My cat Classy has been trying to tell me something for several days.
I just sent my message to Seantor Ron Wyden. Please send yours.
Dear Holly; Your son, Robert is talking to me. What day did he ie> How did he die. He said;
“Im lined up in the angels chute!”
Thi is saying he is about to come back – any day. When I saw all yur boys in a swinning pool with Tylor, I thought of batsim. I wanted to get Tylor baptised. Patruced – hated that idea, She claimed when /i met her she is here ti destroy male reigios,
I was not told my sister Vicki was dead, and my niece, Drew Betnon. A week after she died, she came to me, and left me a messages to give to her family. I gave it to Alix Dundon, and he was shicked and outraged. His father, Shmus Dundon, is evil, Did Heather and Patrice know – I did not know?
In 1987, I wrote on a piece of paper “I am a Nazaeire” and emrsed myself in the river. Walking back to my camp, I ran into Michael undon, and his son Lewis Dundon. In Spetermbe I learned Micheals son, shot himself. I counted noses, and found out Drew was dead. She died
July 23, 2024
This is bnot a holy football agme. Soe evileneity has drawn a line in the sand, I have come with…..
A MOB OF ANGELS
Everyone who is ralted to Mary Magdalne Rosamond was bornb to becoame a Nun or Presit in the Order of Saint Frnic. Robert wanted a ,meagae to get on the path. He has come back to protect
HIS BROTHER
This is not a dress rehearsal. Viki stopped Heather and Ryua from aborting Tyler Hunt. She saw heaven when she died, and passed a message through…..
AN ANGEL OF gOD
Her beloved brother!
Amen!
John ‘The Nazarite’
“EXTRA! I just found this pic, that my sister Christine Presco may have had in mind when she said I had this long aquiline nose, while they stubby noses, to got with their stubby fingers,
‘Greg has long fingers!”
I have followed Tyler’s struiggle with – his nose! Does it truly belong to him?
I just found this pic of my cat Classy touching our statue of Saint Francis, with one paw, then the other. Go look those goregous Siamese Cats in the eye, and say
“Francis?”
They have been on guard for a year, and need sone rest.
Capturing Beauty
by
John Presco
Rosemary’s Baby Daughter
Yesterday, I made an attempt to communicate with my little sister who is stuck in a giant monolith in the Mojave Desert. It is a place the elderly and infirmed go to die. After two phone transfers, I hear a muffled woman’s voice. She is mumbling. My heart is racing! Am I talking to my baby sister, who my niece described as near brain-dead?
“Who are you? Is Vicki Presco there?”
“Vicki is up in her room. She may not be able to come down and talk to you!”
“She can walk?”
“Yeah, she can walk, alright. She has a tendency to wander! She’s afraid of her fellow patients in the rec room where the phone is.”
“There’s no phone in her room!?”
As a writer, I admire loaded answers from non-authors, that say so much. I own a picture of ‘Wandering Vicki’ who has to be given a extra dose of meds, or, she will be on a vision quest with the coyotes. But, she can’t get by the ghosts in the rec room, that remind her of the dream our niece Shannon had, where she saw the Family Mascot in purgatory. Of course there are no phones in the rooms of the rebels who don’t want to be there, and want to call up their SOB son for putting them there.
Not able to get the full picture of what was going on, my niece offered to come get me and drive me to Sunridge to see for myself. Mind you the executor of Cristine’s estate assigned a ‘Caretaker’ to handle us and our affairs, with disastrous results.
Here are the sane questions my first flame helped me with last night.
Here is the reply I got this morning. I reply to that reply, and…..it’s over! My relationship with my beloved lsister, is no more. The manager says she is “sorry” but it is not a courteous “sorry” but a fuck-you sorry from their attorney. Well, fuck you too! There is no consideration of my feelings. For this reason I make Vicki the McGuffin of my story. I will attempt to describe the utter grief I felt when I beheld the Coo-Coo Ark. I saw the trapped souls out on their balcony. They say some swimmers made it to shore from Alcatraz. I never saw my sister as a prisoner.
“How in the fuck did you end up here? This can’t be your fate!”
“Hi John,
I am so sorry but I can’t answer any of your questions unless you have power of attorney.”
“Hi John,
It is fine if you visit or call..”
Why wasn’t this said – off the top? Surely management has handled a thousand cases where family is……confused! Losing both of my sister’s is like having a safe dropped on your head from the 13th. floor. These are the last of the Rosamond Women!
The Fair Rosamond Women
“Man the bus! We drive to Bullhead City at dusk! This does not augur well!”
Vicki was with Keith when he took Sue Villiani out of Camarillo State Hospital. Sue had been Christine’s good friend. Her parents put her in the coo-coo’s nest against her will. I saw an attorney after Mark Presco drove me there, and, they would not let me see her. Rosemary told her three oldest children she had scholarship to the Funny Farm that can be seen in Rosemary’s home movie. She had befriended a doctor who wanted a star patient. When alas I learned of Vicki’s condition, I thought about Vicki’s mother. She would say this is the worst thing that ever happened to her, and, then add Vicki. Nothing bad was ever supposed to happen to her.
Rosemary Rosamond Rides Again
Victoria Mary Presco is the youngest of the four children Rosemary Presco gave birth to. There was a fight over Vicki as long as I can remember. I have erased many of my childhood memories because of the fighting scenes like the one below. Our father, Victor Presco, told me Rosemary had turned Mark, Christine, and myself, against him at an early age, and, thus he formed a close bond with Vicki. You see, Captain Victim was a victim of Rosemary’s propaganda, thus he never tried to form a close bond with Vicki’s siblings after the divorce. Vicky was his namesake. Vic was a big believer in propaganda. He served in the Merchant Marines and knew all there was to know about war and the military. His pretty young secretaries who worked in his Loan Shark business in his home, called my father “Vic the Nazi” because during the break for lunch, he would put on one of his Nazi Germany videos and explain how Germany could have won the war.
Vicki joined the Navy to hide from her insane second husband, Ken Prather, who was trying to murder my sister. He had knife wounds all over his body. At our family reunion in Bullhead City, my surviving sister tried to explain why she wasn’t as fucked-up and coo-coo like her siblings due to Vic and Rosemary’s battle royal.
“You guys protected me, insulated me from the terrible fighting.”
This is partly correct. The truth is, both our parents told our baby sister she was not like us. Indeed, she was a very special child who must beware of what we say about Vic and Rosemary, who are the sane ones. The eldest Presco Children are Little Propagandist who have our own agenda. We want to be free from parental rule so we can be naughty. Vicki was the ‘Good Child’. Vicki was the ‘Loyal Child’. Vicki would never betray Mr. and Mrs’ Presco, especially after they got divorced. Captain Vic never came for the naughty ones to take them to Roseville to see Grandma Melba. That’s her standing between my parents. Guess who’s side she is on. Guess who she is protecting? Melba married a professional gambler who gambled in the Barbary Coast.
The Mayor of SF attended Victor Hugo Presco’s funeral. His son was supposed to buy a headstone. But, I suspect he dumped my grandfather off the Carquinez bridge just before dawn after wrapping Hugo in some rusty old chains. He then went on a three day binge with the money his father’s friends collected in a hat.
“Are you catching this, Joe? Look at the look the She-Witch is giving my son! Rosemary s the destroyer of family unity. We would all get along if it were not for her!”
When I was seventeen I did a large canvas of the mudflats with large raindrops falling. I had done a painting when I was thirteen that had the Tears of God raining down. Vicki will make you cry from that place that lie between life…..and death. There will be tears, and God’s pain. There will be several loud claps of thunder, loud enough to wake the dead. The Coo-Coo Ark……..will be raised up!
What Happened To Me?
The world-famous artist, Christine Rosamond Benton began her autobiography talking about how different I looked from my siblings. She said I was taller and more slender, while they were squat. I had long graceful fingers, they had stubby fingers. Then, there was my aquiline nose. My siblings had short upturned noses. You can see my fine artistic nose taking shape in the photo of Mark, Christine, and myself on a bridge in Roseville. I have a look of bliss and inner peace on my face, while Mark is giving the camera his mean and pouting look. We all owed him. He was, and still is, a whiney baby. We got into fist fights because he was forever trying to disqualify me, throw me out of the nest. I made him look bad. He was our mother’s favorite, the first-born. Our father told all our kindred I was not his son, but the product of his wife’s betrayal. I am the Family Scapegoat, the Sacrificial Lamb. I am not one of them. I am full of light and poetry. My artwork will tour the world in a year. I am a Gifted Child who was born with one hell of a load of my grandfather’s DNA. I look like him! For this reason – I must die! Royal Rosamond was buried in a un-marked grave. I never met him. I was my mother’s father, come home………..alas!
For the reason I have not seen my grandson in over four years, and for the reason we might never lay eyes on each other again, I am bid to tell the truth. Let us start with this one: Rosemary seduced my best friends and caused him to suicide on my eighteenth birthday. Bill Arnold was a brilliant writer and author. He came to live with us when he was sixteen after his father threw him out of his home. Brian Arnold threw Bill in Youth Authority (YA as we called it) and kept him there for over a year. He got this artist out of jail just before his eighteenth birthday so he would be eligible for the draft.
When I was fifteen, Rosemary gathered Mark, Christine, and I together, and in tears she told us she was making porno movies, and she was a prostitute. She told us we had to be extra good, or we would be taken from her and put in an orphanage. I suspect she had been warned. Vicki’s best friend, Karen Snyder, told my sister her parents found an article in the Oakland Tribune. Rosemary had been arrested and had appeared in court. There was talk about her losing her four children. I would like to see that article. Rosemary was working for Big Bones Remmer, who was the Mafia on the West Coast.
Christine was talking about the family incest. She was seeing three therapists when she died. When she did, I suspect members of my family were at Rocky Point. I believe they ransacked this famous artist’s house and found her autobiography Rosamond was working on. I suspect she was not kind to her mother, who read the proof. For this reason she conspired to have Vicki and Mark Presco rest this artistic and literary legacy away from the adult Heir, and put me out in the cold, because, I had written long letters naming both my parents as Sexual Predators. Mark is one of the most destructive human beings I have ever met. He, Rosemary, and Vicki have no gifts. This is a crime against the Art World. I fought off my mother’s sexual advances almost every time I saw her. She said this to me the last time she saw me;
“You prepared her way!”
Rosemary was the most narcissistic, and parasitical people one could ever know. She told us we owe her, and she owns us. She had to prove that I, and Christine, got all our talent from her. Making Mark and Vicki wealthy off the book and movie was the climax of her sick dream. Whenever the movie ‘East of Eden’ came on, we would gather around the television like monks around an altar. This movie was our family religion that Mark and I acted out. Steinbeck’s classic, is fiction. Here is the real thing.
After he arrest, Rosemary fled town and left us in the care of an old woman who could have passed for Kay Coakley’s sister. Kay had all but adopted Vicki, and there was talk she would inherit a fortune. But, Kay’s dark sister stepped in. Alice Coakley looks like the woman who gave me a dirty look. Her father, James, was a famous District Attorney. I think he pulled strings to keep Rosemary out of prison, and her children out of the Fred Finch Orphanage where my dear friend Sandra was sent as a teen to keep her away from her father. Sandra has given me the courage to tell the truth. She is a part of my family history. I have already put her in a good light, where she deserves to be, forever!
This strange woman came to our house, and stayed the night for four months or more. We had been taking care of each other for years. I was the family cook. She would sit in front of the T.V. eating cold pork n’ beans out of the can with a spoon. She never spoke to us. When she shut the T.V. off at 8:00 P.M. and told us we had to go to bed, because she was sleeping on the sofa-bed, we took it upstairs. We wondered what we were going to do if Rosemary did not send for us. Who would pay this crone? Would one of don an old wig, and come as scheduled to the Presco home, hunched over, with a bag of beans? A world-famous artist came from this house! What are the odds?
Our house was full of children. We were a commune. Peter Pan and Wendy never had it so good. When Bill moved in, there two artists in residence. There was a Renaissance! Our friends felt – free!
http://www.fredfinch.org/who-we-are/our-history/
I brought hope, light, creativity, and truth to my family. In the end, they utterly rejected me. Why? To take Tyler from me is to put him in an orphanage. My daughter’s mother and aunt were sexually abused by their father. They commit the crime, we do the time! Sandra was taken out of a mental-prison….. in a body bag. Christine drowned on her fist sober birthday in AA. I am sure her sponsor encouraged to tale about her abuse. Instead, a male ghost writer was hired to tell Rosamond’s story. He had written a book about Route 66.
If you put the Criminal Parents in jail, what are you going to put their children? Consider ‘Capturing Beauty’ a prison breakout story. Unto the Criminal Parent “All’s well, that ends well.” means, the family secrets did not get out, the family remains closed, and the one who was a threat to spill the beans, has been cast out, silenced, and all the family sins put on their head.
One can conclude the Family Artists were shoved off a cliff, because the nature of art and being creative has a powerful built-in truth, a divine imperative to go to the light. That this light was so ruthlessly, and cleverly oppressed, makes my story unique in the annals of art.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2015
.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_2XOCww6-w
http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=141607421
In December 1950, local cops swept up a rat king of drunken gamblers after an early morning brawl inside the Encore, resulting in the feds calling a pair of long-sought men to appear before the Kefauver Senate Crime Investigating Committee. Invited to Washington were Elmer “Bones” Remmer (San Francisco) and Thomas J. Whalen (East Saint Louis). With them in the Encore, and booked on charges of intoxication were Edmund M. Scribner (Bakersfield tavern keeper) and redheaded Miss Vici Raaf, actress.
Whalen was also charged with robbery and carrying a concealed weapon after a search turned up a .25-caliber automatic hidden in the padding of his car, and $4600 cash. The cops arrested the quartet after Andy McIntyre, proprietor, called for help with some brawling football fans. Whalen was passed out on the floor when deputy sheriffs and Highway Patrolmen arrived, Miss Raaf, Whalen’s housemate above the Sunset Strip, bending over him.
Remmer, who Miss Raaf identified as the operator of the Cal-Neva Lodge — which he was supposed to have sold under duress in 1948 — cursed at and threatened officers and reporters. Sheriffs interrogated the men about the recent Samuel Rummel gang slaying in Laurel Canyon, and told them all to stay out of Los Angeles.
http://www.geni.com/people/Victor-Presco/6000000007068273268
http://www.geni.com/people/Rosemary-Rosamond/6000000007068536101
http://www.geni.com/people/John-Presco/6000000007068112607
Rosamond’s Genie and LampWhen I saw the movie ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ I beheld the true
story of my famous sister and I. We were very close, but never
incestuous. I was her beloved brother and protector. She once gave me
credit for her success and teaching her everything she knew about
art. In a family of Takers, I was the only one who gave her anything.
She was my beloved sister. I can take nothing from Christine for she
lost everyhting when she lost her life. She has everything to gain,
now, for “The truth shall set you free.”Rosamond’s LampJon PrescoCopyright 2004My sister’s new Cadillac left the paved road and began to kick up
gravel as it fought for traction, a cloud of dust now swirling behind
us as we headed to the bluff overlooking the sea. I glanced at the
speedometer, nonchalantly, then studied Christine’s beautiful
profile. She was showing off, her new confidence, her overnight
success, her craziness she learned from her ex-husband who used to
race his Corvette on Muholland drive, he going around hair pin
corners on two wheels, he more determined not to lose, then to win.
Those he raced would tell him he was insane at the finish line.Larry Sidle somehow won my sister’s heart. This was not the
beginning of the great injustices that befell my sister and our
family as some have claimed. When my brother-in-law crashed his
Corvette, he took his wife’s Mercedes up to Santa Monica mountain
range and rode it into the ground. He destroyed the transmission and
left it in a ditch. It was a grudge match. These matches were a
family theme. Taking what didn’t belong to you was another. Christine
and Larry had one child, my niece, Shannon. Reckless would be her
middle name. As an heir, she would have a fortune taken from her. In
the incredible legacy of family abuse, only she would go to jail.Getting out of the car we walked through the dry grass to a group of
rocks covered with lichen. A lizard took cover as we sat down. And in
our moment of silence we looked at the Pacific Ocean far below, too
far to hear the crash of the waves, or hear the cry of seagulls
gliding over Malibu beach. It was here, in the Santa Monica
Mountains, that the J. Paul Getty Museum would be built, a modern
fairy tale castle that would give sanctuary to some of the world’s
greatest masterpieces. In another fifteen years, Christine would dine
at the Getty’s table. As their overnight guest she called her mother
to say;”Mother, I am calling you from the Getty mansion where I am spending
the night. I have it all, a beautiful home in Pismo Beach, a Gallery
in Carmel, and a million dollars in the bank. But, I don’t know who I
am anymore.”
I had not seen Christine in two years, and I studied the cleverness
in her blue eyes, as she began to tell me who she was, then. She was
all of a sudden the world famous artist, Rosamond, whose rendering of
lovely women were known all over America, even in Japan and France,
and were “selling like hot-cakes”.
“Hotcakes” I interrupted with a shudder, my sister studying me
intently as I took all this in, she knowing I was a very serious
artist, my work touring the world in a Red Cross show when I thirteen
and sixteen. I had been living in Boston for two years, and had come
home to see our father, Victor, who my mother, Rosemary, told me on
the telephone was in the hospital, a rare disease about to take his
eyesight. For some reason I thought it important he behold his son,
the artist, before the light went out. You, see, I was also a
spiritual being.
When I learned Vic was not going blind, and had lost sight in one eye
due to a one pound ashtray his third wife DeeDee hurled at his head,
I felt cheated of reality, something my parents were good at, they
both severe alcoholics. Vic would wear a black patch over his eye and
look just like the Pirate on the Oakland Raider emblem, which was
appropriate as he was a Loan Shark, not what he appeared to be, which
proved to be very good for business. Christine and I grew up guessing
at what reality was, and, now we guessed at her success – was it
real?
My sister now told me how it happened, as if it was an accident that
had not meant to happen to her. But it did, and she was in shock. So
was I. I didn’t know it, then, but this accident was going to wipe me
out, take from me everything I held dear and precious, including my
sixteen year old daughter I was yet to conceive. But when I did, I
was not told, and saw her for the first time when she was sixteen.
She had shown up out of the blue to be in Rosamond’s biography. When
telling the tale of a famous artist one has to pay attention to the
many attachments to the artist’s immortality in the post mortem, as
we all want to be immortal, or at get close to this idea.
“France! I always wanted to go to France.” I piped, not knowing what
to do with rising feelings of jealousy, that Christine noted, let me
know she knew, by saying;
“I can teach you my style. It’s easy. You too can be a success!”
She ended this declaration with her infamous cynical laugh and cackle
that I wondered at it. Why was I being made this offer?
“It may not last, thus you have to hurry and make up your mind!” she
added with aplomb. And now I knew I was in trouble, because on one in
our family ever gave anyone anything without a thousand strings
attached.
“Christine.” I interrupted. “You don’t need my approval to be a
famous artist. I am happy for your success that validates my own
art, as I have been told art was a waste of time. You have proven it
was not. You have a success no one in the family has ever owned. This
is great,”
Arriving back at Christine’s home in Woodland Hills, I asked to use
the bathroom. Christine pointed to a hallway.
“It’s the third door on the left.” She said, looking unsettled from
our conversation. Was she concerned that she had usurped me, taken my
role in the family?
Opening the second door on the left, I found myself peering into a
small closet, and the object that would come to destroy me and my
family, including my beloved sister. On the floor was a large light
projector the kind that artists use to transpose images on to
canvases by the use of mirrors, a magnifying lens, and a bright light
bulb. One could put a photo or image from a magazine in the
projector, and then trace the image on a canvas or wall, if you were
doing a mural. This is Rosamond’s lamp, one of them. The original
lamp was owned by Rosamond the Earth Goddess Folk Mother who ruled
the Frisians in 1663 B.C. whom I have traced our ancestry to in my
quest to know who I and my creative sister, are, were, and will
always be. For knowing who we are, the two artists in the family, was
not, and is not an easy task as there were villains along the way who
came and claimed pieces of our soul. And they owned projectors of
their own these beings of a lesser light, because they were not born
with the Gift Christine and I were born with, and thus the
transferences began from this day forth, it easy for them to take
from my sister all she was worth, for she felt like a fraud even
before she pick up a brush for the first time which she did when she
twenty four. Why she felt this way, is the crux of this story.
When I closed the closet door I exposed my sister standing at the end
of the dark hall, she looking very guilty, or ashamed. She said
nothing and walked away.
Taking a seat on the living room sofa I began to piece together
Christine’s enigma, and now understood her offer, her invitation to
share in her success. Somehow, if I was dualistic in it, it would
take on a validity it did not own?
Our family had suffered real poverty growing up, we often going to
school hungry, there not enough milk for our cereal, so said
Christine in the autobiography she began, that in chapter one
villianized me. Christine was going to tell the art world of my
brutality in the fight we had, because she drank the last of the
milk. I was twelve and she was eleven. And now she was Bob Dylan’s
neighbor, they taking turns babysitting their children. Christine now
had something to lose. She had fame. What did I have in
comparison
..credibility?
When Christine walked into the living room she was wearing her famous
look of utter worry, she all but wringing her hands in anticipation
of the grave matter that was upon her, upon us, she not yet
understanding what I came to understand in Recovery, that we were the
Parents in our family and had been since we were quite young.
At twenty four and twenty five my younger sister and I were very
striking, very good looking, and our relationship was a beautiful
one, it described as thus by our friends. This beauty we shared made
our parents jealous, which was not hard to do as Vic and Rosemary
loathed each other till they day they died. The claims they made that
Rosamond got her creativity from them are outrageous! The violence
our parents shared with their children would leave a great impression
on us. My older brother Mark, and my younger sister Vicki, handled
this abuse in a different way, and would end up with Rosamond’s
artistic legacy by default, at least. They have no gift or talent,
and thus that made them appear more sane in the ensuing chaos they
and outsiders created the day after Christine drowned, in the sea,
near Carmel where her gallery was located. How she ended up in the
thing she feared the most, is a mystery to me. Rosamond had
nightmares about being swept away by a giant wave. In a newspaper
account, Vicki says she was helping Christine overcome her fear of
the ocean. We don’t get the complete and honest account of how she
did that.
Sitting down next to me on the sofa, Christine spoke the words that
would come to haunt me hence, for not only do they hold the message
of my demise, but the salvation of two siblings that were born in a
world of trouble. This is the story of their mutual struggle to get
out that trouble. I had not yet reclaimed my first name, Jon.
“Greg. I have it all, fame, money, a beautiful house, and I owe it
all to you. When I was young you let me look over your shoulder while
you painted. You would come from the library and show me in art books
what you thought was good and bad art. I owe everything to you. But,
I don’t feel like and artist. Can you help me?”
I have replayed these words often, and came to understand why they
were so threatening, why they were so important, even filled with
portence; for my childhood friend Bill was there, his memory, he
killed on the crossing of a railroad track twenty minutes after my
eighteenth birthday. Bill was an artist. He was also the love of
Christine’s life though they had never kissed. My sister fell in love
with Bill the very day I brought him to the Presco house, he but
thirteen. Bill and I were famous for our love of art, truth, and
integrity, and Christine knew that, was addressing that, and I was
threatened. What would Bill have deduced, if he were alive?
“I can’t give you that. You have to achieve that on your own.” I told
my poor sister as gently as I could. And she got up and pretended to
find something to do in another part of the house.
My visit was over and in the morning I drove back to Oakland
California where I was born, and where we Presco children spent the
happiest time of our life. For a little while we owned love and
unity. Then we had to move. Our mother Rosemary had been arrested.
There was an article in the Oakland Tribune and talk about us being
taken from our mother and put in a orphanage. Rosemary had been
making pornographic movies for the Mob in Emeryville, for that nice
Italian couple we met, who could have passed for our grandparents,
their hair as white as snow.
Rosemary gathered her three oldest children together, and gravely
told us the truth, that she was also a high priced call girl in order
to pay the rent and feed us. She asked us to be extra good unless the
cops and authorities take us from her. She told Mark and I she was
deathly afraid we would get our hands on one of her porno films, and
behold our mother doing what she did to born us.
Rosemary was a porno star. Born Rosemary Rosamond in Ventura
California, the daughter of Royal Rosamond and Mary Magdalene
Wieneke, our brilliant mother was broadcast on the lesser silver
screen, by a bright light, a lamp in a box, a veritable Pandora’s Box.
The Custodian
“After 16 years, the Rosamond Gallery in Carmel, California is
closing. It is very hard to say goodbye, but happier things are
happening for Stacey Pierrot, the custodian of Rosamond’s artistic
legacy for the last 11 years
.I am getting married and will soon
leave Carmel to start a family.”
Thus spoke Stacey Pierrot who was awarded my family’s artistic legacy
by Sydney Morris an attorney who was made Special Executor by
Superior Court Judge Richard Silver after my sister Vicki, and Stacey
and Christine’s best friend, Jacci Belford refused to serve, and in
writing nominated Garth Benton, Christine’s ex-husband as executor.
My ex-brother-in-law never served because in his bid to be the
custodian he did deceitful things in court to make sure Shannon, the
adult heir, was not made Custodian of her own legacy, as in the words
of Lawrence Chazen’s attorney, Robin Beare, Vicki Presco, and Jacci
Belford, “Shannon will destroy the estate.”
Shannon’s lawyer said he never saw such fraud in regards to the
Probate. What on earth is going on here? Perhaps we can begin to get
some clarity by looking at the meaning of the word “custodian” which
Pierrot uses as a title.
“Custodian; One who has custody, as of a public building.”
I don’t think Rosamond’s gallery qualifies as a public building, so,
let us look at the word, custody.
“Custody; 1. A keeping, or guarding; care, charge, as, he has
custody of the records. 2 Imprisonment; as in custody.”
One is also awarded custody of a child in divorce. At the time of her
death Rosamond and Garth were having a custody battle over my niece,
Drew, who was nine years old, and was with her mother when a “rogue
wave” swept Christine out to sea. Vicki claims she just managed to
grab Drew and save her from the same fate. When I began to question
Vicki’s account of the tragedy, I was put further outside the circle
of Custodians then I already was. I can not begin to tell you the
loathing I own for Ms. Pierrot who makes herself out to be the
sacrificing Mother Goose of my families artistic legacy, and of the
two heirs, who received nothing from the estate their mother left
them, and only them, in spite of this claim that appeared on Stacy’s
webpage;
“All proceeds from the gallery will go to the two heirs, Shannon and
Drew.”
She also gives the impression there were no other Custodians around,
in contention for Savior of this legacy, including her best friend,
Jacci, who offered to purchase the entire estate and pay off the
creditors. Jacci was the business manager of the legacy that was in
Bankruptcy, Christine filing after the divorce got underway, and
after Lawrence Chazen hauled away some of my sister’s fine furniture.
There was also a lien by the Internal Revenue Service for non-payment
of Income Tax. But, as far as I know neither Ms.Belford nor Stacey
(who worked as a secretary in the gallery) were under investigation,
or facing imprisonment. I am sure there was some fear they would be
put in custody. I am sure this was a consideration for Christine and
Garth. If both parents went to jail, who would get custody of Drew?
Garth has three daughters from a previous marriage that he had
custody of, as he his ex-wife was a flaming comet hurtling to earth
and her destruction, too.
So, who is Larry Chazen, the Custodian Extraordinaire? Well,
according the Andrew Cuomo of HUD in a article in the San Francisco
Examiner, Chazen was a Loan Shark who was engaged in the worst
example of predatory loan practices Cuomo ever saw in regards to
Chazen taking away the home of a elderly grandmother in Oakland. Mark
and I went to High Schools with there grandchildren. According to my
father, Chazen was the Getty families right-hand man. He was also
Vic’s private lender, they working Defaults together, which Chazen
also bought at auction. Chazen was a good friend of Garth, and became
a partner in the first Rosamond gallery in Carmel. This partnership
was formed a month after the one formed by my two sisters and our
father from the legacy left to Vic by his mother, our grandmother.
This family partnership involved the promotion and sale of four
painting Christine had done expressly for the profit of her sister
and father, and of course, herself.
Chazen is currently a partner in a Carmel restaurant with San
Francisco Mayor, Gavin Newsom, who was stopped from validating same
sex marriages which involves the legal ramifications of a gay
partner getting custody of his, or her lovers estate, and even
children. Chazen is also involved in the federal investigation of a
huge Ponzy scheme where he claims he is one of the victims, he conned
out of a $400,000 dollar investment. I think he is another fox in the
hen house.
I wonder at Pierrot’s use of the word “happier”. Was it a unhappy
dream come true for her to be handed a world renowned artistic
legacy, and a whole families history to do what she will with it?
Poor thing. And now she is off down the Yellow Brick road to start
her own family, after leaving my family how she found it, in utter
ruin and chaos. She didn’t consider promoting Rosamond’s talented
daughters, who are very artistic. It was all Stacey could do to
promote Rosamond, who was dead, but surely very appreciative from
beyond the grave for this big favor.
Christine drowned on her first sober birthday in Alcoholics
Anonymous. The day of her funeral I approached Shannon in her late
mother’s kitchen and showed her my sobriety coin given to those in
recovery on their birthday. Shannon had a history of drug and alcohol
abuse. This is a inherent disease.
“Shannon, you have been left many wonderful things, but none is more
important then the legacy of Recovery. This is the coin we receive on
our sober birthdays. Right now, this is the only thing you need in
order to have it all.”
All six members of my natal family suffered from the disease of
alcoholism. Christine and I were the only ones to practice a Twelve
Step program. This was the inherent disease that we got from BOTH our
parents, though they were loathe to admit it, they claiming we got it
from the other Custodian. Then Vicki spoke up;
“I would like that coin. I have seven years of sobriety, ever since
you took me to that AA meeting.”
This was the only meeting Vicki ever went to, and I gave her my
coin. And what did I get in exchange. Vicki, nor Mark, told me my
father was dead, and my mother was in the hospital, dying. When I
found out Vic was dead from a cousin I never knew and had met on the
internet, we both researching the Presco genealogy, I called Rosemary
to verify if this was true. Her husband Robby was very glad to hear
from me, and with much urgency in his voice he said;
“Gregory. Call you mother. She’s in the Naval hospital in San
Francisco. She’s dying, she give a week to live.”
Robby told me it was too late to call that night, and in the morning
I placed a call. There was a long silence from the nurse that
answered after I asked to speak to my mother. She put someone else on
the line, a utter stranger, who informed me.
“Your mother is dead.”
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One response to “What Happened To Me?”
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