LOST HILLS POLICE STATION
The Mel Gibson event sheds light on what goes on at this corner of law enforcement. It takes care of Malibu and Topanga, and gives care to its celebrity residents. In my opinion, their behavior far outshines Gibson's in terms of legal affront and infamy. What happened to me was far worse, because it interfered with my case, and caused me to lose tens of thousands of dollars.
On September 10, 2001, I was scheduled to be evicted from my home by order of Judge Gold in Family Court.
As everyone knows, next day were the awful events of 9/11, and I was concerned about the welfare of three of my children who were living in Manhattan at the time. Lynn Redgrave I was not concerned about, she was filming in London.
On September 13, I was escorted off my Topanga home premises under the supervision of deputy Jeffries of Lost Hills Police Station.
Two days later, on Saturday September 15, I went to the gate of my premises to retrieve my car and some of my more urgent property, the kind you need when you are given only one hour to leave. Judge Gold had informed me that everything in the house belonged legally to me (also by his order), including 2 vehicles, so I had every right to enter. To protect my rights when I saw the array of people waiting in my driveway, I called Lost Hills to send a deputy,
I went to open my gate and was knocked to the ground by a young man whom I did not know. There were 4 men and 3 women present. It turned out that one of the women was, unbelievably, Lynn Redgrave, who had flown in from London to oversee my eviction, with her lawyer Emily Edelman giving orders on the other end of her cell phone.
2 patrol cars belatedly arrived, and I spoke to one of the deputies, and told him what had happened. He then spoke, not in front of me, to my celebrity now ex-wife Lynn Redgrave.
He then came back to me and said I could get one car only, and would have to leave.
Later that afternoon, I went to the desk at the Lost Hills police station, and informed them that I wished to file assault charges against this young man, whom I did not know. The officer (a woman) went in the back, then returned to say they would not allow me to do this, with no explanation offered. I then asked for a copy of the police report, which was denied. I protested, and was told to leave immediately, or I would be arrested.
The point of all this was that the police report would have revealed the name of the young man who assaulted me. I would have then known immediately that his name was Brandon Maggart jr., and that his brother, the other young man, was Garett Maggart, a television star, and his father, also present, was Brandon Maggart, Fiona Apple's father, whom I knew had been Lynn's lover. He was unrecognizable to me because at all times he had a video camera pointing at me to cover his face. (The others were agents of Coldwell Banker, including my tennis coach Ellen Goodman).
Several weeks went by before I quite by accident discovered in my mailbox the name of the assaulting young man in charge of my house and my history. Document.
I was to find later just how many of my possessions had disappeared, including all my camera equipment, and spent many more tens of thousands of dollars bringing lawsuits against Lynn, the Maggart family, Coldwell Banker, Ellen Goodman, Melissa Oliver, John Saver, Nicolette Hannah, Ernesto Hernandez, and film producer/director Michael Katleman (who bought my house through the court). They were dismissed by a judge in civil court who ruled that he wouldn't let me go forward on a fishing trip. The D.A. wasn't interested. So thanks, Lost Hills.
These events are shown more fully in my personally taken pictures at "MY EVICTION PICTURES" to the left.
Had I known at the time of the "secret" police report, I would have gone to court without delay, and withdrawn permission for Lynn to be in charge of the house. At that time I still assumed she was not hostile towards me.
I would like to remind everyone that the filing of a false police report, or a report based on false evidence, is a felony. Was it filed by the police officer with knowledge that it was false? If nothing was filed because it never got written up, which is probably what they will claim, then that would be a departure from established procedures, when police answer an emergency call.
Perhaps, now that the Mel Gibson arrest has spotlighted practices at the station, supervised by police Captain Tom Martin, Sheriff Lee Baca might like to use my incident as part of his inquiries. And, dare one ask, Los Angeles County supervisors Yvonne Braithwaite Burke and Zev Yaroslavsky, I know they are waiting for results. Again, the date was Saturday, September 15, 2001.
The practices at Lost Hills police station need to be investigated at the highest levels without more ado, and their procedures made transparent for all to see. As it is, they, the law enforcers, are trampling on the civil rights of the general public and ordinary citizens like me.
Remember, start from the bottom
We're off to a DGA Awards dinner. We're both dressed in our traditional costumes. And we had a good time
Annabel and me the last time I saw her. She was my Cinderella. Her 2 older siblings were the Ugly Sisters, my son declaring to the court that I probably would enjoy being in prison, and my older daughter telling the court that I never took my wife out for good restaurant meals, and wouldn't let her buy new clothes, and that my need for support was minimal (the declarations to the court being prepared by the divorce designer lady, of course!) Well, now Annabel's joined them. "I am my mother's daughter", is what I hear now, from the new book on breast cancer just out. A pity. Please remember me to her if you see her. She was my favorite daughter.
My pilot son Benjy with his kids. I actually got to meet my grandchildren this once, recently. Thanks Benjy
Or here?
I'm left to fight the battle in the courts. But where are my documents? Here?
So 2 months later, it all became clear. An invoice in my mailbox addressed to Brandon Maggart at my house on Colina Drive. So THAT'S what it's all about, THAT'S who's been sleeping in my bed, THAT'S who's been in charge of packing up the house, THAT'S why so much is missing! THAT'S the identity of the young man whose name I was prevented from knowing due to the withheld police report from Lost Hills police station.
What's this? The address is changed! Used to be 21342.
Investigation reveals that an address change requires Building and Safety to come in to inspect for code violations. And "my" agent, Melissa Oliver, knew there were some. So she brought him in, and he served notice that there would have to be demolitions made. She wrote to tell me. Which would drive down the price, of course.
Were demolitions made? Is the Pope Polish? RICO anybody?
My tennis court, a few weeks later, horse corrals in the background
The entrance comes down. New people are moving in.
So my main house on 4 acres adjoining Topanga State Park, with a private entrance, (debt free, no mortgage) was sold to Katleman for $1.25 million, and my front guest-house/studio on 1 acre with a koy pond and an ancient California oak for $450 thousand to real estate agent Melissa Oliver's friend, another real estate agent named Linda Gindout, who reps Topanga Properties. Oh, the court made sure I received a net check for just $2,616.03 as my share of this "community property" after deduction of all expenses, including their attorneys' fees classified as sanctions against me. I didn't get a statement, the court kept it, as it signed everything in my shoes when I refused. The low prices reflect the absence of buyers due to the recent events of 9/11, and the need for speed to create and cherry-pick the escrow, which became the piggy bank made available to all by about-to-retire Judge Arnold Gold.
This is the Los Angeles Family Court system. More, this is America, folks.
My studio, where we rehearsed our plays, put together our projects, and where I hope to restart my career as a photographer. Except all of my photo equipment was stolen, and I know who is responsible, because of the knowledge of the hidden cupboard keys. Can I prove it?
Not yet I can't.
My bar in the billiard room, invoking memorable parties
This was my kitchen
My library, what's left of it . . . .
I sneek on to my property, at the risk of discovery and arrest, to look around. My first thought is that with all of the destruction to the character of my place, the new owner has no taste. Then I find out who it is, there's his name on his Igloo sitting on the floor of the tool-shed. Katleman. But isn't he a fellow member of my Directors Guild? I am appalled.
As for my possessions, here they may be found, on the way to somewhere
From my neighbor's house I spot Lynn through the fence. Will Judge Gold get to accuse me of stalking her? Wonder if she spots me? I don't think so.
Here's Miyuki with me in my trailer. She's been my very best friend, staying with me throughout most of my ordeal. I don't think my enemies could have forseen my survival, and I don't think I would be around today except for her. Now she is my wife.
The wound, now not very impressive
Back at the trailer, I show my wound
I went back to my gate which is now closed, and this is what I see. Jon Saver, ready to drive out. The gates open. But I had already called for the police to come, and Miyuki is behind me waiting for them.
So I stood in his way, like the brave student at Tienanmen Square, his tank-like SUV ready to run over me. Adrenalin would have taken care of the pain, but he didn't have the guts or the stupidity to do it.
Then the cops arrived, spent a few seconds with me, a few minutes with Lynn, then curtly told me to leave.
That evening, Miyuki and I went to the Lost Hills sheriff's station to file a complaint, obtain a police report, and get the names of the police who came. I got nothing, other than an order to leave or I'd be arrested for trying to file a false report. Celebrity favors? Thank God for witnesses, even if only Hostile Witnesses.
Miyuki's in the road, looking out for the cops. I am bleeding from above my wrist, I go to her, and she, with tears in her eyes, licks off the blood and kisses my wrist. How can one get mad about that?
But there goes the evidence to show the cops!
This goon is about to knock me down. The police are about to arrive. All hell breaks loose
A goon on the left and a goon on the right, come towards me.
Later I find out this is actor Garrett Maggart, with his brother's back to me. Then, they were just strangers
Mr. Brandon Maggart, tho' I didn't know it at the time. He wisely stuck an empty video camera in front of his face so I wouldn't recognize him. A smart ass and a wise guy.
My last sight of my wife evicting me just after 9/11. My high noon. Hey, actors, want to study body language?
And so my terrorists come just 5 days after the 9/11 ones. Yet this is America.
From Left, Jon Saver of Coldwell Banker, who testified that I should be evicted; Ellen Goodman, my friend and Malibu tennis coach also with a real estate licence, who disappeared after I served her with a good subpoena to come to court to counter Saver's testimony, my ex Lynn Redgrave masterminding the event, and Garrett Maggart, Brandon's son. Note that at this time I did not recognize the Maggarts or know of their involvement.
So this was my home for six months after they had me evicted. It could have been worse, but it was not my choice.
I filed for a Lis Pendens, a warning to a buyer that there is pending litigation, but Judge Gold would not let me do this, so here is my last resort. A buyer would need to know that any possible future ownership would be loaded with problems. I hope they still know that to be true. For one, there's now a curse on both their houses. My camper was my first temporary home outside the gate. Coldwell Banker certainly didn't like me at all.
My bed! Soon to be occupied by the stranger who will knock me over!
Our dog Hermia and new pups, later to be evicted too, to a filthy kennel in Burbank. Luckily for them and me, my neighbor Barbara came to the rescue, and has taken care of them ever since at her home nearby
My 12 ft. English billiard/snooker table, a Burroughs & Watts antique imported from England. A gift from my wife. Is this what it was made for, to sort my legal papers?
My guesthouse studio. A good buy, for somebody
Here we see Ellen Goodman,tennis coach from the Malibu Tennis Club, Zachary, and his friend Derek having their regular tennis lesson
My swimming pool, a delightful retreat for me and my friends and the kids in the neighborhood. Sorry, no more.
My custom kitchen, heaven to cook in, and an unmatched view while doing the dishes
My quiet and restful living room, tended with loving care, and now destroyed
The wondrous entrance to my property, built by my movie designer friend Trevor Williams
The view from my lawn with my solar heated pool and my lighted tennis court, and Catalina Island to be seen far off on a clear day
I take Miyuki to see the Queen Mary. A strange sadness comes over me, because I traveled on her for her final voyage from New York to Southampton in 1967
The day I met my new wife-to-be when she flew in to meet me at LAX. Little did she know what she was getting into. She tells me that Japan has a quite different legal system. I hope so.
The Twin Towers, where the kindly Judge Arnold Gold put me the day before I was supposed to appear in court, representing myself.
Let it be known to all who come to the Los Angeles Superior Court for resolution of their problems that on the wall to the right of the filing office entrance are the contractual guarantees of this same court. And be sure to read this site.
