Date: Tue, 7 May 1996 14:23:52 +0200
To: fivestring@gnn.com
From: edwardj@jps.net (Ed. Kats)
Subject: My family looking for help. Please.
Dear Ed.
In this chain letter I would like to ask you to spend just a few minutes and read about a horrible story that happened to my family at the time we were living in Palo Alto California not far away from Stanford Hospital. Back in 1977, the same year we arrived as refugees in the US, Stansfield Turner, retired four-star admiral and one of the Navy's brightest strategists, became chief of the C.I.A. An Agency-sponsored gross medical malpractice had genuinely choked him. It was a horror story; he repeatedly said, "This must never happen again." (Unfortunately it did.) As a result of his investigation, over a hundred men lost their jobs in what became known as Turner's Halloween Massacre of 1977. Ten thousand pages of formerly top secret U.S. Army and C.I.A. documents prove that for decades United States government agencies undertook the most extensive mind-control and manipulation program in the history of the world (from the book "The Mind Manipulators," A. Sheflin & E. Opton).
Prior to becoming President of the United States, Mr. Reagan expressed in his campaign that he would make sure the C.I.A. would never have to fight with one hand tied behind its back. Instead, he would give the Agency the freedom to carry on the war with "the enemy" by any means the Agency chose (From the book "C.I.A. Mind Control & Medical Abuse," Gordon Thomas.) We believe, as a result of such "freedom," that both my son and I are victims of a so called "Mind Control Experiment," which we are going to briefly describe below.
Absolutely no money, time, nor effort; just a few minutes of reading may change the fate of four people. In the name of the God of any religion, in the name of anything that makes you feel that you are human, please make a few copies and share the contents of this letter with anybody, anyone, regardless of whether you know this person or not.
By doing this small favor good luck will touch you.
Amen!
I believe that my story originated a long time ago, back in my homeland of Kiev, Ukraine.
In 1963, as a seventeen year old boy, I was searching for my relatives in the USA who had emigrated to this land of promise at the beginning of this century. Correspondence between their families was terminated during World War ll. Unfortunately, I never was able to locate them but, at that period of time when the cold war reached it's hottest point, I believe that my name was entered into CIA lists as well as the KGB's. Years later, in 1971, I was introduced to KGB involvement by one American doctor with whom I had corresponded through 1980.
Years later, in 1971, I was introduced to a greater understanding of the KGB's involvement by one American doctor with whom I had corresponded through 1980.
The doctor had visited Kiev every year since we became friends. Each visit was very short, just 2-3 days at the most. We never had any kind of political conversations; we talked mostly about music, science, art and so on. As a professional musician I always had a big interest in cultural life in the USA. As a Doctor of nuclear medicine he exposed me to the newest technology in the medical world and described how American medicine treated patients at that time.
On September 11, 1977 my wife, I, and our tiny son entered as refugees into the USA and for the first three years resided in Miami Beach, Florida. In 1978 I became the father of a second child.
On July 22 1980 I left Miami Beach and crossed the US, arriving in Atherton, CA eight days later. On August 11, 1980 my wife and the children joined me in the Bay Area. For the first month we stayed in the house of my friend. After that we rented an apartment in Redwood City, CA and my friend terminated our friendship. The first three years were very hard. We were struggling on welfare.
On March 11, 1982 my second son, at that time a four year old boy, was operated on at Stanford Hospital. The reason was to remove his tonsils.
November 5 1983. We'd opened a beauty salon and named it "Jazz for Hair." One of our customers that used to work at a nutrition store always brought us all sorts of vitamins as a present each time she made an appointment for a haircut.
Me and my wife started taking them. A few weeks later my wife told me that after taking the vitamins she became dizzy. I also had the same feeling but tried not to pay any attention to it.
My wife stopped taking the vitamins, I continued...
In the summer of 1988 I accidentally found out that something was growing in my right nostril. The growth was the shape of an apricot seed filled with golden gel.
In 1990 I decided to show it to a doctor. After examining me, the doctor said that it would be a good idea to remove this polyp surgically.
In November of 1990 I went through my first operation at Kaiser Hospital in Redwood City, CA. For some reason, after the operation I completely lost my nasal breathing for the next five months.
On March 11 1991 I once again was on the operating table. This time the operation continued for approximately seven hours. Similar operations usually last about one hour and a half.
I started breathing well, but two weeks after the operation, when I began my regular routine exercises at the time when I was jogging, something started to hit me under my right eye. After 3-4 days of exercises the area around the eye became swollen and painfully sensitive. Aspirin or an equivalent pain relieving medication would usually help.
August 13 1992. Winton, a customer of mine, once in a while would visit our residence. During dinner, which we usually had the same evening, we had a lot of interesting conversations. That night Winton was very drunk. "You know," he told me at the end of the evening, "my uncle had a problem with the FBI in the past."
Years ago he requested his personal file under the Freedom of Information Act. Two weeks later, when he received it, inside he found, just covered with black ink, secret pages from some kind of classified documents. I was waiting for what he would tell me next.
Winton took a pause, and then slowly said, "Believe it or not, after studying the clandestine pages he committed Suicide."
Everything he said sounded very strange.
On August 27, 1992, after previously refusing to release the file, the San Francisco office of the FBI, on there own, exactly two weeks after Winton's had spoken, suddenly sent us two pages of secret documents covered with black ink.
December 17 1992. We had just finished work and I walked outside to wait for my wife while she was closing up the shop. A stranger approached and said that he would like to talk to me.
The next moment he told that he knew I had an operation on March 11, 1991, and that during that seven hour operation some kind of sophisticated electronic device was implanted in my skull. Continuing his speech, the stranger said that I would have to be ready for harassment and other psychological pressures. The reason he gave for this was that those who behind this crime would like to see me back in the hospital. I told him that this was all crazy. He said "watch out for your brain; you may lose your memory, and with it your bright musical talent."
My wife walked out of the shop.
"I have to go," said the stranger; "good luck." After that he slowly walked away from the place where we were standing and disappeared at the end of the street.
After this incident I made a report to the Palo Alto Police Department but, unfortunately, our explanatory statement was disregarded for circumstances unknown to us. (Palo Alto Police Department, California USA. Case #93-082-0931).
For the whole year (1993) we tried to contact people who would be able to help us get out of this dirty mess we are in. It seemed that our letters and phone calls never reached their destinations. Despite our persistence we couldn't get any answers from those whom we chose. Day after day harassment, humiliation, and mental torture became more and more obvious. To describe all that happened to us in this short letter would be impossible.
1994 was the continuation of the previous year. We finally were able to sell our house that was on the market for over two years (another story) and move out of Palo Alto where we had experienced so much bad luck. Our destination was Vancouver, British Columbia.
The complications of getting working permito made us come back to the US and for two months we resided in Mill Creek, Washington. Eventually the kids started asking us to go back to California.
We returned to Palo Alto and I started preparing myself to visit Sweden and possibly ask for political asylum there. Prior to my trip I wrote 40 letters to US senators. None responded.
I flew to New York City and tried to see newspaper editors, journalists, attorneys, and anyone who would be able to help us.
I tried to visit the office of Mrs. Magdalene Albright, the Representative to the U.N. from the USA, but was stopped by the police. I left a letter for her at the door of her office, but received no response. I crossed the United Nations square and decided to visit an international human right organization; police physically stopped me. The first time, they tried not allowing me to enter the building. The second, when I finally entered, I wasn't even able to approach the directory board. Instead, I was gently redirected to the information center were I was told that the whole organization had moved to Geneva, Switzerland. In New York, I felt like I was being hunted no matter were I went.
When I came back to Palo Alto I ordered two tickets to Sweden, one for myself and another for my son Jay.
On October 5, 1994 we arrived in Stockholm, Sweden.
Wassa Park Hotel was the place where we stayed for the next three weeks. I waited almost a week to see an E.N.T. specialist, Doc. Brudemo. After the first visit, it took another eight days to take x-rays of my sinuses. then another few days to finally hear that the doctor couldn't show me my X-rays. I had paid for all the services in full with my credit card.
During the waiting period between appointments I tried to see anybody from the Swedish Red Cross organization (department of human torture). For three weeks we had to wait in Sweden and the only available time to see me was "coincidentally" matched to the same day and time as my appointment with Doctor Brudemo.
The conspiracy of such behavior was so obvious that I decided to leave the country as soon as I could. At the Hospital's office I was told that my X-ray would be delivered to my home in Palo Alto as soon as it was ready. But now I'm still waiting for it.
On the way back to Palo Alto we stopped in Geneva and visited the World Organization Against Torture (Eric Sottas, Dir., PH. 22-733-3140). After a one hour conversation with one of the workers she promised to send me a list of people who could possibly help us fight such organizations as the FBI and CIA. Such a list was never delivered to me.
In the mean time, while working on all sorts of information related to my case, my memory suddenly recalled March 11 of 1982, the day when my son was operated on at Stanford Hospital. He was hospitalized on March 10. After the operation we were denied access to see him for 24 hours, making a total of 48 hours that he was solely in their custody.
On March 12, around 4 PM, the nurse pulled a toy play wagon with four year old boy in it. He was laying inside like a vegetable. After we found out what happened to me years later, we became suspicious that the same could have happened to my son. Wile observing him, my wife and I saw what looked like a surgical scar crossing part of the roof of his mouth. If what we saw is what we are afraid of, the only place the scar could lead to is my baby's brain.
On Feb. 1, 1995, after being refused by nearly all Bay Area Hospitals, at last we were able to set up an appointment at Stanford Children's Hospital. After we reviewed the boy's medical record we couldn't understand some parts of the contents. As I mention above, back then the boy had disappeared for 48 hours. Based on the Doctors' statement it was due to complications after surgery, but the record tells:
Complication NONE. Patient tolerated procedure well.
Following signature.
Dr. Allen Hillel. Dr. Denenberg.
On March 11 1982 we were told that the operation began at 10:30 AM. At the same time the record shows that on 3-11-1982 at 6 AM the boy was on a monitor. From his mouth was dripping saliva "color: good." (I can send a copy of the document by mail or fax.)
It seems that fate is not very kind to my family.
During World War ll almost my entire family was tortured and murdered by the Nazis. After the war, when we got a chance, we ran away from the Communist regime, it was our dream that when we emigrated all that would have been history.
Hopeless Hope.
What happened during our son's March 11, 1982 48 hour disappearance behind the closed doors of Stanford Hospital? Was it just a tonsils operation?
On March 11 1991, it took seven hours under general anesthesia to remove the polyp from my right nostril. On this day I was turned into a "guinea pig" and became the object of a scientific experiment. The US Government is trying to cover up this crime.
So please help!
Just send a copy, fax, or E-mail of this letter to a friend, or someone you don't know, in the US or outside, or to a subcommittee of investigation, or to President Bill Clinton. He should know about this ugly story. Every American should.
At present time I'm working on my book which I am naming "Guinea Pig from Silicon Valley." If this ugly story will ever be printed you'll be able to find in it the details of this unprecedented medical experiment.
Sincerely,
Ed Kats
PS
Below are medical records of my family since we arrived as refugees to the land of promise, the USA.
Should I continue?
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