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Mixmaster
05-11-1995, 06:33 PM
* ========== *
* DISCLAIMER *
* ========== *
* *
* I don't have an account on the Internet. I *
* was given the opportunity to make this story *
* public, courtesy of a friend who graciously *
* allowed me to post from his account. *
* *
* His research lab is funded in part by the *
* federal government of the USA. He cannot *
* afford to lose his job: he has a wife and a *
* six month baby to support. So I had to post *
* anonymously. I hope you'll understand. *
* *
* ========== *
* *
* "Anonymity is a shield from the tyranny of *
* the majority." *
* - Justice John Paul Stevens, in a published *
* opinion by the US Supreme Court in 'McIntyre *
* vs. Ohio' No. 93-986, April 19, 1995. *
* *
* ======== *
* FOREWORD *
* ======== *
* *
* This is a true story, lived by the author in 1994. *
* After six months of detention, he was freed by the INS *
* on November 30, 1994. On December 13, a federal judge *
* found him innocent and dismissed all immigration *
* charges against him. *
* *
* This story is not copyrighted and has been placed in *
* the public domain. You may freely disseminate it and *
* post it on electronic newsgroups, discussion forums, *
* and mailing lists. *
* *
* You may print it and post it on a bulletin board for *
* the enlightenment of your friends and colleagues. *
* *
* =============================== *
* NOTICE TO INTERNATIONAL READERS *
* =============================== *
* *
* We are looking for volunteers to translate *
* this true story into other languages and *
* post it on electronic mailing lists and on *
* country-specific Usenet newsgroups (such as *
* "UK" ; "aus" ; "relcom" ; "fj" ; etc.). *
* *
* If you liked this story, go ahead: Translate *
* it and post it. Visitors to the USA may as *
* well be made aware of what INS can be up to. *
* Summer is coming soon. *
* *



===================================
I WAS KONZENTRATED IN AUSCHWITZ
BY STANFORD'S FUHRER GERHARD KASPER
===================================

It all began with these fliers I made in 1993 about Foothill College
and De Anza College in California. "Clements' List" enumerated
about 105 lawsuits against Foothill-De Anza ("FDA") but, by late May
1994, I had printed a "supplement" that showed the existence of an
additional 45 or 50 cases. This brought us to about 150 lawsuits
against FDA in a decade (not counting the additional fifteen or so
that I discovered on June 8), as compared to a grand total of 5 or 6
or 7 against comparable colleges such as West Valley, Gavilan, etc.

In parallel to my crusade against FDA, I was also battling Stanford
University and its president Gerhard Casper (the renowned Law
Scholar who edited the "Briefs of the Supreme Court" collection),
because I felt that I had been unjustly harassed by Stanford's
Campus Police, a unit of the Santa Clara County Sheriff Department.
Starting in December 1993, I occasionally posted a few isolated
"Deutschland uber alles" fliers, which sported a large swastika and
called Gerhard Casper a Nazi.

I met with Sheriff Charles Gillingham in early April 1994 about my
Internal Affairs complaint against Stanford Police. Since he didn't
do anything despite his letter to me, in mid May I started calling
Armand Tiano, the challenger for the upcoming Sheriff election, and
I leaked to him whatever information I had on Gillingham. I made
all my calls for free from one of the courtesy phones in the lobby
of the Business School at Stanford. Casper's office and Stanford
Police knew where I was calling from since they have "Caller ID"
within Stanford's privately run phone system. This displayed the
number and location of the phone I was using.

In late May, I released on several newsgroups of the Internet
computer network a phony story accusing President Casper and
Stanford Police Chief Herrington of embezzling Stanford's monies.
Shortly thereafter, on June 4, 1994, I was again harassed and
detained 15 minutes by Stanford's Sheriff deputies.

Thanks to object-oriented design, it took me hardly a couple of days
to churn out my last flier "das Vierte Reich im Stanford" by
assembling existing files that I had on floppy disk, such as Paul
Biddle's lawsuit against Stanford and excerpts of the novel "Rising
Sun." The flier referred to Stanford's president as
"ReichsOberKommandant Kasper," had a cute little swastika, and
explained the cover-up of my Internal Affairs complaint. On June 7,
election day, I walked throughout downtown Palo Alto and handed out
my double-sided flier to about 500 store owners and offices in
buildings. My flier included an implicit call to vote for Tiano
rather than reelect Sheriff Gillingham. On June 8, I went to
California Avenue in Palo Alto at about 11 am and distributed my
flier to store owners on the South side. Around noon, I took a
break and, on the second floor of the Municipal Court building, I
pulled the microfiche index for the small claims lawsuits.

I had already written down on little bits of scratch paper the
titles and case numbers of about 30 new lawsuits against Stanford
and about twelve against FDA when suddenly, at 12:27, a Foothill
College Police Officer walked up to me and said, "Albert, I have a
warrant for your arrest. Don't move." The officer (Fountaine)
gathered my possessions and bits of paper into my backpack. I asked
to see the warrant but he said that the warrant had been relayed to
him over the phone and that he did not have it. He took me into his
car and drove me to the Foothill College Police Station.

There, I asked again to see the warrant. Police Chief Tom Conom
said that: (1) he did not have it; (2) it had been issued by the
Sheriff; (3) it was a warrant for failure to appear in court
following a jaywalking citation in Sunnyvale in 1992; (4) he had
been notified of the warrant over the phone and hence, according to
the law, he did not have to show it to me. Chief Conom said that I
had three hours to make up to three local phone calls and try to
have the $297 bail paid on my behalf.

After perhaps 40 minutes, a woman came in and introduced herself as
"senior Border Patrol agent Millie Creager." She said that she
suspected me of being an illegal alien; that she had been
investigating me for over a month; that Foothill College had just
phoned her to notify her of my arrest; that she would place an
"immigration hold" on me while I was detained by local authorities;
that therefore I could not possibly be released on bail and hence
there was no point in my trying to raise money for the bail. While
she was leaving, I overheard the Japanese Dean of Student Affairs
whispering to her and warmly thanking her for helping the College to
get rid of me at long last (1).

I appeared in Sunnyvale Municipal Court the next day, June 9, at
1:30 pm before judge O'Grady. The court papers showed the citation
number as T 139 135 and the warrant number as E00 526 309. The
Public Defender walked across the aisles before the hearing, talking
to each arraignee for about 5 minutes. When she came to me, she
said that she could not find my case on her calendar and therefore
could not talk to me. When my case was called, the Deputy District
Attorney did not bother making any prosecuting statement as she had
done for all other arraignees, the Public Defender did not come
forward and address the court as she had done for all other
arraignees, the judge was told that I had already spent one day in
jail and he dismissed the charges. Here again, neither the judge
nor I was shown the warrant. The Public Defender, the District
Attorney, and the judge worked for the same Santa Clara County
(Silicon Valley, fifty miles south of San Francisco), just like
Sheriff Charles Gillingham.

On June 10 I was transferred to the Border Patrol station in Dublin
and housed at night in the Alameda County "Santa Rita" jail. My
little bits of paper with names of lawsuits were still in my
backpack then. In the afternoon I was "roughed up" and kicked
several times by a Border Patrol agent, visibly on orders of Millie
Creager, because I still refused to answer questions. On June 14 in
the morning, I finished handwriting a petition for writ of habeas
corpus, put it in a stamped envelope, sealed it and addressed it to
the US District Court in San Francisco, and handed it to a jail
deputy. Just then, a Border Patrol agent (agent Antoine) came in to
escort me back to Dublin and he confiscated my envelope from the
hands of the jail deputy.

Back in Dublin around 11 am, I saw my petition, extracted from the
sealed envelope, in the hands of the officer in charge of the Border
Patrol station. In the afternoon, Millie Creager typed out an
"Order to Show Cause" listing the immigration charges against me.
These differed from those which she had read aloud at Foothill on
June 8. Later, I realized that the new charges, typed in the
afternoon of June 14, had been cleverly designed to deflect the
intended defense that I had outlined in my petition for habeas
corpus.

Late in the afternoon, I was transferred by bus to the Los Angeles
office of the Immigration and Naturalization Service ("INS") and, a
day later, to the El Centro INS detention center in the Sierra
desert, next door to Death Valley, where I arrived on June 16 in the
morning. (In the summer, daytime temperatures howered around 128
Fahrenheit degrees, which is 53 Celcius degrees.) My little bits of
paper with names of lawsuits were no longer in my backpack. I have
no idea what interest a federal agency like the US Border Patrol, or
a federal agent like Millie Creager, had in confiscating bits of
paper that listed titles of lawsuits against a local state college
such as Foothill and a private university, Stanford.

In El Centro, in contrast to the other arrivals who were handed a
light blue garb and were escorted to the common "barracks" which
house 120 persons each, I was assigned the red uniform normally
reserved for the most dangerous criminals (I have no criminal record
and had never been arrested until June 8) and I was dragged into an
individual cell in the isolation building where those in the
barracks who have broken a rule serve a punishment ranging from 24
hours to two weeks. I was kept in isolation until about July 13.
Whereas the other detainees in isolation were allowed every day to
get out to make phone calls, I was prevented from doing so. I was
told by an INS supervisor, "We have special orders about you, you're
not allowed to make phone calls." After a week, around June 22, I
had a hearing before an immigration judge (judge Staton) and he
ordered the INS trial attorney (Mr. Cantero, Esq.) to allow me to
make phone calls so that I could find an attorney. INS
contemptuously disregarded the judge's order and I could not make a
call until after July 13.

Not only was I in a red uniform, locked in an isolation cell with
special orders such as no phone calls, no access to the law library,
no medication (even my Tylenol tablets were taken from me), no
visits by attorneys (a local lawyer who visits new arrivals put my
name on his list - only my name was not called), nothing to read, no
radio or TV, nobody to talk to. But also I was detained without
bond, which meant that I could not be released on bail, I had to
remain detained and in isolation. Several other detainees with a
lengthy history of violent crimes had a bond set at $5,000 to
$15,000. Those with no criminal record usually had bail set at five
hundred dollars.

It took INS four weeks to understand that I was made of tougher meat
than they thought and was not about to waive my rights and beg to be
deported. By the end of June, from my little isolation cell I had
smuggled out of the camp a habeas corpus petition, to replace the
one which had been confiscated in Dublin; a friend filed it in court
on my behalf in early July. My second hearing, set for July 19, was
approaching and, on July 13, INS decided to release me into the
"barracks" rather than face a contempt of court order. Once there,
I started making phone calls and succeeded in contacting many
attorneys all around the country.

It took me a long time, but ultimately I managed to file several
petitions for writ of habeas corpus in the San Diego US District
Court, and the court ordered INS to file a reply to my petitions. I
had a letter to the editor published in the local newspaper, the
Imperial Valley Press. I notified the Office of the Inspector
General ("OIG") of the US Department of Justice in Washington of the
many civil rights violations that I had observed. I finally was
able to go to the rather meager law library of the detention center,
where I looked up the applicable cases. I learned a lot about
immigration law from a little textbook being circulated in the
barracks, "Immigration Law and Procedure in a Nutshell" by West
Publishing.

I had a bond hearing finally in mid October, and the judge set my
bail at one thousand dollars. I started calling friends to raise
money for the bond. I also filed a bond appeal with the BIA (Board
of Immigration Appeals) and took advantage of my appeal brief to
attack the merits of the whole case against me.

My mail (only mine) was being opened by INS and was occasionally
confiscated, just like my phone calls (only mine) were being
monitored at the local Pacific Bell exchange, probably by the FBI on
behalf of INS. An immigrant assistance hotline in San Francisco
mailed me pamphlets entitled, "Immigrant: know your rights" printed
in English, Spanish, and Chinese. They never reached me. I
contacted an agency in Los Angeles which had a pending lawsuit
against INS over detention conditions. They sent me a questionnaire
so that they could add me to their lawsuit as a plaintiff. I never
received it. The booths where family and lawyers came to visit
detainees were enhanced with hidden microphones.

Finally INS started getting tired of me, as I was turning out to be
quite indigestible. Because of my phone calls to the OIG and the
ensuing investigation, my letter to the newspaper, the legal advice
I gave to the other detainees, I was causing INS more trouble than
the case against me was worth. From the contents of my petitions
for habeas corpus and of my brief on appeal to the BIA, INS realized
that it could never win the case against me. More precisely, even
if it won in immigration court, the decision would be reversed on
appeal either by the BIA or by the US Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals
on constitutional grounds, resulting in a published opinion that
would permanently handicap INS in the future. The questionnaire on
detention conditions was the last straw.

My bond had been set at $1,000, but INS unilaterally lowered my bond
to the $500 minimum in late November, even though I had not asked
for anything. I suspect that INS wanted to get rid of me. I was
released on bond on November 30. I could barely walk out the door
that day, I had almost lost usage of my legs after a final seven
weeks of isolation, being locked all day in a 6 ft. by 10 ft. cell
(two by three meters). I appeared for my deportation hearing on
December 13 in El Centro and judge Staton dismissed the case against
me, in other words I won my case. Because of a technicality (a
prior ruling in the Ninth Circuit), INS is unlikely to try again
against me - it would lose again, unnecessarily inflicting on itself
an unfavorable precedent. My detention has all been for nothing.

I spent almost six months (June 8 to November 30) in detention
without bail at taxpayers' expense. I was not a convict serving a
sentence, but rather innocent and awaiting trial. In El Centro, I
was kept in isolation globally over three months, which is more than
half the time. All this for a 1992 jaywalking ticket. Or so they
say. In reality there was no hearing date; there was no warrant for
failure to appear; and therefore no legal basis for my arrest.
There was only an empty "warrant number" handcrafted by Sheriff
Gillingham. The June 8 arrest was made only to provide an excuse to
bring in a Border Patrol agent and transfer me to INS to have me
deported. Otherwise INS would not have been able to arrest me; INS
needs "probable cause" to stop someone and there was none in my
case. See below:

(1) I had had a jaywalking ticket in Sunnyvale in 1992. I tried
to pay it and repeatedly called the traffic court every other
week. After three months I was told to stop calling: my ticket
had never been forwarded to the court and now never would be, the
clerk stated.

(2) For the sake of argument, had my ticket been forwarded to the
court, there was a notation in the court's computer that I had
done my duty and called to ask for the hearing date. Therefore,
had a judge called my case, he would have dismissed the charges,
or otherwise sent a notice of hearing; he would not have issued a
warrant.

(3) For the sake of argument, had a warrant been issued from the
bench for failure to appear in traffic court, it would have been a
"bench warrant" (Penal Code sections 978.5, 983) signed by a
judge, not a regular warrant signed by Sheriff Charles Gillingham
himself.

(4) The statute of limitations precluded issuance of any warrant
one year after the citation was issued. See Pen. 802(a)
"Prosecution for an offense shall be commenced within one year
after commission of the offense." See also Pen. 804 for the
definition of "prosecution." But Sheriff Charles Gillingham issued
the "warrant number" some time in May 1994, more than 18 months
after the citation.

(5) Per Pen. 842, the arresting officer must show the warrant to
the person arrested "as soon as practicable." Even more than 24
hours later in Muni court, I still was not shown the warrant in
spite of my repeated requests. This means that there was no
warrant. At most there was an empty "shell," a bogus warrant
number (E00 526 309) inserted into the Sheriff's computer. But
there was no actual "paper warrant" and no paperwork in a physical
file documenting issuance of a warrant. The arrest was staged.

(6) Pen. 982 defines a "non-bailable offense." Jaywalking is not
yet such an offense. Since the goal was to keep me in custody,
prevent me from consulting a lawyer, and hopefully intimidate me
into quickly signing deportation papers (as is done with 99% of
the Latinos arrested by INS), senior Border Patrol agent Millie
Creager was instructed to keep me in custody without bond. All
non-political INS arrestees are usually set a bond at the time of
arrest, ranging from $500 to $15,000, depending on their criminal
record. They are released on bail within hours.

Already Foothill College officials had suspended me from classes for
two weeks because of the fliers I had posted (see Superior Court
case number 730 187). They had procured a temporary restraining
order and an injunction silencing me for three years (case number
731 107), based on the fantastic allegations ("He accused the Dean
of patronizing red light district singles bars" ; "he would come on
campus with a machine gun and commit mass murder") detailed in the
flier "Your Tax Dollars At Work."

Foothill officials did not enjoy too much my listing in "Clements'
List" these 105 lawsuits, including the five fraud lawsuits
personally involving Foothill's president Tom Clements. Nor my
linking in the flier "FA-FDA" the campaign funds of three FDA
Trustees to the Shupe & Finkelstein Law Firm in San Mateo, whose
partners are the primary beneficiaries of the filing of so many
lawsuits - they get over $10,000 for each case they defend, and all
cases filed against FDA go to them. Nor my posting on the Internet
in late 1993 these fourteen files detailing all the scandals at
Foothill and De Anza.

Stanford did not like my swastika flier against president Casper,
which I posted at Stanford in mid December 1993. It said basically:

"Deutschland, Deutschland uber alles

KALIFORNIA
KOLLABORAZION
KASPER, ein Nazi?

John Shalikashvili's Was Kasper's father
father, Dimitri, was 'Klaus the Terrible'
an elite Waffen SS... the Gestapo Chief in Dachau?"

(I guess they don't have much of a sense of humor at Stanford.) So
Stanford Police stopped me near the Tresidder cafeteria on December
17, 1993, questioned me about the flier and about my opinion of
President Casper, and duly photographed me for their files of
suspects - I was now a certified political suspect with profile and
picture on file, soon-to-be political prisoner.

Stanford didn't like my posting on the Internet in early January
1994 the text of some embarrassing lawsuits (Zahedi and Vezzolini).
Perhaps they didn't like my lawsuits against them nor my subsequent
Internet postings. They didn't like my letter to the editor,
published sometime in spring 1994 in the conservative student
newspaper Stanford Review, exhorting Stanford students to do as I
had done against Foothill and file a lawsuit against Stanford to
strike down the "Grey interpretation" speech code. A few weeks
after my letter was printed, they followed my advice, filed suit,
and in the end won the case on February 27, 1995.

Surely Stanford didn't like my draft flier "Schindler's List" - a
more sophisticated, richly illustrated version of "Clements' List"
that I was working on in early March 1994 in various computer
centers at Stanford. This highly graphical artwork featured an
elegant swastika on which was engraved in fine print,
"OberKommandant Kasper sleeps with... Palo Alto Police Chief Chris
Durkin." On March 12, 1994, while I was editing this flier on a
MacIntosh computer in the Terman library at Stanford, a draft
printout of the flier was removed from my desk. Later in the day, a
librarian approached me with a B'B' student who then complained
aloud about the offensive contents of the material displayed on my
computer screen (the swastika). The librarian had my draft flier in
his hand. The student turned to leave, then suddenly said, "Oh, one
more thing." He swiftly extracted a camera from his pocket and
summarily took my picture. Once again, I found myself a registered
suspect of political incorrectness.

By then, president Casper's office, which I had called a few times,
had discovered through Caller ID that I was calling from the
Business School courtesy phones. Several times in 1994, I was
puzzled by the lack of a dial tone when I hung up briefly before
making a second call, a phenomenon I was to encounter again when
making calls in El Centro a few months later. When I repeatedly
called Sheriff challenger Armand Tiano at the end of May to leak
damaging news about the Sheriff Department, conspire with him
against Gillingham, and talk about contacting the media, someone was
listening.

Whether the wiretap had been authorized by Gerhard Casper himself,
or only by Police Chief Herrington, I never found out.
Incidentally, all 600 Business School students calling from the
courtesy phones in the lobby had their calls listened to because of
me. At least in the first half of 1994. Whenever they called their
lover or their lawyer, made an appointment for an abortion, or
learned their SIV test results from the V.D. clinic, benevolent Big
Brother was listening. But remember, Stanford is private. They
have the right to listen: it's THEIR phones. Just like they have
the right to employ Caller ID without telling anybody (it cannot be
blocked anyway), so they have the right to monitor all vibrations
and sonic waves emanating from their property, if only to watch for
imminent earthquakes.

In mid January 1994, one evening in a computer center at Stanford
around 9 pm, my "bag" which contained over 100 MacIntosh floppy
disks (with all my lawsuits and complaints, all my letters, all my
personal notes) was "taken" while I had a snack and a cup of coffee.
I placed fliers all around the building and in the elevators asking
that my bag, if found, be returned to the main desk in the computer
center. Two days later, it reappeared. From mid Fall 1993, I had
found myself bumping accidentally, more and more often and all over
campus, into a young lady known as "Jenny." She was not a Stanford
student. Rather, she posed as one of the educated "bums" who hang
around at Stanford and feed on the many parties and official
receptions paid for by your taxes. She showed up every day at 10 pm
at the Tresidder Student Union for free slices of left-over pizza.
She was everywhere. All the time.

>From late 1993, every evening that I went to that computer center, I
found her in the building, sometimes as late as 10 or 11 pm, just
walking around or seemingly making a phone call. It is much later
that I learned she was an informant for Stanford Police. Late night
assignments are paid at overtime rate; and perhaps she got an extra
bonus every once in a while for just "borrowing" things for her
masters. Since Sheriff deputies may not search without a valid
search warrant, sometimes they have to use extra help.
Parenthetically, Stanford's "Sheriff" deputies are paid with
Stanford's private funds, not by the county. So they really are
private militiamen, despite their badge and uniform that proudly
proclaim "Santa Clara County." They are "Sheriffs" in name only.

At the time, I lived of water and clean air and, sporadically, of a
few free slices not yet snatched by Jenny. I was not employed.
Whoever listened to my phone calls learned that, when replying to
ads in the paper, I never applied for a salaried position that would
require showing documents. To support my addictions such as
caffeine, I only made a few dollars now and then by participating in
a marketing or research study. Sometime in May 1994, an innocent
looking ad appeared in the Stanford Daily, seeking volunteers for a
study on handwriting: "One hour, $12, provide handwriting samples."
I called the number, it was an office on California Avenue in Palo
Alto. I was told that I would get $12 for providing handwriting
samples but that, above all, I had to bring documents such as a
Social Security card etc. They heavily insisted on that. I was
given an appointment for a few days later. I never went.

Surely, in my calls to friends made from Stanford, I had
occasionally conversed about matters such as fake documents... I
could have gone. I was tempted to go and make a quick buck, easily.
Yet something in my subconscious mind found it suspicious that, for
a mere $12 study, one would bother insisting on documents, expanding
probably way over $12 in processing such paperwork. I smelled
entrapment. Volunteers for a study are merely compensated for their
time, they are not paid employees hired for a position and are an
obvious legal exception to the law requiring that new hires show
employment authorization. Besides, handwriting samples sounded too
much like the kind of evidence admissible in court. To this day, I
remain convinced that it was a bogus ad, targeted at me and designed
to tempt me into producing fake documents, a felony.

In late May and early June 1994, from the Stanford courtesy phones I
telephoned friends, asking them to come with me and help me to
distribute thousands of fliers against Foothill and Stanford at the
following events:
. Stanford's commencement on June 12.
. Foothill's and De Anza's commencement on June 16.
. Above all, the soccer (football) World Cup, to begin around
June 18 at Stanford Stadium, bringing with it a crowd of over
60,000 and a TV audience of over one billion around the globe.
Plus the media of the whole world, including thousands of
journalists from far-away countries who can't easily be pressured
by the local establishment and perhaps would relish in covering
the sex scandals at Foothill, De Anza, and Stanford; the
irradiation of Shaye Zahedi, Stanford's local Silkwood; and Paul
Biddle's lawsuit documenting the $400 million in federal grants
embezzled by Stanford.

>From these courtesy phones, I also called the Foothill Trustees in
late May and warned that I would wait until the beginning of July to
leak to the media the trash that I had managed to dig up on
Foothill's newly chosen president, to be installed July 1st.

Something had to be done. Quickly.

>From the many megabytes of data in the 100 floppy disks they had
borrowed, Stanford and Foothill had combed the most intimate details
of my private life over the past decade. Still nothing. No crime,
no warrant, no fraud, no sex scandal, no nothing. Only an obscure
jaywalking citation already two years old, long dismissed and
forgotten by the Sunnyvale traffic court.

You already know the rest of the story.

Perhaps I should be thankful that I was only deported to the desert.
With a little help from my friends, I could have accidentally ended
like Karen Silkwood. Or Oswald. Or Ruby. Or Marilyn Monroe. Or
like these several Cessna pilots who knew too much about the Rose
Law Firm (2). After all, I did know too much about the Frankenstein
Law Firm in San Mateo.

I am seeking a publisher for my memoirs. Should I call them
"American Papillon" ? "Les Miserables II" ? "El Centro de
concentracion" ? "Gulag in Death Valley" ? Or just "Felony
Jaywalking" ?

I prefer "1994."

================================================== =================

(1) Compare with the exchange of prisoners related on pages 29, 36
of the following volume:
Title: The blue lotus.
Author: Herge.
US Publisher: Little, Brown and Company.
First published in 1934.
Color artwork Copyright 1956.
Original edition: "Le lotus bleu" by Editions Casterman.

(2) Steve Dickson,
Herschel Friday,
Stanley Heard,
Montgomery Raiser,
Victor Raiser,
Ronald Rogers.
See 'Body count' at
http://www.cs.dartmouth.edu/~crow/whitewater/scandal.html
or otherwise crow@cs.dartmouth.edu