John Clark Pro Se Blog Actor, Producer & Writer



21342 Colina Drive, Topanga 90290


This was our home for 22 years, which I developed over that period. Its last sale price does not indicate that the property was the subject of litigation, and was the price realized upon its sale engineered by Lynn Redgrave who deserted it 3 years previously, partnered by Judge Gold standing in my shoes, who created a court order. I was evicted by the now discredited (described by Judicial Watch) corrupt Judge Gold of Los Angeles Family Court (now “retired”, meaning he works as a private judge – lol).

I sued the new owners who’d been waiting in the wings, the Katlemans. Also the real estate agent Melissa Oliver (conflict of interest), and the escrow company. The judge was anxious to grab funds which was easy, because I had no mortgage, and he signed off on it “as is”. There were no inspections that I’m aware of. Amazing how judicial orders can skate over proper procedures. My cases were dismissed, and I was charged the escrow company’s legal expenses for my efforts to get them to reveal the details. Over $12,000, 5 times what I received as my share of this “community property” (again, lol!). So much for real estate transfer laws, a pillar of a man’s rights in a free country.

Were they working in unison? At least I found out what they’d been doing to me under cover of secrecy. Only as a result of my litigation efforts, I got a statement. Later, Mr. Katleman took the front property’s address causing a visit by Malibu Building and Safety to the front guest house only to inspect it, and a deliberate diminution of its value. It was bought by Melissa’s real estate friend at a price less than what I had previously offered to the court .

My home’s address was always 21342 1/2. I was banned from entering the property, subjected to arrest, and in the dead of night Miyuki and I sneaked in in dark clothing, and rescued my diaries and records of my life. I then had a choice, before moving into my trailer to tow it to a trailer park. Burn the place down, become a Chris Dorner, or put a curse on it. I chose the latter. Gold put me in jail anyway, just for 24 hours to disable me before I could start my courtroom defense from the aggressors.

To the new buyers, be aware that the pool, which I dug, has no safety fence, and I did a whole lot of upgrading without permits, and buried huge amounts of trash on the grounds with my backhoe, as well as laying drains into a sewage pit and drain field under the car park. I also built the little studio near the tennis court without permits, also the tennis court and night lights.  I buried our dead guard dogs around the house, and their ghosts arise each night looking for intruders. The place has the smell of death and decay hanging in the air like a pall. Perhaps any new purchaser should call in an exorciser.  Demand to see all previous inspection reports if there are any, and insist on new independent ones. Look for the Devil in the details. Notice it’s right next to a huge park, full of small trees and brush, has no shelter from the sun, and sits under a steep slope which used to give me trouble from pelting rain, dust, and small rocks. Remember that a real estate agent has a duty of full disclosure.

Mr. Michael Katleman, my fellow DGA member, avoids coming to meetings at headquarters. I don’t blame him. He might run into me. I’d like to run into his pimply lawyer, because now I’d be ready for him.

EIGHT YEARS ON! is it really eight years?

Posted in Links to Cases & Litigants, Links to Courts & Judges, Links to legal, self-help sites, Links to new justice, MY EVICTION PICTURES, My FaceBook page, Subscribe

Me looking dazed after meeting Piers Morgan and Jerry Springer at the Britweek dinner at the Beverly Wilshire

Yes. It is now eight years since I started this site. My readers (I have a few, sustained without the help of advertisers) will have noticed that I am surrounded by eminent law-firms, and that this site is hosted by a very successful entrepeneur under the name of Lexblog. Why am I allowed to continue? They are not, after all, my peers, or at least, I am not one of them. So what am I? Do I serve a purpose, and why am I being allowed to continue? Continue Reading


The famous anti-semitic slurs of Mel Gibson sheds light on what goes on at this corner of law enforcement. Lost Hills 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.

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.


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.
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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.
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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?
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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.
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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.
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Miyuki and I sneak on to my property, thanks to my sweet old neighbors who let me hacksaw the padlock on a small connecting gate through which I used to send Annabel to collect their fresh-laid eggs. At the risk of discovery and arrest, we look around. It’s coming on to rain. There on my lawn is my 8 inch reflecting telescope. I’d been teaching my kids astronomy, a hobby of mine. You can spot most of Jupiter’s moons with it, and Saturn’s rings on a dark moonless Topanga night. Expensive “toy” now, obviously, of the goon caretaker; he’s left it out in the rain, and he’s not there. We take a good 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 an Igloo sitting on the floor of the tool-shed. Katleman. But isn’t he a fellow member of my Directors Guild, with a famous father? I am appalled. House isn’t sold, yet, is it? Is he staking his claim, prior to escrow closing?
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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 foreseen my survival, and I don’t think I would be around today except for her. Now she is my wife.
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