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At the beginning of this big file, some things were not clearly explained due to the fact that it was translated by my 12 year old daughter at the time. Once parts of this file had been typed, we never went back to edit it. However, the further down you go, the more years went by and so the file is better explained. In the beginning, I always spoke of my political problems thinking this is where most of the problems were coming from. However, since the file was badly carried out, we realized it was sabotage by someone in the highest level of the CIA, either a spy or a corrupted person. In the end, you can understand that the political problems never interested them but it was especially the children they wanted to destine for sexually perverted people. Also, keep in mind that when we use the term "Secret Service" or "Secret Service Agencies", what we really mean is Intelligence Agencies such as the CIA, KGB, DST, etc... This is the term used in Europe. Unfortunately, here in the United States the Secret Service has nothing to do with intelligence operations, they simply protect the President.
Welcome to our website and the discovery of this incredible story --- a real family tragedy, rarely found throughout the world. The political persecutions in this story occurred in France and in the United States, two countries fighting over the title "Champion of Liberty and Human Rights." Many of our pictures and documents have disappeared from our archives. Yet, we have tried to present to you as much as possible, to show to you the authenticity of this file, and to prove that it is not just the simple work of a paranoid person. This file was never written as an easy-reading novel, but as a documentary, always written in moments of extreme urgency. My daughter, Corinne, who was 12 years old at the time, translated the first draft from French to English in 1990. In August of 1990, we personally presented it to the White House; and later, from time to time, as necessary, we added events as they occurred. The Beginning
At the age of 17 years and one month, my father quit architectural school and left Yugoslavia to go to Western Europe. Later, he started having problems with the Yugoslavian Secret Service, because they wanted him to work for them. His great-uncle and uncle were already working. His great-uncle's wife worked as a secretary at the U.S. Embassy in Belgrade. At 19 years of age, my Dad returned to Yugoslavia and was put in the Army in an effort to change his ideas and to "make a good Yugoslav of him." Because of pressures, in 1972, he deserted the army for Germany.
Knowing that he was a military person, the German police came and forcefully returned him to Yugoslavia one night without any witnesses. At the airport in Yugoslavia, he managed to avoid customs, escaped, arrived in France, and received political asylum during the Pompidou era.
In 1974, President Pompidou died, the government changed, and the new government had very good cooperation links with Eastern Europe. In 1975, my Dad received a letter from someone in Yugoslavia telling him to beware, for he would be kid-napped by the Yugoslavian Secret Service. He noticed that the French police held its parties at the Yugoslavian restaurant SARAJEVO, and that the Yugoslavian Consulate of Marseilles paid for the bills, so he knew that both had good relations. However, in 1976, my father asked protection from the French Secret Service, the D.S.T. When my father realized he had spoken too much, it was already too late, because he understood that the French and Yugoslavian Secret Service cooperated. His great-uncle came from Yugoslavia and tried to get him to leave France for Germany, but my father refused. Many other things happened, but it would take too much time to detail. His friend, Mr. Olmiccia told him, "For your security, it would be better for you to sleep at my hotel".
November 20, 1976, Mr. Olmiccia was busy at the Republican Party Meeting. My Dad took care of the hotel for him. In Mr. Olmiccia's absence, at the entrance of the hotel, my Dad found a package. When he opened it, everything exploded --- and my father became blind. Many things happened afterwards, but there is no doubt left that there was a cooperation between the French and Yugoslavian Secret Service. A few examples: The owner of a Yugoslavian restaurant in Marseilles, said that my Dad had stolen his keys to the restaurant so that he could place the bomb when the Yugoslavian Consulate came to eat. When it was clear that my father was going to stay alive, the owner found his keys. My grandparents had come from Yugoslavia and were threatened by three men who tried to scare them from Marseilles, because they said that their presence was annoying. While my Dad was still in a coma, all of the newspapers said that he had manipulated the bomb to place it in the Yugoslavian Consulate. If my Dad lived, it was only through a MIRACLE! In February 1977, the French Secret Service “blocked” the surgery for his eyes, and at the same time surgery was offered in Yugoslavia. After my Dad's accident, the office of Private Detectives that was 25 feet in front of the hotel moved. In March, at their new location, a bomb exploded in their office. My Dad was at the hospital when he learned this from the newspapers. [Between 1976-1977, and the years afterwards, 800-1000 bombs exploded per year in France.]
My father stayed in France, married, and had two children. For many years, the French Secret Service caused us a lot of trouble. They wanted to separate my Mom and Dad; so that alone, my Dad could be "more easily returned." My grandparents in Yugoslavia were pressured to bring my Dad back to Yugoslavia. Thus, the secret services would not be involved and it would be considered a family problem. To protect ourselves, we often changed door locks, put a metal roll-up door on our porch, and bought a Newfoundland dog. Despite many complications, for several years, we managed to save ourselves. We had hope that one day they would forget us, so that we could live in peace. Our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Olmiccia, were caused many problems and divorced. Lawyer and friend, Mr. Blanchot, also had problems. Later he left Marseilles, even though he was an election candidate and part of the Republican Party.
In 1979, the director of the French D.S.T. left for a vacation in Yugoslavia, along with the owner of the Yugoslavian restaurant. May 1981, the Socialist government came to power, and the Yugoslavian Consulate in Marseilles, closed its doors. For us, the difficulties became greater, and in 1982, my Dad said that it was the cooperation of the two secret services. It was too much, and they decided to kill him in a car accident. They prepared everything while we wrote to the director of the Secret Service, Mr. Marcel Chalais, and to the Minister of the Police, Mr. Gaston Deferre, but we never received a response (Mr. Deferre, Mayor of Marseilles, had also become Minister of the Police).
The Yugoslavian restaurant was sold to someone else and we had to protect ourselves. My Dad sent a letter to all the newspapers that permitted us to earn some time. We filled our van and trailer, and with my grandmother, we left for Spain. In Spain, many times, big trucks tried to force us of the road; and, at night, someone pierced our tires while we were parked on a parking lot twice. In Morocco, they did not want to let us in. My father remembered: In January 1981, President Reagan said, "While I am president of the U.S.A., the friends of the U.S. will not be abandoned anymore." Many things that we have just written were confirmed by my grandparents from Yugoslavia on the telephone April 21, 1988.
In November 1982, we sent the van and trailer by ship, and we arrived by plane in New York on November 19, 1982. Customs of New Jersey kept the van and trailer for two days. Once after, they apologized for having kept them so long, but it was due "to information received from France." Information that came from France? We do not know everything that was sent, but we have certainly guessed at what was sent --- though we could be wrong. They probably said that we came here for an adventure, that we left Europe for fear of war, that we wanted to become rich, that we came here for surgery, that we are Polish spies, and that my mother speaks Polish. What we can tell you is that my mother has a picture of her father in U.S. uniform during World War II, and that he was a hero. He was born in France in 1923, and still has scars on his body from the war. My mother does not speak one word of Polish, and to reply to some of the other things sent would be stupid. My grandparents from Yugoslavia, who were manipulated, wrote to the White House greatly. They said that we came here to the U.S. so that rich Americans could adopt the children. The most interesting event is when the Yugoslavian Secret Service sent a lady to the U.S. Embassy in Belgrade, saying that she was my dad's first wife and asked them to return him to Yugoslavia. My father was NEVER married before, and my grandparents from Yugoslavia confirmed that on April 21, 1988.
After being 3 1/2 years in the U.S., my father finally found out that he had been made to pass as a previously married man. The reports the C.I.A. obtained and used have always said that my Dad had married in Yugoslavia. If the C.I.A. were to admit today that their reports are false, they would be obliged to admit that for the past 30-40 years, they have deported hundreds and hundreds of Yugoslavian people to Yugoslavia, wrongly because they based themselves on those reports. I have already said that my dad's great-uncle works for the Yugoslavian Secret Service and his wife was secretary for the U.S. Embassy. The first president that understood that danger was President Reagan, when he changed the law and said that only American citizens should work at the U.S. Embassies and Consulates in Eastern Europe.
The Yugoslavian Secret Service knows that my Dad is tough, that he knows their system of working, and that it is too risky to wait and hope that Immigration will deport him to Europe. Yugoslavian agents live in Yugoslavian colonies to be better able to watch the activities of their people in the U.S. When they want to kid-nap someone, they need only know what city or neighborhood one lives in, and maybe just the color of one's car or house. With those little bits of information, they split into teams and search. The rest is easy. My Dad has proof that he was to be kid-napped in Clarksville, Tennessee, but we left for Smokey Mountain just in time. The second time was in James Island, near Charleston, S.C., in September of 1983; but we were not at great risk because we didn't have a house, we lived in our van, and could never be found in the same place. To protect ourselves the third time, my father tried to trick them by making them think we were living in St. George (50 miles from Charleston), but we were actually at a house in Red Top, on HWY 17 South. Since they did not find us, suddenly, in the spring of 1985, my grandfather's cousin had supposedly arrived in Chicago, on his way to Florida, and he needed our address to visit. My father never gave them the address. My grandfather was very angry and asked us, "How many miles do you live from Charleston?" They realized that my father was being very careful, and they stopped looking for us for a while. My father notified the U.S. Secret Service in August 1986, but as I have already said, our file is sabotaged, and the U.S. Secret Service makes up problems where there should not be any. Around Christmas in 1989, my father found Mr. Rade Mihajlovic, who is an officer of the Yugoslavian Consulate or Embassy in Washington, D.C. (He lives in Silver Spring, 18 miles from the White House.) My Dad played dumb with him. During 1990, several times, Mr. Rade wanted to know everything possible, and my Dad informed him very well. My Dad told him stories: that he used to work with wood, but now he makes cookies and sandwiches and sells them for lunch, that in the morning they drop the children off at school and then go to work, the business is only 10 miles from the house, that he doesn't live in Charleston, but 10 miles south on HWY 17, etc... Several months later, in April of 1990, Rade told my Dad, "I went by to Florida and wanted to stop by your house, but you didn't live 40 miles from Interstate 95. So once more, my father supposedly gave him directions and sent him back onto HWY 162. However, all of this does not interest the American Secret Service, because they have another world in their minds. In Yugoslavia, they had lost their patience and did not know how to bother us anymore. My Dad asked my grandparents for a few little garden plants that cannot be found in the U.S. In January of 1989, we received more than 160 grape plants in a box sealed by the Yugoslavian Customs. They were sure that it would cause my father a lot of trouble here. It did not cause us anything, and in February, they sent us a second package with branches of a sick tree contaminated with a disease. The box was addressed to Charleston, S.C. The Yugoslavian Postal Service sent it to Jamaica, knowing that a package coming from Jamaica would be opened for sure and it would cause us trouble. Since our arrival in the U.S., the French Secret Service has also done its best to cause us trouble. In the spring of 1984, Mr. Chi Diep, who lives in Charleston, brought a man and a woman who had come from France to our home to show them that we were made to live in misery. After we had left France, Mr. Olmiccia left Marseilles and went to Paris to work in an import-export agency. Within a couple of months, he found himself in jail. Mr. Olmiccia's mother, 81 years of age at the time, told us on the telephone, "The lady that was with my son left him and now lives with the police inspector of Marseilles. My son had all the police on his back. The import-export agency where he worked accused him and said he was guilty of fraud and they put him in jail." (Mr. Olmiccia was in the Republican Party in Marseilles, as you may recall, and he had a lot of enemies. It should be enough to say that the Mayor of Marseilles was also the Minister of the Police.) Later, he wrote to us from jail, and we could see very well that somebody had asked him to write what he wrote. In his letter, we found many provocations such as: "I know a boy that comes from the Eastern countries, I have a friend that must leave the jail of Hamburg, I even have a possibility to come to America." My Dad knew that it was the D.S.T. that had asked him to write that letter to show Americans that French "gangsters" were coming behind us. It is enough to see the handwriting and vocabulary to know that a man with high education wrote the letter. (Later, when he got out of jail, he wrote to us right away and he said that his story was a political one, and all was set-up by Mr. Gaston Deferre and the Mafia.) My father answered him well, all the while reminding him of the truth of his political affair. While he was in jail, he did not write to us anymore, but we received a short anonymous letter warning us: "Do not return to France. If you do, you will be arrested." My Dad said that it was the French D.S.T. testing the reaction of the Yugoslavian Secret Service. In 1985, several things that my father and mother said in the house echoed back in France and Yugoslavia. The difficulties we had in our everyday life did not permit us to follow the details closely. However, we did notice that the letters that came from our families from France and Yugoslavia were mailed on either the same day, or one day apart. Someone either directed the families, or they had contact between each other, but we never knew. My father sent six audiotapes to my grandparents in Yugoslavia, which took a long time to reach them. He told all of the truths on the audio, although he knew they already knew. My grandmother told us on the telephone, "All you said is true, but you said a lot of things that I could not have said." In 1986, the French Secret Service sent us a couple, Mr. Pierre and Mrs. Charlotte, that came to our house in Hollywood to once more see our misery.
In July of 1986, the spring of the gearbox of our van broke. The American Secret Service impeded us from getting it repaired, so we asked both of our families to mail us a spring for it. Our family in France said they could not find it, and in Yugoslavia, they kept us waiting from one month to the next. My Dad understood, and he told my mother to wait and see: March 23, 1987, my father wrote to Pierre and Charlotte in France (the couple that the D.S.T. sent us in 1986) saying, "I do not understand these Americans anymore, they do not want us to get our green card, and at the same time they say that for our security, it is better not to drive the van." The week after, we called my grandfather in Yugoslavia, and he told us, "We got the spring for the gearbox and we are sending it to you." When we received it, the receipt was enclosed and we saw that they had purchased it four months earlier. In the fall of 1986, my father put in a complaint to the United Nations regarding the problems that we had had. In his letter, he mentioned the political cooperation of West and East Europe. In March 1987, we often saw a man of Russian origin around our house. He tried getting into the house when my father was alone. One day, my father recognized his accent and warned the American Secret Service. The man never came back. Important to say: In January of 1983, while living in Clarksville, Tennessee, a Russian lady by the name of Helene Pertuis came to our house. One day, my mother saw her leaving our little dead-end street. She had not come to visit and could not explain to us what she had been doing there. My Dad warned the U.S. Secret Service, but they already knew her long before us. The first visit we had in our first home in Charleston, was again a Russian person who owns ABC Air Conditioning, and a little later, he brought his Russian friend, as well. After we had lived just one or two weeks in our second home in Hollywood, we had a visit from a Russian lady. She bought a toy from us and took a very good look at our house, and we never saw her again. Since we have been in the U.S., we have spoken of the cooperation between Eastern and Western Europe, causing the KGB to become worried that one day the U.S. Secret Service WILL discover the truth. The week after, the landlord made us leave. Later, they lodged us at Charleston Housing in the middle of a tough neighborhood, without possibility of us choosing where we wanted to live, nor giving us any possibility of working. Later still, they put us on television and in newspapers. They were hoping that someone would search for us, and anyone would be quickly spotted. That is child's play, and it is true when we tell you that our file is in sabotage. April 21, 1988, my grandparents from Yugoslavia spoke with my father on the telephone for 45 minutes confirming all of the things that we had lived through in France, but were scared to speak about the things that happened in Yugoslavia. During the conversation, someone in Yugoslavia broke in and said, "Enough, enough, enough!" A week or two later came a big surprise. My grandfather said, "Clairvoyant Mrs. Dragica saw your house and said that it was low in the kitchen, the children are all around you, etc... Before you told us, she had said that you were going to move and that one of the children was going to get hurt." My father asked, "How long ago did she say that one of the children was going to get hurt?" "About 2-3 weeks." Unbelievable, but true, 2-3 weeks ago, my Mom had called her family in France and said, "I brought Camille to the hospital because she opened up her forehead when she fell." Thus, maybe that part could be explained. However, what about the part of the house and us needing to move? Only Pierre and Charlotte and the D.S.T. knew that. Pierre and Charlotte live in northern France, our family in the south, and they do not know our family. All that we can tell you about Mrs. Dragica, is that she profits from the information given to her by the Yugoslavian Secret Service. Two weeks later, my grandfather told us that he was awaiting a very, very important visit, and from that day on, they never told us anything more. WE were always the ones that tried to find ways to prove the truth in our file. The most interesting is what Lawyer Shepperd told us: that the French Consulate had informed him my father was supposed to serve eight months of prison for bounced checks. He was supposedly sentenced March 15, 1985. We arrived in the United States in November 1982, and 29 months later they sentenced him??? Anyways, October 1983, Mrs. Prouvost, agent of the French Consulate in Charleston, sent my dad's passport for extension to Washington, D.C. My father's passport was extended for an additional six months instead of the usual two years. The French Consulate said that Paris had forbidden them from extending it any more. If my father had any bounced checks, 11 months later they would have known and would have refused to extend his passport. Interestingly enough, several months later our family from France told us that my Mom's cousin Georgette chose the bank where my Mom's sister works to open up her account. (In Marseilles, there are at least 100 bank agencies.) At the bank, someone supposedly made a mistake and put an extra 70,000 Francs (11,700.00 dollars) on her account. She took out all the money and made a tour of France, while writing false checks for 550,000 Francs (more than 90,000.00 dollars). There is a big chance that our family told us this story at somebody's command. For the story to be true, collaboration with the director of the bank or somebody even higher would have been necessary. Already in 1982, all banks had changed their computer systems to reduce abuse. Checkbooks now contained no more than 25 checks. One could not receive a new checkbook without the previous one clearing through completely. To write out over 550,000 Francs through checkbooks would require the use of over 30 checkbooks. The story was only to cause us difficulties here. In 1984, my mother asked my grandmother to send us a copy of her father's military book. Two weeks later, we called her back, and my grandmother said that a couple of days prior, they had left the house for a day, and somebody had come in. She said, "It seemed as though they were looking for something, but that they didn't find it, and we can't see anything big missing." Over the years we have accumulated quite a few proofs through mail and over the telephone, so that we can prove that what we said is true. However, the person that takes care of our file in the U.S. has only one goal: To hurt us and make us leave as soon as possible so that our file is forgotten. My father helped my mother deliver my three sisters and brother. In April 1983, we were in the Smokey Mountains when the Immigration Service prohibited us from selling our toys. They wanted us to start selling so that they could pick us up and deport us. They watched us pick wild grass by the side of the road to make a salad to eat, and how my brother, who was only two months old, did not even have any milk to drink, but drank tea in a bottle. We were refused milk for my brother. For their sadistic pleasure to be complete, they came with four police cars to take my brother away by force on an excuse that he was sick. They did not know what "illness" he had, and only after the fourth day in the hospital did they say that he had a little urinary infection. Of course, lying naked on a hospital bed, with an air conditioner, was the only place he could have developed that. Proud of their exploit, they published several articles in the newspapers. The story finished, my brother was not an American citizen anymore, but French and they made us leave for Canada.
At the border, an immigration officer said that it was not possible that we were leaving America with an American child, because we were priority for permanent residence, and he made us go back. We were passing through Charleston, South Carolina, when Mr. Chi Diep (accompanied by French Professor Mr. Bradford) offered their hospitality. They gave us their telephone numbers and said that there was another friend, Mr. Harlan Patton that works not far from where we were, and the here in Charleston was Mrs. Prouvost, agent of the French Consulate, and there was also an immigration office. We needed an extension for the Visa and also my dad's passport. Thus, we decided to remain in Charleston, at least for the time being.
A little later the problems started. Our tires were pierced five times. The Christmas package of 33 pounds that my grandfather from Yugoslavia sent, was only 3 or 5 pounds when we received it, and we spent our Christmas and winter waking up to icicles hanging from the ceiling in the morning, because we had no heater at all. In January 1984, we repaired an old house, and at night, somebody connected the electricity in the house. The next morning, my mother, eight and one-half months pregnant, was electrocuted. Things were stolen from our house, our piano was broken, miseries of all kinds performed. By the pool where we children played, my mother picked up razor blades a couple of times. Five times, I walked on big rusty nails that were put around the house.
One night at 10:20 p.m., on the parking lot in Jesup, Georgia, somebody shot against the van while we were in it. The ones that were most afraid were my little sister Catherine, who was four months old, and my brother Despot, who was fifteen months old. We called the police, and they promised to bring us a police report. The next morning, two civil agents came and ordered us to leave right away. We came back later and still got the police report. Later, in Hollywood, South Carolina, we found snakes several times in our home, and needles in the children's clothes, types of needles that were certainly not ours.
Fifteen to twenty times our water well was broken. When any of us children were sick, treatment was refused at the county clinic. I entered school three months late because we were told, "American schools are only for American citizens." In 1985, immigration judge, Judge Auslander, at a hearing, kept saying, "C.I.A. report, C.I.A. report, C.I.A. report." Knowing that my father had political asylum in France, he still decided to deport him to Yugoslavia, my mother, my sister Caroline and I to France, and my four brother and sisters to remain here for adoption with the Social Services in South Carolina. I asked my father to explain what he meant by a C.I.A. report, and my father said that when a judge does not know something, he asks people who know even less than he does. He said that they think that they found Yugoslavians in Yugoslavia that like America better than my father who lives here. In Yugoslavia, the Yugoslavs are paid by their government, they fulfill their military service, they go to school there, and marry Yugoslavian people. "I left when I was seventeen years old, I deserted their army, I married a French woman, and I have children who are French and American citizens." In 1984, the Department of Social Services refused to give us any assistance. After my parents left us at the Department of Social Services, they found a way to give Food Stamps to the two American citizens. In October of 1985, they cut off everything. In 1986, after Pierre and Charlotte from France (sent by the French D.S.T.) came to see us and left, Social Service gave us back our rights. In 1986, the owner of the house tried to make us leave right away, but we were lucky because we had a contract that obliged him to notify us six months in advance. In the fall of 1986, they found us a duplex home and all of the rooms had little holes in the ceiling. In 1987, a young military couple moved in next to us, and one night at 8:45 p.m., they came asking for urgent help. A skinny man about 40 years old, had gotten his fingers stuck as he had been coming down from the ceiling (after observing us from the attic), the trap closing over them. Thus, he was hanging from the ceiling, his feet pedaling in the air. It was my Dad and his tools that saved him, but the man still looked at us full of hatred. Two days later, somebody broke our van, maybe because we had laughed too much. In March, the landlord wanted the apartment empty and told us that we had to leave within two weeks, despite our insistence to pay higher rent. We searched for a house or apartment everywhere, but everyone knew of nothing, and if anything was open, it was refused to us.
In January 1988, we were in the newspapers, and many people came to help us. Two months later, it had not changed a thing. In July 1988, a church paid for a medical visit for my dad's eyes. MIRACLE! Dr. Sharpe from Mt. Pleasant discovered that my dad's retina and optic nerve were still alive, and that he could regain his sight. Several operations would be needed, and it would become very expensive. My father said that he did not have the money and was not planning to ask anyone for anything. Several people came and said that they would help, but first we had go to John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. When we went, they pulled out a magnifying glass, looked, and said that they couldn't do anything. They also threw very powerful flashes at his eyes to kill the optic nerve. To not have any proofs of tests, they put the electrode not on the back of the head, but on the wrist. Many other events occurred, but we are only listing the most important. In 1988, we rented a little piece of land from Mr. Furman, and we put some animals on it (geese, ducks, and chickens). In November 1988, it started with two ducks drowning in a bucket that contained a very small amount of water. Little by little, somebody killed several dozens of animals, and by the summer of 1989, we had nothing left. The hardest was for my little brother and sisters, because there were often some very unpleasant things to see, such as the innards of animals spread across the fencing. In 1989, we rented another piece of land very far from Charleston, and we never told anyone where it was. We planted 300 plants, but the plants were poisoned. We planted seeds in 20 15-gallon pots and covered them with wire screen; but someone dug out all of the seeds. It was a terrible waste of time and effort, and when they had nothing else to destroy, they cut the water hose.
When people started to believe us and have a good opinion about us, we were either made to move, or those people were separated from us. In December 1989, an attorney helped us obtain an 1-94 enabling my father to work. We were ready to forget everything and start living a peaceful life. However, the problems started when the Department of Social Services took away the Food Stamps and the AFDC because somebody had called them anonymously and said that we had sold some toys. So, they discontinued all benefits and wanted to know what we had sold. We could not go to school, and the priest from our school helped us for the third time. It took us a week to find all the receipts, and we had to send them everything. Then, it took fifteen days for them to return everything to normal.
In January, my father obtained a retail tax license and a business license. We started organizing and setting up our business. Mr. Ray Embry ordered a large cabinet with 48 drawers. We obtained a quote on the price of the wood from Southern Lumber. Three days later when we went to buy it, supervisor Mr. Will found all excuses possible and refused to sell it to us. We ordered a rubber stamp for our business from a place in North Charleston, and they too almost refused selling it to us. A man asked us to reproduce 100 replacement banisters for his home because they had been broken by Hurricane Hugo. Two months later we delivered the order and he was very happy because they were nicer than the originals he had.
We often went to visit our former neighbor, Mr. Lewis Murray. Mr. Murray had spent all of his money to purchase an enormous amount of land for his horses, which he dearly loved. We began to notice that he was not doing well because he had no money to live and his pick-up truck was broken. At the beginning of March, he refused all help. My mother and father were worried, and March 11, a Sunday night, we went to see him. He was lying in bed, sick, had nothing to eat, and neither did the dogs. A few oranges that we had with us were not enough. We quickly went to buy some groceries, but on our way back it was already dark. My father, my sister, and I jumped over the gate and we brought him several bags of food and a 40-pound bag for the dogs. It was a very dark night and we lost our way several times in the fields; but 45 minutes later, we had traveled the couple mile path to his mobile home on the edge of the forest. When he saw meat, milk, and fresh vegetables, he was very happy. We asked everybody for some help for this man. We called the Social Service office in Walterboro. Mrs. Ramsey gave $200 so he can have electricity and $40 for food. March 15, I did not go to school. We brought him food, sheets, blankets, and we took care of setting up a big barrel for fresh water. We had to wait for him to arrive, because a man had already come to get him to pick up some cans of food and clothes. When we came to visit him, March 18, a lady was bringing him back to his home. He was now receiving aid from the Veterans Service and was doing well. We now turned to take care of ourselves also. Our van was beginning to have quite a few problems: the brake circuit and master piston broke. The clutch booster circuit broke. We had never seen anything like this before. Since we had begun taking our van to Star Motor Service for a little inspection, it suddenly had quite a few problems. An old Cadillac had been given to us, but we had to have it repaired 15 times. The last time, my father told Star Motor Service that the alternator was wrongly connected. Mr. Stephan said, "If this little light comes on, everything is fine." We took the car to Carolina Auto Electric and they had hard time believing that a mechanic had connected the wiring, because everything in the wiring was wrong. This time, we had to repair the Cadillac while we were waiting for the parts for the van to come in. In April, the van was repaired, and Charleston Truck Service extended us credit for $1,430.00. Mrs. Ramsey lent us $900.00 for the tires. Different people spoke to us about several people that will come to see us because they needed several things and wanted a good job done. Everything started to be fine. At the end of April, we received a letter from the Charleston Housing Authority saying they were coming to inspect the apartments. We spent a week preparing, and then two weeks waiting for them to come, but they never did. May 2, we received a letter saying that we needed to clean the inside of the cabinets also. (At Charleston Housing, this is the way it works every year.) So, one day, when we were all on the second floor and my mother was in the tub, they used their master key and entered the apartment without even knocking. At school, my sister Caroline never had any problems. However, her new teacher, within a week, found excuses to give her four demerits. We talked with the principal and everything stopped. One day, my sister told us something in the house, "My classmate, Moore, knows our telephone number and even knows how our house looks like. His mother is the one that watches us for lunch and every time she goes by my chair, she kicks it." We were surprised, because the only place she could have gotten it is from school records. To see our house she had to actually go down our street, which was one block long, and they lived on the other side of the city. A very short time afterwards, the records containing all addresses and telephone numbers at school were locked away from public use. Mrs. Moore who had never ever glanced at us before, began to stare at us with hatred. At the same time, her youngest son, who was in the same class with Catherine, one day took a pair of scissors and cut my sister's finger. The teacher told us, "I don't know why he did it, but he did it on purpose, I saw him." Mrs. Moore certainly knew something more than we did, but we never figured out this mystery. My brother received an award for good behavior and conduct. A very short time later the teacher told us that he was hitting all the other students and that he lacked self-control??? We talked with her and she left him alone. With me, it was Ms. Hinson who called me in to the guidance office and insisted that I had problems which I needed to talk about. When it did not work, Mrs. Hairfield, my homeroom teacher, told me that she knew a boy in the eight grade that had many problems. She would not tell me his name, but I was supposed to write back to the letters that she gave me from him and give them back to her. This "boy" that I did not even know, wrote to me on his computer about things such as, "My father is in jail, I have many problems," and many other stupid things. What was I supposed to answer? Mrs. Hairfield told me to invent problems so that he would not feel alone. So, while other students did their schoolwork, I had to answer those letters. She found out that I had trouble seeing, and she engaged the Lions Club to pay for glasses. My Dad refused, but she insisted. My Dad was tired of it, and he took the 25 letters that she had given to me to the principal's office. The principal was angry, the whole school knew about it, but for us everything stopped right away. May 12, my Mom's sister called us from France and asked us if we would welcome her daughter for a visit. We accepted. For a while, we knew that our family in France had been cooperating with the French Secret Service and that whatever we do and say over here, they were being informed over there. In April, our van was in repair for a while at Charleston Truck Service, and at the same time, my Mom's cousin asked us on the telephone if we still had our van. My Mom's niece, Beatrice, one day angry at her parents, wrote to us, "One day when I come over, I will tell you something that I can neither say in this letter nor on the telephone." In the apartment, my father said that she must be disgusted by what the French Secret Service does against us in cooperation with our family. The echo came back from France in our next telephone conversation: Beatrice told us, "What I meant to tell you last time is regarding my health." My father told my mother, "The job that your sister Manine has right now, she could have gotten only through the D.S.T." (It is extremely difficult to get a job in France at this time.) A few days later, she called from France and said, "Jean Louis puts up political posters for politicians and meets some of them and is trying to get me a full-time job through them." One day, at the end of May, she spoke too much and said, "My daughter has an American boyfriend and she gets along fine in English." My Dad could not hold back, all day he kept repeating, "She is supposed to come to our house and she knows an American boy." While in France my Dad had called the American Consulate in Marseilles to invite the Marine Corps at our home for Christmas, but we never had the opportunity. In 1979, my father paid $350.00 for English lessons with American accent (Institute Linguaphone in Paris, sells regular British lessons for just $50.00). My Dad learned to speak, read, and write French and German in less than a year. If today he still does not speak English, it is because of all the problems we have had. For several days, my father kept repeating, "an American boy with Sabine." Manine from France called us and said, "The young American boy that Sabine knows is 6+ feet tall, his father is a scientist and he does research 4-5 months in Spain, 4-5 months in France, and now he will go to other places." Do you know any American students that study for 4-5 months in Spanish, 4-5 months in French, and then 4-5 months in Italian, German, or any other language? For my father, there isn't a doubt any more in his mind, our family in France is very well informed about everything we do and say, and Sabine, a 20 year-old girl, will be here with the agreement of the American Secret Service. For us, the problems have already started: May 14, my Mom went to extend her driver's license, but the Highway Department kept it, because two years ago, we went to court because of a French license plate, and they forgot to take it off of the computer. Therefore, now we have to wait one month before they give it back to us. Mrs. Nicole advised us to go and see Judge Charles Allen, because he knows us well since my father did some work for him. May 15, we went to see him and he said that he would write a letter that evening and send it off as soon as possible. Later, we found out he sent it only May 29. Mr. Mick, of Charleston Truck Service, came to our house and said that he could get our driver's license right away. He asked my father if he wanted American citizenship. My father said, "Yes." He took out a bunch of cards from people he knew that worked as directors of the Secret Service in Charleston, Columbia, and a little all over America. He said he had plenty of friends and that everything would be all right. Later, he told us that he had been everywhere and they had told him that we would never be given citizenship. Without a driver's license, we could not move, so Mrs. Embry drove us to school and to buy groceries. To our family in France, we told them that our driver's license had been taken away and that we could not welcome Sabine and that our money had been stopped at the bank (though we did not have any money). My Mom's niece, Beatrice, called us saying, "My parents said that if you don't have any money, we will sell the house and everything we have and send you all of the money." My mother was angry and said, "They are all making fun of us." My Dad laughed and said, "Not only are they laughing at us, but much more at the U.S. Secret Service. They are right. We have been here for eight years, we have four children who are U.S. citizens, and it is the U.S. Secret Service who walk like the D.S.T. directs them to. They are proud of their police and it is perfectly normal." Our old Cadillac stayed behind the house on the parking of Charleston Housing. The license plate was good until November 1990, the inspection sticker was good until March 1991, and it worked fine. At the end of May, Mr. Hamilton from the Police Department called to have it towed away because he thought the car was abandoned. There are several other cars in the neighborhood, which have been there for years without license plates. It was very simple; they did not want us to drive the car while Sabine was here. One night, my brother was sick, we had no money for a taxi and nobody wanted to bring us to the hospital. We walked him to the hospital. We still had received no response regarding the driver's license, so my father and I went to see Chief of Police, Mr. Greenberg, and his secretary took care of it. In Columbia, they made tardy our mail for a few days, but finally June 18, we received the driver's license.
My brother's first grade teacher had trouble teaching the children to count. The old and little abacus she had was thrown away. My father had an idea to make one as a gift to our school and one for display in our store. Several people said it was a great idea and one person said that the principal of a school was looking for a big and strong one. With all of the trouble we had, we managed to finish them. When we brought it to our school, everybody said that it was a great idea, and they were very happy. We sent 200 brochures to all of the schools in Charleston County. Mrs. Nicole who had told us that the abacus was a good idea suddenly said, "People don't use those anymore. Now kindergartners learn to count on computers." The other person said that he could not recall saying that a principal wanted an abacus, we must have misunderstood. A brochure came back from West Virginia. The address was: Bethany United Methodist Church Weekday Preschool, 118 W. 3 Rd., Charleston, S.C. 29418. Somebody had fun: On top of S.C., they wrote W.V., and on top of 29418, they wrote 25301.
Sabine was supposed to arrive June 26. My Dad began to educate me on the workings of the secret service and how I should keep an eye on what Sabine might risk wanting to do and see. To talk about this, we went outside for walks. The morning of June 25, we walked in our neighborhood. While we talked, suddenly a white Mercedes drove by. All four of them looked at us, and then nodded their heads as if to say that it was we. When they drove past us, I saw that the driver had a stack of pictures in his hand. My Dad understood right away: Those people were not Americans, but French. Sabine was supposed to arrive and we would be watched all of the time. We do not know how many French agents were to be in Charleston, but the French government sure paid them a good vacation. June 26, Sabine arrived, and it happened just as my father had predicted. She avoided answering questions regarding anything concerning the family, and she kept repeating that her father knew someone who had a lot of money. Of their two-story home, they only live on the first, and she continually repeated we would be better in France. My father told her, "You know, when we left France, your aunt wasn't even hurt, but I had a hard time holding back from crying. In 1983, when we left for Canada, your aunt cried saying, 'This is the country of my son, and I don't want to leave.'" Later, when we went shopping, she found everything less expensive than in France. My father took revenge and said, "We are better off in the U.S." My father tried several times to make her talk, but she quickly got up every time and went to the bathroom or her room, for a few minutes, and when she came back, she would change positions. We performed a test: We spoke of several things while she was not home. She was quickly warned and knew how to react. For us, there was not anymore doubt she had some type of gadget with her. July 4, I saw that white Mercedes again, and this time they had a map. One or two nights later, my father called a man and told him that the French D.S.T. was in Charleston. That evening, Sabine did not leave her room, even though she did not see us make the call, and she was very nervous. On the evening of July 19, we took her to the airport and she left for Raleigh, N.C. Then from there to Paris, and on to Marseilles. At Marseilles, her parents were waiting for her; they dropped her off at home, and immediately left for Normandy for a few days, without even staying with her for a minute. We learned right away that only when she arrived in Paris she saw that in Charleston, they had kept her ticket for Paris to Marseilles by mistake and she had to buy a new one. With what money? She did not have a checkbook, and she left us with 100 francs, equivalent to $16.00. My father was right, somebody was waiting for her at Raleigh, and they had traveled the rest of the way together. That person must have paid her way to Marseilles. The week after, we learned that Sabine's Mom had been given a permanent job. On the other hand, we received a letter from the Department of Social Service inquiring as to how much money we had earned and how our business was doing. Charleston Housing asked us the same question, obliging us to respond within 10 days, or to leave the apartment. Our plan for our business was good. June and July, we would receive the orders for the abacus, giving us money to live and to purchase the material to make them. While waiting to receive the materials, we would build furniture and beehives. In August, we would sell the beehives, fill the abacus orders and deliver them in time. Nothing simpler and the business would begin to run. How can we, though, when just a few weeks ago we ordered frames for the beehives and we received metal plates twice? We did not come to America thinking to strike it rich, but one day or another, we would like to be able to make enough money to be self-sufficient. At the end of July, we went to eat at Crisis Ministry everyday and we had to call the St. Vincent de Paul Society so they could bring us some food. We don't want to abuse and profit from churches and social aid, but how else are we supposed to do it when somebody impedes us from working on our own??? We owe money to several people and in a few weeks, school will be starting. We will need money for books and clothes. Somebody is hindering us in our business to show everybody that we are not capable to earn our living. Many times, we made our plans, but every single time the results were the same. Eight years later, we are losing our will to start another project, because we know that it will most certainly be stopped again. We are in no way lazy, but it would be a further waste of time, energy and money. Those have been the six past months of our life, and the same for the past eight years. With all the problems we have listed, one has to add all the problems that a regular family would have in everyday life. My mother is the only one that drives and she has to take us back and forth to school, shop for the whole house and my father's business, take care of the paperwork, bills, etc... We do not have any family here in the U.S. where all of the children could go for an hour or two when the errands are to be done. Therefore, for everywhere one of us has to be, the whole family comes along. Those are little things people do not even think about, but for us, they are big problems. I have said this because many people ask us why my mother does not go and work. Many people think, "But, Mr. Despotovic, if they bother you so much, you must have done something that was bad." What I do know is that in all the countries of the world, one is usually innocent until heard. My father has been here for eight years, and nobody has asked him any questions. My father says, "When I was young, the 'Voice of America' called us to the Countries of Liberty. At 17 years of age, I abandoned architectural school and came to the West to look for my Liberty. More than 20 years later, I am still looking for that Liberty in the Western countries. I did not have time to do much in the first 23 years of my life. Since then, I have been blind. I thank God that he gave me a wife who accepted to share all the difficulties of life with me in the beginning. Everyone knows that spies and terrorists have money, gadgets, and their Embassies and Consulates to protect them, so it is very dangerous to touch them. All the secret services have funds from which they can take out as much money as they wish. However, with a blind person and six children, they do not risk anything. They can bother them and expand the file as much as they want. Once you have them on your back, you can get rid of a thousand ticks and leeches faster than you can get rid of them." In France, all was done to sell my father back to Yugoslavia so that he would not talk about the cooperation of the secret services. Here, someone is doing everything they can to make us leave so that the Despotovic file can be closed. They are doing a favor to the French and Yugoslavian Government, but certainly not to the U.S. Government and its citizens. My question: If my father was so bad, the French government should be happy that he left for the U.S., and that they got rid of us. They would say, "Don't ask anything of the Americans, or else he might come back." Why, eight years later, is the French government still interested in us and wants us back in Europe? Do you not agree? My father is ready to prove everything he has said and we strongly believe that our file is in SABOTAGE. Any police force in the world can make a mistake for 3-6 months, or a year, to know a truth about a file, but the truth of our file has never interested the U.S. Secret Service. They have had only one idea: to cover the truth, to neglect all the proofs, make problems were they never existed, make the file as complicated as possible, and to hurt us so we would leave. It is very possible that in our file there are bits of information that we ignore. But they never came to ask any questions --- because then our story would be clear and they would no longer have any excuse to extend our file. Before we arrived in Charleston, Mr. Chi Diep, brought 200 Vietnamese people here in Charleston. In the U.S.A., he has a good situation. He invested money in China, in France he has an import-export agency, an apartment in Paris, a house in southern France, and not long ago he became the agent of the French Consulate here in Charleston. As mentioned before, he did his best to make us stay in Charleston. In the spring of 1984, he brought a French couple to show them our misery. We wanted to move to Georgia; yet June 30, someone shot against our van to scare us in Jesup, Georgia. A good friend of Mr. Chi Diep, was Mr. Harlan Patton. Mr. Patton was witness to all of the things we lived through from 1983-1985. It was the most difficult period of our life and we would like to thank him very much for all the help he gave us. He always said that he liked Charleston and that he never planned to leave. In 1985, he became very nervous and he sold his house and left for Greenville. Many Americans have had a good opinion about us, but we have been under the impression that someone always scares them to separate them from us. The only relationship that we have had for a long time was again a Vietnamese lady, Mrs. Nicole Ramsey, whom Mr. Furman introduced us to in the spring of 1984. She also speaks French and English, she is a nurse, and since 1985, she has been married with Steve Ramsey, a submarine navigator in the U.S. Navy. She never speaks against Americans unless she comes to our house. She always has something to say against Judge Allen, a man paralyzed for life in a wheel chair. She almost pushes us to say something bad against him, and we have heard that she spreads rumors about us. For years, we have spent money in telephone bills, in an effort to accumulate proofs of our innocence. Somebody found it necessary to reinforce the cooperation with the French D.S.T. to better inform our family in France and mix all the proofs within the cooperation. We are put in the newspapers and on T.V., and they have the excuse that they are trying to center the attention on us for the KGB and Yugoslavian Secret Service. There is only one truth: They are looking to earn time and cause us trouble to make us leave.
August 8, 1990, we called the U.S. Secret Service and asked for the name of the Director so that we could address him this file. The man refused to give us that information and said that the U.S. Secret Service deals only with check forgery and fraud, and we should go see the F.B.I., C.I.A., and Immigration and Naturalization Service. Could someone answer this question for me: What ill have we done here in the U.S.A. that somebody is causing us this much harm? The ones who have suffered most are the children, and mostly yet, the youngest who are YOUR U.S. citizens. Do we steal, or are we dangerous for national security? In the Smoky Mountains, we stayed 3 months at Mr. and Mrs. Adams’s' home. They can give their opinion about us. One day at the Electricity Company in Hollywood, S.C., a lady gave my Mom $10.00 too much. We realized it later, and we returned the money two hours later. We only had $12-13 left, and it would have been very welcomed. Mr. Marvin of Marvin Meats gave us credit when we purchased something and could not pay for it right away. Mr. Embry rented us a room, which contained many his belongings, including a telephone that worked and which we could have used when we wanted to. Ask them about the Despotovic family. With a new Immigration law, the children of U.S. military men can enter the United States and bring their entire family with them. In the U.S. alone, there are thousands of Vietnamese and Mexican people who have come over for the past 20 years, 150,000 Russians, and 23,000 Cuban criminals. Are you sure that it is the Despotovic family that bothers you so much? In the newspaper in January 1987, we read that just in Charleston, more than 450 people work for the KGB It is more than certain that the U.S. Secret Service should have other things to work on rather than mess with our private life. Everyday, we count every penny in our wallet. We can never eat what we want, or buy what we wish. We cannot choose where we should live, and we have no liberty to decide anything for ourselves. This could all be so easy if they just left us alone and stopped obstructing the progress of our business. Will we have to wait for the man taking care of our file to retire so we can live in peace? Many churches and people helped us by buying toys, paying our bills, bringing food, and other things. We thank them deeply, but that is not why we came to the U.S.A. We are the better judge of what we can and cannot do. If left alone, we can earn our own living. In a couple of days, this letter will leave for the White House, and we will list the names of people that have known us so they can be questioned. Do not think this problem concerns only the Despotovic family --- your security depends on a work that is rightly performed by your U.S. Secret Service. This concludes the part of the letter given to the White House: AUGUST 17, 1990 In the last week of August 1990, we went to the Executive Building of the White House and showed Room 91 this letter. The letter did not go directly to the mailroom, but was immediately brought up to the office. An extra page was included, listing names and addresses of people that have known us (a journalist, a previous diplomat, and a French teacher, etc…). The next day we went to the FBI building and gave the letter to a complaint officer, Mr. Harris, who took care of our file. We then went to the Secret Service building, where we were badly welcomed and asked to leave immediately or they would call someone to make us leave. We went to the C.I.A. office but the answer was the same. The two last letters, plus the one for the Director of Immigration and former President Reagan, we sent through the Post Office. All letters were titled, "Mr. Director, the Secret Service of Charleston said that the problem maybe came from your service. Can you tell me when I can return to my home in peace?" Several days later we called the White House to get an answer. The lady said she had just started to read it. At the FBI, the officer was not in. That night, Social Services with the police came on the parking lot where we were waiting to help us. Several police officers read the letter. They were lost and did not know what to do. They checked us in to a hotel and said that they would be back at eight o'clock the next morning. They finally came at twelve o'clock the next day and were all embarrassed. The director, Mrs. Paulette Jackson, talked with each one of us separately. I cried, telling her all that we had withstood. She also questioned my little sisters and brother and seemed to want them to say something against my parents. At last, a little disappointed, she called Room 91 to make her report. She tried to make us leave for Charleston right away. My Dad did not want to do so, because he wanted an official answer from the White House. Monday, we called the lady from Room 91. She told us that no one would bother us anymore and we could leave. The FBI said that they had not had time to read it, but if there were any further problems, we could see someone on the local level. Mrs. Paulette said that when we return home, some nice people would be waiting for us, and that they would pay the operations for my father, but to hurry for school has already started. On our return in Charleston, the welcome was rather cold. We learned that a special committee from Washington had come down to research. Everyone was disturbed. Our lawyer, Wescoat Sandlin, transmitted to us the threat from someone, "If you go to Washington D.C. once more, you are guaranteed to be deported." All this proved that someone in person wants to hurt us. For several months, we had peace, and then the events started over. In the months of May 1991, we addressed a new letter to the White House. Here it is as follows: On our return to Charleston, on the contrary of what Washington, D.C., promised us, nobody offered any operations for my father, nobody came to our help, but nobody bothered us anymore either. On a Sunday night, at the end of October, a man from the Red Cross accompanied by a Yugoslavian lady came to our house. My grandparents wrote to them so that they could find out some news about us. My sister and I sell toys everyday after school. Many people already know our toys, but we sold $5,000 worth within two months. We spent a lot of it for materials, we fixed our most urgent debts, and we started paying our own telephone and electricity bills. We started fine and proved that we needed no one, but just to be left alone and in peace.
January 21, 1991, my mother and father argued. Someone transmitted this to France, a decision was quickly made, and January 25, my grandmother from France called us and said that she had won Tac-O-Tac (lottery game) and received $80,000 and was coming right away. Since then, problems have begun once more. Charleston Housing has started to make inspections all at once, repairs from everywhere suddenly, and they enter the apartment with the master key even while we are present, without knocking. In February, we received our Food Stamps late because someone took us off the computer. My mother and father have arranged their problem long ago, so my grandmother has made-up all kinds of excuses so as not to come immediately. Since December, Immigration did not want to extend the 1-94 for my father and in the end they accepted, but we had to go to Atlanta. They told our attorney, "Well, if they were able to go to Washington D.C., they can come here to Atlanta." We went and were absent for school, but the greatest problem was our van. When we noticed that the generator did not stop charging the battery, it was too late. The battery was boiling, we had all the vapors in the front part of the van and later Charleston Truck Service said that a small spark or cigarette could have caused a real bomb. A few months earlier, we did not receive several magazines. The publisher said that they had been sent and we should check with our Post Office. My grandmother from France at the same time sent us 3 birthday cards each with 100 francs. Two arrived, but the third one was stopped by the Charleston Post Office and returned to France saying that the stamp was inadequate. (As if the Post Office here in Charleston really knows how many dollars the francs are equivalent to and what the postal rate was that France has.) In March, we met with Mrs. Latorre, Department of Social Services supervisor, and my father told her, "If nobody interferes with our plans, I will see you once more next year, and afterwards we will not need any more aid." Our plans were working well. During February and March, we sold several hundred dollars worth of toys. In April, we went over $1,500. We could have done better, but the matter was curious enough that in Georgia, the first hour or two we sold very well and the rest of the day nothing. It reminded us a lot like the years prior when someone stopped the selling. Also very curious, that during the night, when we were all sleeping in the motel, around 10 or 11:00 pm., the guardian tried to make us leave using the excuse that the children were making too much noise. Later the spring of the gearbox broke, which obliged us to come back to Charleston. New fees: We had to rent a car for one month and etc... New problems: Charleston Housing wanted a copy of the key for our lock and then fined us for the screen spring, which we dismantled. Of the several hundred apartments in our complex, our apartment is being watched too closely and too well, because they are warned right away. At the shop where my father works, there is a normal-size entry door and 3 ft. next to it there is a 9-ft. garage door. Behind this big door, there is a wooden wall on which a passageway of 40" has been cut out by us. May 9, my father was by himself. To fill the space in front of this passageway, he put a box full of wood and the drill press and lowered the garage door to about 15-20" above the ground. (The other entry door is always locked.) While my father was on the phone, a lady managed to raise the garage door and get over the box full of wood and went to the back of the shop. When she saw that my father had sensed someone, she said that she was looking for a job. After a short fight with her, he quickly closed the garage door and finally managed to get hold of the owner of the shop next to us, RKO. Upon his arrival, the owner let the woman go. May 10, we received a letter from Altra Car Rental. They were asking for $20 extra, because we supposedly had the car an extra day. Rental was April 8, in the morning and returned to them May 8, before 10:00 a.m. According to them, that counted as 31 days. On the contract, they wrote with their own hand that the car was to be returned May 8. After a long dispute, they finally said we were right, but the man pretended he was angry. My father said that it was a setup, and that next time, they would use this incident as an excuse as not to rent us the car. They rent cars for the lowest price in Charleston and are the only ones who do not ask for a deposit. Others want credit cards, which we do not have. May 12, Mr. Rice told us that on the land, which he rented to us, we do not work enough, so we have to leave. We have to pick up our fruit trees and our grapevines and move. Do you know why all this is happening? Because, May 17, in 5 days, my grandparents from France are supposedly coming with a lot of money. They will hope that we will return with them and go to France; but they do not know that my father, sister and I do not want to return. This summer we had plans to sell our toys, earn some money and rent a house so that we would no longer depend on Charleston Housing. Afterwards, we would work with something else instead of wood, so that next year; we would not depend on Social Services. Mrs. Latorre, like our attorney, insists that my mother and father should take classes to learn a profession. Without knowing a word in English, that would take several years. Last year, the Commission for the Blind, offered my father classes on how to use a fork and then showed us the door. From the professions offered, they would not be able to earn enough money to support such a large family of eight people. We would still have to depend on Social Services. My father's plans are quicker and more effective. It should be enough just to tell you that we gave books on the subject of business management to someone to have them translated. At the same time, it would he a very good English course for my father. I am sending my first exam in to the correspondence school for bookkeeping/accounting course that my father and I are taking. Our projects would work very well on the condition that the Secret Service would leave us alone and would not manipulate our lives. We had taken pictures of the parts that we needed for our woodworking machines and sent them to the KITY dealer in Blue Springs, Missouri. He did not want to sell them to us because he said we were abusing him. Everything that we have told you in this letter is just too much for it to be just another coincidence. Our attorney told us this, "If you go to Washington D.C., just one more time you will he deported." Are we suppose to be withstanding all of this and if so, how much longer must we do this, and how long is it going to last? My grandparents arrived and as my father predicted, they wanted to know everything to the last detail. With their camera, they filmed all of our previous homes. He flattered the West European countries a lot and spoke against America much. My Dad told me to keep my cool because they were instructed with what to say, so they could prove that the file sent by the D.S.T. was true. June 18, my grandparents left for France, and a lady from the White House called and asked us if anyone was bothering us since they left. No, BUT, it started a few days later with Mrs. Latorre that lowered our Food Stamps. She said we were earning too much money and she had to do it. A lot of cynicism, because at the same time, the Secret Service got into the habit of stopping us from selling. They warned the merchants in advance and depending on what they said, they either welcomed us meanly, or had a hard time holding back from laughing. Here is the letter that we addressed to Mrs. Latorre: July 5, 1991 Mrs. Latorre, I am Corinne Despotovic and my father told me that my sister and I could write to you and explain the present situation of our household. Since several weeks, you have given Food Stamps to the whole family. My mother has been making great economies with them and we manage buying ice cream for the children at least once a week. It is true that in April, we did not have Easter vacation like the rest of our classmates, because we went to Georgia selling toys. From the morning until six o'clock in the evenings, we did not stop running between the offices and shops to sell the toys. We took turns. First, I, twelve years old, with my brother, Despot, of eight years old, in the morning and in the evenings, it was me with my sister, Caroline, of ten years old. The next day was the opposite. In each city that we arrived in, the beginning of the morning, we sold well, the rest of the day, nothing. The big mystery, why??? Also, when we used a motel, the employees or guardians tried to find an excuse so that they could make us leave. We were not able to finish the week because when we entered our van the next morning, the spring of the gearbox was broken. We arrived in Charleston, at twenty miles per hour, with a lot of luck. The truck was kept back at the garage, using all excuses possible, even painting our van when we never asked them to do so. They still have not given us the bill for it, and it certainly will he more than last year's one. It was a good thing that we had our AFDC check which permitted us to rent a car. In May, my grandparents arrived from France, and they left June 18. They had hoped that we would return, continuously repeating that they had a lot of money, but we stayed here. I guarantee you that they did not leave us a penny. With June's AFDC check, we paid $230.00 for our truck's insurance. Telephone bill's for the shop and home were extended and then added to July's bill. To pay our $109.00 tax bill, it was Mr. Embry of RKO that lent us $100.00 to pay it. After the departure of my grandparents, my mother, brother, and I went selling, while my father and sisters stayed in Charleston. In the morning they walked to the shop to work and at 7 or 8 o'clock they walked back home. I found that my father's project was good. He explained it to me: "Next year, you will need to go to high school, a good high school, and we need to earn the money now for it. We need to change the type of business and start making food. We would earn a lot more money that way. I am going to stay here to make the trains and you and your sister will take turns selling them." We left for Augusta, Georgia, and for 3 days, my brother and I walked in the hot sun. We sold only 4 trains and a few jingle bells. Everywhere I offered them, people said, "No, thank you," or they closed the shops when I got there. My father said that it was someone that stopped them from buying. Before, during three days, we sold not less than 20 or 30 trains. This time, we sold only four, not enough to pay gasoline and motel expenses. June 26, I returned with my mother to southern Charlotte to sell. We arrived just before closing time, but we sold 2 jingle bells. In the morning of the 27th, I immediately sold 2 trains, and then everything stopped. I sold nothing more. In the morning of the 28th, we were north of Charlotte, in the middle of many offices and businesses. That day I did not sell anything until the beginning of the afternoon. My mother also understood at this point that the selling was "stopped". She headed back for Charleston. At 4:50 p.m., we arrived at Camden, S.C. Here nobody was waiting for us, but the shops were closing. My mother told us to try selling here. In less than 10 minutes, we sold 2 trains. I don't find it necessary to repeat how it was hard walking in the sun on a hot day for hours, list places where I was unwelcome; for example one said to me: "THERE IS NO SOLICITING IN THIS BUILDING, AND IF YOU DON'T GET OF HERE, SOMEONE IS GOING TO REPORT YOU!" Then she picked up the phone. I think she is the one that plans to report me. I will have very sweet memories of my childhood. Right, Mrs. Latorre? The first of July we received an AFDC check. We paid rent for our shop, telephone for the business for the 2 months, my bookkeeping/accounting correspondence school, altogether about $200.00. For the first time, Charleston Housing asked us $54.22, because they changed doorknobs in the apartment. However, in the contract it is written that anything that is worn and needs changing is done without fee. The night of July 1, we only had a few dollars left. My Dad told my mother: "Don't wait so we are left without money. Leave immediately tonight, go to Athens, and sleep there so that in the morning you can start selling toys with Caroline on Tuesday and Wednesday. Sincerely, Corinne Despotovic July 8, 1991 Mrs. Latorre, I am Caroline Despotovic and I am 10 years old. On July 1, I went with my mother and my seven-year-old sister, Catherine, to Athens, Georgia. At 11:00 p.m., we got there and took a motel room. At 9:00 a.m., I put 4 trains in a bag and put it on my back. I took the display one in my arms. My sister took the jingle bells. I went to the offices and businesses each time saying, "These toys are made by my blind father and can be used for gifts, decoration, or resale." Nobody wanted them. However in April, I had done the same thing and sold much better. On July 2, we spent our whole day in Athens. Until noon, we sold nothing. My mother understood and said, "It won't do any good to continue. We'll go back home." On our way back, we stopped at a little village called Washington. A lot of stores were closed. Only some were open. I tried and sold only one train. Motel and gas expenses were higher than what we sold --- one train. On July 2, we came home late. On July 3, we did not have much more money left. We went on Rivers Road on Johns Island to pick up tomatoes and took 3 bushels for $21.00. On the Fourth of July, we did not even light one firecracker. Since then, we have been eating a lot of tomatoes and they will last until July 9-10. Meanwhile, we will get our Food Stamps. My mother told me the Food Stamps would go down because you said we earned money. Earned money? My father told me, "I see you're writing to Mrs. Latorre." My Dad told me that I can tell you that we still owe $1000 to Mrs. Ramsey since last year to change our tires, $100 to Mr. Embry and we should also receive our bill soon for the van repairs. The home telephone is disconnected because we could not pay the bill. We are waiting for the AFDC check for August so that we can go back and sell the toys. We will need a lot of things for school, so we hope that they will let us sell. If you have any questions call us at the business telephone at 723-9773. Sincerely, Caroline Despotovic July 17, 1991 Mrs. Latorre, For August 1991, you have decreased our Food Stamps because you have guessed that we have earned a few cents with our toys. You know very well that for 8 years we waited for our work papers and that it has been less than one year that we have been left alone to work. It has been only several months that you gave the rights to the whole family. In March of 1991 I told you, "Mrs. Latorre, if you give me full rights of Social Services I will see you once more in March of 1992, and then I think that I will no longer need your help." Right now, we are doing our best. My wife is taking care of six children, she brings them back and forth to school, me to work, takes the family to the doctor, does housework, cooks, shops for the home and store, takes care of clothes, and helps me with my work. (The days are not long and we have to be able to do all of this.) Also, this summer she has been going selling with half of the children, while I stay in Charleston. Every morning, I walk to the shop with the other half of the children. Do you have any comments or reproaches to make? How else are we suppose to do it? I have woodworking machines and it is with them that I will earn my money to start anything else. For years, people told me, "Too bad that you don't have work papers because we could buy a lot of toys." I went back three times to the Commission of the Blind. Mr. Keller does not remember saying that, but he offered me classes to teach me how to use a fork and a spoon. The third time, along with supervisor, Cooper, red with madness, they walked me to the door and made me understand that it was not necessary to come back. The Association of the Blind is not kind anymore either. They cannot find a way to help me and only about two weeks ago, they sent me a letter offering walking courses. I think that you will understand just as I do. The best thing to do is to take care of it by ourselves. In the fall, we will be obliged to take the children out of school several times to go selling. A little by little, but we are sure to get there by ourselves, except that it will take just a little longer. In this case, in three, four or five years, the Despotovic file will still be on your desk. You have the choice, it is up to you to decide. I am sorry for saying this, but in the newspaper, very frequently, appear stories about a teen-ager from South Korea, a lady from Jamaica, or a man from Greece who were operated for their eyes here in Charleston. The fees and airplane were all paid by diverse American associations. For the operations for my eyes, has anyone found anything? While waiting for your answer, I am thanking you; Sincerely, Despotovic P.S. I forgot to tell you that the home telephone was disconnected, because I could not pay it, and only the business one is left where you can contact us. Thank you. In August 1991, the bills accumulated, we needed money to buy things for school, and they let us sell. We returned several times to Myrtle Beach, which is 94 miles from Charleston, and we earned more than $2000 just there. We could have done better, but many store owners said that it was too late, because in a few weeks the tourist season would be over and they would close.
At about 5:00 a.m., November 1, 1991, a loud noise awakened my mother. She saw four men that spoke of our van and entered a white car, which was parked behind our van. At 7:35, when we were about to leave to go to school, we saw that they had shot against the van. We live next to the police station, and in less than one minute, they could have been there. We had to call four times, plus the FBI, so that at 8:15 a policeman could come. We gave a description of the men and their car, and since that day, we have never seen them in our neighborhood again.
At school, a teacher hammered away at my sister, Catherine, and wanted to return her to the first grade. It was true that in the beginning of the year, she was a little weak, but we worked with her and she was back on "track." Eight other students who needed supplementary help were weaker than she was. Whenever the teacher could, she accused my sister of everything and anything and with a lot of cruelty. When I was in the sixth grade my teacher, Mrs. Hairfield, started creating arguments between my friends and me. They wanted to show that I was a girl with many problems. She made me see Mrs. Hinson, a guidance counselor. Since they found nothing, she made me write letters (which I already spoke of before) hoping that in my responses, she would find an excuse, to bring me to a psychiatrist, outside of school where they would then do something to me of which I have no idea. At the same, she scheduled meetings that took place at her house, late at night and said she would take care of bringing me back and forth. It did not work because my Dad never let me go. After this, they thought that I needed glasses. She found an optician, the LIONS CLUB to pay for them, made an appointment, and she was the one who was going to drive me back and forth again. One day she obliged me to call my father to tell him that I was leaving for the glasses. My father said "NO" and I transmitted this to her. She was very angry and she said that she would take me anyway. I said that I would not go myself and she stopped. Since that day, another teacher had a coupon to bring me to the hairdresser and wanted me to stay after school to go to Taco Bell or the beach. My father let my sister come with me, she was angry, and we did not go anywhere. Then, the owner of Charleston Truck Service insisted that my father let my brother and I go fishing with him. The Health Department came, called, and I do not know how many times they insisted that we needed to go to a checkup for the children and especially told my father that I needed glasses.
We accepted an appointment at the Medical University for the beginning of December 1991. That morning, we were surprised when we learned that they were supposed to keep me in a small room in the back for 5-6 hours to better examine my eyes. When I heard that, I refused the examination. A nurse came running, trying to hide her anger saying, "So my honey, what are you afraid of?" She took me to the side and said, "I know you have problems, and we will speak of it in January when you come back." I backed away, my heart beating hard, and we left immediately. My Dad was right and warned me, "Since you speak for us and translate letters, you bother them enormously. They would probably have hypnotized you, put ideas in your head to make you disappear from home. Thousands of children runaway from home. You would disappear and we could never prove anything, and they would have made us look crazy." These cold monsters, if at least it works for them, they will never stop at something. At the beginning of 1992, we went to an optician where we showed our Medicaid card and I received my glasses. Nothing simpler, Medicaid always had taken care of them and there was not any need for comedy. Since more than a year ago, we sent toys to an association in Cleveland for the blind. Mrs. Sandra Vande Velde told us, "I have other trains that blind people make, but they are not comparable to yours, especially at the price that you are giving it. I could sell two hundred trains for you rapidly." Later she changed, and one year later, we received a check for 2 trains that she had sold at Christmas. Mr. David Fields in Charleston bought two trains from us and tried to make us believe that they were not selling and that no one in Charleston wanted them anymore. In the month of March 1992, we went all the way to Tennessee trying to sell our toys. The first two days we had the police behind us and we did not sell a thing. We spent the night in Athens, Georgia. That morning, my father said that it was not worth trying to sell here, the merchants were warned and we would not sell anything. We went to Elberton, Georgia. My mother did not want to stop, because the town was too small and it was easily seen that business was not going well for them. My father insisted and a miracle occurred. Two trains, again two jingle bells, 2 trains more, another 3 jingle bells and it continued. The police arrived and stopped us. We counted and we had $173.00 in 35 minutes --- we could not finish all of the businesses. We took HWY 178 to go home. At the exit of the village North, a police officer was waiting for us. He said we were driving 47 mph instead of 35 mph. Maybe?, but we were driving just as fast as any of the other cars. 30 ft. in front of us, there was a sign that read 55 mph. The policeman saw that my father was blind, took my mother's driving license and left. My Dad wanted to ask him something and I got out to accompany him. We could not talk to him; he took out his gun and in an instant later pulled my father down. My father almost fell and all the children started crying. My sister Caroline, 11 years of age, tried to take a picture of him. He turned around to her and said that just for that he could put her in jail. My father was at the edge of a breakdown and we stopped at the Orangeburg Hospital. When the doctor saw the condition that he was in, they immediately gave him a shot and prescribed two days of rest. April 6, we could not go to the appointment in Atlanta with Immigration. We had no money and my father was still in a nervous situation.
For Easter week, we went to Washington D.C. The lady from the White House, changed tone, saying that the Secret Service never bothered us and that they took care of only the President and Vice-President. In Arlington, Director of Social Services, Mrs. Paulette Jackson, left running and said she had an emergency meeting (at 4:20 p.m.). The sales trip was stopped all along and we spent most of the money that we had. School started again and it caused us many problems. Two years ago all the garages of Charleston refused to repair our van and all referred us to Charleston Truck Service. They accepted, but since then, our van has not stopped from breaking down. In two years, repairs have totaled $5,000.00. Fourteen months ago, he said he put a new starter and now it is again, broken. Most importantly, we never had brakes. We returned 5 or 6 times for the brakes and they always found an excuse that something was wrong. Supposedly, he always had a lot of police cars to repair and he could not really take good care of our van. We asked him several times if he had greased the wheels, he guaranteed that he did, and the last time he even painted the rims. Starting from one light to go to the next, all of a sudden my mother lost the control of the van, which by itself went from left to right. She managed to brake without causing an accident. The wheel in the front on the right side broke. In another garage, they could not believe what their eyes saw. The ball bearings were chewed because there was not a drop of grease. Several days before, we had come back from Washington D.C., where we were driving 65 miles an hour--we could have all died. As long as the truth of my father's file does not come up, they are even ready to kill us. The best moments and souvenir of our life in the U.S.A., were our school and our church. Unfortunately, since the last three years we had problems that became increasingly important. Last year, at school, someone rumored that we slept in our van. This was spoken about in all grades. This year, the problem with my sister Catherine became one of the greatest importance. Despite all the improvements she made and the tests of 100 or A's that she brought us, the teacher said that it was not enough. At each occasion, she accused her of cheating and fighting with the other children. Accused unfairly, my sister cried more than once at home. My Dad defended her, and at school, it was quickly said that she was "Daddy's Girl." In June, we received a note saying that she would have to repeat two subjects, reading and language, or she would fail second grade. The greatest surprise was for my sister Christine, who was in the first grade. At the beginning of the year, the teacher sent us a note saying that she reads well, and is an excellent student so that in the month of June, she announced that she had to repeat reading and language. Ten days later, we again received a note from the teacher saying that she reads very well. It is difficult for us to say if it is simply discrimination or if it was someone that insisted behind all of this. Our pastor always welcomed us well and the possibility that they did this to make us leave is void. We started to get into debt and Salvation Army paid the electricity for us. My father felt unbearable pain. The doctor admitted him to the hospital as an emergency and he was operated from a rectal ulcer. The first night, I stayed with him at the hospital and when the anesthesia was gone, the pain was terrible. The nurses could not understand that three or four morphine shots in that one night had no effect. They were about to give him general anesthesia , when my father, exhausted, went to sleep in the morning. Even at the hospital, they did not leave us alone. While my father was asleep, a young lady came into the room, "Hello, I am Swiss and I speak French. I am an actress and my husband is a journalist. He also is a few rooms next to yours." I looked and he was not there. Then she changed; it was not a few doors down, but the next floor (Stupid! The next floor above us was reserved for newborns and pediatrics). We saw her three times a day and every day. She wanted to take my Dad for a walk around the hospital. Despite all the refusals, she was there every day and she placed herself between my father and the doctor. My Dad was often angry, and he said, "Even if I die, they will find a way to chase me around in the other world." We accepted the offer to go and see an eye doctor for my father. We were not hoping for something great, but it was simply so we would not hurt our doctor who was very kind to us. A few weeks later, the appointment was brief and we were told there was nothing to do.
Despite all the difficulties we had, I finished the bookkeeping/accounting course with an average of a 94. In the month of May, we wrote a letter to the White House explaining my father had asked for political asylum and that ten years later, he still had not been interviewed. The appeal on our judgement was still not answered seven years later. We called a lady from Room 91 who checked the computer and said that they had never received anything. It had disappeared. It was not the first time. Many years ago, Mr. Thomas Speakery, wrote to the Department of Social Services for our file. We had seen that letter, but it disappeared from our Social Service file. In 1984, my father and mother had written a very long letter in French explaining what we had lived through in France. Nobody ever accepted to translate this letter for us. We found Mrs. Ford, a French teacher, and she asked ten dollars a page. We accepted, but several days later, she changed her mind and said she could not do anything for us. In our file, there are many things to say that we have not said in this letter. We had Russians that were very well informed, and we make way for them too much here in Charleston. They barely spoke English, but it did not stop them to decide our destiny within the United States. The owner of the land that we had rented said that if he does not see us on it, he will till all of the fruit trees and grape vines that we had planted (several hundreds). Out of the three international phone books that we had ordered, we received only two. The order for the White Pages of Marseilles was deleted. Despite all of our persistence with AT&T, several months later, we still did not have it. There is an explanation to this. When we left France in November 1982, the French D.S.T., was convinced that we were rapidly going to be brought back. There, they made rapid changes and, one to two months after our departure, the judicial advisor, Madame Aleksis, sold her business and moved her office. Monsieur Faure, changed his phone number and did not list it in the phone book. Madame Olmiccia, changed work, and for Monsieur Cacic, all three of his phone numbers were disconnected. When we tried to call any of these people, we were unable to do this. (Important Note: Europeans RARELY change their telephone numbers.) My Dad believed that this time if we had a phone book we could maybe, find a few people in it, call and know something more from them. Without having the idea of what exactly, we try to guess. The American Secret Service is so intelligent, that they know everything and they never ask us anything. We are the only ones to say, "Americans what have we done to you so that you may offer us such hospitality?" Unfortunately, someone in the United States does not want us to receive this phone book. Immigration was very kind with us. They welcomed us and extended our papers right away. We spoke in advance that we would go to Chattanooga, and at the last minute, we left headed for Birmingham, Alabama. As soon as we stepped out to sell, the police was behind us. We understood that they were ready to stop us from selling once more. The next day, we were in the Smoky Mountains, and we could not sell a thing. Mr. and Mrs. Adams, that we had known, had moved to Lexington, Kentucky. The last time we had seen them, was when they came to visit us in Charleston in 1987. We surprised them wonderfully, and we spent a few very pleasant days with them. They were very embarrassed that they could not help us with the selling of our toys. The son of Mr. Adams was happy to see us and said that he knew a lot of people and could help us sell a lot of toys. His father turned around, and between his teeth said, "Be quiet." The unemployment rate in Lexington was only 2.3%, and we hoped that they would let us sell. The merchants were warned in advance and were very disagreeable with us. When we asked them, they did not even want to tell us where a Post Office was, which was right behind them. (If they did not "know," they sent us in the opposite directions.) At an organization of the blind, they even made fun of us. They said they took care of all the counties in Kentucky except this one (the one they were in). During several days, they sent us from one organization to the next. We went to everyone in Lexington and they all sent us to the Salvation Army. They did not even have seven dollars to buy a little toy. Usually we sell from $200-$450 a day when they let us sell. Without money, we could not even leave. Salvation Army gave us thirty dollars for gasoline and said that it would be sufficient to get to the Salvation Army in Knoxville, Tennessee. There, they gave us a tank full and sent us to a Salvation Army in Asheville, N.C. For several days, we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (this special diet made us vomit) and we finally arrived in Charleston. We are writing the rest of this story in the Norristown Library of Pennsylvania while the security guards and the librarian are looking for any excuse to put us at the door. Thus, we will have to abbreviate. In August of 1992, three days before school started, my mother rented a car and left to go selling in Alabama. She made $300.00 in less than three days. At the last second, we were able to have the necessary things to start school. I started Bishop England High School in the ninth grade. Upon my arrival, the teachers jumped on me with the excuse saying that I should tutor a young French boy who had arrived from France and been placed in the honors track, and that I would get paid for it. We were greatly in debt and they were sure that I would have to accept. The pressure was so great that even some of my classmates turned around and said, "Corinne, what's wrong? Do you really think that he needs a lot of help?" As I refused, I was offered a job in a doctor's office in the evenings and then a baby-sitting job for another doctor. I have no more doubts that since the fifth and sixth grades they have been trying to turn me to prostitution. The letters that my teachers had required me to write, a big story about my eyeglasses, teachers that have tried to take me out to see hairdressers and to restaurants with supposedly free coupons, etc. --- without mentioning a few of the men who were supposedly so very eager to help our family, and yet measured me from head to toe and awaited an opportunity. I am especially thinking of a certain man who was very well established in Charleston. It was then, for the first time, that we realized that perhaps we were being caused all of these troubles, not because of stories coming from France or Europe, but with the only goal of removing the children from the family for their own profits. Using the excuse of problems or stories from Europe as a major cover-up, they were working towards the goal of obtaining five girls and one boy. There are many more things to say, but I have no time. In November, we learned of Mr. Chi Diep's death through the newspapers. He supposedly died in the hospital at age 55; yet, no causes were specified. Many people were surprised for they thought it queer since he was so young. Christmas of 1992, Bishop England donated food and gifts. At the beginning of 1993, the new manager of the Charleston Housing Authority caused us heaps of troubles, to the point that it obliged us to go see the director. He decided to let us leave the apartments and authorized us to find a home under the Section 8 program. In the month of May, we moved into our new house, but my mother's mind did not become better --- 11 years of hospitality that we have been made to live through had left their consequences. As soon as we moved in, Mr. Reinert appeared. He persisted that he would find someone to drill us a well, find someone with a tractor, and many other things. All of this was well enacted to retain us at home, so that we would not go selling. this story was broken into six parts. Please continue to Part 2 (click here). |
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