June 6

confronting lies, hate & bigotry in San Francisco

Collected Letters from the Abyss

how Kamala Harris helped destroy my motherhood – and why

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HERE’S A LEGAL RIDDLE: What’s worse than the crime?  Everybody knows it’s the cover-up.  But what’s worse than a cover-up?  That’s when those in charge of those who looked the other way keep on climbing into ever-bigger seats of power.

 

Specifically TWO women, former deputy city attorneys. First, it was Katherine Feinstein, in charge of the prosecution of my family 1998-2000, who (as well as being the daughter of California’s sr. senator, Dianne Feinstein) went on to become a judge on the Superior Court of San Francisco, was installed on the State of California’s judicial performance panel, and was recently appointed by Governor Jerry Brown to the Medical Board. Second woman was Kamala Harris, in charge of the persecution of what was left of my family by 2000-2001, the former mistress of then-mayor Willie Brown, who went on to be the twice-elected D.A. of San Francisco, the California Attorney General, and who is now running hard for Senator.  And her sister is one of Hillary Clinton’s policy advisors.

 

6/12 July 1999 we, the plaintiffs, Greg & Ramona Mayon, quietly settled out-of-court with I.A.F.F. local #798, the San Francisco Firefighters Toy Program and it’s late chairman & firefighter John Voelker, on civil complaint Mayon v. S.F.F.D. local 798, Firefighters’ Toy Program and John Voelker, et al #300155, for Conversion (of funds sent through the mail by Fox2News viewers Christmas 1997), Accounting, Common Count, Imposition of Constructive Count, Negligence, Fraud & Deceit.

 

However, from 10 July 1998 until 11 July 2001, the City Attorney’s office blocked our God-given, Constitutional right-to-travel, to return to family & land with our remaining children, forcing us to remain in a place we hate – being conservatives in an ultra-liberal conclave – under court-order to remain here. Thus, we were forced to raise our children in an urban setting when we are country people, our children denied their right to know their grandparents and their native Louisiana. But we never lost physical custody of the children, only legal custody.

 

Those three years were spent with the City Attorney’s Office of San Francisco systematically destroying our reputation, using the dozen of lies supplied by Children Protective Services, are all documented within this manuscript. Most of the documents I used as the foundation for this manuscript (and case) are marked ‘Confidential’ and comes with their own penal code. I, the person being talked about, have no right to this paper. So it was a struggle to even get it. But if need be, I will argue before any judge that I am called to stand before that the City Attorney’s office cracked the judicial firewall, not I, by using this so-called ‘confidentiality clause’ to commit crimes. Those with dirty hands cannot hide them behind a cloak of confidentiality.

 

Throughout this time, like any ordinary citizen, I went to the SFPD, the FBI and every court that I could think of, I petitioned over & over, but they all folded their hands and did nothing. We have been turned down by nearly every lawyer in town and even had the displeasure of having the SF Bar Assoc. tell me that no one here has the resources to help you. Even the F.B.I. told me to let go and get on with life. How you forget that, how you forgive that? It’s an injury that won’t heal.

 

I am reclusive nomad, stepping out from the shadows to speak out about what it was like to lose the right-to-travel, as well as just about every other civil liberty, by means of perjury, tampering, suppression & manufacturing of documenting evidence by the City Atty’s Office of San Francisco because I dared to complain about a firefighter.

 

     Let me describe the worst day of my life

it makes everything else in this book fall into place.

 

We live on Ocean Beach, at least from 5 am to 10 pm when the beach parking lot is open; at night, we park our 32′ retrofitted 1979 flat-black Bluebird schoolbus alongside Golden Gate Park or the Great Highway (the local beach access road). It’s an odd lifestyle, and in fact outlawed. Definitely looked down upon by most here, but it has afforded an upper-middle-class environment for our young, impressionable children to grow up in, but without the $4000-a-month price tag.

 

Back to the worst half-hour of my life. A cold dreary overcast December morning in 2005. Here in San Francisco, all burials take place outside of town and there are only two ways for a funeral procession to get there, either up 19th Avenue or along the Great Highway. Three fire engines were stopped along the edge of the parking lot, each decorated with a black wreath. Dozens of firefighters appeared from out of nowhere and lined up the road on both sides.

 

Our youngest son, Merlin, then-10-years old, had been riding his bike up & down the beach sidewalk, but came rushing into the bus to announce what was going on. He recognized the old-timey fire truck as the Toy Program’s special vehicle. Having read the obituary the previous day, I had an unpleasant sinking of the stomach. Voelker’s obituary read that Santa had died. I’d been concerned that children seeing that might be devastated to think that! Though immensely popular with the rank-and-file, as well as City Hall, Voelker was no Santa, no matter how much he dressed up. Greg couldn’t help himself, “Old saying back home, if you sit on the banks of the river long enough, the body of your enemy will float by. Or in our case, if you sit on the beach long enough.” I gripped the arms of the chair I was sitting in, gritting my teeth, basically refusing to acknowledge the swirling emotion I was feeling about the procession of the body of the man who had stood outside this very door on 26 April 1998, and promised me that he was going to destroy my world. Greg and Merlin watched out the back window, both cheerily giving me the details of as the ornate hearse passing by, but also how the old-timey fire truck was full to the brim of toys. Yes, the obituary had asked people to bring a new, unwrapped toy to the funeral. The man had become his own fundraiser in the end.

 

Ten months earlier, John Voelker, decorated fireman and chairman of S.F.F.D. Toy Program, had suffered a seemingly simple motorcycle wreck. He’d been awake and talking on the way to the hospital but nonetheless, slipped into a coma. He was at the very same hospital that my husband had nearly died in seven years earlier, from a brutal assault suffered the day, and at the very hour I had been at the attorney’s receiving the final draft of the lawsuit against Voelker & company.

 

Car after car, fire engine after fire engine, followed while his co-workers lined the road by the dozen and saluted the fallen hero. For sure, I could feel the animosity beaming towards our old outlaw black bus. The fight we had engaged in had been openly known within the Fire Dept. We’d sat parked (broke-down) in it in front of the Toy Program firehouse in China Basin, as an openly belligerent protest for several months, immediately after the “incidents” detailed in our settlementMayon v. S.F.F.D. Local #798, et al. We – and our flat-black bus – were easily recognized.

 

I knew many still resented us for forcing a civil action for mail theft & sabotage down their union’s throat. Especially since both were automatically acts of racketeering when committed under the colour of authority. Pensions were at stake. My husband, well-schooled in the Edwin Edwards era of politics, guided me through those dark, swampy waters by teaching me the value of maintaining a deeply threatening silence. Voelker had no choice but to sign off on the settlement (word was he protested furiously to be made to do so, at the behest of a dirty-footed gypsy like me. Otherwise, I would have gone to the press. Or so he thought.

 

It was, as I said, an open secret, not only at the Fire Department, but also at City Hall, particularly in the City’s Attorney’s office, since they were filing the petitions written by the Children’s Protective Services, who used Voelker’s words (almost to the letter) from the day we’d tried to report S.F.F.D. to S.F.P.D 26 April 1998. During the years that passed, every cop who came to our school bus to inform us that were living in an illegal habitation, or who wanted to ticket us for still, obstinately, having Louisiana tags, they too were informed about the dirty, little war between us and City Hall. And so while we didn’t win, because we lost our good family name and our civil liberties, I have to say, when I saw Voelker’s obituary in the paper, I did have a rare moment of legal satisfaction. No, not because he was dead (we are Christians, after all), but simply because I knew that those in power across the City also reading it, were casually wondering whatever happened to that absolutely furious Louisiana man and woman. I’ll tell you what happened…God covered them and they found grace in the wilderness, like the days of old.

 

Greg & Ramona Mayon 1999
Greg & Ramona Mayon 1999

 


From mid-May 2010 until 8 June 2016 after a five-month steep learning curve, this manuscript was open online @www.ramonamayon.com as well as a clone site www.ramonamayon.justicesite.org but I made the decision to turn into a proper paperback book for sale on Amazon as a result of watching one too many Kamala Harris ad about how much she cares about helping the vulnerable.

Let’s begin by pointing out Ms. Harris’ career trajectory was not at all suited for her two-year stint at the City Attorney’s office per the official website http://oag.ca.gov/history/32harris  “Harris has spent her entire professional life in the trenches as a courtroom prosecutor. After graduating from U.C. Hastings College of the Law, she took a position in the Alameda County District Attorney’s Office, where she specialized in prosecuting child sexual assault cases. As a Deputy District Attorney, she also prosecuted cases for homicide and robbery. She worked at that office from 1990 to 1998 before going on to serve in the San Francisco District Attorney’s Office. In 1998, Harris was named managing attorney of the Career Criminal Unit of the San Francisco District Attorney’s Office, where she prosecuted three strikes cases and serial felony offenders. She then served as the head of the San Francisco City Attorney’s Division on Families and Children.” In 2003 Harris was elected to the San Francisco District Attorney’s office, two terms there followed by two terms as California Attorney General. Per her Wikipedia page: “While she was an Alameda County Deputy District Attorney in the 1990s, she dated Willie Brown, the Speaker of the California State Assembly. There was speculation the two would marry, but Brown broke up with her shortly after he was elected Mayor of San Francisco.”

Typical to find this sentence on that same page https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kamala_Harris

“In her campaign for California Attorney General, Harris received the endorsements of United Farm Workers co-founder Dolores Huerta, United Educators of San Francisco, and the San Francisco Firefighters Local 798.”

This is the same SFFD local #798 mentioned throughout the “confidential” CPS records that Kamala Harris was privy to at the time, and she used the power to control our family with malicious intent, as part of a chain conspiracy, in order to win that endorsement.

 

As the old legal adage goes, the only successful defense for a slander/libel case is to be able to prove you are telling the truth. I have used hundreds of the City’s own documents to do just that.