Monday, December 31, 2012
IGB - Intergalatic Brain
Paul Michelson of IGB (InterGalactic Brain) was awarded his Hand Pi hand (5 patches) for his helping hand on many things including the sponsorship of The Daily Planet radical graphics arts magazine from the 70s Berkeley, CA.When I just mentioned the Berkeley Barb and the Berkeley Tribe on my blog I got hits up the wazoo. The interesting thing was back tracking the hits on the Tribe footprints led to a cop chat site about the Zodiac killer.
Now be careful about lying about on the Internet. I said I sold the Barb and the Tribe outside the Playboy Club in San Francisco's North Beach area. I did sell newspapers there and true I did layout and paste-up for Max Shear at the Barb. But I never sold the Tribe anywhere. I lied ha ha. Me so smart, me now on some Zodiac killer list of 'blogs of interest.'
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Bill Richardson's Cuba - Phil Schiliro's Santa Fe
 |
| Bill Richardson in Cuba trying to secure release of a U.S. spy. Richardson gives the 'Helping Hand" (Hand Pi) sign. |
With only fifty lots in Wilderness Gate I think there are more lawyers per acre than Santa Fe in general ... and that my friend is saying something. Hollywood lawyer, lawyer for Thornburg, lawyer from Houston who became President of the neighborhood association ... hows that happen?
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
'What the fuck I'm talking about' is ...
My life as Media
In the thread of things Lost Souls' Room is my life as media's last act. It represent the point were the virtual self-created life dead-ends. It has to be as honest and digitally meaningless. What the fuck, Cove are you talking about?
Saturday, December 22, 2012
John Huddy Jr.
When telling the story of my life through media gets to John Huddy the entire fraud of "free speech" is revealed. The belief in democracy is niave but belief in journalism is dangerous and if you want something lethal to believe in try free speech.
I almost decked fuckface Huddy at the rally in front of post office on the first day of the Iraq war. That second of time lead through; democracy, to journalism, to free speech and then to its ultimate American conclusion ... hate.
Mossad Goldberg (Julia) at the Reporter actually did a fluff piece about Junior Huddy when he got canned. Senior Huddy is of course a Fox News executive.
I almost decked fuckface Huddy at the rally in front of post office on the first day of the Iraq war. That second of time lead through; democracy, to journalism, to free speech and then to its ultimate American conclusion ... hate.Mossad Goldberg (Julia) at the Reporter actually did a fluff piece about Junior Huddy when he got canned. Senior Huddy is of course a Fox News executive.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Newtown NM
Newtown, Connecticut is between Waterbury were I was born and Milford were I grew up and played football for Mario Ponsale's Milford "Indian" and later with Lou Holtz's Uconn "Huskies. All four places Newtown, CT; plus on Long Island sound - Milford CT; Waterbury CT (the former Brass Capitol of the World; and the University of Connecticut at Storrs would all easily fit into Santa Fe County.
Santa Fe had a memorial today to honor the victims of the Sandy Hook School shootings. I was moved by the homemade photo boards of those poor kids and educators that got killed.
I have been, as all American have been, hardened to killing and violence and dead foreign kids. I also can not tell anymore which death is from our own government's, foreign state players, independent contractors or nut case killers. I never owned a fucking gun.
The first woman speaker almost blew her lines asking that the people present shut off their cell phones. You will forgive me if I get a little cynical about events like these. I smelled motives and agendas.
The first woman speaker almost blew her lines asking that the people present shut off their cell phones. You will forgive me if I get a little cynical about events like these. I smelled motives and agendas.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Wilderness Gate
The fucking place feels like spook central to me. God only knows how many just military spooks have past through Santa Fe. Shit, the Rosenbergs, Los Alamos ... the fucking BOMB. It really got spooky when Fat Bill was Governor. Man with Richardson's connection to Kissinger you couldn't get a table at the Pink or even the Plaza Restaurant. I'm not talking about Carl Miller Gym type spooks or those guys that drink at Robbie's place ... fucking fagots. No these fuckers where heavy CIA leather-coated muscle. The women looked as tough even in head scarfs. Richardson was heavy ... ah shit, excuse the pun ... Richardson was heavy but not scary.
Santa Fe is sort of a Washington insiders' safe house. Phil Schiliro
and film maker wife Jody have moved from Washington D.C. to spook
central - Santa Fe, NM. They have taken up residence in the Wilderness
Gate subdivision, a long time home to a full spectrum of politicos and influence makers. From the Nixon era, Kissinger's Undersecretary of State,
Chuck Robinson to Gov. Bill Richardson main money man and Mayor Coss' buddy Steve Flance. In
Wilderness Gate even some of the 'normal' folk are suspiciously well
placed, like the newcomer director of the "community" radio station and
the owner/barkeep for the CIA and cop hangout restaurant. U.S. Senator
Tom Udall lives on the dead end road leading to Wilderness Gate as did
Udall's late father Stuart Udall. At one time beside the political heavyweights; Dr. Robert Grossman (Kennedy assassination Dallas), Producer Steven Bochco, ActressShirley Parker McClaine and a crazy gadfly the late John Coventry all lived in this east side enclave.
A simple notice about Jody Schiliro, wife of Washington D.C. heavyweight Phil Schiliro, in Wilderness Gate's association newsletter was a clue.
Nominating Committee Report
New neighbor Jody Schiliro is interested in joining the board, and the Committee is
recommending her election at the January Annual Meeting to replace David Franklin, whose
term will be ending. Jody and her family moved to Wilderness Gate this past summer, from
Washington, DC.
The last time I got a clue was when Valarie Plame, I swear to G-d, was the campaign treasurer for my opponent for the Santa Fe School Board.
Philip Schiliro was huge and invisible in Washington. What the fuck is he doing in Santa Fe?
"New neighbor Jody Schiliro is interested in joining the board"
The Wilderness Gate Home Owners Association Board was the last run for 'office' that I would do before committing to a Jehovah Witness like non-political approach to life. But seeing that the fix is already in for her to win I may run against her just just to lose. Losing to someone in an election is a great way to get to know someone. They first hate you for challenging them, then they love you for losing.
Or maybe Obama sent Phil Schiliro and his wife the former Jody Lenkoski to help me with the 7th International Marblers' Gathering - Tehran 2015 or my documentary on Getting High at Fountainhead.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
My audition for spook.
When I was being public about fatbillandme and the Robbie Romero case Robbie Day asked me to take care of his kids pets while he and his kids went to the islands for a vacation. Now Robbie hates my guts. We have come close to duking it out a couple of times. Why would he ask me to do him a favor?AT the same time I was blogging on the New Mexican's chat room I got a call to be part of a "focus group" mock trail. It was insane. The connections between events and the Lost Souls; Room made me wonder ... How does one become a spook?
Friday, December 14, 2012
Insult, Lie and Swear.
Calabazo had started a blog. Being a old fart dinasor when it came to technolony just getting a blog site up was a major accomplishment. Having heard that one should write about 'what one knows', Cal was writing about local politics on his blog. He had no clue how to post photos no less how to use spellcheck. In his virgin post for his "Fat Bill and Me" blog he set the tone and subject of his site. It was going to be about pushing the envelope of free speech and it was to centered around the Governor of New Mexico, Bill Richardson.
Fat Bill and Me: a story of one Democrat.
It’s all about what you can’t say.
When you talk to them, always start with an insult. Then lie. Then swear.
Bill Richardson better known as Governor Crisco (fat in the can) is being paid by the CIA to sell out the Democratic Party. The Big Large or just Large Lard, as we call him in Santa Fe, likes to smoke cigars and politically suck Korean dick. Him and that fucker Kerry threw the election with a promise never to mention Abu Ghraib, ever.
With all the talk about Fat Bill’s national ambitions and dinners with the likes of Val Kilmer I put Governor Doughnut’s autograph on ebay. I asked $3.00. No one bid on it.
Governor Largo Lardo is a racist. He wants to pick a point in past time and give public lands to the then self-proclaimed chosen race. His supposed race.
Where the fuck did he come from always? He’s like some other politicians I know; he appears to be a better program than person. I remember him as a self-proclaimed ‘Fighter for New Mexico.’ As a U.S. Representative he would have Town Hall meetings where the now deceased Richard “The Dressman” threw money at him or the cash onto the floor. The cross-dressing poet thought that was what Fat Bill was all about.In fact for now on I might go with my blogger friend David's moniker for Richardson ... $Bill.
Cal was a old pothead from way back. He had a couple of good connection of his own for the kind bud but needing to score he drove down to the barrio to see Nurse Vigil, his totally psyhic friend and her friend and lover TomTom. She could tell him who was well supplied.
They all smoked a fattie and Cal told them about his on-line site and his blog on the Santa Fe Citizen's web page.
Cal asked TomTom what he thought of Governor Richardson?
“That cocksucker, fuck him! Years ago when Richardson was a Congressman I tried to find out any information about who my father was, he died in Viet Nam. I knew his Army Company; where and when he was stationed but I didn’t have his name. I didn’t know who he was. I wrote Richardson six letters. It’s weird, I just found them the other day. He said ‘If you had his social security number…’ if I had his social security number I wouldn’t need you, you fat fuck”
Nurse interrupted “That’s not his job.”
“Sure it is.” I said.
The Great One, as Richardson is called in the halls of the Round House, the State Capitol, is hard to get to. Calabazo wrote about his plan to go directly to the Governor's office on the fourth floor of the State House and just ask some "biographical" in formation about Bill.
One of the journeyman reporters told me “Don’t screw around up there, he has a lot of State Police hanging out, who have no sense of humor.” Jesus, all I wanted to do is find out how much our Governor weighed.
El Patron pays other people to have a sense of humor for him. When Fat Bill had to roast that Arab-hating shmuck Lieberman, Fat Bill had to pay political hacks to come up with good lines. Governor Chicaron had to make fun of Lieberman for not really being a Democrat that’s like the pot calling the kettle schvatz. For Christ sake, Fat Bill is being parodied on Saturday Night Live!
I parked in the Reporter’s parking lot because I love Julia Goldberg. But I also agree with who ever tagged her machines with “mossad.” I think they nailed it. I walked to the plaza and had a hotdog at Charlie’s, also because I love Julia’s kosher ass so much and I think her paper is full of shit.
Frankie had his tour bus parked in front of the bank. He was bitching and moaning about how noisy, smelly, and smokfilled the Plaza was. I fuckin’ laughed when he said they would have to listen to him at City Hall if he went down there to complain. “Being an ex-Councilor,” Frankie said, “they would have to listen to me.” A picture of Frank getting the Charlie Griego bums rush flashed in my brain. I wanted to slap Frankie on the side of the head and say like “I am here to tell you…WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE Larry Delgado.”
Instead I asked, “How’s your new gig? What’s it like there?”
“Convoluted.” Frankie says and I fall over laughing.
‘Convoluted’ what the fuck is a Hispanic politician from Santa Fe using words like convoluted? As if to prove my point Jose Morfin drives by.
Busting his balls I say to Jose “Why won’t the Governor give me a job? And how come I can’t find out where my precinct meeting is? Don’t the Democrat believe in ward meetings anymore?” Jose just ignored me and tried to asked Frankie in Spanish about the School Board job. Frankie answered in English and nodded toward City Hall “It’s easier then over there but the same bull.”
“What’s with the New Mexico Democratic Central Committee doing all the party business in secret?” I ask Jose ““How do I get on?”
Simultaneously both Frankie and Jose say “Call Mimi.”
I wonder if Mimi knows how much Governor Puerco weighs in metric tons?
Fat Bill and Me: a story of one Democrat.
It’s all about what you can’t say.
When you talk to them, always start with an insult. Then lie. Then swear.
Bill Richardson better known as Governor Crisco (fat in the can) is being paid by the CIA to sell out the Democratic Party. The Big Large or just Large Lard, as we call him in Santa Fe, likes to smoke cigars and politically suck Korean dick. Him and that fucker Kerry threw the election with a promise never to mention Abu Ghraib, ever.
With all the talk about Fat Bill’s national ambitions and dinners with the likes of Val Kilmer I put Governor Doughnut’s autograph on ebay. I asked $3.00. No one bid on it.
Governor Largo Lardo is a racist. He wants to pick a point in past time and give public lands to the then self-proclaimed chosen race. His supposed race.
Where the fuck did he come from always? He’s like some other politicians I know; he appears to be a better program than person. I remember him as a self-proclaimed ‘Fighter for New Mexico.’ As a U.S. Representative he would have Town Hall meetings where the now deceased Richard “The Dressman” threw money at him or the cash onto the floor. The cross-dressing poet thought that was what Fat Bill was all about.In fact for now on I might go with my blogger friend David's moniker for Richardson ... $Bill.
Cal was a old pothead from way back. He had a couple of good connection of his own for the kind bud but needing to score he drove down to the barrio to see Nurse Vigil, his totally psyhic friend and her friend and lover TomTom. She could tell him who was well supplied.
They all smoked a fattie and Cal told them about his on-line site and his blog on the Santa Fe Citizen's web page.
Cal asked TomTom what he thought of Governor Richardson?
“That cocksucker, fuck him! Years ago when Richardson was a Congressman I tried to find out any information about who my father was, he died in Viet Nam. I knew his Army Company; where and when he was stationed but I didn’t have his name. I didn’t know who he was. I wrote Richardson six letters. It’s weird, I just found them the other day. He said ‘If you had his social security number…’ if I had his social security number I wouldn’t need you, you fat fuck”
Nurse interrupted “That’s not his job.”
“Sure it is.” I said.
The Great One, as Richardson is called in the halls of the Round House, the State Capitol, is hard to get to. Calabazo wrote about his plan to go directly to the Governor's office on the fourth floor of the State House and just ask some "biographical" in formation about Bill.
One of the journeyman reporters told me “Don’t screw around up there, he has a lot of State Police hanging out, who have no sense of humor.” Jesus, all I wanted to do is find out how much our Governor weighed.
El Patron pays other people to have a sense of humor for him. When Fat Bill had to roast that Arab-hating shmuck Lieberman, Fat Bill had to pay political hacks to come up with good lines. Governor Chicaron had to make fun of Lieberman for not really being a Democrat that’s like the pot calling the kettle schvatz. For Christ sake, Fat Bill is being parodied on Saturday Night Live!
I parked in the Reporter’s parking lot because I love Julia Goldberg. But I also agree with who ever tagged her machines with “mossad.” I think they nailed it. I walked to the plaza and had a hotdog at Charlie’s, also because I love Julia’s kosher ass so much and I think her paper is full of shit.
Frankie had his tour bus parked in front of the bank. He was bitching and moaning about how noisy, smelly, and smokfilled the Plaza was. I fuckin’ laughed when he said they would have to listen to him at City Hall if he went down there to complain. “Being an ex-Councilor,” Frankie said, “they would have to listen to me.” A picture of Frank getting the Charlie Griego bums rush flashed in my brain. I wanted to slap Frankie on the side of the head and say like “I am here to tell you…WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE Larry Delgado.”
Instead I asked, “How’s your new gig? What’s it like there?”
“Convoluted.” Frankie says and I fall over laughing.
‘Convoluted’ what the fuck is a Hispanic politician from Santa Fe using words like convoluted? As if to prove my point Jose Morfin drives by.
Busting his balls I say to Jose “Why won’t the Governor give me a job? And how come I can’t find out where my precinct meeting is? Don’t the Democrat believe in ward meetings anymore?” Jose just ignored me and tried to asked Frankie in Spanish about the School Board job. Frankie answered in English and nodded toward City Hall “It’s easier then over there but the same bull.”
“What’s with the New Mexico Democratic Central Committee doing all the party business in secret?” I ask Jose ““How do I get on?”
Simultaneously both Frankie and Jose say “Call Mimi.”
I wonder if Mimi knows how much Governor Puerco weighs in metric tons?
John Huddy
Three way to spam the Internet: attaching to content, labeling of images and planting news ... of which the later is the most difficult to do. Unless of course your father is a hotshot at Fox News and you're working for the reactionary Albuquerque Journal newspaper.
John Huddy Jr. is a fuck-face asshole. He was a reporter covering local Santa Fe news at the time the Iraq War broke out.
Reprint from Republic de Santa Fe: Vol. III number 1...April 1, 2003.
CONFRONTATION
Tensions Showing As Reporter Loses It At Peace Rally
by Donado Coviello
On Thursday, March 20, 2003, hundreds of people had gathered in front of the Santa Fe Post Office to protest the war. A small group of people in a circle spoke about the war. A sixteen year old high school girl said she “felt so bad” that her friends had gotten suspended for demonstrating at their school that she just had to cut classes to come to this peace march. A reporter for the Albuquerque Journal North, John Huddy asked the girl, “What’s going to happen to you…will you be suspended?” She answered, “I don’t know, I think so.” Huddy then asked the kid, “So what’s your name?” John Coventry, one of the 5 or 6 people in the circle, said to Huddy, “Don’t ask her that.” Huddy angrily turned to Coventry and said, “Why don’t you get out of here, Coventry?” Coventry shut up for a minute.
At one point, Coventry tells the two high school girls that they are “the future,” and that he had gone through “this whole thing before.” The reporter Huddy interrupts Coventry and tells him, “Can’t you see I’m working here?” Huddy then asks the girls, “Say we liberate Iraq and all that, do you think it will do any good?” Coventry laughs out loud and tells the girls, “See, just him using the those words, ‘we liberate’, shows his point of view.”
“You’re way out of line, Coventry!” says a furious Huddy.
“People have to know who the enemy (of democracy) is in this country (a censored, controlled, mouthpiece mass media”, Coventry responds.
Now the conversation is getting very loud. Huddy asks Coventry, “Is this about me? Is this personal? You have a problem with me?”
Coventry pauses and says sincerely, “No” and again, more firmly, “No, I don’t have a problem with you, this isn’t about you.”
A taller John Huddy yells over the head of Coventry to other people in the group, “John has a problem with the media.”
“Just because you’re the media you can’t come in here and…” Coventry is interrupted as the reporter Huddy puts his notepad in his other hand and suddenly grabs Coventry’s arm tightly, trying to pull him away from the group.
Huddy pulls Coventry’s arm and giving him a hard look says, “Come ‘ere, I want to talk to you man to man.”
Coventry looks down at the guy’s hand gripping his arm, looks up and says, “You do that again and I’ll deck you.”
Now the level of discourse sinks, with Coventry yelling, “This is AMERICA, we’re standing in AMERICA!” punctuated with an ever louder chorus with annimated gestures. Huddy follows with a refrain of, “You’re way outta line, you think I’m stupid? You’re acting like I’m stupid. You think I’m STUPID?”
One of the girls leans in toward Coventry and says “I get what you’re saying, but…”as the other girl steps toward Huddy saying, “I think it’s personal.” Other people interject, one woman saying something like, “We can’t hear you (both) because you’re (both) too loud!”
Covenry responds a couple of notches down, “I can talk quiet,” as he opens his arms, turns and gives a politically correct hug to a guy standing there with a woman.
At one point another woman steps in and yells very loudly, “This is how WAR starts. THIS IS HOW WAR STARTS.” She then points to a video camera she’s carrying and says, “I’ve got it all here.” Coventry says, “The war HAS started,” indicating back and forth from himself to Huddy. He continues, “and this is part of it.”
The encounter ended rather clumsily with Coventry offering hugs to one of the girls; taking a half step forward (stepping on Huddy’s foot and stumbling); offering an apologetic hug to Huddy; and after receiving a rebuff from Huddy, Coventry then got a hug from the man to his right.
There was some more scattered conversation among the group, but basically Coventry and Huddy walked off ‘cheek by jowl’ separating a few feet up the road. Huddy headed toward a counter-demonstrator standing to the side and Coventry went straight ahead to his car.
Then a uniformed “Federal Protective” officer stepped out from the sidewalk and said to Coventry, “Excuse me, ah, how you doing today, Sir?” Coventry folded his arms and answered, “Good.” Silence for a second and again the officer questions Coventry, “So, how you doing?” Coventry laughs, “I’m doing great. It’s a great day.” The officer starts to ask again, ‘what’s up?’ and Coventry cuts him off, nods toward Huddy and says, “Listen, if that guy comes to one of these things, he’s gonna hear stuff.”
As Coventry turns to leave, the Federal officer tentatively puts out his hand and then pulls it back as he looks off to the side where Huddy was and where Coventry wasn’t going, telling Coventry, “Don’t go there.” Coventry walks ahead, and as he passes within 15 feet of Huddy, Coventry puts out his hand, offering to shake hands with the reporter. Huddy says, “I’m not going to touch that.”
Without saying a word or missing a step, Coventry walks away.
Coventry walked away from Huddy and went to his vehicle parked at his favorite free parking spot at the Santa Fe Reporter.
Huddy walked back to his office at the Albuquerque Journal North. Coventry drove directly to Huddy's office to talk to the reporter's immediate boss, the city editor, a very cool guy named Mark Oswald.
Coventry explained to editor Oswald how the reporter Huddy had grab his arm. Coventry actually demonstrated on the editor's arm the aggressive physical nature of Huddys assault precipitating the exact response on Oswald's face that Coventry was looking for. Oswwald said he would talk to Huddy and get his side of the story.
Coventry's Words
Driving home I happened to see Huddy walking toward his office. Having just vented to his boss I felt like 'enough said... incident over' and I flashed Huddy the 'Peace sign. Huddy glared back at me. I thought, 'What a jerk.'
It was less than a week later the I received a visit from a summons server. It seems the largest newspaper in the State, The Albuquerque Journal, its publisher and that wimp John Huddy were suing me for a restraining order. What a fucking joke.
The charges grew from allegedly assaulting their baby reporter by "touching" his chest with my fingers to "repeatedly poke"and threatening him. In the declaration to the court shit head John Huddy Jr. said that I said about him that he (Huddy) was "another example of media that has been taken over by the 'conservative, rightist front.' " Fuck, even when there was a time when there was a "front" I didn't believe in it no matter what "front" it was. Man, I don't think I ever used either of those two stupid words "rightist" or "front" - no less fucking together
But back to the story, Coventry decide to defend himself in Court. He studies the pleading from the Albuquerque Journal to Judge Hall and finds all kinds of shit wrong. So Coventry gets a copy a generic response pleading and pretends to be Perry Mason.
(end part one)
John Huddy Jr. is a fuck-face asshole. He was a reporter covering local Santa Fe news at the time the Iraq War broke out.
Reprint from Republic de Santa Fe: Vol. III number 1...April 1, 2003.
CONFRONTATION
Tensions Showing As Reporter Loses It At Peace Rally
by Donado Coviello
On Thursday, March 20, 2003, hundreds of people had gathered in front of the Santa Fe Post Office to protest the war. A small group of people in a circle spoke about the war. A sixteen year old high school girl said she “felt so bad” that her friends had gotten suspended for demonstrating at their school that she just had to cut classes to come to this peace march. A reporter for the Albuquerque Journal North, John Huddy asked the girl, “What’s going to happen to you…will you be suspended?” She answered, “I don’t know, I think so.” Huddy then asked the kid, “So what’s your name?” John Coventry, one of the 5 or 6 people in the circle, said to Huddy, “Don’t ask her that.” Huddy angrily turned to Coventry and said, “Why don’t you get out of here, Coventry?” Coventry shut up for a minute.
At one point, Coventry tells the two high school girls that they are “the future,” and that he had gone through “this whole thing before.” The reporter Huddy interrupts Coventry and tells him, “Can’t you see I’m working here?” Huddy then asks the girls, “Say we liberate Iraq and all that, do you think it will do any good?” Coventry laughs out loud and tells the girls, “See, just him using the those words, ‘we liberate’, shows his point of view.”
“You’re way out of line, Coventry!” says a furious Huddy.
“People have to know who the enemy (of democracy) is in this country (a censored, controlled, mouthpiece mass media”, Coventry responds.
Now the conversation is getting very loud. Huddy asks Coventry, “Is this about me? Is this personal? You have a problem with me?”
Coventry pauses and says sincerely, “No” and again, more firmly, “No, I don’t have a problem with you, this isn’t about you.”
A taller John Huddy yells over the head of Coventry to other people in the group, “John has a problem with the media.”
“Just because you’re the media you can’t come in here and…” Coventry is interrupted as the reporter Huddy puts his notepad in his other hand and suddenly grabs Coventry’s arm tightly, trying to pull him away from the group.
Huddy pulls Coventry’s arm and giving him a hard look says, “Come ‘ere, I want to talk to you man to man.”
Coventry looks down at the guy’s hand gripping his arm, looks up and says, “You do that again and I’ll deck you.”
Now the level of discourse sinks, with Coventry yelling, “This is AMERICA, we’re standing in AMERICA!” punctuated with an ever louder chorus with annimated gestures. Huddy follows with a refrain of, “You’re way outta line, you think I’m stupid? You’re acting like I’m stupid. You think I’m STUPID?”
One of the girls leans in toward Coventry and says “I get what you’re saying, but…”as the other girl steps toward Huddy saying, “I think it’s personal.” Other people interject, one woman saying something like, “We can’t hear you (both) because you’re (both) too loud!”
Covenry responds a couple of notches down, “I can talk quiet,” as he opens his arms, turns and gives a politically correct hug to a guy standing there with a woman.
At one point another woman steps in and yells very loudly, “This is how WAR starts. THIS IS HOW WAR STARTS.” She then points to a video camera she’s carrying and says, “I’ve got it all here.” Coventry says, “The war HAS started,” indicating back and forth from himself to Huddy. He continues, “and this is part of it.”
The encounter ended rather clumsily with Coventry offering hugs to one of the girls; taking a half step forward (stepping on Huddy’s foot and stumbling); offering an apologetic hug to Huddy; and after receiving a rebuff from Huddy, Coventry then got a hug from the man to his right.
There was some more scattered conversation among the group, but basically Coventry and Huddy walked off ‘cheek by jowl’ separating a few feet up the road. Huddy headed toward a counter-demonstrator standing to the side and Coventry went straight ahead to his car.
Then a uniformed “Federal Protective” officer stepped out from the sidewalk and said to Coventry, “Excuse me, ah, how you doing today, Sir?” Coventry folded his arms and answered, “Good.” Silence for a second and again the officer questions Coventry, “So, how you doing?” Coventry laughs, “I’m doing great. It’s a great day.” The officer starts to ask again, ‘what’s up?’ and Coventry cuts him off, nods toward Huddy and says, “Listen, if that guy comes to one of these things, he’s gonna hear stuff.”
As Coventry turns to leave, the Federal officer tentatively puts out his hand and then pulls it back as he looks off to the side where Huddy was and where Coventry wasn’t going, telling Coventry, “Don’t go there.” Coventry walks ahead, and as he passes within 15 feet of Huddy, Coventry puts out his hand, offering to shake hands with the reporter. Huddy says, “I’m not going to touch that.”
Without saying a word or missing a step, Coventry walks away.
Coventry walked away from Huddy and went to his vehicle parked at his favorite free parking spot at the Santa Fe Reporter.
Huddy walked back to his office at the Albuquerque Journal North. Coventry drove directly to Huddy's office to talk to the reporter's immediate boss, the city editor, a very cool guy named Mark Oswald.
Coventry explained to editor Oswald how the reporter Huddy had grab his arm. Coventry actually demonstrated on the editor's arm the aggressive physical nature of Huddys assault precipitating the exact response on Oswald's face that Coventry was looking for. Oswwald said he would talk to Huddy and get his side of the story.
Coventry's Words
Driving home I happened to see Huddy walking toward his office. Having just vented to his boss I felt like 'enough said... incident over' and I flashed Huddy the 'Peace sign. Huddy glared back at me. I thought, 'What a jerk.'
It was less than a week later the I received a visit from a summons server. It seems the largest newspaper in the State, The Albuquerque Journal, its publisher and that wimp John Huddy were suing me for a restraining order. What a fucking joke.
The charges grew from allegedly assaulting their baby reporter by "touching" his chest with my fingers to "repeatedly poke"and threatening him. In the declaration to the court shit head John Huddy Jr. said that I said about him that he (Huddy) was "another example of media that has been taken over by the 'conservative, rightist front.' " Fuck, even when there was a time when there was a "front" I didn't believe in it no matter what "front" it was. Man, I don't think I ever used either of those two stupid words "rightist" or "front" - no less fucking together
But back to the story, Coventry decide to defend himself in Court. He studies the pleading from the Albuquerque Journal to Judge Hall and finds all kinds of shit wrong. So Coventry gets a copy a generic response pleading and pretends to be Perry Mason.
(end part one)
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