Hi Mary,

Thanks for talking to me today, as I know you aren’t feeling well.  I was afraid you were going to drop out because my situation is so messy.  Also, because I have called you three times and I thought you might have thought me too much of a nuisance to talk to.  I can’t believe it…I am having a panic attack just trying to put my thoughts together for you.

On January 12, 2004, my quiet life entered into a true Twilight Zone and I just got stuck there, in the nightmare that I cannot wake up from.

I went out to do my usual errands, go swimming at the local city pool, have lunch with a friend on that fateful day, and returned home at about 5:00 PM, to a house I have owned since May of 1973.  When I placed my key in the front door lock, it would not open the door.  I thought I was having a senior moment, so I tried all the entry doors only to find that NONE of the doors, which were keyed alike, would open.  I could not imagine what had happened, and frankly, just did not know what to do.  I went to the police station and told my story to the desk officer, but no one would come out, or even talk to me.  Since it was dark and cold by Los Angeles standards and I only had a light jacket with me, I went to a hotel to try to figure things out.  I had nothing with me but a few groceries, a wet bathing suit and towel, and my gym bag with toiletries, spa shoes and my purse.

Everything I owned was in that house:  MY CLOTHES, FURNITURE, JEWELRY, GROCERIES, APPLIANCES, MEDICAL AND LEGAL RECORDS…in short, all my possessions collected over a long life (I was 61 years old at the time of this incident).

THE NEXT DAY, I CALLED THE RED CROSS AND TOLD THEM MY STORY, AND HAD MY FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH WHAT WAS TO BE A LONG LINE OF REJECTIONS.

I had no clothes to change into, no real food to eat, not much money since I was retired and living on a fixed income and just did not know what to do next.  I went to my city councilperson’s office to see if anyone would help me; I called Social Service agencies, I bought some underwear and a set of sweats, but basically, I just couldn’t figure out what was going on…no one wanted to get involved.  I stayed in a hotel for about 2 weeks spending what little savings I had until I decided to move into my car, which is where I still live today 6 ½ years later.

I finally (about 30 days later) got a notice from the County Recorder’s Office showing that my house had been transferred into someone else’s name and I was given a telephone number to call if the information was incorrect.  I called it immediately and was connected to the white-collar crimes division of LAPD.  I spoke to an officer, who was cold, distant and took my information without so much as a suggestion of what my next step should be.  I knew I needed an attorney to get the title back into my name, but after calling what seemed like 100 attorneys and telling and retelling my story, all of them asked for at least a $10,000 retainer with no guarantees of a successful outcome.

I finally contacted a Legal Aid organization, which agreed to take my case.  The attorney I was assigned to was arrogant, cold and constantly putting lipstick or powder on her face while we were meeting.  She required me to come back over and over again with information and finally filed a lawsuit about 5 months after our first meeting…we are now at the end of 2004, and I am living in my car with no bathroom that belongs to me, no cooking facilities to make a hot meal and no place to stretch out at night to sleep.  Men and teenage groups are out and about all night and it is illegal to sleep in your car.  Consequently I never really sleep soundly in case I need to wake up fast and defend myself against some unknown matter…I LIVE IN CONSTANT FEAR.  Many times the police could come by and bang on my windshield and tell me to move.

Mary, I had to find another library to continue since I am only allotted a certain number of minutes.  Anyway, I will continue until my time is up.  Needless to say, it is very easy to fall into a deep depression when you realize that you cannot account for your life…no pictures to pass on, no medical or legal or tax records to refer to, which raises another issue.  The IRS and State of California are very angry with me, because I haven’t been able to access any financial records to submit tax returns for the last several years.  Problems just compound existentially when you are made an instant homeless person.

I spent countless hours contacting potential agencies to help me all to no avail.  I ran out of medications, which in turn caused lots of physical problems.  Since I am constantly sitting when I sleep, I developed “lymph edema”, which is a condition that comes from poor circulation.  The blood pooled in my feet and caused my feet and legs to swell to scary proportions and ooze clear liquid, which in turn, caused me to be hospitalized on mammoth doses of antibiotics.  I was totally freaked out that I might lose my legs.  The hospital discharged me when Medicare stopped paying for my treatment.

At one point I agreed to go to a mental health center, which is federally funded because they promised financial aid if I would agree to treatment.  It turned out to be just a warehouse for the mentally ill and caused more stress than they helped with.  When I went to them, I asked if they could help with temporary housing and some clothing.  They said they would, but never did, so I stopped going after a few months.  I asked for a copy of my medical records, and found that their reports were full of lies and misinformation and LARGE bills for services, etc., that was never rendered.  If you aren’t already crazy, you can become crazy!

I did have a short period (about 1 year) where I met a very kind and sweet social worker at a Family Services Agency.  I was really able to talk to her; she was able to find funds for me to get my medication refilled.  She also got me a small grant to remove the carpet and clean up the house a little, which was totally trashed by the identity thieves, and I was able to hire some workers to get the carpet out of the house, as the City of Los Angeles demanded.  Unfortunately, this social worker, who understood me and tried to help me, left the agency, and then I did too.

Almost as soon as I got the title to my house back, Los Angeles City filed criminal charges against me for not maintaining my property.  They insisted that I post my name, address and telephone number on a big sign on the front of my house to further humiliate me, which I refused to do.  As I told you on the phone, the City of Los Angeles was well aware of the identity theft.  I still can’t figure out why they didn’t go after the identity thieves.  I had to hire a public defender, who ended up getting the case dismissed after countless appearances at criminal court…more embarrassment.

I spent so much time trying to find help that I was really beginning to lose it.  I went to the new City Councilman (Bill Rosendahl) who referred me to other bureaucracies who in turn referred me to other agencies.  I even went to the Mayor’s office to ask for some help, but no one helped.  I approached the Elks, the Rotarians and the Masons…there was no help forthcoming.  Since I don’t belong to any church, I could not find any resources there.  Section 8 wouldn’t help because I own a house, albeit uninhabitable.

Mary, someone at another library was done and gave me what was left of his hour.  In summation, I just want to share a few thoughts with you on what has happened to me.  I don’t know why this awful thing has happened to me, even though I have a lot of time on my hands and have thought about it at great length.  I don’t know why terrific people are afflicted with terrible diseases, especially children.  I don’t know why I am too embarrassed to tell any of my friends what has happened, maybe for fear that they will not want to have anything to do with me because they will feel guilty if they don’t help.

I have 2 separate lives; one where I have to keep trying to find my way out of this quagmire, and one where I pretend that everything is OKAY so I can escape for a few hours from the burden I carry.  What I do believe is that there is no justice in the world and it takes great discipline to keep a moral compass.  I truly understand real desperation now and am not so self-righteous about people turning to a life of crime out of desperation.  Sometimes I feel very clever that I have made it through another day; sometimes I wonder why I bothered when I have to face another day of deprivation and loneliness.

You know, a car is smaller than a prison cell to keep all of your worldly possessions.  It is freezing in the winter and an oven in the summer, and when it rains it is damp and really miserable.  It is very hard to keep records because food or water gets spilled all the time due to balancing on uneven surfaces.

As far as lawyers go, no one would help either.  It is very hard not to give up hope, but I've tried to find outlets for my unending frustrations.  I joined a senior center and they taught me to knit and to use a computer.  I volunteered in the cafeteria and was able to get one hot meal a day.  It wasn’t a very good meal, but it was one regular meal I could count on 5 days a week.  Before that, I often ate popcorn and water several days a month when I ran out of money because it fills you up at least.

One thing is for sure, I don’t think I will ever trust or have hope again.  I will function because I have learned to, but it is not really living.

As you know, I came upon you and your radio program at 4:00 AM Sunday morning and just took a chance to call you.  You were kind and willing to listen and I so appreciate that.  Any help, especially housing and repair to the house, would be so appreciated, Mary.  Even if no one contacts you to help me, I will always be grateful to you for trying to help.

Jane Doe