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Copyright 2001 - 2020 James Thomas Westbrook --- All Rights Reserved --- The author exercises any and all rights of exclusivity he is lawfully entitled to pursuant U.S. Copyright Law as a literary property. --- "1979" is a copyrighted non-fiction book technically speaking, and was first registered with the U.S. Copyright Office on December 31st 2001. ---- The author also exercises any and all copyright protection he is entitled to as a graphic artist,regarding the copyrighted photo art montages included thereon each and every one of the title pages of Parts 1 through 13 as well as the various Sub-Parts contained in Parts 1 through 13 of "1979". This also applies to the Epilogue to it. --- Any and all inquiries regarding "1979"/1979westbrook.com may be submitted to me by e-mail at: 79westbrook@protonmail.com or Westbrook79@Yandex.Com

Part 11 -- Sub Part 1
"1979" / 1979westbrook.com

Part 11 Sub Pt 1
March 26 - 27, 1979
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I have Kendra call in sick for me. Monday March 26th --- and the start of my negotiations on the phone wirh agent Donald Robinson of the Portland field-office of U.S. Secret Service --- to meet at public area such as being the Lloyd Center Shopping Mall near downtown --- as opposed to U.S. Secret Service Offices situated in the Pacific Gas & Electric Building complex in downtown Portland --- over concerns for my own personell safety

March 26th ironically enough the day of the Israeli-Egyptian Camp David Peace accord signing at the White House engineered by President Jimmy Carter --- One hell of a Monday night trying to sleep --- worrying as to whether or not it's safe to go into U.S.Secret Service --- and if the Secret Service is in on 'plan' to 'hit' the President at the Portland Hilton where I work --- If they are then I'm signing my death warrant if I go there -anyhow-- But if I don't I'm a dead man anyway.

I Finally Conclude That I Will Need The U.S. Secret Service To Get Past The FBI In Portland At The Western Airlines Terminal At Portland Airport As The FBI Is In On The Plans At The Portland Hilton --- But Can I Trust The U.S. Secret Service ?? Monday March 26th I Start Negotiations With Secret Service In Portland to Meet At A Neutral Location Like Lloyd Center To No Avail

Tuesday Morning March 27th, Terrified I Finally Realize I Have No Choice But To Go Into Secret Service At The PGE Complex In Portland --- Agent Robinson Hears Me Out Until He Gets A Message Through His Earpiece And I Get Shoved Through A Secret Door

14 Hours Later Start Of The Three Mile Island Nuclear Disaster March 28th In Pennsylvania --- This An Entire Continent Away From Events In Portland, Oregon Should There Be Another Plane Crash In Portland, Like The One I'm On, It Would Be Noticed --- But Much Less than It Would Under Normal Circumstances

The Whole 3 Mile Nuclear Disaster Thing Even More Horrific And Disturbing To Me Being A Quarter Japanese And Having Had Relatives At The Nagasaki Nucelar Weapons Test Site In August 1945 With Other Relatives There Even Then In 1979 Scarier --- Still Is It An Implied Threat That This Could Escalate Into Something Along The Lines Of Tactical Nuclear Weapons During This The Era Of Detente' And The Cold War --- These Guys Are As Scared As I Am --- But They Are All Powerful And Ruthless

Was It The Anti-Nuke Insignia On My Jacket During My March 27th '79 Interview At U.S. Secret Service Portland With Agent Robinson ?

Was It Because Of My Nuclear Family At Nagasaki In August 1945 ? --- Was It Both Of These Reasons ? --- Was It Both Of These Reasons, Plus The Fact That I Had Just Informed Agent Robinson There Of An Apparently Upcoming, Assassination Plot At The Presidential Suite Of The Portland Hilton Where I Work --- As Well My Western Airlines 'Flight Plan' Out Of Portland By Friday, Later That Week ? --- Was It My Dedicated Attendance At The Portland Movie Opening Of The Nuke Disaster Film 'The China Syndrome' In Early March '79 --- Wearing My Jacket With The Anti-Nuclear Power Insignia Art That I Designed And Made Myself ?

The Three Mile Nuclear Disaster Also Serving A CIA 'Psy-Ops' Diversion, As Media-Hype Virtually Monopolizing The Electronic & Print Mass Media --- Should I Somehow Even Get Some Kind Of Press Over Then Recent Events Up In Portland --- Plus The Fact That Should Things Get Violent Or Bloody At Portland Airport As I Boarding My Western Airlines Flight Out Of Portland Airport And Into LAX Los Angeles

 

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For me, one big hurdle I had to overcome was the fact that never liked police informants, 'snitches', 'finks', 'squealers', 'Narcs' etc. --- just on general principle as a former 'pot-dealer', plus the fact that I was busted in high-school by a 'snitch' back in 1969 --- and the role of reputed police informants there in the murder of a friend back in July '71 made me even more adamant in this respect --- and so it then and there in March 1979, a 1000 miles from home, friends and family --- that I was now compelled to inform the U.S. Secret Service of my suspicions.

However I was finally able to overcome this issue thereby the facts and circumstances of this rather desperate situation I then found myself in --- due to the fact that it was apparently the CIA and local branch of the FBI that were setting me up as some kind of 'assassination patsy' at the Portland Hilton --- and besides it was my duty as an American Citizen --- even though I've rarely been treated as one --- that I go Secret Service and give them the goods, on the upcoming 'hit' on President Carter at the Hilton which I then believed must have been set for some time, from mid-to late Spring 1979.

Not trusting the Portland police or the Secret Service who I feared might detain me once inside there Portland field office --- and later turn me over to the very people that I was trying to escape from --- on the morning of Monday, March 26th 1979 --- that I made the first in a series of phone calls to U.S. Secret Service in Portland from my Westslope apartment.

My first call to Secret Service was then forwarded to agent Donald Robinson --- who rather than talk too much over the phone, I attempted to set up a meeting with him, --- or any one of the Secrest Service agents from the Portland field office they selected there on the condition --- thar the meeting take place there in some public place where I might feel a bit less paraniod and could possibly escape from should things get too heavy and they try and grab my ass --- so I suggested the ice-skating rink at Portland's Lloyd Center as one possibility.

After a couple more phone conversations with agent Robinson later that same morning --- it became plainly apparent Robinson and I could not possibly agree, as to where to meet that on Monday of March 26th --- so I told him that I would try and sleep on the matter, as best I could and possibly call him back on the following morning --- should I reconsder and decide to see it his, Robinson's way, and come on into the Portland field office of the Secret Service for a chat.

Having slept on the matter, on the morning of Tuesday March 27th, I decided that it might be absolutely essential for me to go on into Secret Service offices in Portland if I was to expect them to send some agents there to Portland International to see me off --- it was a calcualted risk that they might also grab me and hand me over to the FBI in Portland and if they did that I was as good as dead --- perhaps worse, much worse.

Having accepted this as a necessary calculated risk, I then made a brief phone call from my apartment to Secret Service --- I then notified agent Robinson of my intention to come into Secret Service offices later that morning, and had my live-in 17 year-old girlfriend, take the day off from work at her grandfather's film company --- in order to drive me into downtown, for my interview with agent Robinson at the Portland field office of U.S. Secret Service --- then situated inside the PG&E utility office building complex located in downtown Portland, Oregon --- just a few blocks or so, from the Portland Hilton where I then worked.

during March '79 event 'rewind' weekend --- that I decided to arrange for an interview with the U.S. Secret Service in Portland the following Monday, March 26th 1979 --- whereas this situation I was in was far in a way much bigger than the local Portland Cops could handle.
My then recent memory of an on-duty Yreka Police Officer that I knew through a friend, only some eight-months months earlier in July '78 --- during one of the relatively few nights, I just happened to spend in Yreka --- and all the fucking mystery involved in that murder and cover-up, was evidere-Hallowen incident which resulted in my brief interrogation by a Senior FBI agent in Portland --- and how this alerted me to the fact that I was under continuous FBI surveillance --- meant the FBI was ance enough for me. ---Nope it as the U.S. Secret Service or nothing for me.
In Chapter __. of my book "1979" --- I give a vividly detailed account of the October 1978, ppparently in on the then active conspiracy set-up, to somehow 'frame' me at the Portland Hilton in March of '79. --- All this meant that contacting the FBI was most definitely out of the question.

As for reservations about booking a flight out of the airport in Portland back to L.A. by the end of that week on Friday March 30th 1979 --- these were further exacerbated by the then recent crash of a United DC-8 out New York --- thereon approach to Portland International --- only 3 months earlier back in late-December '78 --- only a mile and a half from my then new home in Northeast Portland.
It was as I recall thereas the result of my personal knowledge --- thereof the U.S. Secret Service's complicity in the 1963 assassination of President Kennedy in Dallas, and later the Secret Service's glaring failure to protect Senator Robert Kennedy, only minutes after winning the 1968 California Presidential Primary in Los Angeles, which I, amd millions of other Americans witnessed on live, nationwide on television --- that I didn't trust the Secret Service as far as I could throw one of it's agents.

Nonetheless I came to the conclusion that if nothing else, the Secret Service could serve me well --- well that is if I could somehow persuade some agents from the Portland filed office of the Secret Service to see me off at Portland International, where I intended to catch a flight home back to LAX Los Angeles, some four days later on Friday, March 30th 1979.
For me, one big hurdle I had to overcome was the fact that never liked police informants, 'snitches', 'finks', 'squealers', 'Narcs' etc. --- just on general principle as a former 'pot-dealer', plus the fact that I was busted in high-school by a 'snitch' back in 1969 --- and the role of reputed police informants there in the murder of a friend back in July '71 made me even more adamant in this respect --- and so it then and there in March 1979, a 1000 miles from home, friends and family --- that I was now compelled to inform the U.S. Secret Service of my suspicions.

However I was finally able to overcome this issue thereby the facts and circumstances of this rather desperate situation I then found myself in --- due to the fact that it was apparently the CIA and local branch of the FBI that were setting me up as some kind of 'assassination patsy' at the Portland Hilton --- and besides it was my duty as an American Citizen --- even though I've rarely been treated as one --- that I go Secret Service and give them the goods, on the upcoming 'hit' on President Carter at the Hilton which I then believed must have been set for some time, from mid-to late Spring 1979.
Not trusting the Portland police or the Secret Service who I feared might detain me once inside there Portland field office --- and later turn me over to the very people that I was trying to escape from --- on the morning of Monday, March 26th 1979 --- that I made the first in a series of phone calls to U.S. Secret Service in Portland from my Westslope apartment.

My first call to Secret Service was then forwarded to agent Donald Robinson --- who rather than talk too much over the phone, I attempted to set up a meeting with him, --- or any one of the Secrest Service agents from the Portland field office they selected there on the condition --- thar the meeting take place there in some public place where I might feel a bit less paraniod and could possibly escape from should things get too heavy and they try and grab my ass --- so I suggested the ice-skating rink at Portland's Lloyd Center as one possibility.
After a couple more phone conversations with agent Robinson later that same morning --- it became plainly apparent Robinson and I could not possibly agree, as to where to meet that on Monday of March 26th --- so I told him that I would try and sleep on the matter, as best I could and possibly call him back on the following morning --- should I reconsder and decide to see it his, Robinson's way, and come on into the Portland field office of the Secret Service for a chat.

Having slept on the matter, on the morning of Tuesday March 27th, I decided that it might be absolutely essential for me to go on into Secret Service offices in Portland if I was to expect them to send some agents there to Portland International to see me off --- it was a calcualted risk that they might also grab me and hand me over to the FBI in Portland and if they did that I was as good as dead --- perhaps worse, much worse.
Having accepted this as a necessary calculated risk, I then made a brief phone call from my apartment to Secret Service --- I then notified agent Robinson of my intention to come into Secret Service offices later that morning, and had my live-in 17 year-old girlfriend, take the day off from work at her grandfather's film company --- in order to drive me into downtown, for my interview with agent Robinson at the Portland field office of U.S. Secret Service --- then situated inside the PG&E utility office building complex located in downtown Portland, Oregon --- just a few blocks or so, from the Portland Hilton where I then worked.
A rather interestingly, ironic tidbit here being that when I walked into the PG&E office complex for my interview at the Secret Service field office in Portland on March 27th --- I was wearing my mid-70's department store-knock-off , leather bombers jacket, which I had so skillfully adorned with a large custom made insignia on one sleeve, consisting of the silloette image of Nuclear plant --- with an 'Anti' back slash accross cutting across cooling tower.

which I had designed and made myself some weeks earlier, back January '79.

The design of this rather large insignia on my jacket sleeve, had 'anti', back slash through running through a sillohette profile of the cooling tower located at the Trojan Nuclear Power plant, some 30 miles or so, up the Columbia River from the City of Portland.
Back in March '79 I was kind of a weekend anti-nuker who opposed the operation of nuclear power plants on grounds of public safety combined with the fact that the very Columbia River which ran along Portland was reportedly the most radioactive river in the entire world, due in part to the fact that the Hanford Nuclear waste dump was located on further up the Columbia in Washington State.
I really wasn't a fanatic about it in 1979, but I then believed and still do now in 2006 believe that the closing down all of the atomic power plants nationwide as well as the one near Portland is good move, on ground of environmental as well as fiscal concerns there in the wake of the "Whoops" nuke-plant money-laundering scandal of the late 1970's and early 1980's.
Why earlier that very month, in early March 197, .I had just then recently attended the Portland first-day opening day movie premiere of the film, "The China Syndrome" --- a film about intrigue, corruption and murder at a scripted nuclear power plant in California --- sort of a message movie for us 1970's anti-nuker types.
In fact I even attended anti-nuke rally, held by some Portland clique of leftists, government informants, stooges and femi-Nazi type bitches called the 'Trojan Decommissioning Alliance', which took place at River Front Park in downtown Portland back in April 1978, only eleven-months earlier. --- I get into even how this simple act was intended to help 'frame' me in then upcoming year year 1979 --- as covered in Chapter __. of my book "1979".
What makes all this so very fucking ironic --- is the fact that the very corporate owners of the Trojan Nuclear Power plant near Portland was in 1979 --- PG&E, (Portland General Electric) --- the same company that owned the PG&E building complex located in downtown Portland --- therein which the Portland field offices of the U.S. Secret Service were also located, and were thus situated, thereon the ground floor of the then ultra-modern PG&E building complex.
As I walked into the PG&E complex for my Secret Service office for my March '79 interview with agent Robinson I was greeted by a surprisingly attractive, upbeat and yet very businesslike receptionist who was surprisingly cordial and gracious as she stood behind a podium like desk, apparently with some kind of metal-detector device scanning me for weapons as we talked --- whereas I expected that I might be frisked or patted down when I went in, what with all of the freaking 'kooks', the Service musts have to deal with, from time to time.
After the receptionist had confirmed my scheduled appointment on that March 27th with agent Robinson, in a very cordial and businesslike manner --- I causually walked over to one of the glass walls and looked out at the radically modern look of the structure of beams and supports all painted white --- I needed this diversion, in order to keep to keep my intense fear and paranoia of possibly being grabbed and kidnapped there --- down to a controllable level, whereas as I had keep it together if I was to get out of Portland alive.
I vaguely recall that I may have put out my cigarette when Robinson soon appeared about a minute or so later, through an entry way located near the receptionist podium., therein grey and somewhat tastefully tailored suit and tie ---- just like on the TV news when they would have to pick-up President Ford off the ground after a fall.
The 'butterflies' from my stomach felt like they were going to bust out of my esophogus --- as agent Robinson then proceeded to lead me through a dimly lit and narrow corridor, all strewn with what looked like construction lights outfiited with super-low wattage bulbs --- resembling the entrance to some kind of a mine-shaft, rather that of my preconcieved notions as to what a U.S. Secret Service field office might have looked like --- having previously toured a number of local police station and jails during my spring 1971 college police science class, that I took in my senior year of high school.
As I walked down this construction site like corridor with walls of tarps draped in what looked to me to be a rather odd and irregurarly shaped manner --- my dread terror of the Secret Service increased --- whereas at that time in March '79, there was the then very real possibility --- that Portland branch of U.S. Secret Service was somehow complicit therein what was then going down at the Portland Hilton where I worked --- and this might just be the last fucking mile for me.
The dimly lit corridor then led to what looked like a most, irregularly shaped and rather large room with vaulted ceilings and acute right-angles, that was compartively well lit, though not very bright, and which had a rather large two-way mirror on one wall, like the ones in the police stations I had visited a student --- or had once actually stood in front of, at the tender age of 15 during a police line-up, whilst in Sheriff's custody over a curvew violation back in my hometown --- Jeeezz !
Robinson then directed to a ramp which led down to a lower level of the room --- whilst he Robinson walked over to a raised level portion of the room like an actor on cue --- the imagery vaguely reminiscent of the old 1950 Sci-Fi movie; "The Day The Earth Stood Still", with actor Michael Rennie all tricked out in his silver suit gazing on hordes of terrified soldiers and sightseers from entry way of his flying saucer.

During my brief interview at U.S. Secret Service in Portland with agent Robinson --- which lasted only a few minutes, if that at best --- I informed agent Robinson thereof my suspicions at the Portland Hilton, regarding what I then suspected --- and am now absolutely convinced more than ever in 2006, was then in March 1979 --- a very active assassination plot then taking place at the Portland Hilton.
To me agent Robinson looked like one of those almost faceless, expressionless, machine-head manicured dummies one sees at a department store wearing a well tailored suit next to some plastic smiling bitch in a dress. --- Judging by what little I could read from the look in his, Robinson's eyes, looking up at him from the lower level of the room, he was gonna be one hard fucking-sell indeed.
Not being privy to the workings of agent Roibinson's mind --- and being somewhat, but not too terribly relieved at not having been grabbed yet --- my impression of Robinson's reaction to me was that repugnace --- with my long brown hair and short black beard, I must have looked like that 'commie' Che Guervara to him --- what with 70's style, brown glove leather bomber's jacket and it's anti-nuker patch embroidered on one sleeve --- I would have surmised that Robinson must have thought that I was either some kind of Molotov Cocktail tossing anarchist, or drug crazed kook who took too much 'acid' or just another poor slob from Portland with water on the brain from all that Portland rain and Oregonian xenophobia.
Needless to say our mutual disgust and antipathy towards one and other was more than mutual to say the least --- as he, Robinson smugly quizzed me, in what I thought was an overly smug his chicken shit, I'm a suit attitude and the blasé manner in which he asked the questions.
As for me, it was like playing to several audiences --- one being Robinson --- another being that unknown quantity of agents --- and god knows who else --- may have been taking notes, from behind that two way mirror in the room --- as the tape-recorders and cameras rolled on as I spoke. --- And all the while I was still terrified that the individuals who I spotted at the Portland Hilton and I suspected were CIA on March 22nd at the Portland Hilton --- which necessitated my interview at Secret Service might jump out of come out of some hidden door and grab my ass, take me away, 'work-me-over' and finish me off.
Being more than somewhat terrified, and not having slept very much, since the March 22nd elevator incident at the Portland Hilton --- I still managed to keep a grip and tossed out whatever I thought might get Robinson and a few othrer boys from the Secret Service to see me off at Portland International.
This was because of the fact that was I certain that those CIA 'spooks' and cohorts at trying to arrange for my 'frame-up' at the the Portland Hilton weren't about to let me leave Portland, at least not alive that is --- and so I really didn't give 'half-a-flying-husky'--- if agent Robinson, or the rest of those well tailored, spit-shine, bastards in the Secret Service, starring at me from behind the trick two-way mirror believed me or not --- they only had to show up at the airport as far as I was concerned.
The logic here being that should the CIA and FBI, decided to grab me at the Western Airlines boarding area of Portland International --- as I tried to board my flight back to L.A. later that week --- they just might have reservations about doing so based on a number of "ifs" --- "If" the Secret Service wasn't part of the 'frame-up' scam at the Portland Hilton. --- "If" the Secret Service were actually curious enough to send agents out to the airport to see me off --- to name only two.
"If" the playing field was level --- then the Secret Service would send agents to verify my departure from Portland International by sending some agents to witness it --- and should I be detained or in any way prevented from boarding my flight home back to L.A. --- this would no doubt be some pretty damning evidence in support of my factuall allegations thereof an ongoing assassination plot at the Portland Hilton --- and would thereby raise even more questions and scrutiny as to then recent events there, in March '79.
As my interview with agent Robinson continued, I never could have imagined just how right I was to be --- as I soon found out only three later on March 30th thereat the Western Airlines terminal at Portland International --- so vividly and chillingly depicted there in Chapters __. through __. of my book; "1979".

Some of the other topics that I tossed out to agent Robinson during our seconds long chat --- in the interogation room, complete with a two-way mirror, during my March 27th interview at U.S. Secret Service field offices in Portland --- was a brief reference to my ex-wife's secret-life in film carreer, and oblique references to regarding the complicity of my 17-year-old girlfriend, then waiting outside in the car for me, her rich and well connected family --- and what I had already perceived at that time, was their apparent complicity in the scam to set-up as a 'clay pidgeon' like patsy at the Portland Hilton.

Agent Robinson, was I could apparently unimpressed with what I had told him, or at least that's the way he played it off --- or was it that being a native Oregonian from Portland --- with all that xenophobic, anti-'Californicater', hater horse-shit with which he was most likely indoctrinated with growing-up there in Oregon --- and along our obvious socio-economic and political differences --- agent Robinson had somehow, consciously or subconsciously, disregarded what I had just told him.
Perhaps it was my desperation of my situation --- or possibly it was because of the fact that I wanted to see if I could penetrate --- that plastic polymer aura of invincibility that seemed to emanate from agent Robinson during our March 22nd that I mentioned the fact that I had to leave my son --- then a one and a half years old --- that I seemed to break through to agent Robinson, this was plainly visible, by what appeared to me to be a an ever so slight crack in the veneer of the agent's facial expression, which I closely observed in anitcipation of his reaction, or the possible lack thereof.
Being somewhat more at ease during what was for me an intensely unpredictable situation as a most reluctant informant to an initially truth-resistant Secret Service agent --- I decided it was time to get, what I came for in the first place --- that being to give the Service my travel plans for the end of that week on Friday March 30th 1979.
Although I don't remember the precise details --- I do seem to recall informing agent Robinson that I taking a Western Airlines flight out of Portland back to L.A. --- so as to make it easier for them send out an agent, or possibly two to see me off, whereas I didn't want any screw-ups that night --- whereas I anticipated the need for some agents that to run some defense for me just in case of CIA pass interference at the Western boarding terminal.
Towards the close of my interview with agent Robinson, I decided that I should give the Secret Service yet another reason to see me off at the airport, and just to seal the deal --- I mentioned something about arranging a more detailed debriefing at the U.S. Secret Service field office in Los Angeles, whereby I could go into greater detail about the then recent events at the Portland Hilton only days earlier and those bizzare misadventures that let up to that point --- assuming that I got out of Portland alive.
arrange for visit --- or possibly push on Central America and hide out in some cave in area controlled by rebel guerillas, as I was more fucking terrified of the virtually unlimited resources and ruthlessness of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency, and the FBI than you might imagine.
Our conversation ended by what seemed like mutual consent --- as Robinson could tell by the way that I kept shifting my eyes over to the large two-way mirror, that I wasn't about to say much more, and walked down the ramp from the upper level of the room and then led to yet another part of the room --- which immediately sent a rush of andrenaline through me as I as was paranoid he was gonna hand my ass over to some CIA 'spooks' for a little 'torture manuel' fun and games.
Robinson then directed to a little corridor and told me to follow it to the exit door, which I did with some reservations and having reached the exit I pushed the open and stepped out onto the sidewalk therefrom the sheet metal covered door, all painted white to blend in with the wall of the ultra-modern PG&E building --- and then walked south as I recall to my girlfriend waiting there in her VW 'Bug'.
Only some 12 hours after my March 27th interview wtih agent Robinson at U.S. Secret Service --- a funny thing happened, well perhaps not so funny at that --- but it happened anyway --- it was the start of the Three Mile Island nuclear plant meltdown disaster near Harrisburg, Pennsyvania, some 3000 miles away ---- which kicked off there in the pre-dawn fog andmist of March 28th 1979.
The Three Mile nuke disaster which was to capture the attention of the American public and perhaps much, if not most of the world's attention well on into mid-April '79 --- as the crippled nuclear reactor gave off bursts of pressurized radio-active gas --- to keep from blowing-up --- and contaminating most of the Eastern seaboard with radioactive fallout.
I recall that the following days leading up to my March 30th flight out of Portland --- that my then live-in girlfriend kept mentioning reports of the then brand-new Three Mile nuke disaster to me as she drove me around Portland making travel arrangements --- and that I like so many other things that week, I just tuned her out whereas for one thing I didn't trust her even though I'd put out and fuck her every night at her request. --- I was truly amazed that I could be so scared and still get it up at that time.
As agent Donald Robinson of the U.S. Secret Service from my March 1979 interview in Portland --- Robinson's bloody and mangled body was later found --- along with that of two other U.S. Secret Service agents --- some 4 years later on March 1983 --- on a lonely stretch of highway leading into Yosemite National Park, California --- reportedly as the result of a high speed head-on collision with some Maricopa County Sheriff's. --- As for me, I know better that than that and you will too, if you keep on reading, --- so be please be

 

 

 

 

My then recent memory of an on-duty Yreka Police Officer that I knew through a friend, only some eight-months months earlier in July '78 --- during one of the relatively few nights, I just happened to spend in Yreka --- and all the fucking mystery involved in that murder and cover-up, was evidence enough for me. ---Nope it as the U.S. Secret Service or nothing for me.

In Chapter __. of my book "1979" --- I give a vividly detailed account of the October 1978, pre-Hallowen incident which resulted in my brief interrogation by a Senior FBI agent in Portland --- and how this alerted me to the fact that I was under continuous FBI surveillance --- meant the FBI was apparently in on the then active conspiracy set-up, to somehow 'frame' me at the Portland Hilton in March of '79. --- All this meant that contacting the FBI was most definitely out of the question.

As for reservations about booking a flight out of the airport in Portland back to L.A. by the end of that week on Friday March 30th 1979 --- these were further exacerbated by the then recent crash of a United DC-8 out New York --- thereon approach to Portland International --- only 3 months earlier back in late-December '78 --- only a mile and a half from my then new home in Northeast Portland.

 

A rather interestingly, ironic tidbit here being that when I walked into the PG&E office complex for my interview at the Secret Service field office in Portland on March 27th --- I was wearing my mid-70's department store-knock-off , leather bombers jacket, which I had so skillfully adorned with a large custom made insignia on one sleeve, which I had designed and made myself some weeks earlier, back January '79.

The design of this rather large insignia on my jacket sleeve, had 'anti', back slash through running through a sillohette profile of the cooling tower located at the Trojan Nuclear Power plant, some 30 miles or so, up the Columbia River from the City of Portland.

Back in March '79 I was kind of a weekend anti-nuker who opposed the operation of nuclear power plants on grounds of public safety combined with the fact that the very Columbia River which ran along Portland was reportedly the most radioactive river in the entire world, due in part to the fact that the Hanford Nuclear waste dump was located on further up the Columbia in Washington State.

I really wasn't a fanatic about it in 1979, but I then believed and still do now in 2006 believe that the closing down all of the atomic power plants nationwide as well as the one near Portland is good move, on ground of environmental as well as fiscal concerns there in the wake of the "Whoops" nuke-plant money-laundering scandal of the late 1970's and early 1980's.

Why earlier that very month, in early March 197, .I had just then recently attended the Portland first-day opening day movie premiere of the film, "The China Syndrome" --- a film about intrigue, corruption and murder at a scripted nuclear power plant in California --- sort of a message movie for us 1970's anti-nuker types.

In fact I even attended anti-nuke rally, held by some Portland clique of leftists, government informants, stooges and femi-Nazi type bitches called the 'Trojan Decommissioning Alliance', which took place at River Front Park in downtown Portland back in April 1978, only eleven-months earlier. --- I get into even how this simple act was intended to help 'frame' me in then upcoming year year 1979 --- as covered in Chapter __. of my book "1979".

What makes all this so very fucking ironic --- is the fact that the very corporate owners of the Trojan Nuclear Power plant near Portland was in 1979 --- PG&E, (Portland General Electric) --- the same company that owned the PG&E building complex located in downtown Portland --- therein which the Portland field offices of the U.S. Secret Service were also located, and were thus situated, thereon the ground floor of the then ultra-modern PG&E building complex.

As I walked into the PG&E complex for my Secret Service office for my March '79 interview with agent Robinson I was greeted by a surprisingly attractive, upbeat and yet very businesslike receptionist who was surprisingly cordial and gracious as she stood behind a podium like desk, apparently with some kind of metal-detector device scanning me for weapons as we talked --- whereas I expected that I might be frisked or patted down when I went in, what with all of the freaking 'kooks', the Service musts have to deal with, from time to time.

After the receptionist had confirmed my scheduled appointment on that March 27th with agent Robinson, in a very cordial and businesslike manner --- I causually walked over to one of the glass walls and looked out at the radically modern look of the structure of beams and supports all painted white --- I needed this diversion, in order to keep to keep my intense fear and paranoia of possibly being grabbed and kidnapped there --- down to a controllable level, whereas as I had keep it together if I was to get out of Portland alive.

I vaguely recall that I may have put out my cigarette when Robinson soon appeared about a minute or so later, through an entry way located near the receptionist podium., therein grey and somewhat tastefully tailored suit and tie ---- just like on the TV news when they would have to pick-up President Ford off the ground after a fall.

The 'butterflies' from my stomach felt like they were going to bust out of my esophogus --- as agent Robinson then proceeded to lead me through a dimly lit and narrow corridor, all strewn with what looked like construction lights outfiited with super-low wattage bulbs --- resembling the entrance to some kind of a mine-shaft, rather that of my preconcieved notions as to what a U.S. Secret Service field office might have looked like --- having previously toured a number of local police station and jails during my spring 1971 college police science class, that I took in my senior year of high school.

As I walked down this construction site like corridor with walls of tarps draped in what looked to me to be a rather odd and irregurarly shaped manner --- my dread terror of the Secret Service increased --- whereas at that time in March '79, there was the then very real possibility --- that Portland branch of U.S. Secret Service was somehow complicit therein what was then going down at the Portland Hilton where I worked --- and this might just be the last fucking mile for me.

The dimly lit corridor then led to what looked like a most, irregularly shaped and rather large room with vaulted ceilings and acute right-angles, that was compartively well lit, though not very bright, and which had a rather large two-way mirror on one wall, like the ones in the police stations I had visited a student --- or had once actually stood in front of, at the tender age of 15 during a police line-up, whilst in Sheriff's custody over a curvew violation back in my hometown --- Jeeezz !

Robinson then directed to a ramp which led down to a lower level of the room --- whilst he Robinson walked over to a raised level portion of the room like an actor on cue --- the imagery vaguely reminiscent of the old 1950 Sci-Fi movie; "The Day The Earth Stood Still", with actor Michael Rennie all tricked out in his silver suit gazing on hordes of terrified soldiers and sightseers from entry way of his flying saucer.

During my brief interview at U.S. Secret Service in Portland with agent Robinson --- which lasted only a few minutes, if that at best --- I informed agent Robinson thereof my suspicions at the Portland Hilton, regarding what I then suspected --- and am now absolutely convinced more than ever in 2006, was then in March 1979 --- a very active assassination plot then taking place at the Portland Hilton.

To me agent Robinson looked like one of those almost faceless, expressionless, machine-head manicured dummies one sees at a department store wearing a well tailored suit next to some plastic smiling bitch in a dress. --- Judging by what little I could read from the look in his, Robinson's eyes, looking up at him from the lower level of the room, he was gonna be one hard fucking-sell indeed.

Not being privy to the workings of agent Roibinson's mind --- and being somewhat, but not too terribly relieved at not having been grabbed yet --- my impression of Robinson's reaction to me was that repugnace --- with my long brown hair and short black beard, I must have looked like that 'commie' Che Guervara to him --- what with 70's style, brown glove leather bomber's jacket and it's anti-nuker patch embroidered on one sleeve --- I would have surmised that Robinson must have thought that I was either some kind of Molotov Cocktail tossing anarchist, or drug crazed kook who took too much 'acid' or just another poor slob from Portland with water on the brain from all that Portland rain and Oregonian xenophobia.

Needless to say our mutual disgust and antipathy towards one and other was more than mutual to say the least --- as he, Robinson smugly quizzed me, in what I thought was an overly smug his chicken shit, I'm a suit attitude and the blasé manner in which he asked the questions.

As for me, it was like playing to several audiences --- one being Robinson --- another being that unknown quantity of agents --- and god knows who else --- may have been taking notes, from behind that two way mirror in the room --- as the tape-recorders and cameras rolled on as I spoke. --- And all the while I was still terrified that the individuals who I spotted at the Portland Hilton and I suspected were CIA on March 22nd at the Portland Hilton --- which necessitated my interview at Secret Service might jump out of come out of some hidden door and grab my ass, take me away, 'work-me-over' and finish me off.

Being more than somewhat terrified, and not having slept very much, since the March 22nd elevator incident at the Portland Hilton --- I still managed to keep a grip and tossed out whatever I thought might get Robinson and a few othrer boys from the Secret Service to see me off at Portland International.

This was because of the fact that was I certain that those CIA 'spooks' and cohorts at trying to arrange for my 'frame-up' at the the Portland Hilton weren't about to let me leave Portland, at least not alive that is --- and so I really didn't give 'half-a-flying-husky'--- if agent Robinson, or the rest of those well tailored, spit-shine, bastards in the Secret Service, starring at me from behind the trick two-way mirror believed me or not --- they only had to show up at the airport as far as I was concerned.

The logic here being that should the CIA and FBI, decided to grab me at the Western Airlines boarding area of Portland International --- as I tried to board my flight back to L.A. later that week --- they just might have reservations about doing so based on a number of "ifs" --- "If" the Secret Service wasn't part of the 'frame-up' scam at the Portland Hilton. --- "If" the Secret Service were actually curious enough to send agents out to the airport to see me off --- to name only two.

"If" the playing field was level --- then the Secret Service would send agents to verify my departure from Portland International by sending some agents to witness it --- and should I be detained or in any way prevented from boarding my flight home back to L.A. --- this would no doubt be some pretty damning evidence in support of my factuall allegations thereof an ongoing assassination plot at the Portland Hilton --- and would thereby raise even more questions and scrutiny as to then recent events there, in March '79.

As my interview with agent Robinson continued, I never could have imagined just how right I was to be --- as I soon found out only three later on March 30th thereat the Western Airlines terminal at Portland International --- so vividly and chillingly depicted there in Chapters __. through __. of my book; "1979".

Some of the other topics that I tossed out to agent Robinson during our seconds long chat --- in the interogation room, complete with a two-way mirror, during my March 27th interview at U.S. Secret Service field offices in Portland --- was a brief reference to my ex-wife's secret-life in film carreer, and oblique references to regarding the complicity of my 17-year-old girlfriend, then waiting outside in the car for me, her rich and well connected family --- and what I had already perceived at that time, was their apparent complicity in the scam to set-up as a 'clay pidgeon' like patsy at the Portland Hilton.

Agent Robinson, was I could apparently unimpressed with what I had told him, or at least that's the way he played it off --- or was it that being a native Oregonian from Portland --- with all that xenophobic, anti-'Californicater', hater horse-shit with which he was most likely indoctrinated with growing-up there in Oregon --- and along our obvious socio-economic and political differences --- agent Robinson had somehow, consciously or subconsciously, disregarded what I had just told him.

Perhaps it was my desperation of my situation --- or possibly it was because of the fact that I wanted to see if I could penetrate --- that plastic polymer aura of invincibility that seemed to emanate from agent Robinson during our March 22nd that I mentioned the fact that I had to leave my son --- then a one and a half years old --- that I seemed to break through to agent Robinson, this was plainly visible, by what appeared to me to be a an ever so slight crack in the veneer of the agent's facial expression, which I closely observed in anitcipation of his reaction, or the possible lack thereof.

Being somewhat more at ease during what was for me an intensely unpredictable situation as a most reluctant informant to an initially truth-resistant Secret Service agent --- I decided it was time to get, what I came for in the first place --- that being to give the Service my travel plans for the end of that week on Friday March 30th 1979.

Although I don't remember the precise details --- I do seem to recall informing agent Robinson that I taking a Western Airlines flight out of Portland back to L.A. --- so as to make it easier for them send out an agent, or possibly two to see me off, whereas I didn't want any screw-ups that night --- whereas I anticipated the need for some agents that to run some defense for me just in case of CIA pass interference at the Western boarding terminal.

Towards the close of my interview with agent Robinson, I decided that I should give the Secret Service yet another reason to see me off at the airport, and just to seal the deal --- I mentioned something about arranging a more detailed debriefing at the U.S. Secret Service field office in Los Angeles, whereby I could go into greater detail about the then recent events at the Portland Hilton only days earlier and those bizzare misadventures that let up to that point --- assuming that I got out of Portland alive.

arrange for visit --- or possibly push on Central America and hide out in some cave in area controlled by rebel guerillas, as I was more fucking terrified of the virtually unlimited resources and ruthlessness of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency, and the FBI than you might imagine.

Our conversation ended by what seemed like mutual consent --- as Robinson could tell by the way that I kept shifting my eyes over to the large two-way mirror, that I wasn't about to say much more, and walked down the ramp from the upper level of the room and then led to yet another part of the room --- which immediately sent a rush of andrenaline through me as I as was paranoid he was gonna hand my ass over to some CIA 'spooks' for a little 'torture manuel' fun and games.

Robinson then directed to a little corridor and told me to follow it to the exit door, which I did with some reservations and having reached the exit I pushed the open and stepped out onto the sidewalk therefrom the sheet metal covered door, all painted white to blend in with the wall of the ultra-modern PG&E building --- and then walked south as I recall to my girlfriend waiting there in her VW 'Bug'.

 

 

Only some 12 hours after my March 27th interview wtih agent Robinson at U.S. Secret Service --- a funny thing happened, well perhaps not so funny at that --- but it happened anyway --- it was the start of the Three Mile Island nuclear plant meltdown disaster near Harrisburg, Pennsyvania, some 3000 miles away ---- which kicked off there in the pre-dawn fog andmist of March 28th 1979.

The Three Mile nuke disaster which was to capture the attention of the American public and perhaps much, if not most of the world's attention well on into mid-April '79 --- as the crippled nuclear reactor gave off bursts of pressurized radio-active gas --- to keep from blowing-up --- and contaminating most of the Eastern seaboard with radioactive fallout.

I recall that the following days leading up to my March 30th flight out of Portland --- that my then live-in girlfriend kept mentioning reports of the then brand-new Three Mile nuke disaster to me as she drove me around Portland making travel arrangements --- and that I like so many other things that week, I just tuned her out whereas for one thing I didn't trust her even though I'd put out and fuck her every night at her request. --- I was truly amazed that I could be so scared and still get it up at that time.

As agent Donald Robinson of the U.S. Secret Service from my March 1979 interview in Portland --- Robinson's bloody and mangled body was later found --- along with that of two other U.S. Secret Service agents --- some 4 years later on March 1983 --- on a lonely stretch of highway leading into Yosemite National Park, California --- reportedly as the result of a high speed head-on collision with some Maricopa County Sheriff's. --- As for me, I know better that than that and you will too, if you keep on reading, --- so be please be advised.