of these wrongly convicted? You do. And 5 more taxpayers
with you.
2. EQUAL TIME FOR EQUAL CRIME: # I-10-2008
Punish the false accuser, not the falsely accused! The Bible says: “Thou shalt not bear false witness,” and “If
the witness be a false witness, and hath testified falsely... then shall ye do unto him as he had thought to have
done unto his brother” (Deuteronomy 19:18 - 19). Accordingly, this initiative provides: “ANY PERSON FOUND
GUILTY OF TESTIFYING FALSELY AGAINST A DEFENDANT SHALL RECEIVE THE SAME SENTENCE AS RECEIVED (OR
COULD HAVE BEEN RECEIVED) BY THE DEFENDANT, REGARDLESS OF WHETHER THE DEFENDANT IS FOUND GUILTY
OR IS SUBSEQUENTLY CLEARED OF THE CHARGES.”
3. TWO WITNESS INITIATIVE: # I-01-2008
The human propensity to fabricate charges against each other is as old as recorded history. That is why the Ten
Commandments forbids it, and why Hebrew law reads:
“One witness shall not rise against a man concerning any iniquity or sin that he commits; by the mouth of two or
three witnesses the matter shall be established” (Deuteronomy 19:15).
This initiative corrects erroneous law to read: “WITHOUT CLEAR AND CONVINCING EVIDENCE THAT A CRIME HAS
OCCURRED, AND THE ACCUSED IS THE PERPETRATOR OF THAT CRIME, NO PROSECUTION SHALL BE COMMENCED
ON THE TESTIMONY OF LESS THAN TWO WITNESSES OF THAT CRIME.”
4. INTERNET PETITION FORMAT: # I-03-2008
This measure makes it easier for the average citizen to participate in the initiative and referendum process. It
does so by making it possible to eliminate the need for human petition circulators. It does this by standardizing
the petition form into one that can be readily distributed over the internet or by fax machines. It accomplishes
this by reducing the size of the petition from the unusually large 8.5” x 14” (legal size) paper to the readily
available, standard size of 8.5” x 11.” And by printing the format on only one side of the paper.
The text of the initiative reads: “INTERNET PETITION FORMAT: THE LANGUAGE OF A.R.S. TITLES 16 AND 19
REGARDING PETITIONS SHALL BE MODIFIED BY THE ARIZONA LEGISLATURE AT ITS NEXT LEGISLATIVE SESSION
SO AS TO CAUSE ALL FUTURE PETITIONS TO BE PRINTED ON PAGES ELEVEN INCHES WIDE BY 8.5 INCHES IN
LENGTH. ALL PRINTING SHALL BE ON, ONLY, ONE SURFACE OF SUCH LEAVES. THE NUMBER OF LINES FOR
SIGNATURES MAY BE REDUCED FROM FIFTEEN LINES TO A LESSER NUMBER. THESE CHANGES WILL FACILITATE
THE TRANSMISSION, VIA INTERNET OR FACSIMILE, OF UNSIGNED PETITION FORMS TO INTERESTED VOTERS BY
STANDARDIZING THE PETITION FORMAT TO FIT PREDOMINANT COMMUNICATIONS TECHNOLOGIES.”
5. ARIZONA SUNSET LAW: # C-07-2008
On February 13, 2007, the Arizona Republic newspaper reported that Arizona’s legislators are “seeking more
control over initiatives,” when in fact citizens should be gaining more control over the legislative process. This is,
after all, supposed to be a “democratic” republic.
The Legislature has proposed a five year “cooling off period” in which voter approved laws would reign,but after
that the Legislature could make changes. We propose the opposite. We propose amending Arizona’s
Constitution to read: “ALL LAWS HEREAFTER PASSED BY THE ARIZONA LEGISLATURE SHALL AUTOMATICALLY
EXPIRE AFTER FIVE YEARS, UNLESS APPROVED BY VOTER REFERENDUM.”
This initiative would amend the Arizona Constitution so that all future Arizona legislation will expire after five
years unless, in the interim, the legislation is ratified by the citizens via initiative or referendum. It would not bar
the repassage, by the legislature, of an unratified law. But any legislators seeking to do so would be doing so
at the risk of their political careers.
6. TAXATION OF DECRIMINALIZED MARIJUANA: # I-04-2008
This initiative’s purpose is to provide supplemental funds for prescription medication for the retired; 24/7/365
day care for single working parents, and more; including (but no limited to) the best education in the nation;
Arizona prison reform; the best drug treatment/rehabilitation in the nation; the best mental health care in the
nation; and the best law enforcement. The full text of the initiative is:
“IT SHALL NOT BE UNLAWFUL TO POSSESS MARIJUANA. EVERY TRANSACTION WHEREIN MARIJUANA IS SOLD OR
TRADED SHALL BE TAXED TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT ADDED TO ITS TRANSACTION PRICE OR FAIR MARKET VALUE.
THE TAX SHALL BE COLLECTED BY THE SELLER ON BEHALF OF THE DEPARTMENT OF REVENUE AND SHALL BE
DEPOSITED INTO THE STATE’S GENERAL FUND. FAILURE BY THE SELLER TO PAY THIS TAX IN A TIMELY MANNER
SHALL BE PUNISHABLE BY LAW TO BE ENACTED BY THE LEGISLATURE.”
All of these initiatives for you consideration at; www.sos.state.az.us.
The American Tea Party in Arizona (the Arizona Tea Party) has been activated. Along the way, my Constitutional
Rights have been violated at least 32 times. But it is no longer just my rights that are being violated. Apache
County, Arizona, is just a sampling of what is going on all over Arizona and throughout the U.S. The corruption is
not limited to the White House and the Republican Party. Or the Democrats.
We need a new political party. Not a Red party. Not a blue party. Let’s make Arizona Green. The (green) Tea
Party.
If you support the idea of a truly democratic republic instead of an aristocratic republic, register to vote as a
member of the American Tea Party. See what happens.
And, yeah, the Tea party even has a song.... Some of it is inspired from the chorus of Jim Croce’s song, “You Don’
t Mess Around With Jim.” Here are the words;
Chapter 20: The Tea Party Song
Gonna tell you a little story ‘bout a party by the sea,
By another group of people back in seventeen seventy-three.
They went down to the docks of Boston.
They went down by the deep blue sea,
And they struck the Union Jacks and refused to pay the tax.
And they threw away the bloody tea.
Chorus You don’t dam up the Mississippi,
You don’t quit after you begin.
You don’t promise the world democracy
And go back on your word again.
Gonna tell you another story ‘bout a struggle to be free;
About government officials who pretend democracy;
But they never take the time to hear
Their people or their plea.
They refuse to hear the facts, They just turn and show their backs
And they’ve thrown away democracy.
Chorus
Gonna tell you the final story ‘bout the way things are gonna be.
About a growin’ group of people, they’re a lot like you and me.
They are gathered in the country.
They are gathered in the streets.
And they’re gonna have a say, beginning here today,
And they’re gonna have democracy.
Chorus
You don’t promise the world democracy
And go back on your word again.
Chapter 21: “The Greatest Democrat"
Okay, I am already in prison fighting for your rights as well as mine. In closing I would like to leave you this
poem entitled :
“The Greatest Democrat.”
And to the republic for which it stands
He pledged allegiance with his hands, and heart and mind.
And when he spoke of juster things
You’d swear you’d hear freedom’s rings. The toll was high.
“Democracy,” the word was old,
Was a thing more precious than all the gold
In rulers hands, and hearts and minds.
And thus he spoke, and trusted well,
The truth in all the words that fell
From the citizens of Earth.
And when he raised his hand to vote,
The Senate, quiet, all took note.
For there they saw it, true, indeed, the wishes of the people plead.
And dare they vote another way if this is what his people say?
For could it be as any poll, his people represent the whole?
And so they stumbled from their chairs
And headed, backward, down the stairs,
And poured out in their districts’ streets,
And finally their people meet their needs.
And so democracy could some day live,
The Democrat would have to give his life in lieu of many.
But isn’t that the way it goes?
The truest democratic prose?
The essential democratic sum
Is “not my will, but thine be done.”
From a prison house one comes forth to govern. Ecclesiastics 4:14
All religious references and quotations made herein are not made in preference of deference to any established
religion, but are made in consideration of their place in those laws from which our laws today are based, and for
that historical purpose only.
Chapter 22: Post Script
What the Tea Party will have done for the rest of the nation, but for the prospects of what it is poised to do to
win back the trust of the people. After all, I too was an American prisoner when our government attacked Iraq.
“Footnote ...”
On December 10, 2007, the Sheriff who framed Joel Barr, Brian Hounshell, pleaded guilty to one of eleven felony
counts against him. Ten other charges, including conspiracy, fraudulent schemes and practices, and theft, were
dismissed as part of a September 27, 2007, plea agreement.
Special Prosecutor, Grant Woods, said in an article published online by the White Mountain Independent
Newspaper (www.wmicentral.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=19095902&BRD=2264&PAG=461&dept_id... ):
“A lot of people think [the sentence] was too lenient. We gave him a break... Look around
the country... anybody who abused his office this many times... much less the sheriff of the county, would be in
prison... He got his break because we had to get him out of office so this could somehow come to an end. And I
hope it comes to an end today.”
According to Apache County Sheriff’s Commander, Andrew Tafoya, who also spoke to the court:
“Brian Houshell liked to tell us, ‘I manipulate more people by 9 a. m. than most people do all their lives.'
”
Among the people Brain Hounshell manipulated were jurors he persuaded to find innocent men, like Joel Barr,
guilty of crimes that never occurred; and dozens of sheriff’s deputies like Matrese Avila and John Scruggs who
do his evil bidding; and Justice Bruce Overson who was recently removed from office for corruption.
Tafoya continued;
“Three years and six months ago [while Joel Barr awaited trial], another commander, a sergeant, a
deputy, and an evidence tech and I met with investigators from the Attorney General’s Office. We
developed information on fraud, theft, and misuse of public monies being committed by Sheriff Brian
Hounshell. Employees from the Apache County Sheriff’s Office had seen Hounshell committing alleged
crimes which were reported to us.”
Tafoya said they found overwhelming evidence on half a dozen crimes and significant information to give
investigators on many additional crimes.
The Judge, Andrew Klein, said that contrary to Hounshell’s protestations and the fact he only pled guilty to one
single charge, he believes this is not an isolated event.
“Rather, the Court believes this represents a pattern of behavior that went unchecked for some time.
Over a six year period, in fact, while serving as Sheriff of Apache County... This isn’t about the money,
even though there were several significant financial misappropriations,” Klein said. This is about a small
county sheriff who wielded a great deal of power as the top law enforcement person in the county and
who abused that power... This is about corruption.”
Which is exactly what Joel Barr has argued, consistently, in his own defense against Hounshell’s false
allegations against Barr. (See “Defendant’s Notice of Corrupt Motives” filed 7/22/2003).
Klein said, “The damage [Hounshell] has done... is irreparable,” and went on to say:
“Mr. Hounshell, I do believe that you understand and appreciate how much damage you have caused
the county. However, I am not convinced you’ve learned any lessons or shown any remorse for what
you’ve done other than being sad that you [got caught].”
In the meantime, demand a fair trial for Joel Barr by forwarding this request to the Clerk of the Apache County
Superior Court to: bsmith@co.apache.az.us, and your friends and associates: “ I am a registered voter, and I
demand a new trial for Joel Barr, and a new judge for Apache County.” And then write to:
Joel K. Barr
180015
ASPC - Tucson
P. O. Box 24407
Tucson, Arizona 85734