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Neighborhood Watched
by
Diane Petryk
June 27, 2023. It was like that scene in The Birds. One seagull lands on on a high wire, then more, until they become an ominous flock. Only in this case they were people – gathering around my house. Sending out the “bird” calls was Alison Peeler on her cell phone. A relative newcomer on my block, Peeler attracted a cult-like following. She and her husband were self-anointed Neighborhood Watch block captains, selling their own brand of take-charge protection, whether there was anything to protect against or not. If not, there was bullying for personal gain. They wanted my house. Slander and harassment were their tools. Suspended from Neighborhood Watch by Lansing Police, they invented their own homeowners' group and plunged on. On June 27 Alison Peeler was calling neighbors and promising they would see me pulled out of my house by Lansing Police. Only I was far out of their jurisdiction by this time.
I owned 218 Paris and lived there for about 12 years. In the 270 days I had known of the Peelers existence by this date, I had not spoken to either of them for a cumulative five minutes. “Diane is in New York visiting her son,” Luke replied. “Bullshit!” came a loud voice from the other side. It was Daniel Peeler, Alison's husband. Alison continued. “The police are on their way.” “Good,” Luke said, and he and Baier went inside the house via the side door. “What a bunch of Karens,” Baier said with an insouciance that gave Luke reassurance. He hoped Dan wouldn't be put-off from the job. My house needed protection. By that time the tall and large Alison Peeler had beat on my doors so often and so severely I thought one time she might just break in. Brinks was hired to install three door alarms and a motion detector and other protections. The Peelers already had a track record of bullying, trespass, harassment, theft, vandalism to my car, and verbal assaults, all documented in police reports. Their suspension from Neighborhood Watch came after I gave my evidence to Lansing Police Neighborhood Watch Commander Anthony VandeVoorde. Once inside, Luke called me on my new Trac phone. I powered off my regular phone so it could not be traced. I talked Baier through finding an electrical outlet for the control panel and a spot to hang it, where to put the motion detector, etc. While Baier worked on arming the door to the deck on the second floor, Luke viewed the front sidewalk and street. He said neighbors were coming from across the street like the birds. Or, the other image that came to his mind, a lynch mob. ~~~ This is a story of neighbor abuse, police neglect, and a judge who forgot due process is guaranteed by the Constitution. There are many bad actors in this tale, but the one to watch is Ingham County Judge Richard Garcia. He was egregious. And he brought me to a desperate pass. I first met the Peelers on September 30, 2022. I had been visiting my son, Walter, in New York for a few months. He and I took the train back to Lansing, having arranged to rent a Penske truck to take some of his childhood belongings, including his piano, back to the house he recently purchased. We arrived in Lansing that day. I told my son that my cat, Muffin, was real cute when she used the tree adjacent to my back deck, to climb up and get let in at the second floor door. I told him her climbing made the branches shake like that tree in Jurassic Park when they fed the goat to the Velociraptor. He went outside and came back and said “What tree?”
The two-story high trees on the east side of my house, towards the back, were important for shade on the deck, as well as serving as cat ladders. But they were gone. And then we met the Peelers. They came out of their one bedroom house at 220 Paris, on the east side of mine, set further back than the trees in question, and while my son and I were discussing the damage, bragged about cutting the trees down, removal of my peonies bush, and some pine-tree pruning. I said they had no right to remove trees on my property and reported it to police as vandalism. An Unusual Claim
All the single lots in Maple Heights have a 33-foot frontage. If measured from the very corner of my house on the Peeler's side, with no land border at all, the 33-feet my deed guaranteed would leave my neighbor on the other side with no driveway. And so forth down the block to Everett Lane. I couldn't see that kind of disruption happening and dismissed the idea.
Before my son and I left for New York on October 3, I hired real estate agent Ryan Taylor to list my house for sale. Soon reports from potential buyers' agents started coming in about interference from the next door neighbors to the east – which meant the Peelers. It was said they approached prospective buyers with stories disparaging my house—especially the interior. But the Peelers had never been inside my house, nor had any other neighbors since I bought it. Still, Alison and Daniel Peeler told of bad wiring, unmitigated water damage, rodents, and mold under the carpets. The latter clearly unmasked the malicious fibs because my restored hard wood floors were not covered by any carpets. An acquaintance offered an undercover mission. She posed as a potential buyer looking at the outside. She was approached by the Peelers before she even got out of her car, heard that same litany of disparagement, and later signed a witness affidavit. The probate court later agreed, in the course of considering a Personal Protection Order, to protect her by concealing her name.
Such harassment is illegal and so is interfering with commerce. I asked East Lansing attorney Ed Szpiech to send the Peelers a cease and desist letter. They replied that they would continue to talk to anyone they pleased about whatever they pleased. In forwarding their reply to me, Szpiech inadvertently gave the Peelers my email address. That kicked off a continuous stream of email harassment in which Alison Peeler would threaten to take part of my property on the east side of the fence by “adverse possession,” promised to stalk me through Neighborhood Watch, and demanded I sell her my house because I “would have to sooner or later.” She added that I was fighting at the Jackpot Liquor Store, at Paris Avenue and Cedar Street. This became one of her favorite slanders, although I have never been a customer there or in a fight there. In one mention, she added that I backed my car into another car there. There were no such incidents. Meanwhile, I was getting a waterfall of citations from Lansing Code Enforcement about trivial things – a short piece of gutter missing, one wood pallet in the backyard, a metal storage unit that had been peacefully out back for many years, and weathered wood at the bottom of a fireplace chimney covering, all from Peeler complaints. My friend Laura Clark was showing the house in my absence and ran excellent interference by denying the Peelers' agent entry. She told me she was thinking “maybe first they should stop calling code enforcement every day.” Confident that white people who bully are not a protected class, I thanked her. Soon I decided to cancel the house listing until I could be there in person and make sure the Peelers didn't gain access as a springboard to further flights of fancy about the interior. I planned to return as soon as hazardous winter driving conditions were less likely. Since I had missed the code department's letter about the gutter and the deadline, they wouldn't allow an extension. It was February. I was forced to look for a weather window to make the 750-mile drive back. After an overnight in Niagara Falls, I arrived back in Lansing on February 13, 2023 with Muffin and Wellie. There was snow and ice on the ground and in the gutters. It was hard to find a contractor who would work on a gutter while it was encased in ice. Code Enforcement demanded I do so. Brett Davis was willing to give it a go. He bought a replacement piece for the gap, which was on the east side of the house. He put his ladder up, against my roof-line, and climbed to the top of it. At that moment the Peelers came out shouting “get off our property.” Daniel Peeler stood at the base of the ladder with crossed arms and said: “I'm going to take that ladder.” Davis replied: “Then I'm going to defend myself.”
At that standoff, a Lansing police car drove up. The Peelers had already called them. The officers ordered us to stop work. I stayed on my front yard. I told Officer A. Anderson that the city had ordered me to replace that missing gutter segment, but she just shrugged. The Peelers said it was their property.
A Thousand Dollar Survey
Alison Peeler then walked onto my front yard and in Officer Anderson's hearing yelled: “I have a thousand dollar survey that says your house is on our property.”
Davis volunteered to go over the next day and talk to the Peelers and humbly seek permission to do the gutter repair. But he asked them, he told me later, “So what if her house is on your property?” They told him they could get rent. But, no, they would not show him their “thousand dollar survey.”
In the ensuing weeks the Peelers flung more code violation accusations, some as silly as an outdoor umbrella table in the backyard (which was permissible), but the Code Enforcement Office spit most back at me. I was able to show with pictures how much more flagrant violations of those same issues were going ignored nearby. I wrote Code Compliance Relies on Neighbor Ratting Out Neighbor for Lansing public policy blogger Steve Harry. Code officers admitted the extreme attention my house was getting was due to calls from the Peelers, but defended their numerous visits by saying if they didn't respond they would be accused of not doing their job. But then, they were accused of that anyway, by the Peelers. When the Peelers said my stockade fence, partially dividing our two properties, was too dilapidated, the code officers said it was not. For that, the Peelers filed a complaint against them. They insisted that someone other than code enforcement officer Larry Connelly attend to their calls. Connelly witnessed Daniel Peeler charge at me when my surveyor came to call. One day the Peelers dug out and took away two of my fence panels. When I filed a theft report, a police officer identified as Owen Rogus by Officer Colleen Riley, came on the scene and went to talk to them. He came back and told me “they said they wouldn't take any more.” What? Theft of two was okay? And that was admitting the theft. But I still couldn't get police to charge them with it. It was when evidence mounted of trespass, vandalism to my car, shouted threats and insults, and other harassment, that I visited with Commander VandeVoorde. We talked for awhile at the downtown police station and I gave him statements and documentation. Shortly after that he suspended the Peelers from Neighborhood Watch. He would not, however, give me his report because, he said, the Peelers filed a complaint against him. He did say later, “I tried to convince them to be good neighbors. I failed.” It was hard to come and go without being verbally assaulted and my path to my side door was often watched by Alison sitting on Kay Paige's front porch. Dan Peelers' first Facebook page was entirely a photo of his silver handgun, adding a frisson of fear to the proceedings.
Neighborhood Watch zealotry and handguns had a way of resulting in fatalities, such as when George Zimmerman shot Trayvon Martin in Sanford, Florida, in 2012. So I called police when the Peelers would beat on my door. I felt the couple should be poster people for Michigan stalking law, (MCL Section 750.411h) Public Acts 328, 1931, amended in 1997, to include just what they were doing, including: Sending mail or electronic communications to the victim (I received many harassing and threatening emails from Alison Peeler); Placing an object on, or delivering an object to, property owned, leased, or occupied by that individual (The Peelers message in my mailbox stating that my house was on their property; placing a camera on my side of the property line) Unconsented contact (Advised by an attorney, I notified them to stop the emails and all contact with myself and my son and they continued them.) Police did not investigate. Their stock answer was “Get a PPO (Personal Protection Order),” a lazy way out for them, since they could avoid investigating and discovering the aggressor. And when you get a PPO, you are not one bit safer against scofflaws, a judge once told me. It does not stop the behavior. Meanwhile, I had been calling surveyors and telling them my situation. They were skeptical about a house being on someone else's property, but said they would need $500 to $700 to get a determinant answer. Living on Social Security, I couldn't afford that. Soon it became so I could rarely go outside without enduring shouted insults and threats, even when interference reached the heights of absurdity. When I was simply weeding the grass out front, Alison Peeler crossed my yard and spoke to Kay Paige's housemate, Ken: “She was going to throw that dandelion in the street,” Peeler said. “Yes, I think she was,” Ken said. Peeler replied: “That's why I came over here.”
“Be careful when you creep
around --Alison Peeler As always, I did not respond. But my freedom to use my yard, front or back, evaporated. The Peelers' west side windows faced the paved area in front of my garage in back, which for years I used as a patio. I couldn't sit there anymore. The kid who mowed my lawn said he saw a camera trained on the spot in the Peelers' window. Paige's kitchen window, and front porch where Alison Peeler often perched, gave direct view of my front and side doors. Parking my car on the west side of my house, where the Peelers couldn't readily see it when they weren't at Paige's, was my only refuge. And Kay didn't like that because it narrowed her driving channel. 'I'm Going to Do Your Survey' “Our border dispute,” as Alison Peeler termed it, came to an end the day Peter Beaver knocked on my door. I opened it to a man I did not know. He said: “I am going to do your survey.” Apparently he was one of the surveyors I had called. “But I can't pay you,” I said. He shrugged. He was going to do it anyway. While I looked on in amazement, he started on Paige's side, putting in a stake at about the middle of the driveway in front. Paige came out. I told her the survey had nothing to do with her, but she was carrying anger because I was parking on the side of my house, making backing out in her pickup truck something she had to do carefully – but it was really not that difficult. If I parked in the Peelers' line of sight, further front or up by my garage, I was verbally jumped every time. I couldn't explain this to Kay because she wouldn't stop to listen. And besides, she remembered I fed homeless cats – never mind that she was doing it now herself.
I hadn't said a word. Border set, the Peelers just moved on to other complaints. They were constantly on the lookout for an infraction of code and if they weren't their cameras were. Another was found way out back on a large maple tree that grew on both sides of the property line. When heavy rains came one day in March, the Peelers told Code Enforcement my basement was flooding. Basements were flooding all over town that day, so that and the appearance of a Roto-Rooter man, made it a good guess, but two code enforcement officers were sent to my house because the Peelers called and they were now answering Peeler calls in pairs. It was Connelly and another man. It seemed the Peelers had Barb Kimmel, acting director of the Code Enforcement Office, on speed dial. I didn't have to let them in so I didn't. The Peelers just made the city waste a trip.
the papers. I overheard the Peelers tell him “Get the f**k off our property.” I notified the court I could not get them served. The Peeler's complaints to Code Compliance continued. While they were usually about easily remedied things, like the one wood pallet in back could be dragged into the garage (never mind that someone on Lyons Avenue was unchallenged with more than 25 of them in their front yard), one day the Peelers didn't like the look of the shingles on my garage roof. Something Connelly apparently overlooked when he said he saw no more code violations, I was ordered to install a complete new garage roof. They wouldn't let me just replace missing shingles. Estimates were between $4,000 and $6,000. This was while a garage about 50 yards from mine, at the back of a house on Hodge, had a completely collapsed roof, and one had to wonder if code officers were bothered by that. The Peelers called so much that Barb Kimmel told Connelly in an email (obtained by FOIA request), to go to my house and “ticket everything you see.” Connelly didn't see enough to satisfy the Peelers, however, so they apparently filed a complaint against him. I did not have thousands of dollars to repair a garage roof. I asked Code for a year delay and that was denied. Calls to a credit union assistance program for roofing loans revealed that I could not get a loan for mine unless the garage was attached to the house. A co-signer wouldn't be acceptable unless he lived there. Then someone suggested calling the Tri-County Office on Aging, which, in partnership with the Capital Area Housing Coalition, helps age- and income-qualified people get roof replacements. Access Services Supervisor Jill Moulton told me they didn't usually do garages, but “under the circumstances” (a threatened $500 a day fine) they would attempt to go through channels to get mine approved. “And by the way,” she asked, “how's the rest of the house?” The roof on the rest of the house, she meant. I recalled that my insurance company hadn't been too pleased with it. Moulton sent out an inspector and it was added to the request. In the end, my garage roof and house roof were inspected and approved for replacement. Raising the Roof
It got so bad for the roofers that they called 911. But 911 did not respond. John VanderWheele, owner of Light of Day Roofing, had to come out. He spoke with Alison Peeler and later said to me: “I have never seen anything like it.” Once, during that two-day folderol, Alison Peeler followed me into my own garage and verbally assaulted me. Starting with “I'm trespassing and I don't care.” She marched toward me and came right in my face. I was busy clicking off pictures of her and do not remember the rest of her words. But her demeanor was certainly threatening and I knew full well by then that 911 would not respond to my house. A presupposition on law enforcement's part, I submit, that could be very dangerous.
Possibly proving the Law of Unintended Consequences, my roof got replaced from front to back, including detached garage, at absolutely no cost to me. The agency also re-enforced the deck and replaced all the gutters and downspouts and house soffits and added new gutters on the garage. Alison threatened me by email about future runoff. The crew was expert and did a wonderful job. The retail cost of it all was at least $12,000.
Meanwhile, the Peelers were threatening another tree, one we shared. This time, a magnificent 400-something-year-old maple tree, that was an asset to the air we all breathed in that neighborhood as well as its ambiance in general, was in jeopardy. By Peter Beaver's stake, it sat on the property line. Michigan law states that when a tree is on the property line both property owners must agree if it is to be cut down. My son got a special tree attorney in Grand Rapids, Fred Boncher, to explain this to the Peelers, and voice our objection. They replied to Boncher that they would do what they please because they are “litigation proof” from having turned themselves into a Limited Liability Company called Peeler Ranch. Boncher told them not to be so sure, since they owned or were buying a home. In any case, his paralegal, Darcy Hagar, reported being “inundated” by emails from Alison – 30 to 40, she said.
I asked the Lansing police for “equal policing.” In other words, for them to protect my tree just like they protected the Peelers imagined “property” when I was trying to repair a gutter. In letters to Police Chief Ellery Sosebee and Mayor Andy Schor, I tried to draw the parallel with his officers stopping my work on my own gutter when the Peeler's claimed it. I wanted them to stop the tree cutting, since I claimed my rights over it. Neither Sosebee or Schor gave even the courtesy of a response. I also wrote to the city council. Not a single council-person responded, including my then-representative, Jeremy Garza. I also tried for a restraining order through the court and that was denied. The tree was beautiful from Hodge Street in back as well as from Paris Avenue in all directions. Attorney Boncher's letter was also ignored by the Peelers and, sadly, the tree was cut down. Peeler said her tree expert, Zachary Lonchar of Daring Services, would explain why it was necessary to cut the tree down. So my son called him and asked. Lonchar demurred, saying he would have to look it up, but he gave Peeler my son's phone number, opening him up to Peeler's texting. Yes, she threatened his acting career in New York for making the one call she invited. And then she started sending him more texts, after the legal notification to cease all contact with myself and my son.
At first, Alison Peeler claimed the tree was not on the property line. Until she wanted to claim that it was on the property line so she could threaten me with a lien on my house for half of the cost of cutting it down, $1,700. The cutting remains an illegal act under Michigan law. My real estate agent's boss, Paul Brown, associate broker with The Gateway Group, Keller Williams Realty, told me liens don't work that way. You'd have to have ordered the work to be liable for the cost. We expressly protested the cutting. The lien threat did not affect the sale of the house. Later the Peelers would take Paul Brown before the Michigan Department of Licensing and Regulatory Affairs. After a little fact-finding, the agency dismissed the matter, he said, but “It took up a ton of my time.” The Peelers complained in emails that they were not given a chance to buy my house, and insisted they would pay fair market value. But my agent, Melissa Frieling, in the midst of having every potential buyer accosted by the Peelers, contacted them and asked for their offer. She said they offered $8,000 – what they deemed was the value of the land alone. The Peelers called my four-bedroom, two-bath house with fireplace and deck, new furnace and new roof, worthless. Frieling was comfortable listing it for around $90,000. Brown reported the Peelers' activities to Police Chief Sosebee. We got into contract with a woman who liked my house, but Alison Peeler told her the fireplace was bad, among other things she had no way of knowing about. The Peelers, ever researching, found that the fireplace had never been permitted, although it was installed long before I was the owner. The buyer was a single mother with an eight-year-old boy who really loved the house. She was scared off. I tried a third time for that PPO. The hearings are always on Friday mornings. Even though I couldn't serve the papers on the Peelers, Alison monitored the docket. Through email and by shouting at me from across the street, Alison Peeler threatened to bring a long list of neighbors to bear witness against me, turning a PPO hearing into a neighborhood forum. She named them. Some of them I had never met. Some were the children and grandchildren of homeowners I knew who had recently died – Emma Perez, across the street at 227 Paris, who died in August 2022 at 92, and Betty Burghdorf who died in 2021 at age 99. I was friends with Emma and her son, Hector. Emma and I conspired to get the homeless cats fed in the winter, and when I was away, she would put more food out, even braving walking across the icy street. A year or so later I told her granddaughter Maria that I would be away for awhile and gave her my phone number in case she saw anything happening around the house. She replied: “Well, we've heard things about you,” with a nod to the Peeler's house. Burghdorf's 300 Paris Ave. house was on my side of the street, on the other side of the Peeler's house. Betty and I often spent hours together. I would listen to her stories of the early days on the block, sixty years or so ago. Her nephew lived there, but her son and daughter rarely visited. I'd barely met them, but they were on the Peeler's list. The expected hearsay of these neighbors was irrelevant, but there was another neighbor mentioned. I don't know if Alison Peeler even knew of his long criminal history, including violence against women, and extensive rap sheet including non-aggravated battery, illegal gun possession, obstruction of justice and sexual abuse of a child. Did she know this 200-pound neighbor would block a woman's path on the street and put his arms on her against her will? That he nearly killed one woman? This was a credible threat. Because Alison was trying to use this dangerous person, I asked for a closed hearing. It was denied. Therefore, I felt I had no choice but to leave a message for Judge Richard Garcia that I would not appear because of this threat. I couldn't reach him on the phone, nor even a clerk. I had to leave a voicemail. But Alison Peeler did appear. A Late-Night Knock Later that Friday, I was in my living room, well within hearing distance of her on my front yard, when she approached my handyman, Terry Shiels, who was outside working on my front screen door. She asked him if I was paying him, which was always her opening. Then she said “Judge Garcia gave me an order for her to be picked up for a mental exam....” When Terry came in we looked at each other. “That's just a joke isn't it?” he asked. “Probably,” I said. “She loves to make up stories.” In addition to fights at the Jackpot Liquor Store, I was supposed to have been stalking neighbors in my car, using their trash bins, ripping down signs, and committing other unspecific “shenanigans.” None of those stories were any truer than her “thousand dollar survey” or mold under non-existent carpets. My first impression was that this “order” was equally imaginary. At 10:30 pm I found out otherwise. There was a loud pounding on the front door. I first thought it was Alison having one of her rages, but I looked out my upstairs front window and saw three men in LPD flak jackets. They continued to beat on the front door and then went to the side door and tried knocking there. Finally, the trio walked away toward Everett Lane. They had parked their patrol car some distance down the block. Of course I didn't open the door. Who opens the door to anyone unknown to them at 10:30 night? I emailed Attorney Rebecca Kerr, who I once met with at the Michigan Avenue Women's Center's legal clinic. She helped me obtain the deed to my home after paying off my land contract. She was now working for a law firm, but did promise, as a favor, to go to the Ingham County Court House on Monday morning and find out what was going on. In the meantime, she wrote, “You have rights. Don't open the door to anyone.” Fleeing for My Freedom So I spent Friday night and all day Saturday and Sunday inside. There were no more knockings. But by about 2 am Monday I felt that might change as the work-week began. I know police aren't supposed to enter a home unless they have a warrant, see an “emergency,” or you invite them in. But what was an emergency? Could they make something up about a “wellness check” or something? I couldn't be sure. So I quickly packed a few things. Muffin and Wellington immediately sensed something was up and would not allow me to put them in their carriers. They went into hiding. I would have to get someone to come in and feed them. I called my son in New York and about 3 am I left in my car. I got gas at the Okemos Meijers and discovered they were no longer a 24-hour store so I couldn't hang out there. Online, my son found a 24-hr Dunkin Donuts at Okemos Road and I-96. I spent the rest of the night there with my car backed in so the license plate wouldn't show, just in case. At daybreak I drove to Mason for lack of a better idea. Walter called the court for information on my case and they wouldn't talk to him. Answering a general question, they told him they may communicate court orders to adjacent counties. I became glad one of my son's favorite board games as a kid was Scotland Yard. It involves pursuit of a suspect who has to come up from the underground now and then and take public transportation. He liked to play the part of the pursued. He usually won. He told me: “Get at least two counties away.” But first I needed to find an attorney. I didn't want to drive all over and have my license plate out on the road. So I called my stalwart friend Luke Schafer and he drove out to Mason immediately. We sat at the Big Boy off Cedar Street and I filled him in on the whole story. Then we strategized with my son on the phone. When I told him we were in Mason, he said Mason is the county seat so I thought it best to get out of there. He suggested Battle Creek. I chose Jackson. I had friends there. Jim Hong is the leader of a humanists group that meets in Lansing and, as a member, I had known him for 11 years. His wife, Marian, is generous and kind and smart. Without question, they offered me sanctuary. Meanwhile, Kerr was true to her word. She emailed early Monday. She had dug out Alison Peeler's petition, Judge Garcia's order, and some details. Judge Garcia had issued an “Order for Examination/Transport". It lists a date of hearing as 6/9/2023, but I had no hearing. He checked these boxes: “The individual requires immediate assessment because the individual presents a substantial risk of physical or mental harm to himself/herself in the near future or presents a substantial risk of significant physical harm to others in the near future.” “It is ordered that the individual be examined by a psychiatrist and a physician or licensed psychologist. “The Individual shall be hospitalized... “A peace officer shall take the individual into protective custody and transport him/her to the designated pre-screening unit or hospital.” Police had ten days to comply. The order required nothing of me. Apparently I wasn't supposed to know about it. The men with butterfly nets were to surprise me. It was only Alison Peeler's need to brag about it that tipped me off. Peeler's petition asking for my “transport and evaluation” as a potential mental patient, cited vandalism on her property, which could only be repositioned red yarn, since I never walked on her property, and a reference to my being Ukrainian. Neither are indicators under the law of mental illness. No crime is. Nor was my reference to Ukrainian tenacity, however misquoted. Actually, nothing legally indicates “transport and evaluation” for mental illness except being a danger to oneself or others. And the petitioner, under Michigan law, must first ask the subject for voluntary cooperation, which Peeler did not do. According to https://pr.ingham.org/courts_and_sheriff/probate_court/mental _health.php, “such a petition requires the petitioner to include a report of observations or witness statements which are basis for the request, address information on all relevant relatives (if no spouse, then next of kin). Petitioner must also affirm under oath that he/she has been unable, after reasonable effort, to secure an examination, and give the reasons for not getting the examination.” None of this was done. Feeding homeless cats is not mental illness, no matter what you think of feeding homeless cats. Nor is how you park, or weeding dandelions in a suspicious manner, or other typical neighbor sore points like complaining about high radio volume, high grass, or pit bulls. Peeler had no grounds for her petition, but she convinced a band of neighbors she knew what she was doing. Judge Garcia had my detailed PPO petition in front of him from which he would have easily discerned Peeler's ulterior motives, if he had bothered to read it. Those motives include her having pressured me to sell her my house, and that she was a liar by the evidence and a bully, as apparently determined by VandeVoorde. How, I wondered, could a woman who did not know me, never spent time in my presence, never had done more than shout at me, and was not related to me, be considered a trustworthy judge of my mental state? Backed up by zero mental health incidents? A Slanderous Misquote A copy of the petition was signed by Alison Peeler but, curiously, beneath her signature, was another sentence in someone else's handwriting. It claimed I said I was a danger to my neighbors. Who in Judge Garcia's office added that sentence? Kerr said it looked like Garcia's handwriting, but she couldn't be sure.
Garcia also erred by not following the law that requires Peeler ask for my voluntary cooperation. His order was entirely careless.
Contemplating the result, being taken by surprise and by force, is not a small thing. It is a very scary thing to imagine facing bureaucratic psychiatric professionals who, for all I knew, could be like Nurse Ratched in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. My advantage over the surprise kidnapping planned for me was that Peeler's ego required her to brag about it in advance.
And right there the petitioner revealed her true motive. Not to help a person in need of mental health help, but to show off personal power. I believe the Peelers named themselves Neighborhood Watch block captains as a power base, and used it malevolently against me. But when I told the whole story to Luke Schafer, it was not the Peelers who shocked him, but Judge Garcia. No one expects exceptionally compassionate or wise neighbors, but, he said, Garcia is supposed to be a responsible, level-headed, perspicacious person. All my friends reacted the same way. A close friend from college days, found Garcia so objectionable that he immediately deposited $5,000 in my MSU Credit Union account so I could hire a lawyer. “And there's more if you need it,” he said. The ex-fiance who got away, or who let me get away, 40 years ago, had a heart of gold. The problem was in finding a lawyer for this type of problem. I left the the Hongs in Jackson and drove back to the Lansing area, but stayed at obscure hotels. My attorney hunt began in the parking lot of Americas Best Value Inn. Kerr's firm did not handle mental health cases. Szpiech was too busy. They referred me on, and those people referred me on. It was soon apparent that money wasn't the only hurdle. Imagine on a cold call, telling an attorney your neighbor has turned you in for being crazy. You might be able to convince that attorney you are rational if they let the consultation run long enough. Many did not. While Luke was leaving food for my cats, but never seeing them, I was nervously motel hopping and bingeing on episodes of Love It or List It. I finally got Okemos Attorney Eric Sheppard to agree to meet with me on Monday, June 19, 2023 – now the federal holiday Juneteenth. I had to stay uncaptured through one more weekend. On Monday, I pulled out of the Village Inn in Holt onto Aurelius road to head toward Okemos to meet Sheppard. Not very far past Cedar Street, I saw flashing red lights behind me and had to pull over. I was scared and angry all at once. It was an Ingham County Sheriff's car. Naturally, I thought. I really thought the jig was up. The first officer approached on my passenger side. He said my wheels had gone over the white line on the right. As I handed him my license I said: “I live in Lansing but I was staying at the motel because the floors are being done at my house.” That came out smooth. But, I thought, when he runs my license he will find out about Garcia's transportation order....maybe. I had no idea if such a “BOLO” had gone out. But the officer just came back and asked for my insurance and when I reached for a back-pack, he just said “Oh, that's okay.” Apparently the white line thing was a ruse. He sort of apologized. “We were just monitoring the motel – lots of bad stuff going on.” I guess I didn't fit the profile. But I learned that “obscure” motels are not obscure to police. They are watched. I don't know if he ran my license or thought better of it. I got to Okemos early and paced in Sheppard's parking lot. Finally, a Lawyer There was no one in his Hamilton Road office building because of the holiday. Sheppard talked with me for two hours. We even got my son in on it over the phone. Finally, he said: “I'm not a doctor, but I have listened to you for two hours and you seem rational to me. I don't think you're crazy.” And he wanted $3,500 to go try to get the order dismissed. I started to write a check for that, but he didn't want a check. He preferred my debit card, even though I had only $2,500 on it. Sheppard said he would go to the court the next day and motion to get the order dismissed. And he would file for a PPO on my behalf against the Peelers, because he was sure I didn't do it right. He got the order dismissed alright. Judge Garcia signed it. But the order dated June 9 was “expiring” anyway. The order actually says if it is not executed in 10 days the law enforcement agency must tell the court why it failed. It doesn't expressly say the order expires. But Sheppard thought so. He called me with the good news of the dismissal and said I could go back home and I did so with great relief. I started to go about my business of packing up the house. I apologized to Muffin and Wellie and gave them lots of hugs and Temptations. Well, Wellie got treats. He didn't do hugs. I was home on the 20th and 21st of June. On the 22nd, I heard Alison, from out in her yard and near my house, talking loudly into a cell phone. She said: “Oh that one's expired, but I got a new one. And we're gonna get her this time!” “We're gonna get her this time!” was not spoken in a manner of kindly concern. I wish Garcia could have heard the motivation that came through loud and clear. I was instantly alarmed. If Alison Peeler intended to be heard by me, she forgot she was giving away the game. My son called. He received this text from Peeler: “Heads up, another one's coming.” Did Garcia really turn right around after dismissing in writing the order of June 9, in front of Sheppard on the 20th, and issue a new one? First, I got out of the house, faster than last time. As I threw a few things in a backpack, my cats sensed trouble again and went into hiding. Once away from my house, I texted Sheppard in a panic. He replied: “I was at the courthouse filing the petition for personal protection order with the circuit court clerk’s office. I walked over to the probate court clerk’s office to confirm about whether there was a second petition filed. I was verbally told that Ms. Peeler filed a second petition and that an order was signed. I did not obtain a copy of the petition or the order.” Despite Sheppard, who's motion for dismissal insisted I am not in need of mental health intervention, Garcia would turn around and issue the order again? Again utterly carelessly, without due process? Again without Peeler following the law and asking me? Sheppard told me he told the court the first time that I should be given due process in any further actions. (Later LPD Officer Riley looked for a second order and said there was only one). I'm still uncertain, because Sheppard didn't ask to see it. I asked him to get it as well as a copy of my voicemail someone may have twisted. Instead, the feckless Sheppard said: “The Ingham County judiciary doesn't like you because you are defying them.” So did that tell him he should take my money and not do the job of representing me? It is not for the Ingham County Judiciary to like or not like me, but to administer justice. I had the feeling Sheppard wasn't going to seek the voicemail because he would rather be popular around the courthouse than seek proof of anything they wouldn't like. In any case, if police couldn't find me that didn't prove I was defying them, so Sheppard must have told them I was defying them. The order was directed to the police, not me. But of course I was defying them! They were acting illegally and tyrannically, violating my personal sovereignty without evidence or due process. As my son told Garcia by email, I have never had a mental health incident, do not take mind-altering drugs, have no prescriptions of any kind, nor do I drink alcohol, and there are many reasons to distrust the petitioner. Why should my next-of-kin's statement be ignored and words of a demonstrated crank neighbor who didn't know me at all, be believed? Then I heard “play along and get tested” once or twice. To be dragged out of my house in handcuffs for the neighbors' enjoyment? And have a permanent record that I was accused of having of mental health issues? Those things don't go away – ever. No matter how “confidential” medical records are supposed to be. Perhaps meet up with the kind of paramedics who killed Elijah McClain with ketamine? One of Luke's friends was aghast. “What if they came for me while I was babysitting my grandkids?” she said. I would plan to remain silent, but could I hold to it? What if they tried my patience and I lost my temper? If there could be a rogue judge like Garcia, why not a rogue psychiatrist? Could he throw me in a padded room for months? What would actually happen? I had no information. The court wouldn't give me any and neither would any lawyer I talked to. The court wouldn't talk to me about my own case. They said a lawyer could get the information because they are known to the court – but I, over the phone, could not prove my identity. My son spent hours calling lawyers. I did, too. We called almost every lawyer in the book. I only knew one thing for sure: they tried to take me by surprise at 10:30 at night. Is waking someone up or scaring them by pounding on their door so late designed to “help”? It could just drive a person actually mentally ill into a desperate act. Do they even think of that? A razor blade in the bathroom while the cops are knocking? No, I would not “play along.” Later Luke told me he heard of a man interviewed on a Sean Hannity show. His story was this: He quipped to his doctor that if his medical discomfort continued he would kill himself. People say things like that all the time and don't mean it. In this case the man did not mean it either, but his doctor suggested just getting his mental health “checked out.” This man played along. And he was cleared of any mental health problems. But just because of having had such a test, when he went to buy a gun, he was refused, even though he passed the test. I cannot yet imagine being in the market for a gun. But who else looks at these things? Agencies going over applicants for substitute teaching jobs? Adopting a child? Custody of a child? I've heard of some invasive questions for adopting a pet these days. The state of mental health treatment stigma in this country is hardly much improved since it cost Thomas Eagleton the vice presidential nomination 42 years ago. Sheppard went so far as to say that he thought my leaving my house was evidence of mental impairment. Really? So you have to agree to a state-ordered mind rape to be considered sane? I disagree. Sheppard also failed in his “professional” effort to get me a PPO. At least the court responded to my petitions with hearing offers. Sheppard got refused outright. But that was now moot because I couldn't stay home. Even if Alison Peeler had been restricted to stay so many feet away from me, as a PPO would demand, she could still file petitions. At the same time Peeler continued to email me about a new homeowner's association that was going to watch my every move. “Be careful when you creep around in the dark,” she wrote. “You never know where I'll be.” Normally I did not respond to her rants, but Sheppard advised me to respond with an email telling her to cease all contact. I did so on June 21, 2023. That put her in violation of MCL 750.411h law if she continued. Of course, she did. And I kept telling the police. A perfect violation of Michigan Compiled Laws 750.411h. Meanwhile I was on my second flight from home. I ditched my car and my phone. My cats would be worried where their security human went, but it couldn't be helped. I drove straight to Trowbridge and Harrison roads in East Lansing determined to take a train somewhere. I thought of going to my son's house in New York. I realized my car could be spotted parked in the Amtrak lot, if anyone was looking for it. I needed an alternative and recalled that Bruce Wheaton, building manager of the University United Methodist Church at 1120 S. Harrison, once let me park in the church's lot while I took the train to Oregon. I was lucky on June 22. He was in the building. He remembered me and kindly let me park in the lot again. Parking at the train station used to be free but after remodeling it to make it better it was worse in that a fee for parking would now often cost more than a train ticket. That evening my car was parked in the church's lot behind the Fresh Thyme market. And I bought a ticket for the Lake Shore Limited. Catching the Lake Shore involved a bus from East Lansing to Toledo, and waiting for the train to arrive about 3 am. In Toledo, I asked for a ticket for the Adirondack from Schenectady but they informed me the Adirondack wasn't running due to the Canadian wild fires. It couldn't make it to its final destination, Montreal, without complying with the Canadians demand they go slower than they were willing to go. Walter suggested renting a car in Schenectady. Although only an hour and half drive from his house, he was in New York City rehearsing a play. I had Enterprise car rental company pick me up at the train station, but then couldn't rent from them without a major credit card. All my money at that moment was on a debit card. Hertz said they would take a debit card, but not for the same day rental. I ended up going back to the train station and buying a ticket back to East Lansing, knowing I would have to pick up my car eventually. Only, just in case police could find out who bought tickets to where, I slipped off the bus at Jackson. Not wanting to bother Jim and Marian Hong again, I got an Airbnb. That night the power went out on its street so I couldn't charge my phone. In the morning, I walked to a nearby store that wasn't affected, bought coffee and plugged my phone in. Then it rang. “Hello,” I said. “This is Commander VandeVoorde,” the voice said. For the first seconds I was pleased. I thought if the Peelers' complaint against him was resolved he was possibly calling to give me a report I could use with Judge Garcia. “Is the Peelers' case against you resolved?” I asked. “No,” he said. “But Judge Garcia has issued an order....so I am going to pick you up and take you to the hospital.” I froze. Could you imagine hearing that? With my wits, I would have asked if he was going to come to New York to pick me up and go with me to my son's play, but the statement knocked the wits out of me. I just pushed the red off button. He called again and I shut the side button. I thought the act of clicking off a call by the side button also shut off the phone. But I found out otherwise when he called again and again. He must have called about six times and I clicked off each time. Finally I dialed my son and breathlessly told him what was happening. “So how do you shut this damn thing off?” I asked. “Breathe,” he said. “I will tell you how to power off, but first you have to tell me how we are going to communicate after that.” I said I would get a Trac phone and call him as soon as I could. I walked a couple miles to the nearest Dollar General and got the phone. With the help of my Airbnb host and her own cell phone, I got the Trac phone working that night. And that was where, patient readers, you all came in on this story. The next day I was directing the Brinks installation at 218 Paris Ave., from the Trac phone. And Luke was relieved that installer Baier was taking the Peeler aggression and gathering mob in stride. Still, when his work was done, Baier suggested to Luke that they leave together. The neighbors had dispersed, but he said, “I think this is a job for two.” (Later he would tell me that he thought the crowd was a very disrespectful group.) That night it was with some relief I knew there was a sign in front of my house: “Protected by Brinks.” After another day at the Airbnb, I did call the Hongs to discuss my situation. Marian assured me I was welcome another night. So we put our heads together and figured it out. The next day was the regular meeting of our group in Lansing – at the Pizza House on Hagadorn. Jim was going there anyway, so he would carry my car keys and hand them over to Luke. Luke would then park his car in place of mine at the church and ferry my car to Jackson the next day. Marian helped me go online and buy a train ticket for Luke – one stop, Battle Creek to East Lansing. When he got to Jackson, we drove together to Battle Creek. The train for East Lansing leaves Battle Creek at 7 pm. While Luke sat in the station I walked around the corner and bought him the best sandwich Jimmy Johns offered. I owed him a lot, but there would be more to come. When he left on the Blue Water, his first ever train ride, I drove south, into the smokey Indiana night. I had no plan, other than to get out of Michigan. The Indiana state line was a relief. I spent two nights at all night truck stops, sleeping in the car. Each night Walter called and made sure I felt safe where I was. I was traveling on donated money, but I didn't want to squander it. What would I have done without it, I wondered. Walter was often on the phone giving me directions when the GPS messed up or didn't work due to the mountains or road construction confused it. Once, when I was totally lost in rural area after dark, he told me how to set the phone so it gave him my location and he got me back on route. Before long I was near Buffalo and the Canadian border beckoned like a shining savior on a hill. That was certainly out of Judge Garcia's jurisdiction! I thought I would stay at a motel there for two or three days and just relax. What I didn't know was I was crossing the border on Canada's biggest holiday of the year – Canada Day, July 1. In Niagara Falls there were no motel rooms available, at least not in my price range. I went to the YWCA shelter and when I walked up to the door Walter was already on the phone with the management seeing if he could talk them into finding me a room. They couldn't. They were filled. A neighbor there gave me a tip on an apartment complex nearby with big parking lot where he knew I would not be noticed. So it was another night in the car. In the morning, looking for some distraction, I drove to one of my favorite places in Canada, Niagara-on-the-Lake. It's 15 miles or so from Niagara Falls, an attractive theater town we knew. I just planned to walk around, have an organic coffee at my favorite place, Balzacs, and then drive back into New York. Sitting in the coffee shop I got an idea that made me smile. I bought a postcard with a Mountie in the picture. With the help of a woman in Balzacs with Google on her cell phone, I got the Lansing Police Department headquarters' street address and addressed the card to Commander VandeVoorde there and mailed it before I got on the bridge. My message: “Thanks for the escort offer, but I prefer the Mountie.” I was truly disappointed in VandeVoorde. He could have helped end my predicament. He was the only person of authority who knew the personalities of Alison and Daniel Peeler and had enough conversation with me to know that I am articulate, thoughtful, and not mentally impaired. VandeVoorde could have let Garcia know, like a Friend of the Court. He could have informed the judge how the Peelers' motives were suspect and told of his failed attempt to persuade the Peelers to be good neighbors and their suspension from Neighborhood Watch. Instead he decided to just follow orders. Do the job and fail justice. On the long bumper to bumper wait on the Lewiston Bridge heading back to New York, I was laughing to myself. I was cheered by the “comic relief” of my postcard – all the way up to the customs booth, which took more than an hour on that congested day. Then I got a splash of cold water, metaphorically. They knew. The customs officer consulted with her colleague. He said: “Well, technically it hasn't been served, so.....” But the mental health “transport and evaluate” didn't have to be served. I was confused, but she waved me on so I didn't ask questions. As I was about to pull away, she asked: “Did someone file a PPO against you?” “No,” I said. “But I was trying to get one against my neighbor.” What the heck was that information doing at the New York/Canadian border? I was still a day away from my son's upstate New York house, which we use as an Airbnb. I am the host, because Walter lives in New York City. It was suddenly July 4. Lots of traffic around Lake George made me rush to open up the Airbnb calendar. Meanwhile, Walter was busy trying to figure out how to rescue Muffin and Wellington, two very perplexed and upset cats alone in the house in Lansing. Being feral rescues, I was their only human. They were scared of anyone else. The Great Cat Rescue Walter devised a trap and transport plan that I gave a one in a hundred chance of working. Three things had to happen on schedule. Two cats needed to walk into traps during the same night. Over the phone he purchased two traps from Tractor Supply and had Luke pick them up and set them with food inside in different parts of the house. I didn't think they would both fall for it, but in the morning Luke called and jubilantly said: “We have two cats!” That was the first hurdle, but then we needed vet certificates. Walter had located a company that would transport them all 750 miles, but the cats had to have USDA certificates for crossing state lines – a health exam and rabies shots that were less than one month old. The ones I had for them from Petco in Frandor were much older than that. Undaunted, Walter found St. Francis Veterinary Housecall Services out of Okemos. The cats didn't like to be handled, but Dr. Maria (as she likes to be called because her full name is Maria-Andromahi Iliopoulio), deftly took them, in turn, out to her van-clinic for the shots, exams and in and out of their carriers. Kay Paige interrupted her in the driveway, but Dr. Maria did not let that distract her from the job. I was amazed that she could handle Wellie, because she's so skittish of humans. All went smoothly. Both cats got their exam and rabies shots and were cleared for interstate travel. About an hour later Israel and Madeleine from Furfetchers of Holland, Michigan, arrived and left with the cats in their SUV about 7 pm. Walter and I sat up the next 27 hours, waiting for them to arrive. A couple times Israel and Madeleine sent pictures of Muffin and Wellington in their cages. They looked awfully worried to me, but they were okay. It was after midnight when the Furfetchers arrived with the little ones! I let them out of their cages right away and they took a tour of the house and then went to sleep. I sent Israel and Madeleine straight up to my Airbnb guest room. In the morning they asked how the cats and I got separated. I explained the Peelers to them. It took awhile. In few days I took off for New York City on the Ethan Allen train from Castleton, Vermont. My son was appearing in a play and I hadn't missed one yet. I didn't tell him I was coming. He didn't ask me to because he thought I was tired of traveling. But when I saw him in the lobby after the show we hugged for a long, long time. We had been through a lot worse than a Scotland Yard game. Life calmed down for awhile. Muffin shadowed me everywhere. Wellie started to sit next to me on the couch, as long as it was her idea. After all the shocks and near misses, I was still jumpy when I saw police drive by the house or when they were behind my car, even in New York. I had fugitive PTSD. But my neighbor in New York comes over to help me weed dandelions. She brings perennials to plant in my yard and donated her old watering can. In Michigan, Melissa Frieling, was hard at work marketing my house. She was perky and upbeat, but we were up against unusual roadblocks. We couldn't use a lock box because the Peelers might gain entry. So either Melissa or Luke had to be there for every showing and they witnessed the Peelers approach every single prospective buyer or agent on the outside, either coming or going. They were up to their old game of falsehoods about a house they had never seen inside. Early on, Josh Nelson, another real estate agent, was interested in buying the house and witnessed the Peelers in action. Finally, Frieling's boss, Paul Brown reported their activity to Police Chief Sosebee and got his attention. It dawned on me that while I was not considered by police to be significant enough for police help, when capitalism got involved, it was different. Now it was a business calling. The slight slap on the wrist of further banning the Peelers from any LPD funded activity for a year didn't sound like much, but at least it confirmed our complaints were investigated and allegations found true. We had many witnesses. Officer Riley wrote a report and it was sent to Matt Staples at the City Attorney's office. Of course that's where it was buried, as far as I know. Walter made one trip to Lansing by himself to triage possessions. Alison stalked him onto my front porch, demanding of one young male visitor “Are you Walter Petryk?” When the visitor said no, she left, looking disconsolate. The first contract to purchase my house was the single mom spooked about the fireplace. But this was another example of the Law of Unintended Consequences at work. Most neighbors would prefer owner-occupiers, but since the Peelers scared those away, they will now have to live with a rental next door. I pretty much had to sell to an investor. And it would take one who would not be fooled or intimidated by the Peelers. And that was Vikram Sarda, a Lansing area businessman. As a matter of fair play, I disclosed the whole Peeler situation to him and he still wanted to buy the house. Still, I was dragging my feet in negotiations because it would mean going back to Lansing to clean out the house I fled six months earlier. I had no doubt, by her track record, that if I was seen by Alison Peeler she would act against me. But when I balked on the first Sarda offer, Frieling read me the riot act. Did I know I would be stuck with upkeep and utilities through the coming winter? I stalled. I wanted to go back on my own terms – free of the Peeler threat, free to move about my property. Go into the garage, for instance, without incident. So I kept trying to get a lawyer who would get the Peeler's ability to petition against me permanently dismissed. I hoped in vain. My son and I called the entire roster of local attorneys. Not interested, not trained in the mental health area, or, the answer my son heard, “We're defense attorneys. There's nothing to defend.” Only my freedom I thought. My right to use my property. Six months after I arrived in New York we were still at a point where Alison Peeler could file another petition against me at will, and by the evidence, would get the hearty cooperation of Judge Richard Garcia because, according to Sheppard, the Ingham County Judiciary didn't like me. I kept up an email correspondence with Szpiech, but he wouldn't actually act on my behalf. Giving up on lawyers, I decided to file my own motion. I once prepared my own appeal in a marital property settlement case heard in the Appellate Division of the Superior Court of New York – and won a larger settlement. And the appellate court procedure was very picky. So I thought I would give this provincial probate court a try. Finally, Forcing Due Process I figured I could at least get heard. I prepared my brief, both a motion for dismissal of all of Alison Peeler's motions concerning me with prejudice, with the idea that would mean she could not keep coming back at it over and over again, and an “Objection” to what Judge Garcia already did. I found online forms for both, so I wrote both and submitted them by mail. I included printouts of 25 Airbnb online reviews from the past six months that gave me praise as a great conversationalist, good cook, and generous host, along with the all 5-star ratings that elevated me to “Superhost” status. These were current and from people who didn't otherwise know me, so I thought their opinions would be of significance. I got a letter back from the court with a hearing date set for December 18, 2023. Finally! I would get to tell Garcia how Peeler lied, prove my mental fitness and ask for Alison Peeler to be shut down on grounds of her ulterior motives and lack of evidence. The hearing was going to be over zoom. My son came from New York City and set it all up. I prepared a three minute statement. I thought I would be allowed at least that much. After that, Garcia could read details in my motion – the facts of the Peeler's mendacity and proofs of my normal mental functioning. Walter and I tuned in to the courtroom and watched as about 14 cases were called ahead of me. Most of them were appeals from persons wishing to be released from mental health related hospitalization. One woman talked for nearly 15 minutes about the interactions of her medications. Most of the petitioners were denied. Garcia treated most of them with disdain. At the very last my name was called. He looked at the petition I wrote as if he had never seen it before. Which, in retrospect, shouldn't have been surprising. He probably never read my PPO petitions. I thought he would have known this petition's contents because he granted me a hearing. But, apparently, I was granted the hearing by some clerk. Garcia looked and said “There is no case here.” To the best of my recollection, I said “But your honor, I.....” before he cut me off. He flipped a few more pages and I tried to start a sentence and he switched me off. That was my hearing. I was not allowed to utter a single complete sentence. I hardly call that due process. In fact, it was disgraceful. Even someone in the wrong court or under a misapprehension of the law should be given the courtesy of being able to say at least one full sentence to the judge who did so much damage. I was going to tell him how a year of my life had evaporated because of Alison Peeler's scheming. Justice was denied. Previously I wrote for help to Governor Gretchen Whitmer, State Senator Sarah Anthony and State Representative Kara Hope and got nothing more than three referrals to Legal Aid of Michigan, which they all should have known does not handle mental health issues. If what Garcia did was allowed under the Michigan mental health statutes, the law should be amended to prevent it. But I don't believe he acted properly and certainly acted without common sense. What Should Be Done Foremost, the law should be fixed so that not just anyone can come forth and state opinion that a person is crazy without proper evidence. Red Flag laws should be included in this. The petitioner should have done and described consequential witnessing and interacting with the subject. Even in good faith, a person who does not know the subject is likely to make wrong interpretations. Second, a person with something to gain, be it property, child custody or similar, should have to meet a high standard of proof. Also, no one should be ordered into “transport and evaluation” without a hearing in court, where they may defend themselves and challenge accusers. Judges who disregard aspects of the law should be sanctioned. Apparently we already have a safeguard that the petitioner must first ask the subject to submit voluntarily. Judge Garcia disregarded this and apparently faces no consequences.
Police arriving by surprise at 10:30 at night is psychological police brutality. The violation of personal sovereignty the judge orders is an obscene violation of the Constitution, which guarantees no loss of liberty without due process. I talked it over with Szpiech and said I was going to file a request for investigation of Garcia with the Michigan Judicial Tenure Commission. Szpiech said:
“Don't bother. He's untouchable.”
government procedures?" I finally came to a contract agreement with Sarda. As the next step, he sent over his building inspector, Kris Simpson, Certified Master Inspector from Honest Home Inspections, LLC. Luke met him at the house. It was February, a year from the date Dan Peeler threatened to knock Brett Davis off his ladder. Simpson was looking at my new roof and Dan Peeler came said to him: “You know, that roof wasn't done right.” Luke was waiting on the front porch and heard it. When Simpson appeared, he told him he heard that. Simpson said: “That's okay. I know better.” The deal for the sale of my house for $88,000 closed on February 27, 2024 and Luke acted with my power of attorney to sign the papers while I was still in New York. We had 30 days extended occupancy to finish moving. Soon Walter and I came back to Lansing together and Luke picked us up at the train station. Planning to never leave the house once inside, we shopped for a week's worth of food at Foods for Living and drank Biggby coffee at Hagadorn and Mt. Hope and waited until dark to approach 218 Paris. Luke drove into the driveway, positioning his vehicle's back door just opposite the side door of the house. When he opened the house door, I crawled out low and ducked inside. We were not seen. We put sheets over the drapes. No one doubted Alison Peeler would attack if she could since she invented ways to work around loss of Neighborhood Watch standing. The Kool-Aid was still pouring among the neighbors, as Alison Peeler's head would pop out of doors across the street. In By Stealth The fireplace got its permit, too. City Code's mechanicals inspector Brian Shields told Luke the fireplace was perfectly fine and he knew he was there only because of the Peelers. “It wasn't necessary,” he said. But the unnecessary permit cost us $150. Frieling kept the for sale sign up even after closing so people would not immediately know the sale was complete. Sarda agreed to not make himelf known to neighbors until I was clear of the area. He met with me inside the house. I had a fire burning in the fireplace to offset the darkened living room. I tried to talk him out of blocking off the fireplace, which he said he was going to do to avoid tenant mishaps. I said they would be more likely to start a fire cooking chicken than making a fire in the fireplace, with it's raised slate hearth. But then, I said, “It's your house now. Rent it...” Investors didn't look at my four bedrooms with plans to rent to one person. There was still the daunting task of getting everything out over the next 30 days. We rented a truck again. I was still not going outside the house, but when Walter backed the rented truck up to the front steps, for easiest loading, Melissa Frieling stopped in to return her key. “They've called police about your truck,” she said. “Of course they did,” I said. Walter went out and talked to the police and police said we have a right to load the truck at the steps. Just park it in the driveway at night. Kay Paige would have to park her vehicle in the street for one night. We worked hard to load, drove for three days and unloaded for a day. Then we got right back on the train and returned, We had about 10 days left. It was very hard to remove every scrap, but with the help of Allied and one junk pickup, we made it. With aching backs and sleepy heads we handed the keys over to Sarda exactly 30 days after closing, on March 27. We did the tour of the house, and discussed the Brinks Security System, which he said he would take over. I finally put the keys in his hand and Luke turned over his set. “You know,” I said. “I hope you rent to lovely people.” “I know you do,” he said, understandingly. Adding: “She (Alison Peeler) already looked me up and contacted me.” “What did she say?” I asked. “She wants to get together.” ###
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A reminder that you can find detailed payroll reports for the City of Lansing, the Board of Water & Light, Capital Area Transportation Authority and Capital Area District Libraries here.
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