A Man’s Story I am a survivor of Domestic Violence. I am a survivor who has been victimized by more events than I can possibly keep track of; even more by a system which regards men as little more than brutish troglodytes intent on subjugating all women. It began with a yearlong nightmare, leading up to an utterly unbelievable climax; I loved a woman and simply could not believe what I was allowing to happen to me. She became an entirely different woman, after we married, than the woman I had loved. She began making the most outrageous demands, accusations, and statements; all I could do at the time was to try to make sense of the whirlwind, and to beg her to believe my innocence...a losing battle, as I learned much too late. I was forced to quit a job I had held for over seven years, providing technical support for Edward Jones Investments; I had an outstanding reputation as a friendly, outgoing person whose sole objective was to get the job done right. I was forced to abandon the home on which I had recently closed a VA mortgage, so I could take care of her teenagers, whom she wanted to attend school in Colorado, rather than wait until she could return to Nebraska. That home has now been foreclosed on and it’s not likely I’ll ever own my own home again. It’s certain I can never get another VA mortgage. I am a Viet Nam-Era Veteran. I was accused of flirting any time I happened to see a woman; I was forced to avoid the Walmart in Pueblo West, CO, because my wife accused me of having an affair with one of the pharmacy employees -- to this day, I have no clue who she was talking about. I was accused of infidelity when she was working nights; yet her two teenagers were home with me all the while! I was forced to rush to her side while she was working in Lubbock, Texas, for three months, just to prove my innocence. Almost every weekend! In the end, after less than one year of marriage, I attempted to leave our home in Pueblo West; my wife had demanded I do so, insisting the marriage wouldn’t work. I can’t count the number of times she had said this, and I had begged her to see that it wasn’t true; the marriage could last. As I was packing to leave, she began throwing things at me; pouring sodas into the bags I was packing; putting first our dog, then our cat, into my car - a two-seat Mazda Miata - and opening the main garage door in an attempt to turn each loose on the street. She hit me - my booking photo shows the bleeding cuts under my left eye - and attacked me from behind with a pair of scissors, thankfully succeeding only in cutting my pants from waist to crotch, exposing me in front of her teens. She broke the key to her own car in the ignition to implicate me with a charge of criminal mischief. She tore my glasses from my face and threw them across the garage; then she lunged at my throat, tearing off two necklaces which were gifts from my Mother when I was 18 (one was a birthday present, the other a graduation present) and which I had worn for over 37 years. Not once during the year of abuses I took from her did I ever strike her. Not once during the abuse I endured in my attempt to leave did I strike her. My parents taught me much too well that no man has a right to strike any woman. Ever. But when she lunged at my throat, I reflexively put out my hand to prevent the injury I presumed was coming; she fell and bruised her knee. I have never seen the police report, but the Pueblo County Sheriff’s Deputies assured me that they would be arresting her the same day. They did not. I was bonded out after nine days; not sooner, because I had no way to contact anyone I knew. As I was leaving the detention center, I inquired as to the status of the Protection Order which was put in place following my arrest. I was assured by the Deputy in the Dispatch Office that the Protection Order had been lifted and that I could return home, finish packing, and leave. Believing my wife had posted my bond, I returned home. Before I could finish packing, she tearfully came into our bedroom and told me I couldn’t be there; that the Protection Order was still in place; and that it was my brother, not her, who posted my bond. She begged me to find a way to stop the whole situation and not go to court. I told her what I had learned in jail: that if she did not appear in court, the District Attorney would have no case to pursue. She swore she would not notify the police that I had unwittingly violated the Protection Order, but my gullibility is amazing sometimes. She asked again later via text message how to prevent the case from going to court and I replied as I had done earlier that day, that she simply need not appear in court. I was re-arrested the same day I was bonded out, on a charge of Protection Order Violation. I was bonded out a second time, after three more days in jail. Fortunately, I had my car now, so I did not have to deal with my deceiving wife. I appeared at every court date that had been scheduled; I even received the Court’s permission to leave Colorado to set up residence in Nebraska. My Public Defender told me all charges were going to be dropped because the District Attorney regarded the situation as “Mutual Battle” and not worth pursuing. Except for one little detail: the information I shared with my wife, “...just don’t show up…” now brought a Felony Witness Tampering charge. I was re-arrested, in the courtroom, and booked a third time into the Pueblo County Detention Center. This time I was bonded out by the friend with whom I had set up temporary residence in Nebraska. A few weeks after my third release from jail, my brother texted me, asking if I had missed a court date. I assured him I had not, since I had all my court dates rescheduled in order to return to work and earn enough money to make the trip to Colorado again. Nevertheless, I had missed a court date and two warrants had been issued by Judge Ruybalid. I contacted my Public Defender, who rushed to get the warrants cancelled that day. It was, after all, her fault for not notifying me of the new court date. The next morning, a pair of Fugitive Recovery Agents were at my door and refused to speak with my attorney. I was taken into custody and hauled away on a 650-mile trip. I believed everything would be cleared up once my Public Defender had a chance to speak with the bondsman, Dennis Blackwell. When we arrived in Pueblo, ten hours later, the Pueblo County Detention Center would not accept me because there were no arrest warrants. I was turned out on the streets of Pueblo, Colorado, wearing a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals. And not a penny in my pocket. The next morning, I sought help from Blackwell - my only contact at the time - for ideas on how to return to Nebraska. He slapped cuffs on me with nothing more than, “I don’t think you’re coming back for your next court date” and nothing to support that sort of claim. I spent the next ninety-eight days in jail, denied bond because Blackwell had revoked my most recent bond. It was clear that he simply wanted to steal my friend’s and my brother’s money. I was forced by circumstance to accept two plea deals; both misdemeanors, but also both criminal. I persuaded my Public Defender to offer time served on the lesser of two pending charges; she refused three times to present my offer and was shocked when the DA accepted. I am on probation until September 28, 2013, on the second charge. I had been making plans since 2008 to visit my father’s birthplace this year. September 17 would be his one-hundredth birthday if he were alive; I am glad he is not, so that he never saw his son arrested and held in jail for nearly 100 days, helpless. I may not be allowed to leave Bellevue, much less the United States, to honor my father as I had wished. My wife filed for divorce while I was in custody, then lied to the divorce judge about my personal belongings. Along with my dignity, I have now lost over $40,000 in household and personal effects. Until this unfolded, I was proud to have owned my father’s World War II Army rifle; as a soldier, he carried this weapon in the Pacific Theater of Operations and with the “Big Red One” of WWII fame. I also lost a 75-year-old set of ivory dominoes which he had given to me. I have lost not only my own belongings, but also the last links to my father. When I returned to Bellevue in October 2011, I was thrilled to have been offered three positions with salaries over $50,000 per year within my first week home! By the end of my first three weeks home in Bellevue, I had received ten such offers! Each time I mentioned my two criminal convictions, however, those offers vanished. I grew up knowing that truth mattered above all else; and I have always been forthcoming in my dealings with others. Unfortunately, as those lost opportunities demonstrate, the truth can sometimes cost a man as much as lies. I have attended Domestic Violence classes, as ordered by the Court; I attended regularly and told my story honestly. I engaged in dialogues with the other men in my group and maintained a proper attitude during every meeting. Everyone there, including the moderators, recognized I was the victim of several factors and institutions; not least of which is the misconception that the man is always at fault. I am finally recovering from the events of three years ago. Thanks to the VA’s Veterans Retraining Assistance Program, I am beginning a new career, attending Pharmacy Technician courses at Vatterott College in Omaha. I’ll be graduating in January 2014 with my second Associates Degree (my first is an Associate of Applied Science in Electronics Technology). My current GPA is 3.80, and I am on the Dean’s List; I was on the President’s List five 10-week phases in a row. I have been waiting since November, 2012, for the State of Nebraska to approve my Pharmacy Technician Registration/License; without this I may not even be allowed to practice. (Update: On 26 June, I contacted NE DHHS directly, for the umpteenth time, and received my license, No. 5121; I am officially a Registered Pharmacy Technician) And until I die, my name and reputation will remain tarnished by these events, and by the system which is supposed to protect victims. Colorado has no method of expunging or sealing the records of persons convicted of Domestic Violence. And the criminal must wait ten years to begin the process of seeking a pardon. I am 58 years old and I have always been a survivor. Now, I am a survivor of Domestic Violence.
Posted on: Wed, 24 Jul 2013 22:41:31 +0000
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