Tribe D: Beware the Low-Rent Retail Lawyer
From http://people.tribe.net/rorybowman/blog/fa8692f1-7e81-4934-80a8-66239f2fa4a4
Marti Dell's intelligence is exceeded only by her beauty.
Cate Carter lived with me for the better part of two years, moving out to focus on the latter portion of her senior year at Reed College in February of 1998. There was the usual talk of “space” and time, including a few visits to a couples counselor. I have only been in couples counseling twice, and in both cases it was pretty much divorce counseling. This was no exception, and at such a session we ended.
According to my notes I broke up with Catherine Lynne Carter at approximately 4:45 pm on Thursday, April 9, 1998. It was in the office of Tom Talbot at 1525 NE Weidler St in Portland, Oregon. A few days earlier I had declined what would be her last invitation to spend the night at her apartment because (a) I wasn’t sure the invitation came from a place of strength and (b) some vulture named Larry had been by, leaving his pot pipe on her bedstand. I remember sitting in my car with her outside of the building where we broke up, concerned about her as she discussed her anxiety about graduating from Reed on time and expressing a temptation to join her dead mother.
The next time I remember seeing Carter was at Renn Fayre in early May, when she passed me once without seeing me and then later found me, presumably out of her mind on some psychedelic. She interrupted me as I made out with another woman, then lay in my arms for the better part of twenty minutes. After her thesis orals ten days or so later, I swung by to see her, but she had not shown up at work. Concerned she may be in trouble, I went by her apartment afraid that I might smell her body as I approached, but a few phone calls showed that she had instead fled to father in California. She asked for more space and so, except for one afternoon visit at my house and a few politely banal emails, I gave her the space she wanted, asking her to contact me for my birthday in October.
Having not heard from her as expected, I sent an email to announce that I would call her on Tuesday, October 13, whereupon a creepy older woman by the name of Martitia Dell decided to step in on Cate’s behalf. Martitia Dell was, if memory serves, the youngest child in a family that did not value her achievements. Not the smartest or best looking in her family, Marti Dell became a low-rent real-estate lawyer and was generally a disappointment to everyone. Pretentiously into the local SM “scene,” Marti was old enough and lonely enough to play mother figure to Cate, a relationship encouraged by Dell’s boyfriend: Glenn A. Slate. Slate was another piece of work and retail lawyer who wanted to engage Cate in some sort of SM twaddle. The story as I heard it was that Glenn was reportedly “psychic,” carried multiple handguns and could not live in the city because the “vibrations” disturbed him. Whether Dell was Slate’s procuress or just another SM loser, I was still willing to meet with Marti, concerned what was up with Cate. On Sunday evening, October 19, Ms. Dell showed why her job involved working with papers rather than people, and why she would probably never do well at either.
I arrived with a few possessions of Cate’s to return, and am not sure exactly what Dell intended for our meeting. She opened strongly and belligerently: I would only see Cate through her, Dell explained, and if I did not like that Dell would seek a restraining order. Having had a single polite email exchange with Cate scarcely a month earlier, I was taken aback, and basically told Dell to go fuck herself, which did not endear either of us to the other.
Goodness only knows what Dell told Carter of the meeting, and to this day I do now know if Dell was acting as Carter’s attorney, Glenn’s madame, Cate’s big sister or some sort of demon stepmother. There are some people who should never take psychotropic drugs, and Cate Carter in my judgement was one of those, as was self-styled psychic cowboy Glenn Slate. I had scant idea what the heck they thought they were doing, but I was very clear after meeting with Dell that she was a nightmare and to be avoided. Dell and Slate are the sort of people I have in mind when I assert that most lawyers are neither smart nor brave. That Carter considered them trusted friends was all I ever need know of her mental state.
With friends like that, the smart money stays away. Two-legged nightmares like that are to be avoided. Bitter and offended that Carter would not only fail to check in as promised, but send such a piece of shit as emissary, I decided to send her a faux form letter I titled “the dump-o-matic.”
The dump-o-matic would not endear me to Carter…
Comment from N on Tue, April 15, 2008 – 7:20 PM
I’m not so sure this is a good idea for you to be blogging this. It’s starting to sound like a smear campaign against this woman, who obviously broke your heart. It was 1998. That’s 20 years ago. For god’s sake, let it go, man. It doesn’t matter if she’s sending lawyers and restraining orders and blogging about you now. That’s a reflection of her, not you. Don’t buy into it. Don’t get hooked into it again. It’s not worth it. Let it go.
Reply to Comment on Wed, April 16, 2008 – 8:50 AM
I am here to be myself, in all my flaws and glory.
Do you mean it’s a bad idea? I agree, which is why I have not substantively opposed or objected to her histrionic bullshit over the past ten years. It is my considered belief that Catherine Lynne Carter is not well, and that certain psychological issues she inherited with her childhood were exacerbated by drug use and bad legal advice. She comes from privilege, though, and one of the things that privilege can give one a self-centered sense of entitlement and a general lack of compassion or perspective. I had a very hard time after she left me, mostly from exhaustion from over-work and chronic pain, capped by the suicide of my youngest brother. Carter left me because I was not well, but even in the worst of my condition I honored her dignity and privacy over my own, as a clear documentary record shows.
When Carter asked me in June of 1998 to return certain small personal items of hers, I did so, and she suspected me of sending her a mail bomb. When she emailed to ask what was in the package, I told her and she had it returned as “refused.” I then used a truck key she had given me to return a large and ugly sofa she had also left and never picked up, whereupon she told a judge that use of her valuable property was next door to threatening her life, and tried to get me legally branded in court in a way which would complicate my professional life, despite a total lack of violence or property damage or threats of either on my part. She certainly failed to mention to the judge that, for the twenty miles I put on her truck returning her property, I put five dollars (a bit over three gallons) of gas.
My vocational degrees are in criminal justice and education, industries with routine and constant background checks. By selecting an accusation that lumped me with cowardly woman-beaters, she insulted me gravely. By playing to every pretty-white-girl versus crazy-veteran stereotype, she offended me on levels she does not even understand. I don’t think she is smart or ruthless enough to have done this on purpose, yet she did. And for years I have taken it, seen her around town, mostly ignored her, and been silent. When she drug me into court again (after seeing me on the *internet* of all places), and I gave the legal system a chance to do the right thing. With fair warning and announcing my intentions, I shall do so again. There is no dishonor in losing a fair fight, but only in cheating to win.
I have repeatedly contacted her lawyer and consistently been ignored. My original point to Ms. Dell so many years ago was that human decency was a greater protection than the law, and that the fundamental power of the state was to imprison or kill. If Carter wanted to play the legal game, she had best be prepared to see me imprisoned or killed, because the message that sends is that I am a bad person who can only be dealt with through force. Bullshit.
Are you familiar with a 1964 book called “Games People Play?” Carter is a second-degree player running games such as “Courtroom” and “If It Werent’ For You” and “Let’s You and Him Fight.” Dell is fond of sexualized power games and classic Karpman drama triangles, but very inept. I try very hard not to play games, but have now begun a third-degree game of “Now I’ve Got You, You Son of a Bitch.” By calling my shots before I make them, I demonstrate my skill and regain my sense of agency. My plan has never been to look good, but to be good: Oὐκ ἔστιν ἀνδρὶ ἀγαθῳ̂ κακὸν, eh?
Martitia Dell is a feckless daughter of privilege who parlayed her class position into a law degree which she pretty much uses to paper over her place on the planet and to aggrandize herself well beyond her merit. I think that right now she is selling fire places for her boyfriend’s business under the lofty title of “general counsel,” which is a good place for her given the downturn in the hot tub and home-spa sales industry.
I assure you that I am quite aware of how this shall make me seem, and I have no intention of making myself look better than I am. I am not here to make friends but to be myself, to tell my story, and to let the cards fall where they may.
Do you know the poetry of Stephen Crane? He is most famous for his stories and short novels, but a line from a poem of his became the title of a race-novel by Joyce Carol Oates. I have thought of that poem over the past two years, as I consider who I am and what I can do, reviewing who I’ve been and what I *have* done. My silence has covered craven idiocy and the failures of privilege long enough. If these people want to play games of insinuation, reputation and law, fair enough. Cry havoc and let us all observe that, in matters of libel, truth is an absolute defense. From Stephen Crane:
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter-bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.”
Comment from S on Sat, April 19, 2008 – 7:43 AM
compassion
Ah my friend, I had no idea what you had been going through….
I knew you were bitter and tough, but not why, not really.
I am sorry you were hurt. by all the women in your life, (including me -unintentionally) and by your brother…
You know you were in the right… they may never admit it. even if a court of law tells them so.
take a deep breath and look around you at what you do have now.
chickens, green trees, freedom, and a beautiful woman who really does love you.
I do understand the value of lancing the poison of the past. and wanting to get it down for posterity…
and you may well say F*%#@ compassion! (for them).
sometimes this kind of thing is like cutting on yourself to feel better (trust me, I’m spinning on the rotisserie of my own percieved guilt
and angst.. after losing James.. on a daily basis… funny how seeing someone else doing it makes it look so much more clear.)
My dear friend, thank-you for being there for me when things have been difficult, more than once.
and do look at all this it from another angle, and give yourself compassion.
give yourself permission to purge this from your system with your writing, don’t let it poison you again. (by giving them your attention, a fight, a focus, you give them your power )
and remember that no matter how badly the universe has treated you by hooking you up with these creatures,
you are strong, you are beautiful, you are loved.
(and you know how to make kick-ass salsa and brandied pears!)
Reply to Comment Sat, April 19, 2008 – 5:00 PM
Hurt by women? No. That was me.
I don’t feel that I’ve been hurt by all the women in my life, and both of these are really beneath bothering to hurt. At this point it is mainly my pride and that can be cleared up in court. Other than perhaps an apology there is nothing I could want from her, and I don’t think that she is capable of that. Their punishment is to be them, as my honor is to be me. At this point is just a matter of clearly establishing position and finishing up the paperwork.
I feel stupid to have so drastically over-judged Kate, but her hour of promise has passed. May both of them live very long lives, so that their worth is crystalline clear. I did some stupid things, but nothing I felt was dishonorable.
Oὐκ ἔστιν ἀνδρὶ ἀγαθῳ κακὸν, eh? “No evil can befall a good man.”
