Drugged, Robbed, Assaulted, and Married By Fraud

In 1981 I first saw the disheveled, shambling old man who drugged, robbed, assaulted, and married me by fraud. He was walking toward me in a hallway at Motorola's semiconductor plant in Phoenix, Arizona, and I saw intent in his drugged eyes. I immediate walked another way. I found out where he worked, he ran some sort of governmental compliance facility for Motorola. Fortunately my technical support work did not involve compliance, so I avoided his area like the plague. Then a co-worker, a woman I barely knew, invited me to visit her in her trailer out in the desert. She was quite charming to me, drew me a map, and said that the desert was very beautiful, I should see it. I had just recently returned from Peace Corps service in the desert of Mali, West Africa and I did wonder how the American desert compared so I said that I would visit her. She lived in a large, comfortable trailer that was secluded in a pretty part of the desert. We talked a little and she offered me a drink which I drank without giving it a thought. I do not know what drug she put in it but it rendered me unable to act of my own volition. Those were the days before everyone became aware that there were drugs that make one unable to understand what is happening, unable to defend oneself, and unable to remember what has happened. That is what happened to me.

What I remember from the drug daze of the following weeks, was that the woman left the trailer, and the disheveled, shambling old man whom I had avoided so carefully at work came into the room where I was sitting in a stupor. He knelt on one knee and proposed marriage to me. I was not yet drugged enough to comply, which made him angry. The next impression I have is of being in a doctor's office with a doctor screaming at the disheveled, shambling old man, "!!!You gave her Thorazine (a prescription medicine for the treatment of schizophrenia)!!! Can you see what Thorazine has done to her? Get out of my office and don't come back!!!" If that doctor had called the police instead of screaming and shoving the problem away, someone could have removed me from that entrapment by drugging. I could do little more than sit and walk. I must have been an interesting living doll for that disheveled, shambling old man. The thought makes me feel deeply shamed, and I would never write about this but I am old now, and despite my concerted effort to avoid him, this was part of my life. Next I remember a judge shaking his head at me, he seemed to be saying, "No, no do not marry him." But I said yes because I could not think beyond what I was told, and the disheveled, shambling old man told me to say yes. Then a few days after he married me by fraud, Motorola laid off many of its workers, including him and me. That disheveled, shambling old man emptied my bank account, loaded my possessions into his travel trailer, and hitched it up to his Land Rover. He told me to get in or be left on the curb (with no money, no clothing, no phone, no ability to think, ...) When I finally got somewhere my parents could mail me money, I left that evil, disheveled, shambling old man and had that fraudulent marriage annulled. When I asked him why he had done this to me, he said, "I always wanted a woman like you." "I always wanted a woman like you." He was American Indian, 6'6", 300 pounds of sub-arctic Inuit, and he wore a dirty eagle feather in his long, braided hair*. He had a filthy mind and heart.

This is the truth.

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* When I asked him why he did not have an American Indian surname, he said that although his mother was Native American (true, because I once met that crazy old Native American woman who slapped me in the face the moment that I met her—she wanted me to get a job and support her son, all I wanted was to get away from him), and although his mother had been raped by an Inuit man who had been allowed to sleep on their back porch making him full-blooded Native American, to keep the family together he had been given his European heritage step-father's name.