Cat and Mouse Game

THE CAT AND MOUSE GAME

I am still in a state of disbelief. I cannot understand the diabolical behavior of someone I once thought was my friend, someone who I was a Girl Scout leader with, someone who I had met at a school where we both taught, someone whom I foolishly poured my heart out to. That someone could have acted in such a diabolically depraved manner, with intent to do me great harm, is a plague on my mind.

Most people in Kyle say I never knew the real Louise Big Boy or what she was capable of doing. I guess I found out the hard way. When I was looking for a place to live 8 years ago, Louise invited me to come live on “her” land. She said I could build a house, plant a garden, plant fruit trees, and that no one would bother me, that no one of her children wanted to live there. She made a statement that I could live there, signed and notarized.

Now, 8 years later, I find myself brutally evicted and homeless, while Robert Montileaux, Louise’s son is occupying my house, using my things, eating my food, drinking beer, since there are now beer cans from one end of the place to another. Sheriff Tagget is witness to all of this.

Even more astounding, is that these criminal activities are sanctioned by the Tribe on up through the Federal government. That a total state of criminal lawlessness exists on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, that people have had no recourse but to live by laws whereby they are treated worse than dogs is totally astounding to me. What is even more astonishing is that the Federal government is complicit in this lawlessness. In all my born days, I never could have imagined that such criminal activity against Indian people, the Lakotas, was possible or even permissible. Not until it happened to me.

After I was evicted, arrested, jailed, banned from the Reservation, my house and possessions given to Louise Big Boy, I tried unsuccessfully to report this crime to the authorities. Where does one report the crime when the crime starts at the top and everyone else is just taking orders? I’m not just talking about a corrupt Tribal Government, with its crooked judges, but the Federal Government with its Gestapo police force, the FBI, along with the crooked justice system of the United States of America, the same so-called democracy that Bush is forcing on the Iraqis. In fact, my situation, what Louise did to me, is the same thing that Bush did to the Iraq. Just like the Iraqis who have no authority figure who is going to see that justice prevails, neither do I.

I was evicted without a hearing, without a court order on the 1st of June. I only saw a court order 5 days later, because Barry Bachrach had insisted that Judge Cook send him a copy. Then he faxed a copy to me. Is this the way one officially receives a court order? In her 7 page decision, there is not one word on how I am to remove my belongings. Isn’t a person supposed to have 30 days? And what about the BIA regulations and guidelines? Are these just tossed aside, while Judge Lisa and Louise take over? I had a lot more than just household items, things like carpentry tools, lawn and garden machines, equipment and appliances. And what about my house and storage sheds worth thousands of dollars? Why didn’t Louise have to show proof of ownership? I don’t think she honestly owns that land. Why isn’t she required to produce a deed or bill of sale? But I guess you don’t have to produce anything if you have someone like Freda Marshall, a top BIA land officer to falsify records and manufacture bogus evidence, plus a crooked judge, Lisa Cook, to make up court orders without a hearing, that are not based on regulations or laws,
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In her court order, Judge Lisa Cook did not make any provision for me to remove my belongings. She did not give me any time line, yet I had to follow it or lose everything I owned. To my mind, I was the victim of theft, and the mastermind of the burglary was the judge who ordered the police to go over and rip the locks off my doors while I was not home. Then the police stood by while Louise, Robert, and their friends, ransacked my place, stealing the things that took me so long to purchase to live by. Without any documentation or proof of ownership, Lisa Cook gave my house to Louise.
All month long, I was barred from retrieving my things. At the same time, I had to hide around on the Reservation because Judge Lisa Cook had, in her court order, banned me from the Reservation. Once again, she banned me on her own say-so, without a hearing into the matter, with no reasons given, in total violation of the very laws she is sworn to uphold. What did I do that was so bad that I had to be removed from the Reservation? The answer is in the letters I wrote to Senator Tom Daschle and Area BIA Director, Bill Benjamin, who really turned out to be Bob Eccofey, a man who has held many positions of power over the lives of Indians. In the letters, I said that the BIA Land Operations needed investigating for falsifying documents, assigning land to people who have no rights to the land, and outright stealing land from Lakota speaking Indians and giving this land to BIA relatives. I also said that there was no justice within the justice system, that a state of lawlessness exists, fashioned by the Courts, themselves, and sanctioned by the BIA and the Tribe.

I was reminded that people who go against the system, such as what I did, by speaking up for myself and others, can just disappear by the Gestapo Police Force. It has happened before. That’s what happened to Anna Mae Pictou Aguash. Then they cornered up Arlo Looking Cloud and blamed him for Anna Mae’s death. The person most responsible for accusing Arlo of the murder of Anna Mae is none other than Bob Eccofey!! Now a few pieces to this Kaufka rerun are falling into place, especially since I was very vigorously writing in defense of Arlo, questioning Bob Eccofey’s evidence against Arlo.

But when the corrupt system really wants to get the job done, they get the local goon squad to carry out the dirty work, because they are untouchable. They claim membership, and are loyal supporters of the corrupt system. And they are the most guilty of a lot of unsolved crime. They are so depraved that all one has to do is throw a few dollars their way, and they will do anything.

The Police were totally unhelpful. They were always more concerned about my where-abouts, rather than my personal and private property. And I don’t think they were concerned about my safety or well-being, either. Now I understand how Lakotas threaten their children to behave or they will call the police. The primary function of the police is to intimidate and bully, and carry out orders no matter how illegal those orders may be; they are the boogie man.

I made 8 wasted trips out to my house to try at least to retrieve my belongings. Bad enough the judge had given my house to Louise. According to Judge Lisa Cook, I had to be accompanied by the sheriff and the police, like I was the criminal. Each time I went out, I found the gate locked and a “no trespassing” sign up. Two times I was allowed 15 minutes to get a few things, and that was only because Sheriff Tagget insisted that I be allowed to get my things. What I discovered while I was there was that Robert Montileaux, son of Louise, was using my things like his own. He barbecued up $100 worth of meat on my grill, the meat I had just bought for my cook sales. He was using my extension cords and my electricity, complements of Lacreek Electric. He was using my gas stove and propane. He was even sleeping in my bed.

I created this place out of nothing. With my own two hands, I built that house. I cut my own wood and planted a large garden. I lived a self-sufficient life of hard, hard work. And now, with the say-so of a very cooked judge, my house is turned over to a worthless drunk and bootlegger.

On June 17th, Mildred Thunder Bull and Lucy Bull Bear, along with her cousin, had accompanied me to 3 Mile Creek to help me get my things. Mildred, that morning, had called Judge Lisa Cook, but had been told that Judge Cook would not be in Court that day. Then Mildred and I went to the police station and Mildred talked with Captain Bianas, who said he was sending an officer out, to unlock the gate, and be on hand. We talked with the officer, who said he would meet us out there. We four waited out at 3 Mile Creek all morning. The officer never came down. We went to Piya Wiconi and Mildred called Capt. Bianas, who said he was sending an officer with a court order down. That was rather strange, considering Mildred had been told that Judge Cook wasn’t in. However, we waited all afternoon. Finally an officer came, without any court order. He came and left, and was disrespectful and unmindful of Mildred, an elderly. He did not allow me to get my things. Not only had my time been wasted, but also the time of 3 other people in this cat and mouse game.

When the Sheriff insisted to Judge Lisa Cook that she had to allow me time to get my things, she allowed me two days, June 28th and 29th. Come July 1st, Judge Cook was giving all my things to Louise because of my failure to remove my belongings. Unbelievable, incredible, but true. I also discovered that she had made a court order out on the 17th of June, giving me only 2 days to get my things. The sheriff brought me a copy on the 28th. I could only get one person to help me that day. Once again, when I arrived at 3 Mile Creek, the gate was locked shut. Once again, the police never showed up like they said they would. Finally, at about 3:00 o’clock, the Sheriff came. He asked if I knew of a way to get in. I said yes. He said he would escort me in and I could began loading. I followed every possible procedure outlined, so that no one can say I was breaking the law in anyway. I informed the Police when I would be there.

So, I was forced to follow demented orders issued by a psychotic judge, carried out by a Goon type Police. And the thieves, Louise Big Boy and her son, Robert Montileaux, were in charge of my house and possessions, and were given a free hand to do whatever they wanted with my things. Before I came 8 years ago, this piece of ground was totally trashed out. The log cabin, which I restored, was not built by Louise, but by Chancey Hernandez, who was an original heir to that land. Louise never did do anything, never built nothing, never planted anything, never accomplished nothing in her whole life. Now, after I built a 2 story house, cleaned up the place, planted many fruit trees, now Louise can come in with the help of a crooked judge and a corrupt BIA official, to steal what I made worth thousands of dollars, and no one can do anything about it. I have been trying to report a crime, and I find there is no authority to report it to, because no one wants to do anything about it. This includes the Federal government and the FBI. It also includes the compliant press, who will not report my story, with one exception. The Black Hills Peoples News has very courageously told my side of the story, and has given ample space for the opposition to tell their side of the story. Yet, they don’t seem to have anything to say. I would love to see an interview with Louise Big Boy and hear her side of the story.

Monday, the 28th of June, at 3:00 I drove into what used to be my yard. There in front of the storage shed were numerous household items, all pitched in a pile, just like an alcoholic had opened the door and thrust my things out in the dirt and weather. I walked into the new house. My belongings had been ransacked. Books and clothes, jumbled together with tools and commodities, dressers, chairs tossed this way and that. The commodities, which had been neatly stacked was strewn all over, art and art supplies thrown everywhere. And flour was thrown over everything. My wooden bench was pulled up to the table which was strewn all over with beer cans.

How can I convey to you the deep sense of violation I was experiencing? How can I compare this so you you will understand? Suppose a tornado had come through, lifted your things all around, and dropped them here and there? Would you not be there the very next day to sort through your things and try retrieve what you could? What would you think when someone deliberately did this to your things? I can forgive a tornado. In many ways, so much kinder than Louise and her gang of hoodlims. In my case, I was told nothing, except that my everymovement needed to be watched by the police while everything I owned was being handed to a thief. And this was masterminded by the very authorities who are sworn to uphold justice. Maybe something of what I was feeling was showing. The Sheriff said, “No one should be treated the way you were treated. If it comes to that, I will testify.” Then he told me he was going into Kyle to see Judge Cook.

Leroy and I started to load up the 2 pick-ups. It was very difficult to know where to begin, because my things had been thrown into such a jumbled mess. It was already after 3:00pm. The Sheriff returned at about 5:00. He said he had talked to Judge Cook, who was very adamant about the dates—the 28th and 29th.

The Sheriff also brought me a copy of the court order, the one I wasn’t served by the police and never went into a hearing on. Then the Sheriff said he was leaving me to pack and load on my own, with the Judge’s permission that I could do so. The Sheriff pointed out to Lisa that she had only given me the two days, and that I might need more time if I didn’t have any help, but that I couldn’t count on it. In all of this nightmare, the only authority figure who actually tried to help was the Sheriff, but he was very limited by Tribal law that claims it is sovereign and can act illegally if it so choses. He was doing his best to uphold the law, but the law was a demented court order that actually violated my human rights, my civil rights, and my Constitutional rights.

Leroy and I pulled out the loaded Chevy pick-up using the Ford to drag it. When we returned to the top of the driveway, we could hear voices from below. Robert and his wife and kids had sneaked in, locking the gate behind them. I went in alone because my Bronco was empty and I wanted to load up my art work and supplies. I asked Leroy to wait for me.

I pulled into the yard from the back way, opened the tailgate, while Robert came rushing out of the new house, screaming, “You can’t be here while I am here.” I didn’t say one word to him, but walked toward the door. He turned tail and ran from me with his little cell phone, dialing the police, as he ran up the staircase I had built to the 2nd floor. I began hauling out my limited edition prints. You may find examples of them on my web site by going to http://www.lakotaperspectives.com and look under gallery.

Robert’s little wife came charging out of the cabin, jumped in her little white car, forgot the kids, and went speeding on out of there. I backed the Bronco closer to the door, while Robert ran out of the house toward the creek with that little cell phone hanging on his ear. I totally ignored them, as I continued to load. The filthy pigs had strewn my art work all over and I had to sort through just to try find everything.

Just that quick, a police car arrived. I was about ¾ loaded, when Officer Melana Clifford came swaggering up as I was carrying out another box. She said, “You are going to have to leave. You can’t be here.” I noticed a pistol bulging on her hip. As I put the box in the Bronco, I said, “I have a court order here that says I have the right to be here to load up my things.”

“Let me see it,” she said. I got it from the Bronco, handed it to her, and went back to work. I found the oil portrait of Mary White Thunder, on the floor behind a desk, with debris piled on top. I retrieved it, and was just studying it for damage when in walks Officer Clifford, who said, “You are going to have to leave. NOW!” She followed me out to the Bronco, like a yapping dog. Then she walked toward her squad car. I said, “Hey! That’s my court order. I want it back. You can get your own.” Without it, this squirrel could keep all the nuts. Very reluctantly, she gave it back.

I said, “According to that court order, I only have two days to get my things or Judge Cook is going to give them to Louise. According to the court order and the Sheriff, who was here earlier, I have a right to be here doing what I am doing.” I felt like I had been thrust into a madhouse, where the psychotics are running the show, and that I was trying to reason with a totally deranged person, while a criminally insane goon is running around with a little cell phone hanging on his ear and a beer can in the other. Under these bizarre circumstances, I was trying to deal with these crackpot orders in some normal kind of way. “Look! I am loading up my art work, and a limited edition set of prints, which retail, is worth over $50,000. Do you want to be liable for this?” I asked this crazy yapping poodle dressed like a police officer.

Just to prove my point, Officer Melanna Clifford said, “Robert has a protection order out against you, and you are to stay away from him.”

I said while putting another painting in the car, “Is this another one of Lisa’s secret court order’s? Why wasn’t I informed of a hearing? Or is that how things are done these days? I don’t know anything about that. All I know is that I am to remove my belongings today, and, poor as it is, I have a court order that gives me permission to do just that.” I kept packing, getting a few valuables from the shed, some tools which had mysteriously reappeared. As a matter of fact, I noticed a lot of things had somehow reappeared between the 1st and the 28th. When I could fit nothing more in the bronco, I went to go.

Now Officer Melanna told me I couldn’t, that I had to wait for Sargeant Barnett to arrive. Then she said I had to fill out a police report before I could go. I was being treated like a 3rd grader being kept after school. I filled out a statement explaining that Sheriff Tagget had got permission from Judge Cook that I could be there and that Robert Montileaux was interfering with the court order and my right to get my belongings. Gee whiz! At about this time, Sargeant Barnett pulled into the yard. He gets out of the car and just stares at me in one of the most malignant looks I have ever seen. He looked and felt like a Goon comtemplating how he was going to get rid of me. Malanna comes up with the report. She gets the court order. Robert comes out of hiding with the cell phone hanging on his ear.

While they are are gathered together like a bunch of conspirators, I take the disposable 35mm camera from my pocket and take their picture. Sgt. Barnett whispers, “What’s she doing?”

Malanna whispers, “She’s taking pictures.”

Sgt. Barnett asks, “What for?”

Robert whispers, “The paper,” meaning Black Hills Peoples News. “I don’t want her taking my things. Everything in the cabin is mine.” Here I had noticed that he was using all my big appliances, my gas stove and propane, my refrigerator, utility cabinets, and freezer. Now he had the nerve to claim these as his own.

Then he said, “She can only be down here from 6am to 6pm. That’s all the time I am giving her.”

I came up to the group of conspirators and said, “I just want to give you notice that I will be here tomorrow to remove my belongings as stipulated by the court order. I am informing you 12 hours in advance. And, Robert, if you or your family has are uncomfortable with that, I suggest you make arrangements not to be here, because I will be here.”

Malanna said that I had to drive into Kyle first, and talk with the police captain, and get his permission.

I told her that the time for talking is over. They had already wasted enough of my precious time and gas money. All I needed to do was follow this court order and that anyone interfering was in violation of their own law. I turned, got in the Bronco, and drove on out. I was never so glad to see Leroy and his van blocking the driveway at the top of the road. I motioned for him to head out, and we did.