Tag Archives: Washington DC

Coming Out of the Closet – Part 2

Shortly after my arrival in Cincinnati, I started riding my bicycle around Eden Park. The park has a maze of paved paths that wind around buildings and sculptures dating back to the early 1900s, and I found the sprawling, densely wooded park to be enchanting. I was inexplicably attracted to the park’s large Moorish-style gazebo that was ornately painted in white and indigo and crowned by a spherical finial. A prominent Cincinnati attorney shot and murdered his wife at the gazebo in 1927, and legend has it that her ghost continues to haunt it.

Although I didn’t encounter paranormal activity at the gazebo, I discovered that it was the epicenter of a burgeoning gay scene. But while I was very curious, I was acutely shy and hesitant to entangle myself with anyone. After riding my bike to the gazebo every day for a couple of weeks, a tall, muscular man in his early thirties finally approached me. His name was Robert. He had thinning black hair and distinctive Mediterranean facial features—an aquiline nose, high cheekbones, and a dark complexion. Robert invited me to Friends, a gay bar near the park, and I agreed to accompany him.

When we entered Friends, I heard blaring disco music and a spinning mirrored ball scattered flashes of light throughout the bar. The bar was dark, and plumes of cigarette smoke wafted near the ceiling. As we crossed the black tiled floor and walked to a table near the bar, I was dumbfounded to see men kissing and holding hands. After Robert and I sat down, I ordered a coke, because I had never imbibed alcohol before. While I sipped my coke, and surveyed Friends’ patrons, I quickly came to the visceral realization that I wasn’t the only gay man in the world, and I was momentarily overwhelmed by jubilance. I finally had an existential affirmation of my sexuality.

How to Indict a Ham Sandwich

Solomon Wachtler, the former Chief Judge of the New York Court of Appeals, once quipped that special prosecutors of grand juries have so much power over grand jurors that they could coax grand jurors into indicting a ham sandwich, and the Washington, DC grand jury that indicted me was a ham and swiss on rye.

A grand jury makes the initial decision to indict (formally accuse) a criminal defendant to stand trial, and the phrase “grand jury” has authoritative connotations—like the gods on Mount Olympus have sent down a decree. But grand juries are notoriously susceptible to manipulation. Unlike a standard trial, a grand jury proceeding is cloaked in secrecy: Grand juries aren’t open to the public, and the identity of the witnesses who testify and the content of their testimony are never disclosed. Moreover, there is no cross-examination or presentation of the defense’s case.

The special prosecutor of a grand jury calls the witnesses, questions the witnesses, and selects the evidence that is shown to the grand jurors, and grand jurors are normal, everyday citizens who have shown up for jury duty and have been funneled to a grand jury. Generally, only witnesses and evidence deemed relevant by special prosecutors are presented, and special prosecutors are in a unique position to influence grand jurors’ judgments in a particular direction.

Jay Stephens, the U.S. Attorney for D.C., appointed Alan Strasser, the Assistant U.S. Attorney for D.C. and chief of the felony trial division, to be the special prosecutor of the grand jury investigating me. Strasser received his bachelor’s degree in economics from Yale University in 1974, and he was a 1977 graduate of Harvard Law School. He joined the office of U.S. Attorney for D.C. in 1980.

Despite Strasser’s lofty academic credentials, the grand jury he directed to investigate me served a ham sandwich to the public, and it was a cover up of epic proportions. He never called the three people who helped me run my escort service or me to testify before the grand jury that was ostensibly investigating our operation of an escort service. I’m also not aware of Strasser calling the escorts I employed to testify. Unfortunately, my mother was subpoenaed to testify before the grand jury.

A Washington Times article, commenting on the grand jury investigating me, confirmed my lingering suspicion that it was extremely corrupt. The article revealed that the newspaper’s reporters had contacted “a number of principal witnesses and active participants in the case” and “discovered that few of them had been interviewed, and only a handful had been asked to testify before the grand jury.”

Washington Times reporters interviewed “a longtime acquaintance” of Craig Spence, the CIA asset who used my escorts to blackmail the rich and powerful, who had been called before the grand jury. The Washington Times reported that the “witness was not asked any questions about credit cards, Mr. Spence’s alleged involvement with the homosexual call-boy ring or about the ring itself.” The witness told the reporters that one of the grand jury’s primary concerns was establishing if Spence had been in the possession of purloined White House china that dated back to the Truman administration.

Spence was involved in pandering children, pandering adults, blackmailing powerbrokers, procuring illicit drugs, etc., so I find it mindboggling that one of the grand jury’s primary concerns was whether or not he had absconded with some of the White House’s Truman china.

Instead of indicting Spence, the grand jury overseen by Strasser indicted me on 43 RICO counts that had the potential to imprison me for 295 years! As I look back on that grand jury in retrospect not only was it designed to have me take the fall for all of Spence’s illicit activities, but it’s 43-count RICO indictment with the potential for 295 years was designed to leverage my silence, because I had witnessed activities that would’ve jeopardized the Bush administration and subsequent Bush dynasty.

Deborah Jeane Palfrey (AKA, DC Madam) RIP – Part 1

Part 1

Deborah Jeane assumed the mantle of “D.C. Madam” after I had been toppled and banished to federal prison. Although she was in the business of providing female escorts and I had been in the business of providing male escorts, I followed the tribulations, trial, and death of Deborah Jeane Palfrey with intense interest. I marveled at the striking similarities between our cases, and I empathized with her dire circumstances.

The federal government unleashed a reign of terror on Palfrey just as it unleashed a reign of terror on my family and me. In fact, the feds even threatened to indict my elderly mother, and one newspaper reported that Secret Service agents actually kicked down the front door of my sister’s home and held my brother-in-law at gunpoint.

On Larry King Live, Ms. Palfrey dispensed a warning to Americans about their corrupt political system: “. . . think about it a bit, and you’ll come to the conclusion that we have come to. That there are possible people who have used the service who have become the subjects and targets of blackmail . . .”

I’m uncertain if Ms. Palfrey witnessed the blackmailing of politicians first-hand, but I was certainly privy to the blackmailing of politicians and sundry powerbrokers. If the Department of Justice, the Secret Service, and the Washington Post had not been resolute on covering up the facts and individuals enmeshed in my case, Americans would have learned the unsavory truth that blackmail is endemic in their political system. The sexual escapades of the D.C. elite are vastly different than the infidelities of the average citizen—thus their susceptibility to blackmail.

 

Greta and Me Part 3

The Secret Service agents drove me to D.C.’s federal courthouse, and they silently ushered me through courthouse. After the Secret Service agents booked me, I was deposited in a holding cell that held around 20 inmates. The altered state that I had experienced in the Secret Service sedan was punctured by the harsh reality of the holding cell. I had been there for a couple of hours when a pair a U.S. marshals retrieved me. The marshals had the same stern demeanor as the Secret Service agents as they escorted me to a courtroom. As I entered, I noticed my mother standing next to an African-American man in his mid-thirties. He was a bail bondsman who Greta had introduced to my mother. The marshals escorted me past my teary-eyed mother to the defense table where Greta stood.

Shortly after I seated myself, Judge Harold Greene strolled into the courtroom. The 67-year-old Greene was short and compact. He had a black comb over, and he wore large brown-framed glasses. When Judge Greene seated himself at the bench, he leafed through my indictment. Judge Greene was quite surprised that the grand jury had walloped me with a 43-count RICO indictment. RICO is an acronym for the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act, and it was originally designed to dismantle the Mafia, because RICO allows for mob bosses to be tried for crimes that were sanctioned on their behalf. Judge Greene may have been surprised by my RICO indictment, but I nearly fainted. I was staring at 295 years in a federal prison!

After Judged Greene voiced his astonishment that a mere prostitution case resulted in a sealed 43-count RICO indictment, Alan Strasser, the Assistant U.S. Attorney for the District of Washington, DC, said something to the effect that my case had special circumstances. Strasser ultimately argued that I should be held without bail, but Greta countered that I wasn’t a flight risk, and I had voluntarily surrendered myself shortly after being notified of the indictment. Judge Greene granted me bail, and I was released on a $30,000 surety bond.