While I know this is one of many reports I have submitted, I ask that this complete account be taken as my sworn testimony to which I will gladly testify to. With over twenty years experience as a Court Mandated Reporter sworn to the Arizona Supreme Court, I can only hope that my story is taken as seriously as it needs to be. I swear on the Holy Bible, my dear dead mother’s ashes, Pepsi, and everything I hold dear in this world, that every single word of this statement is a factual account of the events, and as a Court Mandated Reporter, my testimony is evidence enough to begin prosecution. Furthermore, I can provide multiple highly credible witnesses that I am confident will verify my claims if subpoenaed. Without naming names a few examples are; a former First Lady, a federal prosecutor, a U.S. Marshal, members of the International Court of Justice, a special agent of the FBI, and administrators of one of the most prestigious boys academies in London.  

There can be no gray area in the pursuit of justice in this country.  Justice is supposed to be for all, not just all those that can afford it. I have followed the proper channels of recourse, only to be stonewalled by the very authorities I am obligated, by law, to report to. The failure of those elected to serve their constituents is unparalleled and the dereliction of duty is mind boggling. Not only do I expect justice be served, I demand it. My life has been spent trying to overcome not just oppression of unimaginable amounts, but attempting to correct the aberrant miscarriages of justice that have plagued my existence. Yes, the problems herein are on a scale that has never had to be addressed before, but surely this is not a reason to turn a blind eye to these issues. If anything it should make them a priority. I hope that the Office of Efficiency can help expedite resolutions to my many, many complaints, which deserved to be rectified some more recently than others, and to do so they must be itemized and fully explained on the record to be addressed.  That being said; I am not going to mince words or leave out the parts that paint me in any way in a negative light, and I hope in doing so that my forthcomingness is taken into account. However, should I be on the list of those facing prosecution, I will gladly take being charged with whatever deemed appropriate and still testify to this statement. Justice is the way liberty is protected. Liberty is the result of freedom being defended by justice. Our country was founded on protecting freedom and the future of our country is dependent on the fulfillment of the rights afforded in our Constitution. Ignoring my complaints is discrimination and can no longer be tolerated. These matters deserve public attention and regardless of the repercussions, I am entitled to due process and I will settle for nothing less. Due to the extremely long timeframe that these events have unfolded during, the chronological preciseness is not what is normally required for court proceedings. However, due to the extremely complex and unprecedented nature, I believe that extenuating circumstances can be cited as grounds to move forward with the case undaunted by any prior rules in which this case may be encumbered by. Legislation takes time, and that has thwarted me time and again, yet due process provides that trials be granted in a speedy and efficient manner. These two facts contradict one another and it is my hope that we can eliminate the bureaucratic red tape and find a way to force my Constitutional rights supersede any and all obstacles, objections, and obstructions of justice even a moment longer. I would also like to point out that my memory and recollection have been measured in numerous controlled environments and both areas have always been touted one of the best in known history. I am very careful to only rely on the things I know to be true and any information provided that is second hand hearsay has either been verified via cross referenced data or I have stated as such. I apologize in advance for the lengthiness of this account. Providing summaries of this information has resulted in no action being taken so I have expended a lot of time and energy to be as thorough as possible. Thank you in advance for taking the time to hear me out and I look forward to being contacted when the decision to proceed has been made and resolutions are on the horizon. 

I founded the Park West Residents Association when I was only ten years old. My mom and I held monthly board meetings for eighteen months before anyone else attended. I drafted the monthly invites and hand delivered them to the 302 units in our apartment complex every month. There is a tree planted on the property with a placard thanking me by name for my help in the acquisition of the property. My mom and I lobbied in DC for two years, fighting for HUD and demanding that low-income households not be forgotten by the government.  My mom was on CNN answering an affiliate correspondent’s question regarding the importance of low-income housing with the White House in the background after spending the day picketing on Pennsylvania Avenue. In my first cell phone, the memory only allowed for ten contacts to be saved. Two of my contacts were then Congressmen Joe Liebermann and Christopher Dodd. My mom was in the Hartford Courant describing the obstacles we were trying to overcome as a foundation. I sent the application for nonprofit status to the Secretary of the State mistakenly, who was kind enough to forward it to the Secretary of the State of Connecticut. It was on our third trip to Washington that our bill was passed into law by Congress in 1995, piggybacked onto the Low-Income Housing and Urban Renewal Act of 1995. 

We hired contractors to remove the asbestos from the ceilings of our complex one unit at a time, and update the almost fifty year old buildings in accordance with the market and bring them up to code. The entire property was to be renovated from the landscaping to the hazardous materials found in the popcorn ceilings. This was a very exciting and busy time for those that were now clamoring to be a part of my company. We hired an Executive Director, Nancy Reno, who responded to the advertisement to replace my mom when her health began to decline. Nancy had experience in property management having worked for The Community Builders prior to coming aboard as an employee of Park West Residents Association Inc.  Nancy’s stepson lived with my mom and I for a month to avoid a long daily commute. As it turned out, he decided to keep living with us, or so we thought, for over a year. I’ll circle back to this momentarily. 

Before we continue, let me tell you a little about me and what life was like during these years, a formative time in all teenagers development. I volunteered every day after school at a hospice that was a couple miles from my home. I’d spend time with the residents, particularly those that had few visitors. We’d read the newspaper or magazines, sometimes the novels they were reading, take walks on the grounds weather permitting, (I’d push them in their wheelchairs), they regaled me with stories from their past, (I even quoted one in a report I did for a class), and sometimes we’d just sit and enjoy the company of not being alone. I was in my church’s choir and I took karate classes every Saturday. I loved reading and spent my free time at the library. I also founded a second nonprofit which made the newspaper for replenishing a clothing bank in the early months of winter, because I saw in the news they had nothing to offer those in need. We donated several dozen bags of freshly laundered clothing, so much that they had to improvise a storage solution for the excess items which didn’t fit in the large walk-in closet which had been converted from a bedroom at the local soup kitchen. We held a bake sale to fund the weekend we spent sorting, laundering, folding, bagging, and delivering the items and had a pizza party to celebrate afterwards. I even compensated my mom for the gas we used to make it all happen. I transitioned from volunteering to running my own afternoon school program during this time. My mom was the Executive Director of the company and worked two doors down in our office which was an apartment only a moment away from our front door. I babysat for approximately a dozen of our neighbors regularly and had many referrals for parents interested in having their children taken care of of during the afternoon. At one point I had six kids from five different families attending the program, which was less structured than some daycares, but offered more flexibility than our competitors. I helped supplement my mom’s income during that time, as she made only ten dollars an hour running my company. I provided snacks for our clients children if approved by the parent, helped them finish their homework which was mandatory to help eliminate that stressor from their home life, and allowed them to make use of any of my personal toys that they wanted, while keeping everyone safe and happy. Most of the time was spent in our backyard which was situated in a way that provided a closed in courtyard bordered by a steep incline on one side and the apartment building on the remaining sides. If ever a problem arose my mom was a phone call away and only had to come home once that I recall to help handle a behavioral issue that was beyond my skill set to address. She checked in regularly between 2:30 and 5-5:30 when she would come home and prepare dinner.  My mom was slightly insulted when I revealed I was making more than her weekly, but I did my best to contribute to the household despite her objections. I never gave a specific cutoff time for picking up the kids, but almost all the parents were respectful enough to have their kids out of my custody by our dinner time at six every evening. If not, a place was set for them at our dinner table and we included them in our meal. I babysat almost every Friday and Saturday night. I also befriended our postman during this time. We gave him cookies for Christmas and he cried when he thanked us, telling us how delicious they were and that in his whole career we were the only ones to think of him during the holidays. My mom and I went camping every summer for two trips each two weeks long, where we were joined by her sister and her sister’s family in various amalgamations. I went to Christian summer camp for two weeks every summer, as well. I brought homemade cards for the cafeteria staff and janitors at my school for all the major holidays. I had trouble adjusting at school as I got picked on everyday. Back then schools didn’t know how to address bullying and despite my mom rallying for my cause time and again, it went on unchecked throughout my full twelve years at public schools. Three years in a row they considered having me skip two years to catch up with those on the same academic level as me, but my mom insisted on the importance of functionalism and symbolic interactionism, despite my challenges interacting with my peers on a social level. I was gregarious and outgoing, but got teased constantly.  In fact, I was almost awarded a scholarship to an overseas school for gifted and twice exceptional students after scoring the only perfect score ever on the statewide aptitude tests given to all eighth graders. This is still one of the biggest let downs of my life and at that point was the worst injustice I could have suffered. To begin with there were some procedural errors in the administration of the exam. Our class had too many students so they decided to either dedicate an additional day to the exam or to split the group in half and allow the teacher’s aide to read the instructions for our group, as she was set to become a full time teacher the following year anyway. However, all students were supposed to take the exam at the same time, so they opted for the latter choice. The scholarship was awarded to the very teacher’s soon to be stepson who had been assigned to administer our exam after they first accused me of cheating, then of being unable to qualify for not following instructions, (I finished second or third and did not check over my answers which was part of the instructions, but why I was singled out for this seemed unfair because most students finished and turned in their exam without double checking them, just as I had). Then, through their own volition the school administrators decided to have a tie breaker to determine the recipient of the scholarship.  The three highest scores were given a single essay question, which they dreamed up much like the tie breaker for what was not a tie.  They asked what the one reason was each of us should be chosen for the scholarship as the question for us to respond to. I was so upset by the whole process that I found it very hard to concentrate. They were potentially robbing me of a scholarship package valued at over half a million dollars.  I cited numerous reasons why I should be awarded the scholarship; because I scored the highest and because I was the person it was supposed to be awarded to, and then focused on the fact that my mom and I were impoverished and that this opportunity would be unattainable to a kid from a low-income, single parent household. I went on to say that my home life was not particularly unbearable, but that giving an opportunity to me which would be so out of reach otherwise, would be more dramatic a change for me than the other two students who both came from higher socio-economic tax bracket households than me. The degree of change to my trajectory would be greater than their’s. I didn’t love my essay, but it was solid and I knew that it should have secured the scholarship, but there were other factors at work, unbeknownst to me. The following year, the same teacher who was supposed to administer my exam returned from the summer break with a new last name and two stepsons. Nonetheless, I began my college applications in eighth grade, with my then guidance counselor, Mr Barnas, who was a big supporter of college and insisted on his students applying, because our Advanced Placement classes meant that if you were pre-enrolled at an affiliated university you would be earning college credits in those classes while in high school. My five year plan was to graduate with a Master’s when I was only eighteen. I even knew that I would be working for the same company my aunt was a manager for and my mom worked for during the holiday season, the May Company, and they had just begun building one in the new Providence Mall just a block away from J&W, which I envisioned myself transferring to in order to help pay for my continued education. I rode my bicycle everywhere back then, sometimes twenty miles in a single day, and Providence is one of the most bicycle friendly cities in the country, so I planned to save money by commuting on my bike.  I was accepted to my first choice, Johnson and Wales for a culinary degree and had four A.P. classes originally scheduled for my freshman year. This would prove to be one of the worst years of my life, as it turned out. My mom began dating after being a single parent for the past decade. It took a lot of encouragement from me for her to reluctantly accept the repeated requests from our mailman to take a night off and accompany him on a date. She was so nervous, but I was sure they’d hit it off. Dick was so supportive of me going to college that I knew my mom would like him. She did, but not in a romantic way. They dated for a year before my mom got involved with a former boyfriend she had dated at the end of her marriage in Maine. Dick retired the same month my mom broke up with him. The following month he died. He bequeathed to me 77K USD, which I knew he wanted spent on my college education so that I wouldn’t be stuck in a menial job, with little benefits, all my life, like he had been and had told me so multiple times. He considered being a mailman a blue collar job because it had ruined his knees and he had been viciously attacked by two different dogs while on route, and the insurance wouldn’t even pay to have his knees operated on because it had yet to become debilitating to his career of over 30 years with the United States Post Office.