BOOK THREE – The Opera: We Were Mothers Once, and Young
Chapter Twenty – Six
An Opera in Three Acts – But with Five Parts
Acts One and Two: Parts One, Two and Three – Their Overture
“My life has been stolen from me. I am living a life I have no wish to live. How did this happen?”
--- Adeline Virginia Stephen (Woolf) as portrayed by Nicole Kidman in the 2002 film, “The Hours”
It’s not even a dark and stormy night nor more than 14 years since, but I still cannot remember all of my
lines. Again this remembering and forgetting thing here. The Show might be on all right, but I cannot
remember for you Mirzah, for you Zane nor for you Jesse, all of the history that are the lines of the script of
The First Trial.
Good thing I guess it is then that I have every mother – fucking, flashback one of those lines in the three,
red cardstock – bound manuscripts, each about 1,200 pages in length. That is, those three would be its trial
transcripts. And these three exist at all because, well, I own them at all because … because there was an
appeal. There was a formalized, to – the – State’s – appellate – courts appeal.
Most folks don’t know about a civil court’s, a family court’s trial transcripts. They do not know. And the
reason that most folks don’t know is simple and, actually, quite fortunate. Fortunately, most folks never,
never end up going to trial or even find themselves in litigation inside a courtroom at all – over anything,
let alone, over theft perpetrated by a perverted thug upon a burgled and brutalized band of souls, over
several soul murders. They do not. Some, even sometimes more than half of, contractual marriages end;
but they do not end litigious, let alone, litigable, that is, in litigation and actually in, inside, a court. At trial.
But when there is an appeal from a civil trial judge’s decision, which truly is far more important to all of
the parties and players than the trial or its documents are, why then, that is when the lines appear. Those in
hard copy. Copy that is actual words, witnesses’ words; a manuscript materializes. The lines of an opera’s
script! Then and only then. Never at the actual time of the trial nor after the matter is decided and put to
rest without appeal are there actual sheets of words which were said at trial for anyone to, well, … to read!
Even though all of the words are, to you, to any of you, free, public and obtainable information – or …
allegedly accessible to you anyhow.
There is an exception to this – an exception to when there is no appeal, but only one of which I am aware:
when specific court officers, that is for example, the trial court judge or either party’s attorney, want a page
or so for himself or herself to read or to study after the day’s or the entire trial’s proceedings are concluded.
If the initial request for proceedings’ transcripts is not that of the trial judge but is, instead, at the behest of
either party’s attorney, then the trial judge has to approve the lawyer’s request, however; pages don’t just
appear because either the petitioner or the respondent or their respective attorneys want them to. And then,
only that short piece of the proceedings is ever transcribed into hard copy and then, only that short piece is
ever given over to the particular judge or attorney and not over to anyone else. When these very particular
court officials are through with these pieces then, those few hard – copy sheets may not even be kept; for
all I know they are shredded or just tossed in toto.
Not women and not mothers but a man is by far, far and away the person to use his will to choose, that is,
to make a decision. The human being. Not the DEhuman being. The largest number of district civil court
case adjudicators are male; check with any of the 50 states’ civil courts on this one fact alone! And I am
not even explaining about justice in other countries here. So a man almost always decides; he judges the
civil court cases of marriage dissolution and then, of course, the subsequent custody of that dissolved
union’s children. Far, far and away. Even in America. Still.
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Why the distinct procedure of handling my district civil court case’s words – and, of course, yours too –
is so enormous and so significant and is one, certainly, about which I during The Opera’s first act, The First
Trial, had no mother – fucking idea, is that a judge does not, does not even have hard – copy pages of
testimony, most of that stuff legally termed “evidence”, mind you, to study. At all! To review and to study
and to think back on long and hard or to research back and forth the people and the dates and the places and
the events of all of the involved matters –– or even to have as just a short, confirming reminder in his
brilliant little hand, ya’ know, that might help him to remember back on not only the facts stated but
especially also on all of the nuances, the hints, the shades, the traces – of the ways the people in attitude,
bearing, comportment and carriage at trial were – or soooo were not –– telling The Truth! The whole truth
and nothing but … The Truth!
Assuming something big, really, really big, of course, this pointing out of the utter absence of these hard –
copy trial transcripts does: that he, the judge, for the express purpose of correctly dispensing out … justice
… cares to remember these things about trial, that is. It assumes that Your Honor Himself wants to have
totally straight all of the facts and exclusive tinges to the spoken words of my particular case at time of
trial!
As you can further imagine, there is one more most massive quandary with this specific authenticity
assumption here. And it takes really only the simplest of understandings this last, most profound problem
does: that what was “testimony” spoken at trial, that what he said and what she said, indeed of course, is
fact … This’s what the judge’s having such hard – copy sheets of trial testimony transcripts – in hand – to
review at all would assume. Ya’ know, the veracity of the things that just somehow manage by way of oath
– taking or affirmation to get said, petitioner and respondent, witness after witness – and put onto
stenographic machine strips – at time of trial for the judge to then even have in tangible form to be able to
review and to study and to further research. The Truth. Allegedly.
Of course, without sheets of transcripts what just gets said could still be UNtruths, and that most certainly
does occur; but this occurrence would not be written up, so to speak. Those falsehoods “testified” to the
thin air wouldn’t necessarily be remembered by a judge by the time of his writing up a decree, now a law
… weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks … later! Believe me to be sure: a terribly friggin’ loooong,
long time … later!
But then if they were remembered and then, because of that, they did become part of “the findings of fact,”
“the conclusions of law” and “the final decree,” why, there’d be no way of easily going back into the real
record –— those stenographic strips require a decoder and a lot of trouble ––– to find the lies and the fairy
tales and the deceits? There’d be no way, now would there be? Whether the lies managed to get
incorporated into the decree – accidentally or … purposefully, why, it’d just be too difficult to ferret them
all out again, wouldn’t it?
And then, afterwards, as regards technicalities and falsehoods, those outright lies? I am thinking, “What if
things are wrong in the evidence that then get entered into the decree – and become … law? The lies do get
into the mix of things from whence comes from out of that judge after so much time has passed … the
final order? Can the decree then – the law – be nullified on, tah – dah, ‘a technicality’? Or, is one just,
well, ya’ know, … fucked?!”
And then I am further left conjecturing, “Well, now if Dr. Edinsmaier gets up there in that witness box, sits
there on that so – called stand and states, O my yes, every single day under a big, big show of oath – taking
garbed in his swell – looking and o – so mighty fine, pillared doctor clothes and states in such livery that
this and that and that and this are so thus and so. ‘Yea, verily, verily, I say unto you, Your Honor, these
five things, blah, blah and yada, yada, yada and so forth and so on, did, indeed, happen!’ well then, I am
thinking, is the judge, is Mr. Also Pillared Judge Man, going to send out into the community some unbiased
third party official from the Second Judicial Court, like Mrs. Wren, the judge’s personal assistant who’s
always there and keeps herself right around the judge himself in actual physical presence or like that other
guarding, security guy, George, ya’ know, these two court people who every single day hear all of the
“testimony” words, too, these words which are termed “evidence”, to bring him back, to bring back to him,
the Judge, absolute solid, tangible materials and people, those from Herry’s neighborhood, his workplaces,
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my workplaces, the kids’ school, the childcare providers, alcoholics anonymous meetings, the piano
teachers, the soccer club and Little League gangs, from Quaker Meeting and so forth and so on? Tangible
actual facts that can verify and prove precisely true those exact five things Dr. Edinsmaier just “testified”
did, in point of actual fact, happen? Ya’ know, blah, blah and yada, yada, yada … those very five things
Herry just now avowed from out of his mouth?”
Or, is the judge going to do nothing and just believe every frickin’ thing that Herry tells him? Because it is
so – called sworn – to “evidence”? And, very especially, by “virtue” of the two mother – fucking facts, of
course, that Herry is #1 male and #2 a pillar in the goddamn community – just like the judge himself is!?!
That is, also a pillar and also in that very same community! And, very especially too, just exactly like the
judge certainly perceives himself in both countenance and demeanor to be in that very same community!?!
Who is going to bring us all back the proof that what Herry says, under oath, is fact, is … well, true?
So that an accurately informed decision, a legal decree, can be written. So that it will then be based upon
all matters and things correct and right!?! And therefore, be itself, … right … as in just, as in justice,
ya’ know!?! Who is going to bring us all back this proof, let alone, in a really, really timely manner?
So that this now – correct decree is written rightly – even weeks and weeks and sometimes literally months
after the trial concludes –— where and when the words of it were actually said! That one right there just
stuns me: that such a thing can happen at all. With little, little kids growing up and up and up, that such a
delayed – ness, such a delayed mess of justice, alleged justice, can happen at all! I am just blown away by
that. Who is going to provide the probity, this tangible truth to Herry’s testimonial tattle lickety – split such
as is exactly the genre of time frame out of which soap opera operatives and operations occur? Lickety –
frickin’ split.
Weeks and weeks and weeks often, very, very often, go by before he, Mr. Also Pillared Judge Man, gets
himself freed up enough or just plain mother – fuckingly gets around to finally writing up the decision, his
decree; and about this I am not at all exaggerating. It is or can be weeks and weeks … moooonths later,
I am saying, and b’gosh b’golly, why – he has noooo fucking memory helps! No civil court trial transcripts
to help him the fuck remember what fucking shit was said and, by remembering from reading and re –
reading about it then so much later, just exactly how it went down inside the fucking courtroom months
earlier!
Now, you say, “Weeeell, Legion … His Honor the Pillar may’ve taken notes on those soooo legal – sized,
yellow pads of his and with, O yes, … with that so – gilded, stogie – sized, black Schaeffer ink pen given to
him as a congratulatory gift when he was nominated by his pal, the State’s former governor, to that very
district court judgeship of his. And those notes? Those be his memory helps, right, Legion?”
Of course, to which piece of whim – wham, to which frickin’ whit I upbraid with, “Bunk! Bunkum!
Bupkus! O JYeah, I saw both the pen and the yellow pads all right but, you see, what I didn’t see was
daJudge’s writing anything down on them. Ever. I never saw him write down a mother – fucking,
goddamn thing! Not in any one of the three quite mother – fucking acts, er, trials, I’m telling ya’!”
And I, of course, state this – because that is exactly what I witnessed inside his courtroom. Every single
time. Always. Behind that leather and lemon – lustrous, bronzed brown bench of his, he His Most High,
was most certainly poised to take some, to jot some down. True enough. Yet then again, His Honor up and
wrote down not one thing. Not one goddamn thing. So how could there’ve been later a reminding note
of any kind from out that fucking fat, gold – filigreed pen of his?! Ever?!
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Not in this fiction in three acts, Dear Readers, and scarcely ever either in or after the civil trials of others.
And here again, most folks do not know this to be “the findings of fact.” Most people do not know that
from out the backend of the court reporter’s little 22 – key, yet about a $4K contrivance called a
stenograph, comes nothing –– nothing at all extrudes out of it but a two – inch – wide paper strip with tiny
phonetic, code – like letterings of gobbledygook shorthand, the meaning of any of which jabberwocky is
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most literally known … only to her, “the Court’s” reporter. Well, sure, that … of which we can –
materially – see.
But what we cannot see is that the piles and piles and piles, the heightening mounds of these creased paper
strips actually stack up behind the machine, back and forth and back and forth and back and forth there, in a
little molded tray … and then – materially – that’s it. That’s all. That is, quite materially, all she, the reporter,
wrote! Er, typed. None of the strips in these piles and mounds is ever retyped up into 8½ x 11 sheet pages –
– transcribed, that is, into a broadly and perhaps universally understood language of any kind –– except that,
first, someone files an appeal and then someone, usually that same someone or somebody of her family,
friends and supporters, … pays!
O JYeah, there’s the rub again. The money! None of the recorded strips’ letterings from out the rear of
these stenograph machines is deciphered by a decoder, usually the court reporter herself or himself. None
is dictated onto blank cassette tapes or, now other more modern audiological devices; and then none is
listened to most likely through earphone headsets nor manually typed up on computer keyboards that store
there on hard drives electronic documents which, voila, end up being printed off as white sheets of readable
copy paper of the standard office size! And, therefore, let’s hear another voila: none end up capable of
actually being picked up, held in our hands and read by the rest of us public folk. And studied. And
understood. And … remembered!
Ya’ know, if there is one thing males do not remember (in contrast to females’ experiences with not
remembering), it is, for certain, whatever they will themselves to specifically wanting not to remember!
Cognizant, active passive aggression along with arrogance and entitlement Dr. Phil counsels us that this
fuck is in people, the vast percentage of them male –– even he admits. The arrogance and the entitlement
I lump under the one befitting characterization termed narcissism –– also long, long such a male deal.
Like remembering to bring home the bread that his wife, looking out for herself and her children’s
upcoming supper, phones him up and asks him to do. And, consequentially, he agrees to do! He says that
he will! He says that he will … literally … bring home the bread!
But the wife, considering the fact that she herself knows he ‘just’ seems to ‘forget’ a whole heckuva lot, she
is looking out for him and his ways, too, by remembering to wait to call him about the bread until the late,
late afternoon, just moments before he leaves his microscope and his pathology laboratory so that surely
he’ll have just a wee, short time of it after receiving her request until remembering then to stop for and pick
up the loaf between his medical office desk and her home. The store is on his way home, not hers. She
remembered to call. She remembered to wait to call. She waited and waited. And stiiiill, she remembered.
Still remembered near the end of her day, near the end of his day … to call him.
The steaming – hot spaghetti with such a fine, aromatic sauce made ever more special by her adding those
extra chopped onions and extra bell pepper chunks and extra fresh mushrooms is served. And yet, still yet
again, there is she finds, not one toasted garlic bread slice that she had so remembered to specifically plan
for – anywhere in sight to be purveyed.
She didn’t quite know what to call it – either his not remembering again or how she feels about it. Now,
however we do know; and the ‘it’ of his violence has a name: narcissistic passive aggression. The guy is
… aggressive and, therefore, violent. Again. She knew from the time she was a little, little girl – about six
or seven years old – just how against her this type of act made her feel. As did he also then know, that is,
how it would make her feel before he did it to her … that is, the wake of whatever would be the action of
his self – centered aggression. So too, he knew about the garlic bread deal. The guy is violent. And has so
messed with her and her home. Again.
“Whoops, no! No. No. Noooo! Uh – uh.” I am no longer dazed nor perplexed; the actual act of writing
this fucker down has just now – here – snapped me out of that. These books and pages, these bloody,
redder ones, not the Sheriff of Nottingham’s royal – like blue ones but these scarlet three are from after the
act, the Second Act that was, indeed, The Second Trial, that Act’s appeal, an appeal that is itself, however,
the third part in the order and mix of acts and parts to the entire Opera, that is, Part Three inside Act Two!
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And those azure ones I just mentioned? Those particular, five similar but cobalt – colored, cardstock –
bound ones, those aren’t from Trial One either; they’re from the appeal after Act Three, er, that would be
Trial Three, the Third Trial but itself Part Four! There was no appeal filed nor occurring after Trial One,
the First Act. Only the trial. That was it for the operatic Act One. And Part Five? Well, then that would
be the appeal after the Third Trial or Part Four within Act Three. And so I do not have the lines, then do I,
from Act One – since there was no appeal of it these pages of trial transcript, er, lines of testimony, they
don’t even exist!? Verstehen?
Hmmm, Om’gosh, for a moment there, I was getting utterly confused: the nine, plain, cardboard boxes’
worth, their quite literal weightiness when hauling them out and around, the books, the pages, the lines,
some of the dates, the hours and the hours and the hours, the mother – fuckingly incessant hours. But not
about the people – not about the characters, the participants, the smuggish thug – thieves, the several Acts’
players, the actors and the actresses, the takers, the several others of the Whole Show who soul – murdered
and stole from me and from my babes all of our time with each other and – unbelievably – who took from
all four of us their utter childhoods: all of our lives. All three Truemaier Boys’ entire adolescences, all of
their middle school experiences times three, all of every single high school year times three and, for one of
them at least, the murder of all of brilliant Mirzah’s complete memory before he was 11 years old.
And for what this theft and this murder? Why?! Why was this –– ever –– A Good Thing to Do?! Why
was this, for adults and for adult behavior, nearly all of them adults through all of the Show’s three acts and
five total parts, that is, through each of the three distinct district court trials and each of the two appeals
after the second two trials, for all of these adults who knew then … why were these holocaustic acts of
theirs, these thefts and these soul murders –– ever –– The Right Thing to Do? And, I so stagger to think,
“Why?! Why was any of this … just? Justice?!”
Most certainly I do. I do. I do soooo remember the feelings, my feelings, for this happening, for this which
is the wake and the mess of their collective will – that which came out from all of these people – these
villains – who knowingly and who willfully did this. To me the DEhuman. And to the DEhuman’s three
babies.
About these feelings? Not a mother – fucking thing about these feelings of mine is confusing. Not one.
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White knuckles gripping the steering wheel. Jesse, always so sweet – sounding when his little boy voice
would come across and over the beige Shitbox Dodge’s front seat bench to me when he was just four, five,
six, seven years old. But, now, he was 14, an adolescent. Whom, along with neither one of his brothers
Zane or Mirzah, I had not seen nor talked to in almost 18 months’ time.
Stunning me Jesse’s voice is at his present day age of 14 with nearly its same sweetness. Jesse is telling me
softly from another backseat in another “United State,” one so alien to me, that Herry, through Herry’s
lawyer Mr. Shindy Scheisser, had contacted a Los Angeles or New York City made – for – TV film outfit
of producers in their very high – dollar desires – in Dr. Herod Edinsmaier’s wake, again – of making me
out (Zane, the next day at a different and teensy – weensy park’s picnic shelter, filled in a few of the blanks
in Jesse’s chronicle) to be his movie’s actual murderer. I was to become the manslaying slaughterer in this
endeavor, these several men’s money – making television film scheme of three acts with five parts! “The
contract, I saw it, Mama, it has many, many pages, and it’s for $100,000 plus 5 percent. What do they
mean, ‘plus 5 percent’, Mom?” He, at 14, knew already what $100,000 meant; about that part of the
mother – fucking ‘contract’ he did not have to ask me.
Folie à deux is a psychiatry term in, of course, French. Herry knows French. Well, he used to. Perhaps
now he in his middle age doesn’t remember all of it that he used to love to show off. Folie à deux literally
means double insanity, and not quite so literally Noah Webster states it to be a condition in which two
closely associated people who are both mentally ill share the same delusional beliefs.
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In the same manner then as with any individual and non – thinking person in regard to all religions and to
her or his ‘worshipping’ therein –– delusive, that is –– this definition fits the minds and hearts and thinkings
and doings of Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive in her role as the Sheriff of Nottingham with Dr. Herod
Edinsmaier, the Kingdom’s King. Or, Herry the King with Mr. Shindy Scheisser. Or, Shindy the Noisy
Puppet with Fannie who in The Opera is remembered for her double role. In addition to hers as that of the
Sheriff who, like the noise – making jointed figurine, also giddily responds to the money and treasure
involved and so most willingly implements inside the Kingdom the King’s dicta, Ms. Fannie Issicran
McLive is also just the Next One in the King’s Stash –– the King’s Stash of Fuckable, Male – Identified
Females.
Or, Herry the King and Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor the High Aggrandizier. The role of Judge Seizor is
distinguished in Act Three: Parts Four and Five from that of Judge Harley Butcher only in the denotation
that Judge Butcher in Trial Number Three becomes Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor and takes on there for
himself then the designation of Judge Harley Butcher the High Courtier. Judge Butcher, through some
clarification that is Act Three: Part Four merely champions and parrots back the minds and hearts and
thinkings and doings that is the wake of the folie à deux between Herry and Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor.
Throughout all Three Acts of these separate or conjoined machinations of the High Aggrandizier and the
High Courtier, let it not first be forgotten that both Judges Sol Wacotler Seizor and Harley Butcher were
lawyers before they became judges so that both are, therefore, after becoming judges … still puppets. Still
puppets among the Pillars of the Community known as … the Kingdom.
“Hmmm, except the fit of the definition of the folie à deux condition has to exclude the minds and the
thinkings of these folks,” I reason. You see, the deal is that these five fellows, all owning – true it is – such
the tiny minds that they clearly do possess, are … well, neither mentally ill nor delusional. All five of these
players are as sane as –– and manifesting the same lucidity of mind as, say –– Adolf Hitler or Saddam
Hussein or as that most classic of male – identified females, Mehitable, who could have written the literal
and seminal text on such of her ilk.
This sanity of theirs is not to be mistaken for what is just, for what is justice, for what is protection, for
what is “in the best interests,” for what is going to be a Good Act, a Good Action decreed and then enacted
and implemented. Mistaken for what is the wake of clear – thinking. Clear – thinking –– in the sense of
what The Right Thing to do is, what a Righteous Ancestor in Training would do –– is the opposite of these
characters’ intent, their minds and their thinkings. And, therefore, justice and protective best interests the
oppressed opposite of its wake.
My feelings are not confusing. I am a mother fucked, yes, and, therefore very often said, especially by
these five of rather royal repute – or so they would have you and each other to behold them as royalty –
of The Opera’s characters even now, even right now today, to soooo confuse things. But my feelings about
the Show, about this one, about The Opera? True it is: I know what they are. Straight up.
“Findings of Fact” I do not confuse: Most of the stuff and all of its people, The Opera’s cast of characters
i)
The children. Always and only the same ones, of course, throughout all Acts, all Trials.
The secular things so not physically in the singular courtroom and whom I alone chose to
grow: Zane, Jesse and Mirzah. The things not in the room who are my babies. I alone
chose. I alone chose. I alone chose to grow these couple of cells – times three ! ! ! –
into … people .
ii)
The judge, daMan, daJudge, both for Trials One and Two. There was only the one.
That is, daMan was the same one. Whatever is up with that shit?! The saaaame one!
“O,” I know, “This is supposed to be smack in line with the appearance that … “justice”
is blind. Not just anyone can figure it out, “my case” being the “it”. No, no, no – only
those who are the lawyers before they were the judges and then only those lawyers who
are “neutral”, who “take” the law and do with it what its words codified and certified and
down onto official paper dictate that the State of Iowa can do with it. And only that. So
that anyone and everyone “judged” gets the same and equal treatment under such. There
is no expansion nor enlargement nor increase. There is no amplification in one of the two
parties’ loot of “justice”. All get the same amount of “justice” dispensed, not?” That is
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iii)
iv)
v)
why daJudge can be the very same daMan. Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor. Judge Seizor the
Aggrandizier.
Testifiers. O JYeah. The witnesses. Witnesses the Verbal Evidences would be their
collective title. Some the same, some new ones for Trial Two, that is, Act Two: Part
Two. And it doesn’t matter whether for or against the petitioner or for or against the
respondent. Theirs in The Opera will be of the role to provide “evidence” – what the
State legislates as that because it is something called “sworn testimony” and then from
which daMan uses it since it, the “evidence”, must (mustn’t it?) be “the findings of fact,”
to implement his decisions. To implement, daJudge does, by way of that “evidence” first
becoming mixed into something known as “the conclusions of law” before daMan’s
finally stating it, “the decree”, for all to read and to know. Ya’ know, the final judgment.
Theirs, the witnesses’ spoken words at time of trial, will be that which is pulled back
from out of the thin air into which it is first uttered, first attested to, and then onto a court
reporter’s stenographic strip and either, once said, not ever seen as English word
utterances again or they, the words, will be seen – also as “evidence” – as those inside the
blood – hued and bloodied binders of Act Two: Part Three, that is, the visible words
within the appeal after Trial Two.
More evidence. O JYeah. Not everything that the State codifies as “evidence” is the
spoken word, of course. Passels of it, quite tangible material, occupy several of those
nine cardboard boxes that are the equally palpable wake of the entire Show. Ya’ know,
like my Rolodex with its individual inventory – of – Legion assignment, Mr. Larry
Brouhaha’s therapeutic joke, the one this is which is ‘officially’ now marked as Exhibit 9
and as equally ‘officially’ now dated as 11 May 1989. These material materials, no
matter how private and personal, will … well, will no longer be that, ya’ know, private
and personal. Never ever again. Not even the respondent’s medical records nor
counseling documents nor tapes made of the telephone conversations that are the advice
and wisdom of Grace the Confidant, Grace Portia the True Friend or with Margaret
Sagely, Margaret the Other Mother – if there are any – ya’ know, that sort of thing.
These evidences appear in and within and deep into the body and the core of The Opera
at all because of another State – codified civil court trial thing called Discovery and
Interrogatories! A massive mess this legal procedure – that were he, the man of pillared
medical community status and conscience, never to have ‘visited her home,’ could not
have been left there by him then. If the twat had just settled out of court and before trial,
why, this mess, this mucking, fucking dirt, Herry – Daddee wouldn’t have gotten a hold
of – in order to be able to then piss it up, over, onto and all around her. He wouldn’t have
been able then to make this next mess of his; he simply wouldn’t have needed to. With
this material “evidence” of hers – through Discovery and Interrogatories … But she
wouldn’t, would she, the stupid – ass heifer wouldn’t right off let him take from her the
growths from out her very own belly so she knew what the consequences of the wake of
taking on his wrath would surely be, didn’t the cunty wench? The shrewy harpy knew
what the mess was she was forcing him to wrench from her. After all, she is over eight
years of age, isn’t she? He knows the pussy knew. Petitioner knows respondent knew.
However, and a huge ‘however’ here, … it wouldn’t have mattered had the whore known
or not known. Daaaah. The wrenching business is man’s business, Bitch.
And almost lastly, the Parties. Us. We are the stars of The Opera, of course. For the
most part and, in my case, for a little while at first anyhow I star. Then? … Then I soooo
do not. I shall be the soprano, and you already knew that. And Herry will be the tenor.
That’s a big fucking shame: I utterly love all of the tenors whom I’ve ever fucking heard
sing. Wouldn’t ya’ know it? Well, to reconsider though, that makes literally an awful lot
of sense as a matter of fact. All of those bad boys I so burned after both first in pursuit of
them and then, after, in the ashes of their wakes, the messes that they left me with – once
they’d visited themselves upon me and mine! Hmmm. Alongside us, the fleshy parties,
alongside Legion True and Herod Edinsmaier, of course, sit and sometimes stand the
Band of Big Boys, our employees. They are really ‘the parties’ in another flesh and in
The Opera, that is, are not themselves at all. So Mr. Jazzy Jinx is Dr. Legion True and
Mr. Shindy Scheisser is Dr. Herod Edinsmaier; and whatever is sung, said, done, acted
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vi)
out or occurs by them is done in my name or in Herry’s. Carefully it shall be noted right
off here, however, that two flesh – and – blood bodies does not equal two voices
necessarily and, in the case of the thing in the room that is me, two bodies either means
Jinx’s voice (except when I am actually testifying) or … well, none at all: no voice.
There is, in said band of identity bandits here, furthermore, a very distinct – appearing
female. And one more male – identified and very nondescript person who is also female
but just sort of out there – waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting – waiting on
daMan as per usual – in the house wings somewhere almost all of the time. Both of
these women, Ms. Carlotta Klutz and Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive (pronounced
‘MacKehlvee or MclIIIIIvv, either way, just choose one) have memorized Mehitable’s
chapter on How to Maintain … if a male – identified female. Once one of these women
ascends the ladder of luxury, a rare event when the stats (… AmTaham’s numbers there!)
are made truly known, in this instance, Carlotta as one who rose up in the areas of both
legal influence and affluence, there has to be a way figured out and already set in place
for these females then to securely stay up at its top, not? That would be Ms. Klutz’s
‘specialty’ –– more so even than family law: making sure that she stays at the top ––
no matter that she has so conveniently filed away and forgotten on just who – the – hell’s
feminist bootstraps she has managed to crawl the fuck up to the ladder’s top! The other
of these two women, Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive, clawed her way to the top when she
found her 01 July 1989 high – school class reunion talons dug into the lofty level of
luxury literally right there on the lap of Herry. That was a ladder not at all too high to
climb as allya’all know Herry’s height, and thus right where his crotch would be located,
a ladder with its rules on maintenance of said top level that Ms. Fannie devoured inside
Mehitable’s subchapter entitled The Next One in the Stash. Ms. Fannie’s was a mounting
implement used in gold – digging and one that actually projected itself downward.
Her ladder’s trajectory took off downward such as into or inside a deep, abyssal mine –
the likes of which she believed could be found down into and inside Herry’s pants
somewhere, its pockets, that is, or … otherwise. We do not even see Ms. McLive until
Act Two; in it she sings herself from the wings as loudly and as proudly as someone so
plain as she can possibly spout starting then within The Opera’s Part Two there.
Finally, we have the characters known as … The Jury. “Ooops, am I confusing things
again?” I warble, then further trill, “O O O noooo, no, no. Just testing you I am.
Mocking you? I am moooocking you? Never. Never. I? I do not do ‘mocking’, no, not
me, not me Legion. And it isn’t me who does ‘snide’ either. That? That would be the
petitioner, the appellee … the appalling appellee. So when I tell you most seriously, it is
exactly that: ‘most seriously.’ So please, please, please, listen up here: There is no jury!
Uh – uh. That’s riiii - iiight. None. Zip. Zilch. Zero. ‘Member the ‘findings of fact’
that I did not confuse were ‘all of the people’? Well, since there is no official jury then,
this is where You the Audience of Readers have almost an equal starring role I say!
Nearly equal. Nearly equal. You the Audience of Readers will be … tah – dah …
This Opera’s Jury,” my overturing arietta concludes.
*
*
*
*
The Opera opened with background; it was, of course, called the Overture. Some of it evidentiary and
material, tangible since it consisted of paper documents required and submitted to “The Court,” an office –
working, secretarying fembot critter –– who actually prepared it properly with official stampings and
bindings and foldings and file codings before its landing in daMan’s inbox at some point before the
opening scene that was Part One, that part being the entirety of Trial One, therefore all of Act One. In The
Opera we never see any such of these femdroids who really are the various machinations of “The Court.”
Not one – save for Ms. Wren, daJudge’s personal aide, who never left his side except to summon or to
direct or to delegate per daMan but who, nevertheless, accomplished all with amazing gracefulness and
especially noiseless panache, rather an oxymoron, that last, regarding the characteristics of Ms. Wren.
Which is why in the cast listing she wasn’t mentioned as a member. Her role was merely as that of an
extension of daJudge’s right arm reaching out from behind his beautiful bench; and, therefore, hers did not,
of course, on its own merit warrant a listing separate from his in the cast roster.
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One such document of Herry’s, now officially called “evidence,” was the counterpart to mine: that essay
answer which Mr. Jazzy Jinx had nearly first off asked me to chronicle about my life and submit to him.
Herry also wrote an autobiographical statement at Mr. Shindy Scheisser’s behest which on 13 February
1989, became part of “the case record” too, of course, the Trial One case record filed – coded as #9215 –
8801; and it was called the “Affidavit of Petitioner.” In its earliest beginning words as in all such
subsequently properly entered court documents of the Good and Wonderful Doctor’s, we read thusly,
“I, Herod Edinsmaier, being first duly sworn upon oath do depose and state that I am …” and so forth
and so on. So right off, right there. In the very, very beginning.
Taking into account now, You the Jury, You the Audience of Readers, that it is easier to lie to and to
deceive in an American court of civil law –– depending upon who you are –– than it is to lie to and to
deceive your spouse, your boss, your teacher, your preacher and, some would say, even yourself, one
reason for this ease is that the person, the liar, does not have to remember the lies. The actual details of
what went out there and when – into the court and the courtroom as statements! Get them said or get them
written down and properly court – handled and, voila, –– depending upon who you are (this is the crux), ––
your statements become accountable – they become Truth – because they are now testimony under oath that
the State and its implementer, daJudge, both reckon as evidence. Must be, huh? Not?
If you, one of the parties, happen to be a liar, however –– and again presuming your pillaredness –– that
automatic sway of your carriage in the community before daMan, that is, the swagger in which you mimic
in countenance and demeanor how daJudge perceives himself to comport about within that same
community of yours, why, you do not even have to remember your lies. That, the not having to remember
at all into the future what it was you said or wrote or when, that is as easy as the actual lying part of the
action! If, for example, you look like daJudge, that is, you are a preacher, a priest, a doctor, a teacher, a
professor, a bank official, another lawyer, another judge, a cop, a corporation tycoon or even one of its
lightweights, a sports figure or, even better, one of the coaches, a worshiped entertainer or celeb and, most
especially in many instances now for men of community conscience, have allied yourself with a feminist
woman, why then you are already reflexively, automatically supplied the liar’s credentials and even that
plastic – laminated wallet card that is your free pass into … ‘the case’ record. You do not have to
remember what you say or what you write down or when. Period. DaJudge sees you as he sees himself –
which is to say: he doesn’t really, really – really and Truly – see you at all, Doctor Mister Wonderful Pillar
of the Community, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier!
Nor … does he want to. Uh – uh.
daJudge would then most assuredly have to turn that pointy male index finger of his completely around
upon himself or at least look at the right hand’s third, fourth and fifth fingers that, with his leveling of that
first, bony digit at me, are already directed back at himself. And at what he could do. And did. As from
the Prophetess’s words of Women’s History Scripture, “They could and they did.” His Most High, Judge
Seizor the Aggrandizier would, wouldn’t he, then have to examine himself?! The upcoming ‘justice’ yet to
be dispensed to me, Dr. Legion True, the Truemaier Boys’ mama, is already, by appearances alone …
blinded, methinks. By who is and who ain’t. Blind, that is.
Does Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor, looking in actual physical appearance if not also resembling a helluva lot,
with his famed and legendary astuteness inside that Storm County courtroom at least, how the philandering
Benjamin Franklin is pictorially portrayed in your and my history texts, … does Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor
really want to see into himself and (legally … or otherwise!) examine what it is he could – and did – do to
Mrs. Seizor? The first Mrs. Seizor, that is? The Mrs. Seizor, birthing mother of daJudge’s four daughters
whom, when she was seen drinking in public a couple of times, Spouse Sol Wacotler Seizor had had
‘conveniently’ stashed away into an insane asylum for crazy, depressed alcoholic women – whilst he
simultaneously spirited away from her her four babies into the love nest which he’d had the Next One in his
Stash making ready for him as soon as daJudge returned home from that asylum chore and before the start
of his latest workday at the bench!?! A few years back now!?!
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Will Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor be happy, then, to examine blindly as well, along with Mr. Jazzy Jinx and
Mr. Shindy Scheisser, Herry’s world a few years back now, too? Herry the Doctor. Herry the Good and
Wonderful Doctor. The life that included in it a toast during “Healer” Herry’s early but already “Doctor” –
titled times at a marrying brother’s seaside bachelor party when Jesse and Zane were barely, but just barely,
out of diapers. And Mirzah wasn’t. A toast of which I was later told –– told again as Herry – Daddee’s
version of foreplay upon the carcass that was the Truemaier Boys’ mama and concurrent with the Good
Doctor’s orders to the not – nearly – his – equal, Doctor Legion True, to perform for him a blow job, one of
the copious number in 14½ years of his consorting with me –– and of which I am sure Herry – Daddee’d
love now to teach to his own adult sons that went something like, “Here’s to the breezes that blow through
the treeses. And lift the girls’ skirts above their kneeses. Tease us, please us, spread diseases. Fuck that
snatch. Down the hatch.”
Down the hatch? Now would that be then, of course, the one referring to my and my future fucked sister –
in – law’s fated acts of fellatio, each one of us forced to swallow copious or puny amounts of semen, or
would that be pertaining to “the hatch” merely as in, “Let’s drink up the wedding champagne, er I mean,
the bros’ steins of brew?”
Think, do You Jury, that the swaying and swaggering Judge Seizor truly wants to take a long, in – depth,
look – see examination into all of this –– this ‘violence’ … this ‘domestic violence’ –– today as he begins
to adjudicate for this very community – the one in which he is perceived as and in which he most especially
sees himself as a pillar, too – the Iowa District Court for Storm County’s Case #9215 – 8801?
*
*
*
*
Herry’s four – part affidavit, his life story the way he writes it to The Court anyhow, is sectioned off into
“A. Personal Background,” “B. Marital History” and “C. Personal Problems.” The shortest –– section
C’s “personal problems” portion –– contains only two paragraphs, the first one a 51 – word boo – frickin’
hoohah on Herry’s “suffering” from drinking fermentation products a lot and the last contains five
sentences which are all … only about me! Ending that second paragraph supposedly regarding his
“personal problems” does with … “Legion’s problems have been longstanding in nature and …” and …
well, the rest of that later on when I so remember to discuss how it is … –– Zane recounts to me in
Grubtrop, West Virginia’s little parklet –– … how it is that Legion becomes ‘the Edinsmaier killer’ in the
true – life, made – for – television movie which Herry, through Shyster – Attorney Scheisser’s contract
shenanigans with film producers, ‘directs’! The final fourth affidavit segment, D, is the longest one: two
and a half full legal – size pages on “the Safety and Well – Being of Children and Moral Climate.” Also it?
Section D? … By no great stretch: Dr. Herod Edinsmaier’s ‘funniest’ section.
In the beginning of this particular affidavit, the very first document or words said or written which Herry
ever gave over to The Court and that I was given through Discovery and Interrogatories a chance to read
too, I missed it. “I was born on … yada, yada and in yada, yada. My parents are Juggern Aut and
Detanimod Edinsmaier.” Dr. Herod Edinsmaier himself states that he wasn’t even born … first … to a
woman! That he wasn’t even born … first … to his mother! Herry so patriarchally documents down
Juggern Aut, his father … first! Of course! Of course, Herry does that!
“I know, I know. Okay, I know: throughout all of recorded history children have not been born first to
their mamas. This –– about children ‘owned’ as only men’s DNA – sanctioned possessions –– … this I
know, for chris’sake. But hey! Give Herry the benefit here,” I banged my left forehead with my left palm.
“He’s allied himself with a feminist woman – me! – after goddessdamn all! Herry knows better!” And
still. Still the father, another of daMan –– Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier in this case –– is positioned,
even if just down on paper in addition to his spot at every damned dining table, in the very … first … place.
“How many medical and other advanced degrees does it take, Doctor Edinsmaier, to become one savvy
enough and swell enough to have written the very, very beginning of your life down instead as, ‘I was born
on … in … , and my parents are Detanimod and Juggern Aut Edinsmaier?!’ How the fuck many, Herry?!”
“How many initial degrees in realization, in awareness, from your having taken yet another education class,
in knowing, Dr. Edinsmaier? Something you’ve known since loooong before you were eight years old: that
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it was your ma and never, never, ever your pa – from whence cometh, out of whom were grown, 12 live
babies of the human being species because of those 14 perpetual pregnancies of hers in the short, short span
of the 20 years’ time that Detanimod was so poked and, thus, continuously made over the course of those
two Iowa decades to grow human beings other than herself –– one after the other after the other fecund
time and fecund time and fecund time again –– ,” I further suspired my shoulders shrugging.
“Well, maybe. Maybe in Detanimod’s score years of her nearly unbroken state of growing, bearing and
birthing. Maybe only six were human beings. The other birthed six each were two haploid cells that
Detanimod grew into females and, therefore, DEhuman beings,” Herry’s affidavit’s second sentence
already loudly and androcentrically implied.
And grimly portended then, too, that sentence of Herod’s did to just exactly whom should belong the next
three descending progeny of Juggern Aut’s, the grand patriarchal poobah’s grandchildren who bore the
names of Zane and Jesse and Mirzah. “They will belong to the first – named on The Court’s papers, too.
And for sure, that first name will not belong to the DEhuman … … the killer.” Even after the marital
separation and in just his writings alone … what a mess – maker for the allied feminist – me! – Herry
continued to be!
“But what’ll I do if I fucking lie toooo well,” Herry worried. Auspiciously for Herry in Act One, his
employee, Mr. Shindy Scheisser, noisily did remember from behind The Opera’s opening curtain – did
remember to counsel Herry about the possibility of his lying too well.
“ ‘born to Juggern and Detanimod’ … Again and in my presence you dare, Herry do you, to exalt your
sperm, your manly man’s DNA, over … me? One wee patriarchal cell times three is all, and haploid ones
at that, Herry! If you trusted me to choose to grow and to bear Zane and Jesse and Mirzah, and you trusted
me to care for them and to raise them up thus far, then how come the hell you cannot trust me with a child
now? Three of them to be exact, cuz it sure’s hell was me who’s been doing the job from fuck #1 with,
nearly literally therein inside me deposited haploid spermatozoa cell #1. Hasn’t it been, Herry?! Isn’t that
the singular Truth, Herry?!”
“Ooops, now I remember why you cannot trust me, Herry, I’m the fucking killer, aren’t I?! Shit, I’m gonna
say it here right at the outset, Herry: I am so glad that Detanimod did not live. Did not live so that your
ma’d have to see you now, this person you’ve become, this person she did not raise you up to be. That you
willfully refuse to keep your eyes on the self – discipline horizon with the long view in sight. Shit, Herry,
you didn’t –– as a cell biology graduate student nor as a medical student –– you didn’t give even a flying
fuck about birth control! Knowing about it or, shit, with even knowing that so friggin’ many, many siblings
your own father had thoughtlessly and ruthlessly and carelessly ‘caused’ … using it! Actually using birth
control! Not even once! Only Jesse was the baby birthed from out of a planned pregnancy! Out of an
actual planned fuck –– one of the Boys! All three of the Truemaier Boys I truly did alone choose to grow;
and two of them, Herry, two of them were a total shock to me – reckoning how it is I found out that I was
pregnant with Zane and with Mirzah when you, You The Scientist for just a couple of our romps, … you
were supposed to be in charge of birth – controlling! They are not yours. And they are mine. All of
them.”
“And now? Now you’re gonna take them all from me?! I’m the one who’s pissed you off! but soooo
without the supporting backing and the money and, most certainly, without any maleness and pillaredness
to fight you. How fucking dare you?! How mother – fucking dare you?!”
Mr. Jazzy Jinx had repeatedly counseled me and most assuredly so, “Overtures like Herry’s are made all
the time though, Legion. Divorcing dads do it an awful lot. I’ve helped them do it; hell, it was my job for
chris’sake. I have been in family law practice for over 20 years; and I have to say that I’ve never even
heard of a case where the father was given primary physical care custody of the kids when he really, really
did not want them. Or that. Ya’ know, … that –– all of that work … when he really didn’t want all of the
work that certainly goes with being a single parent. Not even one time have I seen that happen, Legion.”
“Huh? Really?”
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“Really. Really and truly, Legion! Well, all sorts of suggestions and preludes and … an’ advances are put
forth by the father and the father’s attorney about how much he wants ‘em. About how much better he’d be
as the primary parent and it’d be so much more ‘in the children’s best interests’ if the one who should get
physical custody is daddy – dearest and not their mother. But he really doesn’t want them. Not from the
git – go does he really and truly want them, Legion. I mean, think about it. You’re their mother. You
know what it takes to raise them up ‘cause you’ve been doing it, right? Well, right? Well he does, too.
Herry knows. He knows that you have and he knows what it takes. And he doesn’t want to start at that
after being right there all this time jus’ watching you do it. Ya’ know, seeing what the Sam Hill it took for
you to do it. And for bloody well damn sure, he does not want to do it the hell alone! But – and a huge,
huge ‘but’ here – : what he really doesn’t want, even more than that, is to be found out. It’s simple. Image
really. Daddy just doesn’t want to look like that to the kids. Like he doesn’t want them. So he works it!
Works it and works it. Before trial and at trial. Believe me, Legion, I have. I’ve worked it. For the
fathers. I have seen this over and over and over. This one? Yours, Legion? Herry’s just working this one,
too. Hmmm, by the way, let me check with Amanda, my account specialist. Are you up – to – date here
on your billings with us?”
And so it came to pass, armed with such advice and protection in my back pocket soooo well – paid for
from out of my pocketbook, that just before proceeding into trial I went first to visit a woman by the name
of Ms. Carrie Canard. Those in the know of family law will recognize all manner of the letters behind such
a person’s name; I only ever knew her as “the custody evaluator,” the one whom The Court, daMan, had
designated be the specific one assigned to me, to Herry and to Mirzah, Zane and Jesse. There, and shielded
with fatherly Jinx’s ‘so – wise’ male touch and counsel, why, I told her … The Truth!
Silly, silly me. Silly, silly fucked me.
AmTaham had sat at the Othello Drive dining table facing east, facing that nondescript kitchen wall? From
just the other morning when I was feeling so angry about Pond Scat Herry? This woman then? This
woman Canard? Well, she was that kitchen wall. Regular build, maybe 5’ 7 or 8”, a size 11, caucasian and
definitely of European descent, straight brown hair to chin length. Told me she had come to Des Moines
after having been raised and trained in Kansas, she was then about 32, frumpy and as mousy as, … well, as
all get – out. Frumpy and mousy yet neatly arrayed at least once that I remember in a plain navy blue frock
with white polka dots, the dots small and sedate, not big, bold nor splashy. Plied her trade, she did, within
the walls and, therefore too its auspices, of a major tertiary teaching medical center. She was not out on her
own –– not out on nor under her own shingle privately somewhere with overhead bills to foot, a
neighborhood to please … nor individual clients to worry about retaining.
No children, no spouse. Never a child, never a spouse. And I tell her the mother – fucking Truth do I?!
How friggin’ stupid am I?! Screaming clues from so many crucial life – experience angles of her friggin’
evaluating and counseling “industry” she is at me here, and what do I do?! I totally fail to pick up on the
significance and the importance to me of any of the 70 percent or more of them, that is, the ones which are
these nonverbal and personal history roars of hers. I trust this mother – fucking stranger with the Truth,
with my Truth, I do?!
Protection I should have had! Protection I soooo did not have! Protection soooo not taught to me by
Mehitable True. Not given me by my very own mother!
In looking back, never in nostalgia nor in reminiscences of happiness nor with remembrance smiles of
course, I would have to say that i) except for the loss of my children and ii) except for the entire and utter
loss of all of my US Constitutionally protected parental rights to them and iii) except for the sudden death
loss of Daddy and iv) except for the Monday, 07 December 1992 decree after Trial Three (Act Three, Part
Four) wherein it is ‘Court’ – ordered (truly, of course, ‘Judge Butcher the High Courtier’ – ordered) that
The Good Doctor, my now ex – husband, be actually, in America, charged with designing and signing off
on ‘a program of mental therapy’ on me and v) except for the 25 September 1990 Ames Tribune headlining,
front page article and what its dastardly and deadly repercussions were to my veterinary medical career
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and, subsequently, to my overall livelihood and survival and vi) except for Mehitable and who the fuck she
is to me, … I would have to say that this person, Ms. Carrie Canard of such no – account description and
her betrayal of me and mine, that is, vii) that her betrayal of my trusting her with the Truth, is the not – so –
singular event of sorrow and grief in all of this holocaust.
I went I think a total of three times. I had to drive to Des Moines – and struggle to find and to pay for not
only these sessions but also for the inner city parking for same! Once I had to arrange for an appointment
time with Ms. Canard which would coincide with when I could also get all of the Truemaier Boys from
Kate Mitchell Elementary but not when any one of the three had had soccer activities or music and chess
lessons after school – since they were to be at the evaluation session themselves. But sometimes not.
Then, when not at the other two sessions, I had to arrange for a childcare provider or another mom of
schoolmates to watch over them.
“Frumpy and mousy yet neatly arrayed” and just exactly ripe for Herry’s picking Ms. Cherry Canard soooo
was! O JYeah, “It’s spring but not quite the cherry – picking month of June and her name isn’t Cherry, it’s
Carrie! you say?”
“JYeah, but then you don’t know Herry. Yet. All there is to know,” I am thinking. Dr. Edinsmaier had
sessions, too, with Ms. Canard, ones similar in length to mine. This person was going to decide and then
make a written recommendation to daMan, to daJudge, about just exactly whom she, from all of her
extensive education and life experiences (NOT!), knew would make my Zane’s, my Mirzah’s and my
Jesse’s finest physical caretaker … Yes, I say, she was going to do this. And did. And this is precisely
where she became exactly ripe enough for Herry’s picking, yanking, jerking … snatch – ing. Right up to
and including her flustered, stammering manner up there in the witness chair of Act One as one of The
Opera’s beginning witness – testifier characters!
If there is one event at which Herry is a master and can soooo work it, work it, work it as Mr. Jinx had
insinuated, too, it is Dr. Herod Edinsmaier’s working the frump – and – mouse circuit. In first – class
fashion.
I soughed, “No, that is entirely true: I was not present at his and her sessions together, not physically
myself at any one of them. I was more than present, however, in 14 years of being the invisible thing in the
room, the one without even so much as an introduction, let alone a first name, but who was, nonetheless,
the Good and Wonderful Doctor’s wife or alleged intimate partner – when Herry Edinsmaier literally
dumped on his mother – fucking charm in a one – on – one with another woman. Truly a two – on – one,
but, ‘hey Legion, shut the fuck up here.’ Those conversations which were really the both of us with her but
at which I was not at all seen and knew very well to quite stay so. Or, hear about it later – … later inside
the master bedroom behind its closed doors. Its doors closed all right … but the two of us undressed and
those drapes of its windows soooo wide, wide open.” – exhibitionistically –
Brilliant, beautiful, even just merely attractive women? These people were to Herry as AmTaham. And
threatened the rest of the bejesus out of him to the point that, with all of his insecurities, Herry willfully and
gladly sought out much uglier females for camaraderie and fellowship and, most especially, for emotional
intimacy because he knew that, if for only the time being, that unquenched and needy desire of his for
attention would be somewhat abated and sated. I actually did not mind remaining mute because, for the
most part, it was quite funny to watch. Except for those machinations of his with so fat and so frumpy and
so fawning Mehitable, very, very amusing his little maneuvers at flirting with others were to me. All talk
and very little walk with Herry as far as these highly male – identified females were concerned, the ones of
Jimmy Soul’s lyrics, “If ya’ wanna be happy for the rest of your life, never make a pretty woman your wife.
So for my personal point of view, get an ugly girl to marry you.” And since I was neither a frump nor a
mouse and, instead, threateningly very intelligent and rather comely to gaze upon, then my Mrs. Doctor
Wonderful image of myself was merely reinforced because of Herry’s expending individual focus on such
cackling and coddling biddies. One at a time, though. Never did Herry exude ‘competence’ at these coy
and enticing endeavors of his in a group – like setting as was so with all of those not – so – foxy soccer
moms in a collective together at their six – and seven – year – olds’ practice field sideline!
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Indeed, come to think of it: Herry was jealous of me when in the accompaniment of brilliant, good –
looking men, especially my mighty fine and endearing, PhD program’s department chair, a very handsome
man who adored me –– for my brain that is. And another couple of very pleasant veterinary medical
professors, one private practice boss back in Pennsylvania who also raved about me and the boon that my
healing skill brought to his business and two fiery redheads, a New Zealander colleague of great gusto also
at the graduate student level in Columbia and a veterinary neurologist – professor a decade older than the
both of us, an Iowa State University man whose brain I myself truly adored and who totally cuddled and
cooed at Newborn Zane as if he were his very own babe.
Conversations where the three in it were Herry, I and another one of any of these other six men? I again,
now that I reminisce, was the one shut up. Herry spoke for me. They were all my friends, my compadres
from academia and professional endeavor and lofty in stature of physique as well, all of them. And, all of
them, long – , long – and well – married. Still, before too far into the discussion, maneuvers occurred
wherein it became a certainty that the person getting my associate’s or colleague’s eye contact was Herry.
And I? Well, I was the second and so, so silent thing in the chat, the one that merely in all of these folks’
vicinity, just looked good. Ya’ know, the female of it all, the … DEhuman.
This sexist and elitist positioning was a given –– when any one of the fine – looking, virile human creatures
talking with us two was one of Herry’s colleagues, coworkers or friends. I just expected it with all of them.
I cannot remember even one such threesome wherein I espoused or expounded upon anything scientific
about which I happened to know a great deal – nor, as a matter of fact, upon any other subject matter either.
I most certainly never had the eye contact of both men at once because mine were the pair of lips in the
room’s conversation which were flapping. I was … shut up. Silent!
I truly did not believe that 1963 song’s verses: that one so smart as Dr. Herod Edinsmaier would actually
fuck dull – brained, latchy – servile, needy and ugly women. Woman after woman and even some men
friends of mine including two gay guys down through those 12½ years when I was legally bound to Herry
had, on separate unrelated occasions, asked me what it was like to be wed to someone not as visually
fetching and pleasing, not even as thoroughly intelligent either, as the other spouse and did that affect our
relationship. Maybe it’s a gender thing, that men do fuck down and women do not. Or, we don’t nearly to
the degree and to the actual number that men do.
I know that that is historical in all aspects of men mating with women and of women relating to men. But
shit, with Herry? I liked it. I thought I was fairly safe from his having out – and – out illicit affairs, either
physically or emotionally intimate ones, because of it actually. Sort of the song’s lyrics in reverse, ya’
know, “Make an ugly man, dumb as rocks but tall as a mountain, your husband. And then you, Ma’am,
you’ll be jus’ fine ‘cuz he’ll be true.” JYeah, Herry’d stray for talk but not for the walk of it all, not for the
actual work of it all. Anyhow, the three – dimensional, breathing ones who responded back to Herry just
weren’t those Sunday – morning, in – his – head, hand – jiving … and, of course, two – dimensional
Playboy material of his.
‘Course, about the dumb and tall part I guess I was wrong – since Herry was neither. Herry certainly did
beat out the television soap opera physicians in brains and in dialogue but, unfortunately for him, not in
women actually scored. The soap docs, so lanky and lithe, so svelte, so buffed and so winsomely packed,
surely stumbled like crazy all over their therapeutic jargon and messed up the diagnostic babble almost
every time, something Herry could deliver down pat. Hell, Herry wouldn’t even abbreviate; he loathed
scientific usage in medical lexicons that did so. But then those daytime TV docs had for paramours the
foxes while in the midst of a usual and busy Tuesday morning when his pathology department’s boss man,
Supervisor Dr. Shark, was utterly unable to locate him, down at the hospital snack shop Slacker Dr. Herod
Edinsmaier was engaging with his lingo and his smooooth the ones who, well, … the ones who would so
swallow it all up and along with the croissants and coffee that Herry’d, o’course, sprung for, so gorge it all
down!
And, of course and most importantly, respond back to Herry … in kind. When the other woman was,
indeed, a mouse or a frump I witnessed this artiste work his chocolate voice and his smooooth. No, no
noun is it modifying; that was what it was already, a noun with its o vowel merely drawn out: smooooth.
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So although I was not in Des Moines with Herry and Cherry disguised and hidden as a recording
microphone in her office appliances somewhere, I still full – well knew what Pillared Edinsmaier had done
–– once I read that which Ms. Carrie Canard, “Custody Evaluator,” had written and which was only
subsequently confirmed by her words spoken under oath. As “testimony.” As testimony thus, then,
counted legally as “evidence.”
Now, I think back on her as a hoot and a howl. Then? Then, I could not believe that I had been so
snookered and, ultimately blindsided, by such a sallow simp as she –– again. Not after I myself ––
so many, many times before as Herod Edinsmaier’s alleged best friend, as his wife –– had so beheld and
marked this velvety – voice manipulation of Herry’s. Such larynges as these in abusing men have actually
been researched –– and warned of –– by Psychotherapist Mike Lew in his 1988 Victims No Longer!
I should have been protected; I should have known protection. I should have known what would, in kind,
have been forthcoming back out after Tenor Edinsmaier’s aria – like serenade to Cherry or Cheri Baby –
back out in the form of Ms. Canard’s so – called “child custody evaluation” report to daJudge. I so should
have known. No matter Mr. Jazzy Jinx’s faulty family dynamics’ lawyering counsel so horribly in error
regarding the mother – fucking, adjunctive “court industry” which makes so very, very much money for the
idiot – perpetrators placed “in charge” of such massive, life – altering recommendations known as “custody
evaluations by experts.” No matter that.
*
*
*
*
True it is. O so head – bangingly true it is: the lying, that is.
Verbatim from Petitioner’s Affidavit section A, “From 1968 through 1972 I taught at the Cleveland Public
Schools as a junior high general science teacher. I then went to graduate school at Iowa State University
and obtained my degree in cell biology in 1972. In the fall of 1975, I was accepted to medical school, …”
And, “I went to the University of Missouri in Jefferson City, as a teacher. I taught pathology full-time until
May 1986.”
And “She was hired as Director of the Microbiology Section of the Veterinarian Diagnostic Laboratory.”
And “I considered this a golden opportunity because I did not want to raise our children in Kansas City
because the public school system was very poor. I also thought my wife Legion would have a better
chance of finding employment in Ames because of the Veterinarian School at Iowa State University.”
Verbatim from Petitioner’s Affidavit section B, “I first met Legion in 1974. At that time, she had just been
accepted to Veterinarian School. Legion had previously been married to a Mr. John Silvre (Herry
misspelled his last name) in the late 1960’s. This marriage lasted approximately two to four yours, ending
in divorce. I had not been married previously.”
“Weeeeell, just exactly – if this person, Dr. Legion True, about whom you’re writing here then actually,
now, is your spouse, Dr. Edinsmaier, and she has – at the very least – then been that … your wife … for
now, lo, these last infamous 12½ years –– ah, if she is, … then just exactly which was it? –– was it two
years for the twat or was it four years? Or, maybe three? Maybe three for your pussy? Or, maybe in Truth
about this one nonspecific, unremarkable and merely classic cunt within your stash of them, … you,
Narcissist Herry, … you have absofriggin’lutely no idea, do you?”
Verbatim, Herry continues and, nota bene particularly, I include all of the obvious spelling, omission,
grammar and birthday errors in his so – called Petitioner’s Affidavit B, “After my wife and I began dating,
she told me she suffered from mental problems after her first marriage ended. Specifically, she said
suffered from a severe reactive depression disorder and had to obtain psychiatric help as a result.
We spent a great deal of time together before we married although we both maintained separate apartments.
My wife and I were married on December 18, 1976 in Ames, Iowa. This was approximately four months
210
after our first child, Zena, was born on August 24, 1976. The reason we got married was because of the
great deal of pressure from our families. We have two other sons born to our marriage: Jesse, born
December 15, 1978, and Mirzah, born September 28, 1979.
Legion entered Veterinary School in the fall of 1974. She graduated in the spring of 1978 with her Doctor
of Veterinary Medicine Degree. From 1974 through 1978, we jointed shared in all child care
responsibilities with the exception of bathing and breastfeeding. I cooked, cleaned, did laundry, and
changed diapers. We were both working or going to professional school and the time demands required
that we equally share the child caring responsibilities.
During the 1978-79 school year, I commuted back from Iowa City to Ames every weekend. Legion would
leave Zena at the babysitters while she attended school in Ames. In 1978, the entire family was living in
Iowa City. In 1978, my wife Legion took a job in Solon, Iowa at a small veterinary clinic. She dealt with
small animals. Her hours were approximately from 8:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m. My wife took Zena and Jesse
to a babysitter in Solon while she was working so she could nurse them. Legion then felt the job was too
stressful, so she quit and began to babysit for our children and others in our home.”
[“Ooops, ooops, ooops, ooops! Waaaait a second here! Hold up! Stop the more – or – less mimicking
stenograph, Woman! Wait just a pea – picking, mother – fucking second here! What’s with the fucked –
up ‘1978–79 school year’ statement here! Why, babies – two!! of the three!! weren’t even born yet,
O Daddee – o’‘em all – Dearest! I was nine months’ pregnant with Jesse but Jesse soooo not even born
yet, and Mirzah? Mirzah wasn’t even anyone’s eyeball sparkle! Then suddenly your statement has us all
back ‘in 1978’; we’re all not in Ames anymore whatsoever but in Iowa City? What’s with this freakin’
years’ fuckup, O So Brilliant One? Your statement’s utter … fucked – up mother – fucking!
daJudge, ‘The Court’, … give a shit about any of this fuckup?!
O, we soooo know, don’t we Jury, the resoundingly loud NO answer to that ‘ne!
No shock this is, though: The Pillar, The Exalted cannot remember to use my True first name –– probably
cuz it is – to him – for ‘woman’, for actually ‘naming’ me, the ubiquitous and nonspecific and unremarkable
and merely classic Pussy one. Or Cunt. And he cannot remember – in like manner – the birthings and first
years of any of my three babes!!! Two Truemaier Boys are not even born yet ––– yet the Great and
Wonderful Dr. Herod Edinsmaier claims here that he did soooo, so much, ya’ know … – ‘all childcare
responsibilities!’ What a freakin’ joke! And in what friggin’ universe of yours anywhere, Dr. Edinsmaier,
am I nursing Newborn Jesse and a two – year – old, ‘Zena’, at the very same time! as in ‘so she could nurse
them?’ I am miraculously and massively marvelous – a bloody wonderment, I know; but even I don’t wear
that cape, do I, Doc?! And – for now, Doc, after this paragraph above – why, your fuckups just continue on
below, don’t they?! ‘In May 1980, after I graduated from the University of Iowa, we went to Hershey,
Pennsylvania to begin my’ yada, yada, yada? Uh – uh. Uh – uh. O, NO! Wasn’t May at all, now was it,
O So Brilliant One? Wasn’t May at all. ‘Twas March 1980, wasn’t it, Doctor Daddee? ‘Member, doncha
O So Brilliant One, getting us five all so goddamn lost hauling for hours and hours me and all three of the
Truemaier Babies around and around in the blustery, driving rain and freezing cold March middle of the
goddamned night trying to find that countryside’s hovel which you yourself had earlier rented for all of us to
try to live in – rented it, entirely uninspected upon some asshole’s goddamn ‘word of honor’ over the
telephone from Iowa?! daJudge care that these so – called ‘facts’ of yours are, indeed, fucking false, that they
are lies?! Does he, ‘The Court’, fuckin’ care one iota at all? Fuck that.”]
“In May 1980, after I graduated from the University of Iowa, we went to Hershey, Pennsylvania to begin
my medical residency training. After a few months, it became apparent that my salary as a resident was not
enough for us to make financial ends meet, so Legion became employed as a Veterinarian at the Vale
Animal Hospital. She worked the night rounds from noon until 10:00 p.m. We were forced to employ
many different babysitters during this time. Due to the long hours Legion and I were working, we needed a
babysitter. However, during this period, because Legion was working nights, I would get up in the
morning to care for the children and attend to their morning needs.
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In 1982, Legion expressed a desire to become a teaching member of a veterinary faculty. This would not
be possible without her first obtaining a doctorate degree, so she enrolled in the University of Missouri.
We had to move to Columbia. She became a full-time student, and in 1986 she received her Ph.D. in
Veterinary Micro Biology. During the time when Pigeon [ … about his alleged ‘spouse’, just another one
of the Brilliant Dr. Edinsmaier’s rather ‘convenient’ and descriptively telling misspellings! … ] was in
school from 1982 through 1986, the kids went to daycare while I was working. However, at night I cared
for the children. At this stage of the boys’ lives, toilet training became important. Because my wife Legion
is deaf in her left ear, when the children would get up in the middle of the night, as they often did, they
would come and wake me up and I would tend to their toilet and other nightly needs. While we lived in
Columbia, Missouri, we rented a house Legion’s parents had bought. When that situation did not work out,
we rented a two-bedroom duplex. I became quite involved in taking care of the children during this period
of time. All three of the children began elementary school and I played a primary role in deciding the
choice of school, and the age in which the children would enter school. I felt this was particularly
important because all three boys had late summer birthdays and I believed it was to their benefit to be the
oldest in their class instead of the youngest. I also felt an ungraded elementary school would be better
because of the higher educational opportunities and also their increased exposure to a variety of children.
It is from this early beginning of my non-ending commitment to my children to obtain the best possible
education, that I continue to hold their education part of their wellbeing and my main concern in life.
One example of this commitment is I have started to help Zena develop his talent and special skill in art.
I have done everything I could to help him accomplish that skill and today he is on the road to becoming
a fine artist.
Jesse is the athlete of the family. I have coached Jesse’s soccer team, and he is very good. In fact, his
skills are better than mine. I also have encouraged Jesse to pursue other sports.
Mizha is particularly mechanical and has exhibited special qualities. One example is when I encouraged
him to become familiar with tools, he took all the doorknobs off in the house. All three children participate
in accellerated [ … along with more of Herry – Daddee’s own advanced and gifted … and fatherly …
misspelling prowess, ‘education’ … being soooo important ‘n’ all to him!] or classes for the gifted.
In June, 1986, Legion graduated and was offered a full-time faculty position at the Kansas State University
in Manhattan, Kansas. Because I wanted her to pursue her career, I turned down various jobs and
opportunities away from Manhattan in order that she could stay at Kansas State. I had looked for work in
Manhattan and Topeka and having found nothing acceptable [ … my emphasis …], I secured a position at
Downshim Labs in Kansas City as a Pathologist. Kansas City is approximately a two-hour commute from
Manhattan, Kansas. I was willing to do this in order to help get my wife’s career off the ground. From
May 1986 through June 1987, I spent approximately two to three nights per week in Kansas City, living in
hotels there.
Legion was working as a Junior Faculty member at Kansas State University in Veterinarian Micro Biology.
All three children were in school. We had babysitters most of the time I was away in Kansas City. Legion,
due to her work schedule, was assisted by someone helping the children get ready for school, picking the
children up after school, and caring for their needs. On Mondays, Fridays, and on the weekends, however,
I helped to those things. We employed no babysitters on those days I was home.
In 1987, Legion lost her job and I took a position in Ames. We purchased our first home there. Legion has
remained unemployed since we left Manhattan. Since 1987 we have had more “traditional” roles in our
marriage in that I was the sole wage earner and Legion was primarily responsible for the child care
responsibilities. However, I still helped with all child rearing responsibilities and enjoyed doing so. I
consider the children to be my primary responsibility regardless of my job and how tired I may be, as I am
the only Pathologist in the laboratory in Ames and work long hours. But my first commitment is to my
kids. Because the children have been moved so many times, I have made a commitment to myself, my
children, and my wife that we would stay in Ames and the children would graduate from highschool [not
mine again – again, not the way I was … educated … to spell] in Ames. In order to fulfill that commitment
since my wife Legion is unemployed, I have continued to work long hours in order to support my family.”
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That’d be B in toto. For … now. O, and boooofuckinghoo! Herry, regarding “how tired I may be.” Note
just exactly how many times –– zero times! in her affidavit Mother – of – Three – Boys and Dr. Legion
True throws to daJudge, to “The Court” her parenting self a friggin’ pity party about her exhaustion!
Verbatim again, Petitioner’s Affidavit section C states, “I have had my share of personal problems. I have
suffered from alcoholism since 1977. As soon as I recognized I had a problem, I went to counseling in
Iowa City and have been a member of AA since that time. I have not had any alcohol or any drugs since
1977.
My wife currently suffers from a psychological disorder known as codependency, exhibited by certain
personality disorders.” [JYeah, Catch that, did You Jury? That’s multiple disorders within a disorder.]
“She has told me this disorder originated from her first husband’s problems with drugs. She was also
treated by a psychiatrist for depression after her first marriage and has also been in psychological
counseling for codependency since the fall of 1987 at the Regional Substance Abuse Center on a weekly
basis. Legion’s problems have been longstanding in nature and have contributed to our marital discord.
She has a violent temper and directs a great deal of anger toward me, and most recently, has involved our
children in our problems.” As disclosed earlier, that was it for Section C. Last paragraph? All – and only
– about me. More on this section later, too. Suffice it to say here and now, in Storm County and anywhere
else that I have ever lived? There is no “Regional Substance Abuse Center” nor have I ever walked inside
any such place by that name. Fast and looooose with ‘reality’ here, huh? O O O weeeell: No civil – court
family – law judge I’ve met to date … cares!
If we haven’t yet heard enough on the safety and wellbeing of the budding artist, one multiply talented and
bookoo sports – playing athlete and the household mechanic because of the long – suffering and sleepless
efforts of a totally attentive and present father, we are about to read as “evidence” because it is sworn
written “testimony,” mind you, the culmination of Herry’s Affidavit in the rest of all of those hours of
daddeeness that is Section D entitled, of course, “SAFETY AND WELLBEING OF CHILDREN AND
MORAL CLIMATE.” Also in toto and verbatim.
“At various times when my wife and I were not getting along, Legion has threatened me and our children
that she will separate us. Specifically in 1985, she gathered the children around and told them they would
never see me again until they were 16. This caused two of our children to run away from home for a short
period of time.
Legion and I were separated in June 1988. Legion has remained in the family home and I live in an
apartment. Since the separation, I have paid all the bills, household payments, and given her, on average
$800 per month. I have usually meet all her additional financial requests.” [It’s not my grammatical
sentence and note the word “usually” also. That actually means, “Since I did one time but never, ever
again? Well, cuz of that one time then, I get to lie about all of the rest of the requests the Whore made
‘n’ jus’ snow daJudge with my word ‘usually’ here – heh, heh, heh … ”]
“At first after our separation when I asked to see the children, she would conveniently plan other activities
for them, preventing me from seeing them. As a result of such refusals by Legion, in early September we
worked out an arrangement that I see the children every weekend beginning at 5:00 p.m. on Friday until
6:00 p.m. on Sunday. This was to continue until January 3, 1989 when we agreed to re-evaluate our
position. During this period of time, we tried marriage counseling but it turned out to be unsuccessful.
My wife and I met on January 3, 1989 after our counseling concluded. Since that meeting, my wife has
restricted even minimal access to my children because of the hostility she feels toward me.
On numerous occasions, Legion has called me at work making various demands regarding the issues of the
dissolution. She has confronted me in the presence of the children. I have become increasingly concerned
as to the safety and wellbeing of the children when they are with Legion because she seems to hate me so
much and uses the children to punish me. Zena has exhibited behavioral problems and was recently caught
smoking. The boys were told by their mother that she is having my apartment watched by an individual
213
when the children come to see me. This has caused Jesse to be afraid and he refuses to go to sleep except
with me. When the children have been with me, Legion has shown up at my apartment demanding to speak
with me in front of our children about issues of our marriage. At times she has become violent and
combative on occasion and in front of the boys. This upsets them.
Legion has gotten violent many times before. She has attempted to forcibly enter my car, my apartment,
and my place of business. She has done this while I have the children with me. In fact, she has repeatedly
attempted to contact me at work and on one occasion she even tried to enter the laboratory when Zena was
with me because he had been sent away by Legion from home for punishment. She was denied access to
the building because of her irate manner and the result has been for the lab supervisor telling me such
disruptions must end. Upon his advice and the advice of the Company’s attorney, our secretary has been
instructed not to answer Legion’s repeated phone calls to me at work. This has made Legion even more
angry at me and more disruptive in our children’s lives.
I can cite many more examples and have hard evidence to support the instances where Legion has
attempted to manipulate our children in an effort to strike out at me. This is not good for the children and
I have already seen her actions detrimentally affect our children.”
The End. Herry’s end, that is.
Very important this avowed – to affidavit’s last sentence of Petitioner Edinsmaier’s “Safety – and – Well –
Being – and – Moral – Climate” Section is. Herry – Daddee has “hard evidence” and has already beheld,
he solemnly swears, the harm caused to Zena! I mean to Zane and to Jesse and to Mizha, I mean, er, to
Mirzah by me! I, the Truemaier Boys’ mama, in their lives … at all … means that they, as minors only
12, 10 and 9 years old, are already, are currently and have of longstanding now been, … in harm’s way.
That is to what Pillared Doctor Herod Edinsmaier is averring here. Right off the bat … Act One, Part One.
And yet: it is still only the Opera’s Overture.
Not one word does Pathologist Edinsmaier’s “Safety – and – Well – Being – and – Moral – Climate”
Section on the pathologies of parents to the Truemaier Boys have in it … about Herry – Daddee’s
aprovechar – and – taking slackerism: that is, Herry The Daddee’s absolute aversion to true work! while all
the while, harboring colossal neediness for mammoth amounts of attention, Herry – Daddee’s
exhibitionism that is (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, Fourth Edition) psychiatric illness #302.4 with the
weekend jeans’ crotch holes full up of showing off his pubic hairs, his answering the Othello Drive’s front
door in only underpants and his flourish at purposefully reopening the bedroom drapes time after time after
time after time ad nauseum … , Herry – Daddee’s voyeurism that is (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual,
Fourth Edition) psychiatric illness #302.82) with i) his … hand – jiving … consumption of pornography
and ii) Herry – Daddee’s crime, Iowa Code, Chapter 728.2, of dispersing it – as well – to his very own
minor children, not to mention, iii) a medical penlight repeatedly thrust up my own True vagina cuz he,
Herry The Husband, just … could … and iv) his med – student vaginal examinations’ mind rapes of paid
laboratory workers; Herry – Daddee’s crime of frotteurism, Iowa Code, Chapter 728.1, 7c and 7d, with his
i) groping of my girlfriend, Grace Portia, which is Herry – Daddee’s (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual,
Fourth Edition) psychiatric illness #302.89 and, along with the incestuous criminality of it all as well as by
his own verbal admission to me in our adulthoods ii) of his and Atwater’s teenage – brothers’ fondling,
again! Iowa Code, Chapter 728.1, 7c and 7d, of three tiny sister siblings. Let alone, not one word about
the harm to the Truemaier Boys from Troubled and Conflicted “I – Have – Had – My – Share – of –
Personal – Problems” Herry the Swearing Edinsmaier –– of all of the above! Let alone: not one goddamn,
mother – fucking word to daJudge about who of the two of us parents is the protecting one, about the one
of us two parenting adults who was actually trying to keep all three of the Truemaier Boys –– away from –
– all of this harm!
If all – or if any – had been born daughters?! I can’t even imagine! Whoooooa! I don’t even want to imagine!
*
*
*
*
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“Okaaaay, Herry. Am I about to rebut just nearly all of this “hard evidence” that are actually your lies …
or what! These four A, B, C, D sections, Jury? Readers? These – all four of them – constitute the crime
of perjury, Jury! Just, however, the first of many, many, many such, very same crimes of it, specifically
for perjury from Iowa Code, Chapter 720.2, said chapter in general entitled, “Interference with Judicial
Process!”
I am trying not to laugh too hard here because it truly is conflagrant to me. But I can’t help it. This was
choice. “O shit, Herry! Smooth. Smooooth. Ms. Frumpy Custody Evaluator Canard heard all of this
smooooth, too, I am so certain. Jury? Do you know the characteristics, even just a handful of them if not
all of ‘em, of the typical wife batterer? That’s ‘batter’ as in the crime of battery. Well … one, just one of
them, is, and is as old as androcentrism itself is: throw it aaaall back on her! Everything that she says
about me? Deny, deny, deny and particularly project it all back onto her –– that of which she is trying to
state about me. And, for sure, because it is a he – said / she – said situation and she will not be the one
believed if it is smooth enough and particularly when it involves a man and his spermary, a pillared one at
that, why never, never, never admit wrong or error or that what she says could be even remotely true. And,
voila, you are home free, Mother - Fucker! free! of her, I’m telling ya’.” That’s pretty much the
characteristic … also verbatim! right out of any women’s shelter handbook regarding batterers – except for
the last – sentence, name – for – daddee embellishment there: that one would be all mine … that the Good
and Wonderful Doctor Herod Edinsmaier is a literal Mother – Fucker!
But, otherwise, this is the researches’ and statistical reality: fathers and their gametes are not to be messed
with. Both are only to be exalted. Sperm exaltation. Father and fatherhood exaltation.
I say, “O O O … kay then. Just exactly who is coming out here from the courtroom or from after
examining the ‘sworn – to’ documents submitted to The Court’s files … coming out here into this, The
Real World, and bringing back to daJudge, bringing back from it, The Real World that is, to Judge Sol
Wacotler Seizor, the absolute proof of the Truth of any of Herry’s muuuultiple avowals here, Jury?
Readers? Who? You? And, furthermore, do you care what lies he’s told you and me? Do you? Does the
judge? Really? Really and actually does daJudge, Judge Seizor, the man who once “legally” forced a first
Mrs. Seizor into a certain prison way away from her very own four baby daughters, truly care? It is easier
to lie to and to deceive in an American court of civil law than it is to lie to and to deceive your … __you __
fill __ in __ the __ blank __, Jury. Of course, depending upon … well, you know the rest of that sentence,
too.”
I did not know it then, but I soooo know it now: Depending upon who you are, it is easier to lie to and to
deceive anyone inside an American civil court of law and get away with it than it is to lie to and to deceive
one’s own mom and dad. It is easier to lie to and to deceive an American civil court of law, which, we all
know, is a judge or a bunch of ‘em, than it is to lie to and to deceive your own minister, your own teacher,
your boss and co – workers, your spouse or even your own child. It is, mind you, easier to get clean, slick
away with lying to and with deceiving an American civil court judge about anything, depending, of course,
… depending upon who you are, than it is to lie to and to deceive yourself!
What the most difficult about rebuttal is … is doing it! Having to do it at all. Why should I have to? Why
again and again and again do I have to? Have to defend myself. Always, always, always on the defensive
throughout the entirety of The Opera. The whole mother – fucking thing. This? This I loathe. And have,
now, long – pledged to myself never –– never … never … never –– to have to do to Herod Edinsmaier
inside of any format or venue whatsoever again. Not one more time. To defend myself. No.
But to You the Jury? JYeah. No problem. One more time again? This tome, this volume? Nooooo
problem. In fact: Ratchet it on up, that very volume! Bring it on!
Rebutting then begins, of course, right there within his, the Petitioner’s, Affidavit section A, continues
throughout aaaall of Liar Edinsmaier’s four sections and finally ends then with, tah – dah, Respondent’s
Affidavit! That is, my personal history affidavit notarized and dated 10 February 1989! Which weekday
(of course!) date that horrid year happened to be on a Friday.
215
So.
To begin then, “Wha’, Herry? ‘From 1968 through 1972’ you taught junior high, then suddenly back in
Ames you have, you swear, a grad degree in cell biology also in 1972? But didn’t go to med school until
1975? That ain’t so at all, now is it, Herry? No graduate degree #1, Herry – zip, zilch on the master’s
degree, right?! That, well, along with all of your other procrastinations, well, … that just never did happen
ever, now did it, Hype – ing Hypocrite Herry? No diploma ‘tall! Not even in 1975, which is when you left
graduate school after I literally lived with and doctored you day and night, 24 / 7, back to life from a
deathly parasitic pulmonary infestation from June 1975, right through till nine days before medical school
began in late August 1975, when you were released from Oakdale Sanitarium outside Iowa City to where
I’d had Devin drive you at top, breakneck speeds two weeks earlier and he thought those two harrowing
hours in the car that you, coughing, gasping, cyanotic and doubled over, … that you were going to die on
him right there racing down the interstate. Okaaay, now that that’s straight, there’s more, isn’t there,
Herry?! How it is I literally saved that sacko’shit life of yours for you, isn’t there?!”
The tangible –– and screaming –– absence of Herry’s master’s degree in cell biology, something really,
really easy to prove, well, did anyone bother ever to bring back to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor the actual
“evidence” of its existence?! Of its nonexistence? ! ! !
“In fact, the master’s degree’s nonexistence has, indeed, hasn’t it Hype – ing Hypocrite Herry, just exactly
the same nonexistence to it as that of a supposedly earned bachelor’s degree in physics ! ! ! which You, the
Good and Wonderful Doctor Edinsmaier, to this day in Grubtrop and in Montclank, West Virginia, also
claim to have, at one time, merited and deservedly received ! ! ! – but in point of actual fact, continue
several decades later to pad thereby falsifying your medical organizations’ and societies’ résumés with and
there state (as well as at these several agencies’ websites!) that you once obtained this alleged physics
degree at Iowa State University –– when you soooo never did do? ! ! ! Ha!”
Of course, we already know the answer to that –– along with all of the other NOT! answers to the very
same question after every written affidavit lie and almost all of them, if not all of them, most easily and
equally ascertained as false and, therefore, lies and – and – and, therefore too, … the crime of perjury!
Ya’ know, the crime detailed at Iowa Code, Chapter 720.2. IF only they had been. IF only that other
pillar of the community known as daJudge, Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor, had ordered up the tangible proof
of … what it is … ‘he said’!
To continue I must just shake my head, “Herry, you of all people: there is no University of Missouri –
Jefferson City at which you could’ve ever taught, let alone, could have taught full – fucking – time! And
moi? ‘… hired as Director’? As ‘director’ of anything? Sure, Mister, suuuuure … just try to inflate my
workplace post so that your monetary, support – to – me amount will be judge – ordered down – down –
down … down into the toilet! Bloat the fucking hell out of my –– actual –– position before I came to
Storm County so that here in Ames with all of the veterinary installations here, I can soooo make it without
alimony, ‘can’t she, Your Honor?’ I was in my first fucking fledgling year after obtaining the PhD, and my
title was nothing fucking more than that of Assistant Professor –– as is everyone’s in their very first year ––
and you soooo knew that, the smart guy that you are — with such a passel of quite like – titled siblings at
various times and the institutions you’ve been around, let alone … the little, itty – bitty frickin’ fact that
I was your wife, for chris’sake, and wouldn’t you, therefore, know my precise professorial ranking because
of just that spousal title and association alone?!”
More. “Do you never proofread squat, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier? You know full fucking well that nothing is
ever referred to as ‘veterinarian school’ and yet at least three, if not more, times you term it … exactly that.
How fucking dare you diminish the naming of my educational endeavors when, with your own, you do not
– ever – identify it as ‘doctor school’, Herry! How fucking dare you continue that dissing of me and of my
successes … just because you always have before – and in front of all three of my children, too?!? How
dare you?!? Children whose birth date and, indeed, name you totally fucked up for Jesse and for whom
you could never, not one fucking time, get correctly spelled for Zane. What is up with that, Herry? That is
unforgivable from a blonde and bloodied secretary, let alone, when perpetrated by a goddamn, mother –
fucking father. Children who were never even being considered to be living one damn day, not to mention,
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‘raised up’ in Kansas City! What the fuck is up with that, too, Herry? We were never even ever going to
live or to school the Boys in Kansas City! That never even fucking came up for discussion between us one
time! Ever!” What a friggin’ load of fuckcrock from Herod, O He Who Hypes Himself Up!
Moving into Petitioner’s Affidavit section B with continued and further refutal of “sworn” – to “evidence.”
“So, Herry, you know me so well, huh? I’m your fucking wife and you can write about me under oath to a
judge –– cuz of your wealth of knowledge on my background –– to a fucking courtroom judge, can you?
So if you know me that well, then which was it that I was married to John Silver, two years or was it four
years? Cuz one is, well shit, So – Many – College – Degrees – I – Actually – Never – Had Herry, you’re
the mathematician, one is fucking twice as long as the other one, now isn’t it?! I mean one is 100 fucking
percent more than the other one! So. Which was it? Two years? Or, four years? And what were you
reeeeally stating here, Herry? Implying just exactly – er well, not very exactly at all really – what, Herry?
What?! That I’m a bad risk in the wifery category? Is that really what, Herry? Since that so is about what
you were writing, then where –– also –– is the information to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor about your busted
engagement to Theresa, the one she broke off with you that landed your smashed ego inside Ms. Rebound
Edwina’s bed in Cleveland for a few years whilst simultaneously dodging Bass County, Iowa’s draft board
ticket to Viet Nam by teaching junior high school in an inner city instead of being soooo draftable were
you to’ve taught in just an ordinary school, one, say, anywhere in Iowa?! Where’s the whole scoop on
Ms. Theresa, Herry? Hell, I worked alongside her as an ISU sophomore, same engineering department;
we were hourly workstudies together. And, furthermore, you knew that I knew her because she and I’d met
as student workers there, and I told you this! So, Herry, she must’ve seen in you a bad husbanding risk,
huh, to cleave it off with you and your upcoming nuptials back in the late 1960s?! But where’s that written
and sworn to, too, especially the part about how you wouldn’t ever consider marrying Edwina, no way, no
how, never, never, never !!! –– cuz she was, well, what Herry? Cuz she was what, Racist Herry?! Cuz she
was your great black fuck, wasn’t she, O Pillared One … O Doctor Edinsmaier? And you told me you
wouldn’t even take her home to meet your parents, would you? Which, of course, you never fucking did
do, not even that one christmas eve when Edwina so wanted to come back to Iowa with you and meet all
of your family, you told me. Not even the fuck then would you bring her back to your kin, O Good and
Wonderful Doctor! Judge Seizor never knew any of this about you though, did he? daJudge never knew
that you’re a sexist and racist, homophobic, whore – mongering pig risk? as a spouse? in the husbanding
category? Did he?!” … As if it’d’ve mattered to him anyhow … if he had known! NOT!
Defend, defend, defend –– to which I am forced.
Or, as icky are Herry’s sugary and honey statements about himself, especially about his fatherly fathering
functioning. Those pieces are so funny to me now. Then, though, when I read them through the first
several times, I was made simply livid by them: the obvious blatancy at the puffed – up, hyped – up
chestiness of himself –– of himself as “accountable Daddy”– to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor.
Lumping these into Herry’s quoted phrases, his lies about me of Section B, “Marital History,” are
i)
“suffered from severe reactive depression disorder,”
ii)
“the reason we got married,”
iii)
“she dealt with small animals,”
iv)
“her hours were from 8:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m.,”
v)
“so she could nurse them,”
vi)
“Legion then felt the job too stressful, so she quit and began to babysit our children,”
vii)
“my salary as a resident was not enough for us to make financial ends meet, so Legion
became employed,”
viii)
“She worked the night round from noon until 10:00 p.m.”,
ix)
“We were forced to employ many different babysitters,”
x)
“In 1982, Legion expressed a desire to become a teaching member … so she enrolled in the
University of Missouri,”
xi)
“In June, 1986, Legion graduated,”
xii)
“Because I wanted her to pursue her career, I turned down various jobs and opportunities,”
xiii)
“In 1987, Legion lost her job,”
xiv)
“Legion has remained unemployed since we left Manhattan,”
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xv)
xvi)
“I have made a commitment to my wife that we would stay in Ames and the children would
graduate from high school in Ames,”
“since my wife Legion is unemployed.”
Sixteen – regarding me alone! Supposedly detailing the history of his wedded union Herry’s Section B is –
but – almost all about me. And about me … negatively! Elaboration on just a few.
How does one nurse an already weaned child? Zane had already been weaned! He and Jesse did go to
childcare providers but separate ones; that was one of the reasons I left the house’s door at 7:00 in the
morning with two babies to go to a job that didn’t begin formally until 8 in a town only 13 miles away:
so that I could drop off a 2½ – year – old at one place with all that Zane needed and a ½ – year – old at a
caretaker of infants, someone different, with all that Baby Jesse needed. “And You, Herry?! You friggin’
slept in! You, O Slacker and Entitled Sperm Donor, you slept in! Then on those same soooo cold, weekday
mornings wherein I had dealt with the two babies’ labors, you bundled up only yourself and left the house
to go mind – rape vaginal exam models in OB / GYN laboratory! How hard a daily working parenting
routine that must’ve been, huh, Daddee Herry?!” And – and … I was on call every single day and every
single night for six months straight; there was no one else to take call on both large and small animals, not
just small animals! “So, Herry, which of us two arranged for regular childcare? Which of us arranged for
childcare on an emergent basis? Which of us arranged for childcare – at all?!?! Is this where you’re again
going to project onto yourself that which, really now Self – Centered Herry, that which we truly both know
I – and only I – ever, ever did –– since the fucking first time Zane ever needed a sitter?!”
And about the ‘too stressful’ part and that I was a ‘babysitter’ for our own children? “What the fuck is that,
Parent Herry – Daddee?! I fucking fell down on the cement floor. Collapsed. Flattened my exploding
breasts right there in front of Miss Evelyn who was in to see me with a half a dozen of her 42 cats! She’s
the one who fucking telephoned the UI Med School Dean’s office to ask them to go find you in class
somewhere and have you come collect the dropped corpse on the concrete that was … me. She’s the one
who stayed with me until you got there. Completely pissed off you were too, ‘member that? You drove
the fucking 13 miles in dead silence. You didn’t even ask me what I thought could be wrong? Ya’ know,
like say … exhaustion! Cuz you didn’t the fuck care what was wrong with me, did you, Husband Herry?
And – and … you didn’t even go back to Solon to pick up Jesse or Zane from their respective care
providers after you’d dropped me off at the trailer! You literal … Mother – Fucker. Straight up.”
And as regards our financial ends meeting, did Herry write daJudge about the fact that from $10 per
salaried veterinarian hour, I would after taxes, gasoline and childcare costs for three children under five
years of age ... I would … I would, winter – and holiday – time 1980, with Mirzah then just 13 months old,
Jesse not even 27 months old and Zane himself a mere four years and two months old, I would only clear
$2.75 per hour?! ! !
“I literally begged you, didn’t I, Herry? Over and over I begged you to borrow for us the money to live on,
to borrow from your wealthy, soooo wealthy some of them, older brothers and sisters, from at least one or
two or so of the four truly wealthy ones of your ten other siblings, didn’t I, Herry, when we were in
Hershey?! Mirzah was only a year old, Jesse 2 and Zane 4. And the one word that I got back from you ––
the only one I got back from you –– about our borrowing from any one of these, your four siblings, was
what, Herry?! You remember. ‘Cept you soooo conveniently forgot to tell Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor this.
That word, for my leaving my babies when I so did not want to but you forced me to instead of our
temporarily borrowing from your family –– to clear a measly $2.fucking 75 an hour –– was what Daddee
Herry?
“solvent”
You said that $2.75 an hour was enough to keep us “solvent,” didn’t you, You Mother – Fucker?! All
just to save your fucking face in front of your family. No matter what my little, little Boys and I wanted.
No fucking small, small matter … that!”
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This ‘we employ’ thing? “I, it was I, wasn’t it Herry, who did absolutely all of the arranging for childcare?
Never the fuck was it ever you!” Never the fuck any sort of ‘we’ about ANY part of the 26 in – home
childcare provider – hires and six daycare facilities over 11 years’ worth, was there now … was there a
‘we’ to doing any of that childcare arranging! Truthfully, Herry?! Was there?!
And the expression of desire to go to Missouri? This is juuuust choice this particular lie so is! Herry
brought this up, and he fucking brought it up first! “Big reason why, too, isn’t there, Herry? Why you so
desperately wanted to leave Pennsylvania and move to Missouri, isn’t there? –– Right there in the very
middle of your medical residency program?!? When hardly any such level of resident ever, ever does
that?!? Anywhere?!? There is a biiiig, big reason why you wanted that, isn’t there, Slacker Herry? But
how come, Herry, how come you did not tell Judge Seizor how it was that Dr. Shark – your supervisor –
at Hershey had repeatedly turned you in to the Pathology Department administration on pink slip
warnings?! For FUCKING UP AS A MEDICAL DOCTOR! ! ! Cuz of YOUR FUCKING POOR, POOR
SLACKER WORK HABITS. Cuz of your fuck – off work habits and procrastinations every single day and
not having your work done and god knows what the fuck else! Like your trouble with taking orders from
other men, your passive aggression, your narcissism and maybe they all knew about one – fucking – too –
many of your hospital coffee shop tête à têtes with all of your twatly lab techs! Didn’t they all? Didn’t
Supervisor Shark?! He knew you to be an utter medical staffer fuckup, didn’t he?!”
“All of those hours and hours and hours you frittered away. Squandered, You Fucking Selfish Slacker, so
we soooo just ‘had to have a lot of babysitters?’ Fuck that, Herry. You needed a lot of babysitters, both
literally for your sons cuz you so were not there for them. And, figuratively. Cuz Dr. Shark and the other
bosses couldn’t get you to willingly and cheerfully accept their authority over you and get their
assignments to you fucking done correctly and in a timely manner! Now that is the fucking Truth, and
you didn’t think I knew and Judge Seizor sure’s hell didn’t either, did he?! That it was you who wanted to
leave Hershey because you couldn’t get along, and they were about to fucking fire you right there in the
fucking middle of your residency, something pretty much unheard of, huh?! That is why we left Hershey
for Missouri –– instead of just my taking graduate classes there! True that is. O so head bangingly true it
is. Straight up.”
And this? O, this could so easily have been tangibly proved to a judge, too. Pink fucking slips
evidentiarily scripted down regarding Dr. Herod Edinsmaier all over the pink fucking Hershey Medical
Center personnel records’ landscape. But, no –– never any such tangible proof did any judge see. Or, as a
matter of lamentable fact, did any judge care to see.
I graduate not in June 1986! “In June 1986? In June 1986, Lying Herry, I am getting up at 4 am on every
single Friday morning to drive four hours from Manhattan over to Columbia to sleep on cushions on my
grad student office floor and then drive home Monday nights in June 1986, to be back to attend children
before beginning my first assistant professorship which did not start until July 1986. So no, Herry,
I marched and was hooded on 01 August 1986, after two grueling summer months to finish totally and
completely in four fucking years flat – absolutely fricking all there was to an entire PhD dissertation and
degree program in Veterinary Microbiology which you cannot even fucking spell correctly – something
most persons, female or male, with three babies under five years of age have no idea of even starting, let
alone, aren’t capable of finishing. But I did. I did that, Herry, didn’t I? In four fucking years flat I did it
all! And, no … no, no, no. No, soooo nooooo, thanks for any of it to you. You, if you did anything at all,
Herry, you so hindered me. You so fucked with me, didn’t you?”
“Two more I’ll make the effort of which to explain the Truths. If I can get over laughing so hysterically
here. And those are the bloody ludicrous and mucked – up statements you, Daddee Herry, ... that you made
about being ‘unemployed’ when a mama – when a mama anywhere – has three little kids. That one?! That
one just fucking stands alone, so stupid and loud it is, doesn’t it, Jury? Soooo stupid! Soooo patriarchally
stupid!”
And about Herry’s commitment to me and to the Truemaier Boys about us all staying in Ames for them to
graduate high school?! I guess really the only explanation necessary here is this one: this is the mother –
fucking first time I’ve ever heard of such a commitment of Herry’s! In this affidavit, that is! In other
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words, Herry, there never was such an avowal of yours for true, was there?! Never before this affidavit!
You fucking made that one up! Just to snow daJudge! Gosh, on that one, too, I just cannot stop laughing.
Except for this reason. That here? With this particular lie of yours, Herry? How could there be such hard
– and – fast proof to a judge that there ever really was or there wasn’t such a promise made at all? It was
never written down so, Yeah Jury, it’s one example of the thousands and thousands and thousands all over
Acts One, Two and Three of a family civil court phenomenon known as ‘he – said / she – said’. We shall
so read and hear many, many more of these thousands!”
The lies of Section B about Herry’s involvement as a father with his children are hilariously ridiculous, too.
And, every fucked mother today 14 years out from these of Herry’s, tells me she reads in her “sworn”
divorce and custody documents so such the very same ones. And they get away with them. Nearly all
fathers do today, too. Fathers, any kind of them, are back to wresting total custody away – that is, they are
back to the taking of their perceived “ownership,” their self – directed, self – centered aprovechar – their
taking away from biological and other mothers at a rate unparalleled for 75 – some odd years. But not
since before about 1920, or 1930, though. Except for the last seven decades or so. In other words, at a rate
just the very precise same as that for the last 12 millennia. Lies like Herry’s, besides the maleness – like –
the – pillared – judge thing, are why, too.
i)
“Zena” instead of Zane throughout the entire affidavit, not just Section B. For every
instance where Zane is named in Herry’s sworn affidavit, Zane’s alleged “father”
doesn’t get my firstborn’s first name correct ever. Ever. What does that say? I mean,
what the fuck does that scream?!
ii)
“Jesse, born December 15, 1978,”
iii)
“From 1974 through 1978, we jointed shared in all child care responsibilities with the
exception of bathing and breastfeeding. I cooked, cleaned, did laundry, and changed
diapers. … the time demands required we equally share the child caring
responsibilities,”
iv)
“During the 1978-79 school year, I commuted back from Iowa City to Ames every
weekend,”
v)
regarding Hershey, “we needed a babysitter,”
vi)
“because Legion was working nights, I would get up in the morning to care for the
children and attend to their morning needs,”
vii)
“However, at night I cared for the children. At this stage of the boys’ lives, toilet
training became important. Because my wife Legion is deaf in her left ear, when the
children would get up in the middle of the night, as they often did, they would come
and wake me up and I would tend to their toilet and other nightly needs,”
viii)
“I became quite involved in taking care of the children during this period of time,”
ix)
“I played a primary role in deciding the choice of school, and the age in which the
children would enter school,”
x)
“I continue to hold their education part of their wellbeing and my main concern in life,”
xi)
“I have done everything I could to help [Zena] accomplish that [art] skill,”
xii)
“On Mondays, Fridays, and on the weekends, however, I helped to those things. We
employed no babysitters on those days I was home,”
xiii)
“I still helped with all child rearing responsibilities,”
xiv)
“I consider the children to be my primary responsibility regardless of how tired I may
be ... But my first commitment is to my kids … I made a commitment to my children
that we would stay in Ames and the children would graduate from highschool in
Ames.”
How many are these? Fourteen? Just in The Lie Department alone to daJudge, I – I, Legion True ... that’s
Doctor Legion True, – I rate more lies about me from Herry than do even all three kids! Well, that –– that
right there must be something upon which to brag, not?!
But about them, those lies about the kids? Jesse? Born 15 December? “Shit, Herry, that means you up and
fucked this mother that I so am right after, well, … probably in the goddamn hospital delivery room,
doesn’t it?! Like the vag exam models you were mind – raping back in med school? Why do I say that?
Why? Well, do the frickin’ math, So – Many – Degreed Herry. How in the hell, if you didn’t fuck me
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right there and then after I’d immediately just bulldozed Jesse out, then how in the hell did I go on to grow,
also propel out and begin lactating Mirzah in just nine months and two weeks later!?!”
“JYeah, I know you knew I, twice, twice in just that nearly identical four – year length of time, I Legion
was gestating and lactating at the very same goddamn time – twice! Pregnant with Jesse and nursing Zane,
then pregnant with Mirzah but yet still nursing Jesse. Hence, the reason for the exhaustion collapse onto
the fucking Solon veterinary practice’s floor with Miss Evelyn, we come to find out the next day when I –
alone, of course – visit my doctor, don’t we, Herry? Don’t we?! You, Husband Herry, who did absolutely
fucking nothing as a spouse, let alone, as a scientist or as a physician about birth – controlling! But, hey,
even for me, being fucked and impregnated right there on the delivery room table in order to shell out
Mirzah in just another nine months flat, ... even for me!, that’s damn near mighty fuckin’ miraculous,
Mormony Catholic Herry! ! !”
“So Jesse wasn’t born on 15 December, was he, Herry, but exactly four months earlier than that, wasn’t he,
Herry – that is, on 15 August instead!? What another hoot! The so – called “father” of child #2 – and a
man of medicine at that – can’t even get Jesse’s fucking birthday, ah, er … that’s Jesse’s birthing day …
correct! Yet I’m the one who went into that courtroom the first and every time after Act One thinking …
believing … that this sort of thing would matter to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor – about who was primary in
our lives and for whom were we each primary –– when … it, so very clearly, never did matter! In just
telling this – it becomes even more so when considering all of your lies of how responsible and of how
accountable you swear that you were, Herry? Getting up in the goddamn nighttime with the Boys, getting
up in the morning with the Boys and having them ready for the goddamn day. These? These lies
projecting onto yourself that which I am responsible, truly responsible for, fucking diss me the most –
because, god knows and so does every other mother whether single, staying married or becoming single
again, that the Boys and I soooo could have used that accountability from you. Every one of us mothers
can, but this daJudge already knows before you even lie to him. His ‘Honor’, daJudge, has lied to himself
about how it is that his ex – wife only ‘babysat’ his four daughters like you, too, called my mothering ––
my parenting –– of the very own babies whom I alone … grew! … ‘babysitting,’ Herry. daJudge tells
himself, too, just how splendid and just how fantastic a housekeeper and a mighty fine childcare provider
he, too, was. So when you say you are, you did, you made, you got up, you coached, you drove, you
cleaned, you cooked, you encouraged art and mechanics –– you soooo sacrificed your own wants and
desires because you gave the Boys your very all –– ? Why, … you are soooo, so fucking good at it and that
you, most importantly here, will now quite definitely keep that all up and that that’s why you should be
given full physical care custody, why, fuck Herry, you’re home free with … with ‘His Honor’: the
goddamn lying – to – his – own – self Mr. Also – Pillared Judge Man!”
“But, hey Herry, you better here not lie toooo goddamn well. Or, you just might! You can, for chris’sake!
You can end up having physical care custody of all three of my Truemaier Boys and then you really, really
having to do it all alone like I, in Truth, did do! Ha! Herry! You better watch it here with this sugar and
honey slop of yours to daJudge! And lastly, Herry, regarding that I – am – so – accountable – to – my –
kids lie #iv), the one where you were supposedly commuting back and forth every weekend the year of
1978 to 1979? What a grueling toll on you that must’ve been: why, boo – hoo, boo – fucking – hoo, poor
you, poor you … Huh? And so, too, would daJudge so surely think it hard and soooo parentingly
committed of you to’ve done, not? Well, really though, Herry, what about that? Is that – any of it –
True?! I mean I finished and graduated from veterinary medical school on a Saturday morning in the
middle of May 1978, Jesse well long into my belly some six months already with Baby Zane in tow, and
began working –— I did –––at the Solon, Iowa, practice the very next Monday morning because we were
all, by then, moved and living in that coral – colored trailer on the edge of Iowa City! Soooo: why
whatever for then, Herry, were you –– as you swear that you were –– driving every mother – fucking
weekend back and forth to Ames from 1978 to 1979!? Weeeell, that just didn’t quite happen that way, did
it? Not for even ooooone weekend did you ‘sacrifice’! Not even at all!!”
“Section C is the funniest, though. Truly. The Boys are not mentioned so I feel very little sorrow with
regard to C and read there, Truly, only the sick humor of Herry’s! The 51 words about how he drank
booze, beer alone it was, Jury, but saw the Light! And sought the Light! JYeah, riiiight, Herry, since 1977,
you spent all of those years in self – improvement, did you?!? Noooot!!! Not since 1977, did you get
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fucking help from anyone, least of all from alcoholics anonymous or even maintain a membership there!
What a load of crockshit, Herry!” This would’ve, too, been so easily tangibly proved –– had Judge Seizor
simply ordered it to be so tangibly proved –– which, of course, … he soooo did not.
And C’s entire second paragraph, all only about Dr. Legion True and my long and deep sufferings of
bookoo disorders within disorders! That is so funny. I never even knew till rereading this now as I typed it
that I suffered codependency from Husband #1 John’s problems with drugs! John smoked pot now and
then: let’s see, back this would’ve been before, during and just after Woodstock to which we hitchhiked
together in mid August of 1969, and he did a couple of hits of LSD after that I think and, hhmmm, what
else? Nothing. Nothing of which I ever knew! Perhaps he had done more, but I didn’t know of it.
‘Problems with drugs’ I did not know John to have had; he smoked marijuana but not even that regularly
and functioned in his day job as a New York City travel trade magazine writer just fine. And liked it!
No problems of which I ever knew. Let alone, of which … I ever told Herry! “Now? Now I am having to
defend, defend, defend … for a person – John – whom Herod Edinsmaier hasn’t even met! Never even one
time – yet Herry soooo knows, doesn’t he, Your ‘Honor’, … and is, carte blanche, permitted by you to
disparage even John!”
“And not only is there no Regional Substance Abuse Center, but I was the ‘fall of 1987’, Herry, fucking
coaching Mirzah’s soccer team, the one for which you so flamboyantly volunteered to be the coach, wasn’t
I?! But you only showed up twice! Two times only! And then with no funky soccer mamas to scope out,
suddenly you couldn’t, by its season’s very third practice, … you, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier, you just couldn’t
seem to get away to coach anymore at all! … so that I went on to do all of your sessions that entire autumn.
I never had any time for therapy: I was working! As a parent! As … the primary parent!”
“And ‘the violent temper’ pronouncement? Here was more projection onto me, Jury, and, this time, all of
the blame, too! Let’s recap here for real, Herry. The Truth. On this thing, Herry, deal. Deal with it.
Straight up. Literally dead serious.”
“I am not the one here, Herry, who goes ballistic at the mere mention in your earshot vicinity of the two
words, ‘gay guy’, am I? Not only am I the veterinarian and you the pathologist, I the caretaker and healer
of living creatures not even able to tell me what feels wrong with them and you the dead – carver and tissue
– splitter who doesn’t even have to try to relate to his ‘patients’ –– literally –– at all; but it was you, Doctor
– “Healer” Herod Edinsmaier, you, Herry, who actually handed that mother at the Columbia morgue door
her very own dead three – year – old child, naked, without so much as a crib sheet covering its lifeless
corpse. That was you, too, Dr. Edinsmaier, you who right out loud mocked and chortled, you who snorted
and sneered and sniggered at me every single time I spoke to you or anyone else within your range of
hearing about … the mother – child bond. At that –– at the bond between child and mother –– you Herry,
you actually fucking laughed. Every single time. Must be why, Herry, you could actually threaten both
Zane and me with Zane’s death, couldn’t you? Besides the violence of your woman – hating pornography
that you consumed with my little ones, you actually threatened to kill my child, too, didn’t you, Herry?
And just the very year before! So I am not talking about the cold, late November when Robyn and Robin,
thank goodness, were home when I so needed them, am I, cuz that happened in Columbia in the presence of
all three of my even littler sons then, didn’t it? When you physically hoisted me up onto your shoulder and
flung me over your back like a bag of feed or a sack of some much shittin’ waste. And threw me out of my
home. My own home. You, “The Good Doctor,” did that, and then you up and locked me clean out of it.
For two days and two cold, November nights. Away from my home and away from my babies. And I had
to ask my friends, Robyn and Robin, for a temporary place to crash! No, Herry, I’m not talking about your
earlier years of brutality, tyranny and terrorism; I’m talking about Othello Drive right here in Ames ––
inside it and behind it. How come ya’ left this one out of your affidavit to daJudge Man, Herry? It’s not
like a year later when writing and submitting this affidavit to ‘The Court,’ ya’ couldn’t’ve remembered
having perped it, is it?! You threatened to hurl Zane into the swollen and raging and so freezing Squaw
Creek behind our home in the damned Brookside Forest that last spring of 1988. With Jesse who was 9 and
Mirzah just 8 huddled and gaping on together back up on the deck, Herry. So afraid they were that you
were coming back up there for the two of them next. So was I! You were going to throw them in, too,
weren’t you? Or threaten to. And we all knew it. It was just a matter of your coming back up there to the
deck for them, too. I am down on my mother – fucking knees clinging to Zane’s legs … begging and
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begging and begging You, the Good and Wonderful Doctor, not to kill him. This, followed it was by your
ever, ever famous snide smirkface squint of … ‘Gotcha, Bitch!’, this death threat of killing my child –
after Zane, just age 11, had jumped up onto your back trying his damnedest to get you, Daddy Dearest,
off … of me! You had me, Dear Doctor Sperm Donor of my children, pinned down – your knee crushing
my breastbone – to the master bed with your raised and clenched fist threatening my left periorbital bone,
eye, forehead and cheek, hadn’t you?! You whirled up and around, swept up Zane and ran with him, him
now pinned into your clutch to the riverbank with me rushing and begging behind and Jesse and Mirzah
staring on aghast and so full of fear. You did that, Herry. You and you alone. Just the year before this
very affidavit! Your children come first, do they? At all times even? So accountable are you with their
responsibilities, are you? Just right on top of it at all times? Riiiiiight, Dr. Edinsmaier, I’ll say you are.
You just keep on telling daJudge that fuck. You know he never checks for sure, does he? You know that.
For certain you do, doncha’?”
These pillared male judges about whom Dr. Herod Edinsmaier soooo, so looks quite like? Why, they’ll
never, never, ever check out Liar Herry’s stories for how real, for how True – or not – they are, will they?!
“You so, so know this one wee fact, don’t you?! They will not. So it ends up, doesn’t it, O Great Fathering
One … that cuz of who you actually resemble in maleness and in pillaredness, … … that it is soooo, soooo
easy to lie to and to deceive anyone inside an American civil court of ‘law’ and get clean, slick away with
it, isn’t it?! You literal Mother – Fucker!”
“So much for short, short section C. On to D. Its lies. i) ‘in 1985, she gathered the children around and
told them they would never see me again until they were 16. This caused two of our children to run away
from home for a short period of time.’ Truth? Truth is, isn’t it, Herry: Zane ran away because I gathered
him around and told him he couldn’t go off fishing by himself at Robyn and Robin’s that afternoon! And
that I wasn’t able to take him out fishing to Finger Lakes State Park either. And when – in his running
away – he got as far away as the busy, eight – lane intersection about four blocks from our duplex, he
paused for several minutes, then even angrier because there was no way he could get across it, Zane turned
around and trudged back on home. And how do I know any of this, Herry? How? Isn’t it because Jesse
and I told you what he and I were really doing while all of this was happening to Zane? The two of us,
Jesse and I, had gathered ourselves, hadn’t we Herry, into the Shitbox Dodge and were following Zane out
of his view, Jesse beside me on the front seat, and both of us saw this entire display, didn’t we?! Then we
also told you that both of us witnessed from a side street where we were parked something else most
disconcerting: that when a Columbia cop drove right by Zane in that July heat and saw him all covered up
there on the corner in his heavy winter parka packing a fishing pole and a bunch of other gear but with no
winter and no frozen – over pond anywhere within that hot summer’s sight, that cop still didn’t do a thing.
He didn’t even pull over and stop to talk to Zane and ask him what was up. We told you all of this when
you got home! It was 1985 all right so Zane, being all of 9 years of age, looked only that old to anyone.
Especially, we thought, to a lawman. Jesse, only 7, even remarked on it: that how could a policeman drive
on by a little kid dressed like that and packing belongings and obviously looking like he was trying to cross
a busy, busy highway and not even notice?! Now that is what really happened! That’s what the Truth is,
isn’t it, Herry?! And, furthermore, it was I and Jesse who were keeping guard over Zane. It was never,
never, never you, Daddee – Herry, who was safekeeping Zane – ever!”
And as regards lie #ii) the minimal access? “Why, Herry, you know why that really happened, you
pornography perv!!! It is easier to lie to and to deceive in an American court of civil law, isn’t it? I gave
them over to your mother – fucking, perverted ‘fatherly care’ up till early January 1989, every single
friggin’ weekend for over 48 hours and then, well, you would not stop with your true addiction. You
wouldn’t even try. You wouldn’t even try to stop – or go to get help to try to cease with it. Fuck, you
won’t even acknowledge it to this day – let alone, the crimes of providing pornography to minor children,
O Pillared Daddee! So, hell, was I to endanger the Boys longer than that?! I think not!!!”
Little did I know then what Rachel has since so succinctly stated, “And don’t you forget it, Legion: there
jus’ ain’t no judge who doesn’t surf porn himself!” Rachel is, well, right on the very mark, isn’t she?
“And not only the judges, is it Herry? It was Mr. Jazzy Jinx himself, my attorney, whose den, like yours
Herry, also contained Playboy for his – and for who else’s, for all we know – for his casual off hours’
perusal. It was Mr. Jazzy Jinx who, himself physically manhandling me, rammed me –— his very own
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client, for chris’sake! –— upside the inside of his slammed office door and bellowed at me, ‘Shut up,
Legion! Now you just shut up ‘bout this sex addiction stuff! You’re so exasperating, Legion! You have to
shut up about this, you hear me! Cuz, cuz, a … ah … ah … a lotta nice people read Playboy, Legion. An’
ah, ah, it isn’t gonna play well. In court I mean. You can’t be saying this stuff in court, I’m tellin’ ya! It
just won’t play there at all! Believe me!’ Even though it was The Fucking Truth, it wouldn’t play well
there in court Jinx had just fucking admitted, Herry. Soooo, how would I know about his own goddamn
den, do ya’ suppose, Herry? S’pose someone else who knows pornography’s pernicious deadliness told me
about it when she happened to be there in it – Jinx’s den – when at his own home visiting? S’pose
someone – other than I! – thinks pornography in the hands of little children is a … well, what, Herry?
What would that be, Herry, d’ya’s’pose?! Try the word ‘crime’! We think it’s a mother – fucking crime,
Herry, don’t we, Realtor Madonna and I do?! As regards ‘the safety and wellbeing of children and moral
climate’ of section fucking D, Herry?”
Pornography, any form of it, in the hands of, let alone in the subscribed – to name of, minor children are
the crimes of child endangerment and child abuse. That is what it really is. “But daJudge, even my own
lawyer besides yours, Herry, and of course, you yourself, Daddy Herry Dearest? Were you all going to
point all of your fingers back at yourselves ever? More accurately, were they each ever going to stop this
woman – loathing act? O, let’s just fucking summon up the First Amendment here. The one no woman
ever had a hand or voice in constructing, that First Amendment. And the one that, when constructed, was
never done so by those men with the intent by any of them that it would also work for the Not Males, the
DEhumans, the females. Just summon it up. And, ‘Move the hell on,’ Jinx was so loud, so angry and
soooo hands – on that afternoon. One thing more I can now say with the staunchest of strength, conviction
and will, ‘Herry, just whoooooa! You just back the fuck up here. Nooooo invoking the First Amendment
with me you don’t, not any bloody damn more, you don’t! No fucking First Amendment on this with me,
Herry Daddee. Not with me. How dare you entitle this section D anything –– anything at all –– about the
so – called, alleged safety or wellbeing or moral climate for kids. The very kids who were sperm DNA –
spawned by you. How mother – fucking dare you, Herod Edinsmaier, You Child – Molesting Criminal!’”
*
*
*
*
With that same infamous, two – word lead – in phrase of very common legalese … “comes now,” then …
comes now the Respondent’s Affidavit, the one dated 10 February 1989, and, as importantly, also known to
all of us as “evidence” for Sol Wacotler Seizor’s judging. Note very, very well the near – to – complete
absence, in seven pages of single – lined type, of any negative reference to my then still – husband, Doctor
Herod Edinsmaier. “I, Legion True, am the Respondent in a dissolution of marriage action concerning
Herod Edinsmaier, my husband, which is called case no. 9215 in the District Court for Storm County.
On 06 June 1988, my husband chose to leave the family residence at 5221 Othello Drive.
Our three children, Zane Truemaier, Jesse Truemaier, and Mirzah Truemaier, then ages 11, 9 and 8,
respectively, lived with me at the family residence, spending the late spring and summer involved with
functions including the finishing of the school year, Quakerly activities, soccer, Little League, swimming,
and two birthday celebrations. They saw their father at two of his residences at his, their and my requests
on an occasional basis. During the latter half of August 1988, Herod Edinsmaier requested to have the
children every weekend from his picking them up at the family residence at 5 p.m. Fridays to his returning
them to the family residence Sundays at 6 p.m. I did not feel this arrangement to be just in light of our
frequent Quakerly activities on First Day, but nevertheless, I allowed that this arrangement commence on
Friday, 02 September 1988, provided we discuss and implement a new arrangement on 02 January 1989.
Herod Edinsmaier wanted the date to be 03 January 1989. I agreed to the 03 January 1989 date.
Subsequently, all three boys were taken from the family residence every weekend by their father, including
Thanksgiving and the New Year’s. I was allowed to have them Saturday, 24 December 1988, if, in
exchange, I allowed him to have them Monday, 26 December 1988, which I did allow.
I discussed with all three boys alternative arrangements before the 03 January 1989 meeting with Herod
Edinsmaier. On 03 January 1989, I did not agree to his wanting an arrangement involving the following:
he was to pick all three boys up from school Fridays at 3 p.m. and have their primary physical care until I
would pick them up from school at 3 p.m. Tuesdays. Instead, I asked for and subsequently implemented
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the arrangement that i) the boys wanted, and ii) my attorney, Mr. Jinx, and I felt was in the best interests of
all the children: a) that their father have one, two or all three of them whenever he, they, or I wanted, when
it was mutually agreeable, excepting out that the children always stay overnight at the Othello Drive family
residence on school nights and b) that for the three months of summer, they spend either the first or last
contiguous six weeks with one or the other parent. This arrangement is currently in place and from the
Boys’, my attorney’s, and my perspective, working generally well. At times, plans have been made that are
not kept by Herod Edinsmaier. At other times before the visitation occurs, Herod Edinsmaier refused to
change plans or to be flexible about situations that arise after initial arrangements have been made. The
boys always have received and continue to receive their personal mail, as does their father, at the address of
the current family dwelling, 5221 Othello Drive. The boys have their own telephone name listings for and
received calls at (515) 555 – 5584, my personal telephone number. Overall, the boys and I feel that their
best interests in this regard are liberally being considered and met and I feel I should maintain the sole
primary physical custody of Zane, Jesse and Mirzah for these following other reasons:
1.
2.
3.
I work full – time in the home as a homemaker and mother, am in town both during the day and night
every day of the week and at home together with the children all evenings, except for occasional short
periods devoted to civic responsibilities, or Al – Anon meetings.
I am presently in excellent physical and good mental health. I was hospitalized during 1970-71 for
depression on approximately three occasions for a period of approximately two or three weeks each
time. My only other hospitalizations have been for the births of my children in 1976, 1978, and 1979.
I try to be an example for my children that includes showing them that I take care of myself:
a. We four are active Quakers since November 1983, and official members of the Religious
Society of Friends since 12 June 1988. I serve on the Ames Friends Meeting’s Peace and
Social Concerns Committee and its Financial Committee. The children are welcome at and
may attend all these meetings. I have taken care for their spiritual custody since their births.
b. I read a great deal – to myself – and aloud to them and always have.
c. I am very active in a political party and in nonpartisan politics, that includes being a mobile
voter registrar. The children attend many of the functions with me – and are encouraged to
and do participate in these political activities.
d. I have always belonged to their schools’ PTAs, and currently serve on the PTA’s Principal’s
Advisory Committee and am their school’s representative on the Superintendent’s Advisory
Council, whose primary function involves construction of the $20,000,000 Ames School
District budget. The children often attend PTA, PAC, and SAC meetings with me.
e. I am a sports and exercise enthusiast – jogging an average of 25 minutes daily including
winters, sometimes accompanied by the boys on their bicycles. I quit smoking cold turkey on
11 August 1983. I enjoy helping them with their baseball, basketball, fishing and ice fishing,
swimming and soccer skills including coaching Mirzah’s soccer team when Herod Edinsmaier
was no longer able to do so, and I continued to do so in subsequent seasons. My volunteering
for their teams includes meeting deadlines and coordinating treats and rides. I am a licensed
Iowa Certified Safe Hunter, having helped our eldest, Zane, also achieve his Certification and
the pleasure of safe hunting.
f. I eat nutritiously – and in so doing, they do so also. Our diet consists of low fat, low
cholesterol, low sodium, no caffeine, high fiber, and is balanced daily with respect to the basic
four food groups. The boys make their own school lunches nightly with my supervision.
g. I play piano, flute and guitar, and have daily shepherded all three boys through two or more
years of Suzuki piano instruction, and now encourage the eldest with his trumpet practice.
h. I love and have owned or cared for many animals. The boys presently own and, under my
supervision, care for a cat, a snake, and two finches as well as whatever else if found injured,
orphaned or otherwise in need of individual attention. Great respect in the regard for animals,
property and environment is a given in my and Zane’s hunting procedure.
i. I always use a seat belt. They do, too. I buckled them in from their respective first rides
home from the birthing hospitals and have either done so myself or seen that they or others
supervise this measure ever since. This given extends to their friends, and anyone else riding
with us is requested to use their belts also.
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j.
I have always seen that the family dwelling is locked or as secure as possible at night. The
boys are now responsible for doing this procedure before retiring when they stay overnight at
their father’s residences.
k. I have personally acquired formal education and have been responsible for overseeing all
three boys' formal curricula, including my just visiting school for the day several times for
each boy and have done so yearly since they have attended any elementary school. I also help
daily with their remembering to do their homework, never doing the assignments for them but
assisting where appropriate. I also provide all necessary transportation or other assistance to
them so that they may pursue before and after school activities. As soon as the present family
dwelling is sold we shall move to the immediate neighborhood of that school so that meeting
varying school – related activity schedules, including friendships, by all three boys can easily
be met by walking. At the time of purchasing 5221 Othello Drive, in July and August of
1987, a residence in that school’s immediate neighborhood suitable to Herod Edinsmaier was
not found.
l. I appreciate punctuality and try to show the boys how and where punctuality is useful, kind
and wise in all their affairs.
m. I advocate accident and disease prevention that includes smoke detectors installed when and
where absent, daily humidification for dry winter air, water safety equipment and lessons,
prudent housekeeping measures, especially involving safety and hygiene. That includes
removal of unnecessary obstacles, removal of animal manure from home or yard, removal of
extra – ordinary build up of molds and mildew from bathroom fixtures and appropriate
lessons and equipment for other unfamiliar or dangerous activities such as hunting, wrestling,
skateboarding, etc.
n. I appreciate good grooming and take care of my appearance and countenance. In like manner,
I have taught the boys, and for six years now they have known the basics of, how to do or
help with their own laundry. They bathe daily and I encourage them in the discipline of
keeping themselves and their immediate space free of clutter and filth, and in appropriate
condition. I respect their and they respect my modesty, especially in matters of physical
appearance and speech.
o. I advocate and practice energy, resources’ and money conservation. Examples include the
turning off of unused utilities, water conservation, coupon shopping, use of clotheslines when
available, the practice of Quaker Frugal at least once weekly and savings accounts or plans.
The boys directly or personally participate in all these measures because I have helped them
to understand the wisdom of their use. Wise and proper handling of all property, including
their own, and the environment is observed and encouraged.
p. I am in excellent physical and good mental health as evidenced by a complete annual physical
examination performed by Dr. Robert Narod of Ames, Iowa, on 02 November 1988, that
included my annual influenza immunization. At that time, Dr. Narod offered me medication
to aid in sleeping, my having received the news exactly one month earlier on 02 October
1988, that I was being divorced; but I refused it and have never used any such medication
because of that news or at any time during the separation. I attend Al – Anon meetings
approximately twice weekly and open Alcoholics Anonymous meetings twice weekly because
of the alcoholic spouse in my life and have done so since October 1987, learning to
understand the “dry drunk” syndrome. Furthermore, the children currently attend many of
these meetings with me. In addition, we four attend two family counseling programs weekly.
At the Iowa State University Department of Family Environment, I am learning how to father
and the boys are being helped to deal with underage smoking, nightmares, boredom and
confusion. At the weekly Nurturing Program with Youth and Shelter Services, Ames, Iowa,
we are all four learning or relearning ways of nurturing each other. The boys have been or are
currently active in stress groups or children of alcoholic families groups at either Youth and
Shelter Services or with the guidance counselor of their Kate Mitchell Elementary School.
I make a habit of staying well and missing very few days of work or endeavor yearly; they
also stay well and in school. When situations requiring immediate medical or dental attention
do arise, I have always been there for all of them; and in follow – up, I have seen to it that
directives, medications, necessary exercises or equipment (eye patching, calf muscle
exercises, eyeglasses, shoe arches, bandages, corrective braces or slings, limb wraps, etc.) and
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q.
return visits have been complied with. I have also seen to their routine physical examinations,
semiannual dental appointments and nightly tooth care since infancy.
I believe in love and try daily to practice nonviolence in all affairs, trustworthiness, equality,
listening, compassion, charity, sensitivity, kindness, friendship, honesty, humility and
awareness. What my interpretations are of these qualities I have tried to give my three boys
as guides for them to use in choosing their directions. My interpretations include the “little
things”: caring to remember to fix BLT on toast for breakfast from time to time, to decorate
for Valentine’s Day, to send their godmother a birthday card or their grandfather a typed letter
for the heck of it – and to show him their keyboarding skills, to help check under the pillow
after the Tooth Fairy visited, to get Santa’s work done by 5 a.m. Christmas Day, to color the
Easter eggs and to bake the birthday cakes – each of these things, year after year, to care to
remember to renew the boys’ subscriptions before the deadlines; and some “not so little
things”: how to make friends and to be a friend (Friend), how to wake up every morning
loving your brothers and wishing for them and helping them to achieve respect and well –
being for more of their day that day than less of their day that day, how to apologize to
somebody, and when they, the boys, have been truly wronged, how to help them admit this
injustice to themselves and feel comfortable, able and deserving in asking that that errant
person apologize to them, and how to help them believe that they have the right to mess up, to
make mistakes, to blow it, to disappoint themselves and to fall short of the mark.
I love my husband, Herod Edinsmaier, and my boys, Zane, Jesse and Mirzah. For all that means, I believe
all of their best interests are being and will best be served by my maintaining the children’s sole primary
physical care.
Attached is a letter from my parents with whom I and the children have frequent contact.
[Grandpa and Grandma True’s Williamsburg, Iowa, inside address]
06 February 1989
REMARKS
To Whom It May Concern:
1). Legion participates in the children’s school activities. We both, as Legion’s parents and as the boys’
grandparents, visited their Kate Mitchell Elementary School (on the far south side of Ames) on Tuesday, 31
January 1989. Several teachers volunteered that these boys, all three, are talented. We have observed
homework being done under her guidance and direction. Legion attends P.T.A. and is much concerned
about the curriculum, the school budget, and the financial welfare of the entire Ames School system. The
family lives on Othello Drive near 13th St. on the north side of Ames, but because Legion feels that the
modified – open – classroom mode of teaching being offered at Kate Mitchell Elementary School provides
desirable advantages over the more conventional closed classroom system, she personally drives the
children to and from school daily.
2). After we realized that the oldest son was a nature lover and much interested in hunting and fishing, his
grandfather gave the boy, now age 12, a birthday gift of a Savage .22 – .410 beginning shooter’s gun, an
over / under rifle / shotgun. It was his mother who saw to it that the boy took (and passed) a formal course
in gun handling, gun safety, and marksmanship from experts in the Ames Chapter of the Izaak Walton
League. Legion herself also took the same coursework at the same time, passed all requirements, and often
takes her son hunting during legal season. Both mother and all three boys enjoy the outdoors in the
recreational sense as well as otherwise.
3). Furthermore, Legion herself likes all athletic sports that her sons enjoy and takes part in them also –
even to the extent that she coaches teams.
4). Legion expects the children to join in routine household tasks, and occasionally gives appropriate
reward if assigned work is well done.
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5). She does not hesitate to tackle difficult maintenance jobs herself. She has taught herself and knows a
great deal about the mechanics of home and family equipment like the care of the laundry equipment, and
is already teaching the boys the rudiments of such knowledge.
6). She is punctual – carries out decisions, once they are made.
7). Because of her profound, congenital deafness in one ear, she constantly has to improvise ways and
means of dealing with even a simple problem, such as responding to a child’ question when she is on the
telephone.
8). Legion watches very carefully the health needs and safety precautions of and for the boys, and often
discusses these concerns with us. Scheduled and unscheduled physical examinations, shots,
immunizations, dental work, eye exams; seat belts, field and water safety – all these are but examples in
this reference.
9). She has been satisfied with “make – do”, “hand – me – down” clothing and other necessities for the
children in order to cut costs and conserve resources, and to treat all three fairly and equally.
10). Legion will make and take time to have friends associate with her children. Keeping well – trained
pets in the home adds to this “bit of happiness” for her boys and their friends.
Respectfully submitted,” And then both my parents, Mehitable True and AmTaham True, each signed the
letter separately. Since Mehitable is legally blind it is not possible that she typed this; and I recognize all
over it anyhow my father’s text, not the least of which humorously enough, of course, is the exact
description of the gun he bequeathed to Zane! So he not only typed it, AmTaham created it, too.
Never has there been in all of Acts One, Two or Three – because I now know … there never would have
needed to be – for endorsing, let alone, for ‘protecting’ Herry’s parental fathering role –– there never would
have needed to be one such document like AmTaham’s had been for me –– … so never has there ever been
such a written, defensive – like submission to The Court nor to any one of the some 25 total judges (almost
all of whom – that is, 24 of whom were male –– except for, of course!!! that lone, token female appellate
one who had penned the scathing but, naturally, … powerless … six – page dissentience, Judge Patsy
Shawshank) formally involved of such a sworn – to or affirmed letter by Juggern Aut Misein, the
androcentrically tyrannical patriarch of that entire passel of Edinsmaiers, let alone one from him detailing
and defending the fatherly capabilities and traits of one of those half dozen male children of Detanimod’s,
Herod. Not one word from Juggern, then still an Ancestor in Training, Detanimod being, of course, long
driven quite well – dead and so, by the time of the opening of any Act, already an Ancestor!
With frumpy little Miss Cherry Canard charmed right into his back pocket, thieving and thuggish and
perverted Herry – Daddee Edinsmaier found himself more than very well – positioned then to not secure
physical care custody of Jesse, Mirzah and Zane at all – but to so make it all out to look like that was
exactly what he so badly wanted. Attorney Jazzy Jinx was quite correct on calling this one.
With Herry so very well – positioned to obtain nothing more than his escape from all accountability for the
Truemaier Boys’ primary care and upbringing and for his taking only the Joy Toy Boy fun of acting like
their 17 – year – old, older bro with, therefore, none of the real work of parenting at all, why, the orchestral
music decrescendoed before the opening of the curtain on Act One, Trial One. And the Overture of the
Opera, “We Were Mothers Once, and Young,” concluded.
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