CHAPTER 28: The Opera: Act III; Pt. 4 [cont. 9]
From "The Saga of One F**ked Mother
In this section of Chapter 28, Legion goes pro se, and realizes she did a much better job representing herself than either of her lawyers—not that that would make any difference in the end. She just wishes she hadn’t wasted so much money on them. And she she notes how this able representation of herself seems to piss off the male judges.
Legion is also beginning to realize that her presumption that if she got all the truth on the record, she would get justice. After all, it was a justice system, wasn’t it? Grace’s response is to heartily guffaw at her sheer naïveté.
Thinking back, she bitterly reminisces about how her boys would say that Herry never said anything bad about her. If they only knew that was part of his ploy to make himself appear wonderful, while destroying her by ruining her career prospects and making sure she remained as poor and traumatized as he could achieve.
In the last section of Chapter 28, Legion barely makes the deadline for filing a new Petition for custody/visitation, claiming that Herry has wrongly moved to another state and is keeping the kids completely away from her. He had promised the judge in writing that if he were granted custody, he would stay in Iowa until the boys graduated from high school.
CHAPTER 28 of Mother-Fucking: The Saga of One Fucked Mother begins with Act III, Part 4 of “The Opera” from Book 3. The Opera has three Acts with five Parts—one for each of the three Family Court and two Appellate Court trials. Chapter 28 covers all of Act III: Part 4: the third Family Court trial and Part 5: the second Appellate trial. This is a long chapter and will be published in newsletter-sized bites.
Dr. Blue’s novel is based on her own experience of the Custody Crisis. It uniquely conveys how Family Court judges are “mother-fucking” women—a form of systemic oppression—as protagonist Legion is systematically and methodically deprived of her children and money and reduced to “one fucked mother”.
Chapters are stand-alone interesting so you can begin reading anywhere. A Cast of Characters follows to help readers at any point. All published chapters are included in the Section: “Saga of One F**ked Mother” accessible on the top bar of the home page of Women’s Coalition News & Views. Sequential chapters are published every Wednesday so make sure to subscribe if you haven’t yet!
TEASERS
I can remember thinking from time to time just exactly how it was that I actually “believed in the legal system.” I mean I, in point of fact, thought that I would, there within it, “the legal system,” receive back out of it … justice.
I can also remember poised, courteous, calm and balanced Grace Portia throwing her head back at least one time and on several other occasions just outright heartily guffawing because of my sheer naïveté as well as of my stupendous stupidity at this very suggestion of mine: that if I “just told the Truth, why, justice would prevail because it’s … it’s … it is supposed to … to … to jus’ work out that way!”
The plan was: Zane, Jesse and Mirzah were never going to hear a thing––bad or good because I did not exist to them––immediately and for always after Daddee‑Herry spirited all three out of and away from 6143 Havencourt and The Teacup on that autumnal Saturday. I ceased to be. And so did they in the sense of their lives before that day, in the sense of their lives … with me.
BOOK 3: Dr. True's Opera in Three Acts—with Five Parts
CHAPTER 28: The Opera: Act III; Part 4 [cont. 9]
Those Eight Pages equaled … the Smoking Gun.
Terrorist Edinsmaier’s multiple sabotaging Ames Tribune article‑bombings not only murdered my chances at decent earnings from the three professional job prospects, that is, from the possibility of my actually being elected as Storm County’s next recorder or of my securing one—or both!—of the two veterinary‑related offers at the National Animal Disease Center and at the Center for Veterinary Biologics; but that Tuesday, 25 September 1990 headlining newspaper article was also, no doubt, a mightily valued item which either Herry‑Daddee Edinsmaier or the Sheriff of Nottingham, his folie enforcer, or the both of them together always made damned certain to take in tow with them––entirely and utterly unbeknownst, of course, to any one of the Truemaier Boys––to the various Grubtrop schools when they enrolled Mirzah, Zane and Jesse there for their first day. Again––for just that very same purpose … as had been Ms. McLive’s most homicidally slashing intent––what with the daddee’s constant outta‑town absences all during those long weeks at the bungalow rental––when Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive most vigorously and enthusiastically slopped it … er, slipped it … into that Legion True‑file! of Principal Druid’s back at Urbandale’s high school! “Why, there’s no doubt in my mind but that … to show you up, Dr. True, in a very bad light to all of us here at the school, I would have to say,” had been Principal Druid’s answer back to me and thusly stated with the utmost of serious, unequivocal, out‑and‑out expressions to the question which I’d put to him … as to why the Next Cunt in Herry’s Stash would have done such a heinous thing.
As I have written before, Jury! this fact quite requires repeating: There is the Boys’ collective but soooo, so uninformed whine: “Well, but Herry never bad‑mouthed you, Mama. He never said anything bad about you.” …
“JYeah?! Well, Herry was not talking to you about me, but he was talking to someone! And, likely, to several people! Several were the accomplices in Daddee‑Herry’s terror and tyranny.” There was a plan, a mighty androcentric, murderous ‘master’‑plan all right and, in it, Dr. Legion True was only ... bad‑mouthed. Just the Boys never knew. They weren’t ever going to know. The plan was: Zane, Jesse and Mirzah were never going to hear a thing––bad or good because I did not exist to them––immediately and for always after Daddee‑Herry spirited all three out of and away from 6143 Havencourt and The Teacup on that autumnal Saturday. I ceased to be. And so did they in the sense of their lives before that day, in the sense of their lives … with me.
There’s no doubt, likewise, in my own mind that The Good Doctor Wonderful, performing on an hourly basis what actual little work was his usual, in my case, however, bloody‑well strove mightily to keep Dr. Legion True monetarily destitute for a multiplicity of reasons not the least of which among these, of course, was to stop dead and, therefore, kill off any possible chance which I might have had at actually supporting three children on my own––should I ever get them back with the chance, then, to try to do so! Get any one of them back––either ‘illegally’ cuz they’d run away back to me on their own or I’d grabbed and fled with any one or all of them–– … escaping, ya’ know, Jury, with my vast wages so quickly saved up—ha!—and our taking off to some cheap place to collectively live underground ‘there’—ha! Or, most probably: Horrid Herod likely feared any financial ability of mine to continue legal activity against him in daMan’s ‘court’.
I had undertaken a lawsuit to modify physical custody of Mirzah, Zane and Jesse back to me all right––with all of the credit to be given over to Dr. Herod Edinsmaier and to Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive for my impoverishment, for my having absolutely no more money whatsoever with which to carry it forth by way of Mr. Jazzy Jinx, Ms. Carlotta Klutz or any other bona fide licensed and bar‑admitted attorney for that matter.
Pro se, therefore, I began.
And I … Dr. Legion True … managed in absolutely every one of all of its aspects and details and by Friday on the 04th day of November 1994, had taken to completion at the ends of the Iowa appellate court system then … a Trial Three and an Appeal Two from that third trial’s decree order. A week or so over 2½ entire years’ worth of lawyering myself and my sons. Because? Because I could pay no one else to do it any better than I could do it––and … and all that while holding down a few other positions as well. Accounting, thus, in this … The Opera … for Act Three, Parts Four and Five. Absolutely all of it realized and accomplished all by myself––without one dollar to one attorney.
In nothing more than cookbook style is written the Code of Iowa. A formula‐ or recipe‑like design then this codification is which easily facilitated for me, a detail person by nature anyhow, a process whereby all of the documents and all of the sequential administration of the agenda and all of the chronological events throughout Act Three … I could, their first time out of the starting gate on any legal aspect with correct wording and grammar and formatting and notarization and stamping and filing and my never, not even one time, missing one set timetable deadline nor my ever having to ask for even one continuance because of incompetence during any phase of it all, … I could achieve at the least the very same result which Ms. Klutz had realized for me … after both parts of Act Two. Certainly no worse an outcome than that which she had garnered for the Boys and me! And save myself the $125.00 per hour in the process which, thanks literally to Dr. True’s Career‑Killer Herry, I did not have anyhow!
I prepared and put together from interrogatories, from production of documents, from other discovery, from the subpoenaing of a half a dozen or so of the 15 witnesses for my side! as well as from all of the written replies and appropriate responses back to Mr. Shindy Scheisser that were necessary, all of those returned to him (and, therefore, also to Dr. Edinsmaier) in an on‑time fashion too, a five‑day trial in the State of Iowa’s Second Judicial District up to, including and through a specific solo appellate court appearance occurring for a mere measly and quite precisely 10 minutes’ worth on Tuesday morning, 07 June 1994, to argue ‘my case’ in person before the State’s Court of Appeals’ bench of three, seated judges inside the State Capitol Building’s pompously august courtroom. And, finally, ‘my case’s’ … finale: a written case submission from that appellate panel’s decision which was sent on up to the highest echelon at all possible for Dr. Legion True and her Truemaier Boys: the Supreme Court of the State of Iowa.
So. In the proverbial nutshell then, it is fairly clear and the conclusion from the last sentence of the last paragraph could most certainly be drawn that with respect to every bloody one of all of these scenarios of legal activity to get back my Truemaier Boys … Dr. Legion True lost. Were that to be someone’s supposition or assumption, then that person would be utterly and entirely … correct. Of course, I lost.
In addition to the most obvious, egregious and damning of courtroom antics and wrongs in sustaining, in continuing, in even promoting the abuse of minor children and the violence and terror against DEhumans in general and against me in particular, there is, at play, yet quite another much less acknowledged but nevertheless pissant mess at work here and one found succinctly encapsulated within the memorable spring y2003 quotation from Actress Cybill Shepherd recounting to a couple of Newsweek reporters … the 16 May issue of that year … about her recent performance in a film detailing the life of one Ms. Martha Stewart, “A lot of it has to do with envy. There’s just something about being a blonde and being very powerful and walking into a room and acting as if you have as much power as everyone else in the room that really pisses people off. I think it’s the beauty issue, too. Beauty is so envied, and there’s so much hatred.”
Of course, it is an understood given that Ms. Shepherd, when she submitted there what she did about living beings … blonde, was referring only to Not Males who are blonde, that is, to us saffron‑haired DEhumans, and not at all to yellow‑topped Males. And the “room” of which she spoke? That meant for the blonde, DEhuman thing in the room who was me, Dr. Legion True, at least three, different district courtrooms and one very, very fancy state capitol building one. In other words, not only had this cuntly blonde, acting empowered, pissed off Dr. Herod Edinsmaier, I had also fucking pissed off a whole ‘nother gathering of male judges, another set of four of them, by doing all of this––and doing it very, very well! By … myself alone!
As was stated, without one dollar paid out to any attorney for the construct which was Part Five, another second appeal that is, just a best guestimate of the out‑of‑pocket expense to me for only the appeal of Part Four to the three‑judge panel of the Iowa Court of Appeals … alone … came to upwards of $8,000.00! To be most specific then, this cost amount did not include in it any sums accrued because of the five‑day, third district trial, also pro se, namely, The Opera’s Part Four!
Soooo pissed did Dr. Legion True, Wicked‑Smart Uppity Blonde Cunt, make one man in particular, one in another folie à deux with The Good Doctor Wonderful, that specific person also the Chief Judge of the Iowa Court of Appeals in mid 1994 … just an ordinary guy named Allen Donnellson … that I did not win back the legal parental right to even one telephone call to any one of my three kiddos. Let alone, a long‑distance conversation with one, two or all three of them on any regular or routine, above‑board basis. As a matter of fact, it was the final Supreme Court affirmation of Donnellson’s gaveling in his prior Court of Appeals majority (but not unanimous) decree that affirmed what had been the preceding state district trial judge’s opinion. That is to say, at the very, very end of every step which I could possibly pursue, there was at that conclusion then the declaration that I continue to pay this man, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier… a man who made in annual salary Second Judicial District Judge Harley Butcher admittedly wrote “20 times what Legion earns” … child support throughout 81 months of six, brutal Iowa winters’ worth when I had no heat in my home until Mirzah’s age of 18. And, furthermore! to pay it out to Herry every subsequent year as Zane and as Jesse each graduated from high school at the very same monthly rate for two children and for one child as it had originally been set at for all three children! All of this––while never, never getting to so much as speak to any one of my kids! let alone, to keep any sort of company with them or to be able to reach out and to actually touch any one of them!
* * * *
On weekends, at night, at lunch breaks, early, early in the morning rising often at 3 or 4 a.m. the very same as I had done throughout all four years of the veterinary medical program of study and all four years of the subsequent PhD research on veterinary microbiology, I wrote reams and reams of documents, put together massive multiples of bound tomes variously entitled by such phrases as “Appellant’s Brief and Argument,” “Appellant’s Reply Brief,” and “Joint Appendices, Volumes I, II and III” that, by Iowa Code, had to be placed in certain colored binders, blue ones, then gray ones, then white ones. The latter volumes were upwards of 1,500 pages per each one, and the coded requirement was for 21 copies––of everything! And … I continued to live off of baked potatoes, milk and bananas for dessert––that which had become the usual supper since my Truemaier Boys left Havencourt Drive.
Truly never before, however, as I had once expressed at my job interview with Dr. Joplin when applying for Forestry’s secretarial position, had “I used my education every day” on such an intense daily basis and at such a feverish pitch. Friends would call or I would talk to Grace or László, to Adam or Abraham, my two champions from Quaker Meeting. They and another Mother on Trial with whom, as a matter of fact, I had gone to junior high school and who herself was going up against an attorney ex‑husband, yet another goddamn‒perceived community pillar, for custody of her own two daughters, ones about the very same ages as my Boys, telephoned to ask me if she––plus her own mama, the kiddos’ grandma and about 85 years old––could please come to my court sessions to not only check it all out for themselves and because of their pending war but also to watch the Court, that is, to court‑watch! on my behalf as well––along with the kindly vigilance of my other friends––if I thought their presences and ‘their watching’ wouldn’t actually go the other way and … “hurt” ‘my case’. They all came. How their being there could hurt me I truly did not know. Then.
Of my two “other‑mother” Ancestors‑in‑Training, Margaret Sagely was ashes, therefore already a Righteous Ancestor Mother; but Frieda Chicken Guthrie wasn’t yet. No matter that Frieda’s belovéd husband Al was sometimes weakened and physically unable to escort her, she by herself alone would motor on over to the Storm County Courthouse or accompany me there––at all times with her walking stick, frugally packed lunch and a book to read in hand––if ordered by daJudge to sit out in the courthouse hallways … time after time. Consistently throughout hearing after motion after legal activity inside those courtroom walls then, all of these people took time off from work or from their other labors and made different arrangements for their other weekday activities and events in order to sit behind me, always on the presiding judge’s right side and Herry’s, or more accurately Mr. Scheisser’s, left. Often each with notepads, tablets and pens––taking notes. I cannot think of a single time wherein I actually had to appear alone before Second Judicial District Court Judge Harley Butcher or before any number of same‑level judges, every one of them male, every one of them fathers themselves and who adjudicated the interim issues which had also arisen before the actual Trial Three commenced.
Daddee‑Herry Edinsmaier frequently did not show at all. Hugely androcentric that state of this affair … is.
Dr. Edinsmaier’s arguments at these litigious times were presented entirely and only by Attorney Shindy Scheisser or by one or another of Mr. Scheisser’s firm’s flunkies. No one, sitting in as supporters behind Herry’s table but Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive a time or two, appeared on the other side of the courtroom’s gallery. Ever. Curious it always appeared to me, however: the outright sexist discrimination––blatantly demonstrated against me, the mother in ‘the custody case’, right from the start––on at least one point specifically.
At any time any of these issues involved witnesses’ testimonies other than Herry’s or mine, the mother’s testifiers––all of them including Closest‑Comrades Grace and László, of course, and Frieda, too––all of them had had to sit sequestered outside of the courtroom in the hallway and away from their being able to hear anyone else’s witnessing testimony.
So did Herry’s testifiers––except for one such person: Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive. Once I objected––to her being permitted to stay inside the courtroom before her call to go up on the witness stand. I objected to her being able to hear all of others’ testimony –– subsequently, then, having the chance ... “to adjust” … her own!
Well, ya’ can imagine, Jury! Judge Butcher summarily banged his gavel and proclaimed loudly that the mother’s objection was utterly overruled! that Ms. McLive indeed most certainly could stay inside the courtroom and remain seated behind Herry’s and Scheisser’s table at all times––no matter as to what discrimination I seemed to think his fucking declaration be! Only that one time did I bother to try to object to daJudge’s biased blatancy. Ms. McLive’s subsequent testimonial lies spawned because of her having first overheard other persons’ testimonies with, then, the titanic opportunity to tailor her successive statements “to match” what she’d earlier learned from these other witnesses? This fuck of McLive’s was just soooo not worth any more expended effort on my part … than that one quite‑overruled objection of mine.
Importantly, I can remember thinking from time to time just exactly how it was that I actually “believed in the legal system.” I mean I, in point of fact, thought that I would, there within it, “the legal system,” receive back out of it … justice. I can also remember poised, courteous, calm and balanced Grace Portia throwing her head back at least one time and on several other occasions just outright heartily guffawing because of my sheer naïveté as well as of my stupendous stupidity at this very suggestion of mine: that if I “just told the Truth, why, justice would prevail because it’s … it’s … it is supposed to … to … to jus’ work out that way!”
My several friends’ court‑watching, of course, wasn’t the only thing that really, really wiped out ‘my case’ and did me in. The blonde thing in the room who was me and who soooo, so pissed off this latest and last collection of four male judges didn’t even rate so much as the physical‑contact visits with her Sons that the slaughterers of their own children’s mothers routinely get to have inside maximum security prison walls with the crop of kiddos these dead women had themselves grown from such killers’ haploid sperm seeds!
About this I am thinking, though, that what murders my core the most are the females, the ones such as Mehitable, Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive, the henchwomen who work for literal mother‑fuckers such as King George’s and Brother Jeb’s “Fathers’ Rights Initiative” men, those in the thoroughly nefarious yet massively profits‑making “industry” completely ancillary to (and utterly dependent upon) this nation’s family court system. That “industry” consists of its “custody evaluators” such as the frumpy, wussy Ms. Carrie Canard––and my own sister Ardys who, although these gazillions of women have all known of the misogyny since they were little eight‑year‑old girls, are unwilling to, who simply refuse to acknowledge that this takes place soooo easily and that they, the male‑identified DEhuman Not Males, are, … in addition to the woman‑loathing men, … the problem!!!! I am, of course, talking about the type of brutally monstrous thugs one of whom Dearest Friend Rachel repeatedly experienced in that admissions and postpartum nurse when she gave birth for the second time on April Fool’s Day y2003, and about all of the other bullies whom we Mothers on Trial, we noncustodial mamas, make frighteningly envious and seem to evidently threaten and at whose jealous hands we such moms––hourly––have to live through their odious, outrageous and … raw … backlash.
The very fact that these women “help” the legal system visit such mother‑fucking messes down upon other impoverished, suddenly‑made‑childless women is to us Mothers on Trial and to our friends and supporters unconscionable. Do I think they don’t know what they’re doing? As I apparently didn’t truly know what I was doing when I walked into all of those custody evaluation and subsequent courtroom sessions––when I walked into all of them … believing if I was simply honest that … then … I would be walking out of them with justice served? Or, do I believe, even knowing whom they are screwing and when, that these harassers, browbeaters and torturers then choose to continue to go ahead and persist in fucking over mamas like me?
I believe the latter––because of what is Truth about judges. They know. And they have always known, these women have, that they are destroying me. That is precisely why they choose to do it! Because they can … Just as the judges have agendae so do, too, all of these male‑identified women! Because they can.
A reporter for the Des Moines Register once asked me in January of y2003, “Do you believe, Dr. True, that you’re like those mothers who lose custody of their children and all parental rights to them because they are alcoholics or drug abusers or prostitutes or participants in pornography and the slave‑trafficking of women and children or certifiably mentally incompetent because of psychoses or retardation. Or, not?” It was a good question really and one which I had not asked of myself and that anyone who truly, truly knew me, both my friends and the folks who hate me, had never thought to ask of me either––most probably because––most likely because … I am just not seen by any one of them as a person at all like any of those about whom this reporter had just described and asked! Never to excess do I imbibe alcoholic products—never. I do not do drugs nor do I prostitute myself or even gamble. Not one dinero squandered upon a lottery ticket––ever! I utterly loathe all forms of pornography and the flesh‑pushing industries and that no matter what Herry, Ms. McLive, Mr. Shindy Scheisser, any of Herry’s family including Mi Sprision O’Revinnoco or Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier himself, Storm County Sheriff Stout or the types of buttock‑jabbing brutes from the SpaChezResort Sixth Floor Hotel wielding hypodermic needles full of sedative and hypnotic chemicals want to get away with claiming about me, I am not and have never been … “certifiable”––so it was a question that held details in it with which I am not at all familiar as a parent. As a mother. Nor, as regards me, Dr. Legion True, neither are my friends nor are my attackers and foes.
When I explained “because they can” to her, the Register reporter just could not seem to grasp this concept as it pertains to mother‑fucking, to the taking away from a woman––if she simply pisses you off enough––her entire constitutional right to parent her own children, let alone, to even be in their lives at all. Inside the United States of America. Inside any other of the World’s countries including, as well, all of those others apparently … westernized, too.
I tried to help her see that her incredulity was not at all unusual, that we Mothers on Trial encounter this stupefaction about ex‑husband and judicial misogyny … daily! Every single one of us to whom this mother‑fucking has happened inside an American court of family law––without just cause––is usually not even believed, let alone, granted validation, given empathy or shown an iota of compassion. By anyone!
I told her that I believed and that I felt that I am different than the noncustodial mothers she had characterized. Not better, just different. She already knew when she telephoned to try to interview me that there was a passel of us women, that I was not the only one. Only one of us would not have made for her … a story! And she indeed had been given the assignment to do a series of articles on those of us unbelievable “mothers who just seemed to lose all rights to our children for no apparent reason!” We Mothers on Trial are in a league of our own which society––which all of it … the public at large, that is––if mother‑fucking has not specifically happened to one of the women directly inside their very own lives––just cannot fathom … exists. It cannot.
What the investigative journalist did know, in addition however, is that I, Dr. Legion True, within the entire State of Iowa was absolutely the only one who would talk to her about it––because, and only because, my children, my Zane, Jesse and Mirzah, were themselves finally all out of college. Finished. And all of them graduated, the last one of the three literally just a couple of weeks prior to her visit with me on the telephone. Jesse, the last one to graduate college, had just done so Saturday, 22 December y2002, at the very, very top of his entire University of Iowa College of Liberal Arts and Sciences class, the Winter Solstice again––and AmTaham’s and my birthdays !!!! The Righteous Grandfathering Ancestor, a decade dead of course, had turned … 83 on Jesse’s graduation day, and I myself was then this very same day now … 55 years of age!
No one else of us Mothers on Trial could talk to the Register reporter. No one else of us Iowans had, at the time she was wanting to put together her stories, a child, let alone, all of her children out of college and, therefore, entirely out of and away from … … the judicial reach of her ex‑husband’s or ‘the Court’s’ clench and full‑throttle choke upon her throat. All others of us Mothers on Trial must keep a muzzle on our vocal chords because if we do not? Jury, if we do not?! Why, more holocaust than that which has already been visited down upon us will––“legally”––befall upon us women. Hours of our time and our opinions, ideas and wants for raising up our babies, more than those which have already been revoked from us, will be rescinded. And more dollars, which we don’t even have, will be ordered taken away from us and paid out to the men who make so much more than we mothers ever will. We can … count on it! Because he can. And the male‑identified women or ‘the Courts’ who “help” these ex‑men fuck over the kiddos’ mamas? About these women and judges? We mothers publicly state––as to reporters––absolutely … nothing! Nothing, that is, until––now.
About judges further, the vast majority of whom of course are male, that Iowa State University poly sci professor, Dr. Steffen Schmidt believes in his USA Today snippet clipping of Tuesday, 17 September y2002, that because of their own agendae and intentions and with their least little bit of tweaking and twisting around and screwing with the laws of the people of the land called Iowa––or of any of the other states’ citizenry as well––and by way of their very abuse of power, these men who “represent” the peoples’ interpretation and thus also the public’s intentions, … these men willfully “make” the laws come out the way they always wanted them to come out before the very first piece of evidentiary testimony … is even heard!!!!
And I add because I am living, mother‑fucked proof of it: especially … if any of that “evidence” comes from out of a bunch of multiple boxes’ worth belonging to one brash, cunty, bitchy, uppity upstart of a blonde. “Daughter, don’t piss off a judge and, Woman, for goddesses’ sakes, do not do it as a blonde!” my own mother Mehitable should have protected me with such a life‑saving admonition … I am left thinking.
About that backlash coming at me from my very own mother and specifically of which Ancestral Feminist Dr. Phyllis Chesler writes regarding the children’s maternal grandmother in her 1986 Mothers on Trial: the Battle for Children and Custody,** during all of my preparation leading up to Trial Three or Part Four, I still had had telephone contact with Mehitable. She wanted to know all of every detail, but I could not trust that what I told her … would ever remain with her. From a lifelong lesson I received in the United States mails a few years back on Friday, 20 October 1989, and fully took straight to heart … as well as exactly why Lawyer Jazzy Jinx had immediately and correctly seen through her jealousy and spitefulness and subsequently … stingingly … warned me about this woman’s ever, ever testifying, I kept close to my vest a letter sent to me from Mother Me hit able. This letter consisted of three pages of emboldened, hugely scripted scrawls and had on its first page, centered, her title of “Negative Remarks.” What followed that entitling squiggle and this person’s introductory statement of “When I wrote 10 positive remarks for your divorce case, I also at that time wrote 10 negative ones. Here they are––” is thus … verbatim and in the woman’s own handwritten format:
“Tolerance––Quick to anger––very outspoken––Fault‑finding in others. On a scale of 1 to 10, she’d score a short 3.
Authority––Gesturing, finger‑pointing. Commanding and demanding. ‘Tender power’ could surely be gained if voice were softened and facial expressions more pleasant.
Choices––This great liberation with ‘my choice’ is carried to a degree that defeats the purpose. Snap judgments often pin her to the wall. It’s ME first.
Sharing and Caring––On the surface, this quality is hidden. Profanity and sharp remarks diminish her chances to be well‑liked.
Sacrifices––Slow to understand her own wrongdoings. Suffers a great deal of emotional pain—unbending, unyielding.
Respect and Pride––Deliberately rejects much of what our social structure advocates as normal. Seems not to bother her if she ‘steps on toes.’
Independence––Over‑extends herself. When something fails for her, she does not seek help soon enough.
Trust––Wary—Constantly on guard. Accuses others. Will not take suggestions or advice. Leaves the impression of being ‘hard‑boiled.’
Traditions––Opposes nearly all the age‑old traditions. Sees no reason to get back to basics.
Priorities––? ? ? ?”
From hardly‑teachable Teacher Mehitable Natures True, my own ‘protector’, this letter is signed off on with … “Lovingly, Mom.” Since this woman is ‘legally’ blinded and unable to drive her own personage to the Storm County courtroom then, these mailed ‘words’ of hers to me are Mehitable’s idea of “support” to her very own baby in that child’s time of such great need. And LOSS. These words are Mehitable’s “motherly” version of going to The Matt and … to The Ends of the Earth––for me, Dr. Legion True. That … of what exact male‑identified backlash against their very own adult daughters Professor Chesler documents. [https://phyllis-chesler.com/pages/books/mothers-on-trial]
[to be continued…]
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Dr. Legion True: One Fucked Mother
Dr. Herod (Herry) Edinsmaier: Legion’s husband/Sperm Source [“re: I am snide” backwards]
Mirzah Truemaier: Legion’s son
Jesse Truemaier: Legion’s son
Zane Truemaier: Legion’s son
AmTaham True: Legion’s father [Mahatma backwards]
Mehitable True: Legion’s mother [Me hit-able—i.e. she was abusive]
Ardys and Endys: Legion’s sisters [names backwards]
Sterling: Legion’s brother [her mother’s planned name of next son (who never came)]
Mi Sprision O'Revinnoco: Herry’s sister [misprision: concealing knowledge of treason/O'Revinnoco = O'Connivero backwards]
Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier: Legion’s father-in-law [juggernaut; aut = 0; misein = “to hate (misogyny)”]
Detanimod Edinsmaier: Legion’s mother-in-law [dominated backwards]
Ava Saffron True and Zebulon True: respectively, Legion's paternal grandmother and her husband, Legion's paternal grandfather
Rowland and Wyman Natures: respectively, Legion's most favored uncle and most favored male first cousin
Fannie Issicran McLive: fawning enabler of ex [narcissi(st) and Mc(Evil) backwards]
Mary Jane: daughter of Fannie Issicran McLive; stepsister of Zane, Jesse, and Mirzah
Legion’s Friends: Margaret, Mona, Yanira, Stormy, Lynda, László, Jane, Kincaid, Joseph, Sheryl, Abraham (Quaker elder), Frieda
Legion’s Best Friends: Ms Grace and Dr Lionel Portia and Rachel
Wende: = Legion's friend after divorce [committed suicide due to Custody Crisis]
Jim Cornball: Herry’s acquaintance from AA and realtor
Loser Lorn: Insurance agent referred by Cornball
Judge Harley Butcher: Family Court judge
Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor: Family Court judge
Judge Barry Crowrook: Appellate Court judge
Judge Pansy Shawshank: Appellate Court judge
Jazzy Jinx: Legion’s first Family Court lawyer
Carlotta Klutz: Legion’s second Family Court attorney
Shindy Scheisser: Herry’s lawyer [shindy = noisy; scheisser = German for shithead]
Li Zhang: Herry’s Aussie affair
Dr Freddie Goldstein & Ella: Herry’s colleague and wife
Mick: = Herry's acquaintance from high school; best man [not in Herry’s life after that as he had no true friends]
Varry Wussamai: Herry's AA sponsor (not a real friend) [I am a wuss backwards]
David Humes: nursing student; classmate of Legion's, y1968 - y1971, New York City
Edmund Silver: Legion's boyfriend pre-Herry
Braemore St: where Legion and her family lived, y1983 - y1986
Havencourt condominium: Legion's Ames apartment; after separation
Zephyr: tabby cat of Zane's, Mirzah's, Jesse's [pronounced “Zay – fear”]
Rex: Jesse’s pet Eastern Florida Kingsnake, female
Lady: Zane's pet Zebra Finch, female
Madonna: realtor
Larry Brouhaha: court-mandated marriage counselor
Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor: District Court judge on first two trials
Judge Harley Butcher: District Court judge for third trial
Dr. Shark: Herry’s residency supervisor who fired him
Carrie Canard: twice judge-mandated custody evaluator
Author: Dr. Blue, aka Ofherod, BSN, DVM, PhD = Commander Edinsmaier's Handmaid (Commander reiamsnidE's Handmaid)
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