I’m going to file against
Diana Becton and Todd Spitzer & Tony Rackauckas and Anne Marie Schubert & Larry Poole / Riverside & San Bernardino next
I’m filing the Diana Becton State Bar complaint because of the Paul Holes / Michelle McNamara / Jim Clemente XG Productions fraud and exploitation which continues to this day.
Here is the Declaration from Bob Ackerley against Morgain McGovern
Judge Fridaus Dordi was the judge. I did not have a lawyer
Eric Gordon was Bob Ackerley’s lawyer
I lost I owe Eric Gordon $1K for lawyers fees
Click here for link to Bob Ackerley RO Declaration
one of them was scanned funny so here are two links
Erin, Sue (family friend), Katie, Morgain
On The Road- Mt.Shasta 1983
The Travelling Roadshow Of The Countess Maritsa is a memoir written by Morgain McGovern, who grew up in a gypsy-like family of four rebellious sisters headed by their mother, Maureen, a brilliant con-woman on the run.
The book starts when I was seventeen, hiding out in a Parisian hotel room with my fugitive mother, who was wanted by the French authorities, British authorities, Interpol and the FBI.
As I lay in bed watching old “Kojack” reruns in a pill induced haze in our hotel room, I saw my Father’s episode dubbed over in French. The story then melts into our family’s history in “The Bionic Woman” and against the backdrop of his acting career in 1970’s Los Angeles.
Some of my earliest memories were stories of trashed movie trailers and tales of adventure with his wild actor friends: John Quade (Clint Eastwood films), Roscoe Lee Brown, Julius Harris, Jack Nicholson, Dennis Hopper and Warren Beatty.
But after one too many affairs on movie sets and theatre tours, Mom left her womanizing husband & took her four little girls (and a furry menagerie of our animals) on the road in a Winnebago.
Mom had a Samsonite case full of pills and borderline personality disorder, but her gift was a sharp knack for crime.
Mom and Paul Zindel 1959?
Her story is in some of his books.
In the “Mad Men” era of the mid-nineteen sixties, New York Herald Tribune journalist Maureen Smith met Don McGovern, a Broadway actor and stage manager (1963-66) of Lincoln Center in the East Village-who also moonlighted as a Mafia henchman.
He taught her everything he learned about crime, and while running a nightclub for a famous mob family in the meat market district, Dad got knifed in an argument with a “made” man- his boss- and the couple knew it was time to hit the road and drive to a new life in California.
At first, it was an ideal family life, having four little girls and living on our ranch in trendy Agoura. Mom’s sisters lived nearby in Los Angeles and provided some stability and guidance. We visited our father’s movie sets and went to studio parties with the glitterati, but the sepia toned memories and happiness were soon fleeting.
My father’s roles (Easy Rider, The Wicked Die Slow, The Bionic Woman, Killer Bees, the Last Detail, Sleeper, Kojack and others) gave him the acclaim he needed, but alcoholism and the lure of other women soon engulfed him.
The Wicked Die Slow 1968
One of his favorite stories was when he and his best friend Mike Whitney (Twiggy’s ex-husband) got drunk at our house in Laurel Canyon and then decided to cement over Ali McGraw’s footprints at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, because they didn’t think she deserved the honor.
About the time Dad & Mike Whitney
cemented over Ali MacGraw‘s footprints at
Graumanns’ Chinese Theatre
Caravanning across America, we lived in gorgeous houses in affluent areas then when luck ran out, we crashed in run-down motels across the country & abroad. Rarely staying in one town for more than six months, Mom raised us with artistic ideals, to seek truth and beauty, kindness and compassion.
Mom’s regular form of income was fraud, of all kinds, but she really came alive when she got on the phone- wheeling and dealing, putting deals together with rich people. Some of them were spectacular. She was gifted at real estate and quit claims-because she had the knack of knowing what land was about to be valuable, get the rights to buy it somehow and sell it to whoever really wanted it at a much higher price. She did this with no actual money of her own and it was dazzling. When it was working in her favor, her mind was her greatest asset.
Mom loved big, rambling farmhouses out in the country and my sisters and I would pick wildflowers and plant gardens at whatever new house we lived in, putting down roots in the ground, as if it were some sort of magic spell to make us stay in one place. As I planted, I knew we wouldn’t be there the next spring to see hollyhocks come up-but I left my mark on the earth, I had been there.
Wherever we moved, Mom would invite strange people to live with us.
She’d find them at the DMV or pick up people spare-changing for food outside of the local grocery store. We were a family like Robin Hood, doing the right thing and helping these strange drifters that Mom had found. She told us that it was the kind thing to do, people should help each other. But as I got older, I realized they were her henchmen.
They would live in our guesthouse, attic or basement and fixed things around the property. As time went by, Mom’s choice of house guests would get scruffier and lower on the moral ladder. Drug addicts, dealers, low-lifes, crackers, swamp trash, anti-socials, squatters, whores, trailer trash, junkies, whatever she could find-the dumber, the better. The more affluent ones had their van or trailer they’d been living in towed to our newest property.
They would lights cars on fire, burn things down, return stolen items back to a pricey store (for cash or store credit), stage a robbery or whatever else she could think of to collect the insurance money.
Sometimes, they would get high, drunk or just completely misunderstand Mom’s directions and fuck things up so badly that we’d have to move sooner than anticipated. Most of her vagabond victims would only be around for a few months and the smart ones moved on to roam after they collected their share.
She’d order one of them to roll a dying car with a shot transmission off of a cliff or flood the basement of whatever house we were renting. We would gather up all of our clothes we were sick of, broken electronics (and anything else we didn’t want or feel like packing) and throw it into the dark, smelly lake that used to be our playroom. She told us that the basement had flooded overnight and while it was an unfortunate accident, we could get new stuff this way.
When my oldest sister Meagan was about ten, she got electrocuted when she flipped on the basement light before Mom could warn her. She looked down and realized she was standing in deep, electrified water on the top step but her puffy rubber-soled moon boots saved her from death.
Before we’d leave town and move on to our next new life, our basements morphed into something that looked like the end scene of the movie Titanic, with a shaved head Barbie doll floating face down in the black water, dismembered and abandoned to a watery death.
But when Mom was really upset or nervous, she would set things on fire. Torching rental houses was her signature way of letting the world know that she was angry, horrifying hysterical landlords who wanted their three-month’s of back rent.
My sisters and I would wave goodbye from the back of the station wagon with our cats and dogs to the bad town that wasn’t right for us. We knew other people led normal lives but Mom told us the new town was going to be better. This town was bad luck.
In some classrooms we’d be popular and never want to leave, in others, we’d be pariahs and didn’t bother with doing our homework. We knew it was only a matter of time before we were on the road again.
After our eighth or ninth school, my sisters and I began to create cover stories to tell our newfound friends. Growing up in chaos created a defiant kind of camaraderie for us. The secrets of our sisterhood banded us together to kept us sane.We began to realize what our Mom was, but we didn’t have the word for it. I told friends that my mom was freelance writer with a gypsy streak. We knew that soon she’d find a real job as a writer, eventually.
The magic box of pills that also doubled as a seat for me in the front of the van.
With warrants and detectives trailing us, the bills were paid with insurance fraud, clever scams and bad checks.We wanted to believe our mother- that the next move was permanent and we would settle down, but we all knew better.
Our father called occasionally, and told us he never wanted to be a parent, just an artist in a garret.
Mom’s brilliant mind would come through and save us every once in awhile.
When I was in the 3rd grade, she auditioned and became a contestant on a trivia game show called “Sale Of The Century”. She gave the other contestants a beating, and after a long week of tapings, she won $75,000 in cash, plus a bunch of prizes and a trip up to Monterrey, California.
Her winnings on the show changed our nomadic lives. For the first time, we went to a school for two years in a row and even though we still took road trips in our custom van up to Oregon, Washington and Idaho; we had a home to go back to in Los Angeles. We had food in the refrigerator and the cops didn’t come by to arrest Mom every few months. It was peaceful.
Things got bad again once the money ran out. We ended up living in a motel on Sepulveda Boulevard for three months until Mom could think of something. I’ve driven by that motel recently and families are still living there.
Three years later, we were living in a motel in Upstate New York when Mom found out that the game show was hosting a “Return Of The Champions” and wanted her to be a contestant on the show to defend her game show queen title-in Australia.
The show was a huge hit in Australia and the producers were willing to fly her and one other person to Melbourne and put her up in a hotel for at least a week or so. She convinced them to pay for Me and Erin to go, since we were both under fifteen. Mom had warrants out and detectives looking for her in New York-so a trip to Australia to escape certain jail time in New York was an opportunity that Mom couldn’t refuse.
When we got to Melbourne, There were about thirty other “champions” from various “Sale Of The Century” shows around the world, mostly Britons, Americans and Australians. I’ve never seen people who loved to drink so much (and for free) in a hotel bar.
All the contestants were shuttled to the studio every day, and the producers would randomly pick the contestants who would be on the show for the day. Everyone would come back by five or six for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres in the lounge. Mom finally had a 9 to 5 job.
Erin and I would take the trolley all around Melbourne and explore. It was brilliant.
It was in the lounge where Mom picked off her prey. Mom liked pills more than the drink, so she would wait it out while the other contestants got drunk and mingled. In 1989, there was no Internet. It was hard to tell if a credit card was stolen and they were run by hand machines and carbon copies. The stores would only phone in a suspiciously large purchase, so it would be weeks before English banks would know anything was up.
Mom’s day to finally be a contestant on the show came-and she didn’t do well at all. She was very sick on the day of the taping and only made about $1700. It was time to go back home to the states.
We tried to look on the bright side, even though she didn’t bring in the kind of money we needed, at least we had gotten a free trip to Australia. We tried to reassure her, the cops from New York were probably looking for somebody else by now.
For a last hurrah, Mom rented a car and drove us to see the fairy penguins march up the beach at dusk, back to burrow in their sand cave homes, all nestled in and warm with their furry families in the cliffs overlooking the Tasmanian sea.
We started to drive the car north, through the Snowy River Forest and then up to ninety mile beach where massive waves and a blue wall of water could come up slowly or quickly, and if you weren’t paying attention, you’d get soaked sitting 100 feet from the faded water lines. We were on our way to Sydney-we were going to fly back to the States from there.
After we got back to New York, we crashed at Katie and Meagan’s apartment. My sisters and I couldn’t joke about this anymore, we all started to unravel. We needed a Mom and she was wanted by the police all over New York for various thefts and fraud.
Mom checked herself into fancy mental hospital because she said that the cops can’t arrest you if you’re a patient. The four of us were on our own until she could figure something out. She was there for a few weeks when the cops found her and it was a matter of time before they figured out a loophole in the mental patient protection law. Mom checked herself out and announced that we were moving to Hilton Head Island, in South Carolina. Tomorrow.
Rich people from Ohio, New York and Connecticut usually go to the Carolinas for a vacation and expect to find golf, warm weather and Margaritaville. They’d have someone safe watch their kids at the hotel so they could go out and party.
Mom was waiting for them like a grandma spider nanny in a beautiful hotel. After the kids came back from swimming, tennis or golf lessons, Mom would put them to bed and help herself to whatever cash or jewelry she didn’t think the parents would miss. Most of the time, they hadn’t realized they’d been robbed until they got back to their northern homeland and sobered up.
Mom had a way of making sure she only robbed super rich people who on their last day of vacation and were leaving early for the next flight back home.
“I was a boutique thief, I never robbed anyone who’d be left with nothing”, she told me recently. “Morgain, there is no honor among thieves, I’ve never seen it. But I never stole from someone who’d be left with nothing. I stole from the rich.”
Detectives were searching the house on a regular basis and Mom got arrested for grand theft, robbery and insurance fraud. Meanwhile, New York State had several warrants out for her and was trying to extradite her back.
My sisters were done. They decided to move back to upstate New York and break free from Mom, but I couldn’t. For years, we had been raised on a roller coaster ride of torched houses, cross country road trips, international hotel rooms, run down motels, a gunfight, foreign authorities, Australian game shows, addiction and madness.
After Mom posted bail on Hilton Head, my sisters had already left and I was alone with her. Mom presented me with a new plan. We were going to start a new life in England. I knew how sick she was, but I couldn’t leave her. She had already programmed me to protect her.
In England, I started going to a posh school in Kensington and started hanging out with my friends. I tried to stay away from home as much as possible. While I was at school, Mom had started doing some very bad things and ended up in Holloway Women’s Prison, in London. The detectives confiscated my passport and I was trapped in London, homeless for the rest of the winter.
After Mom escaped from her bail hostel in Oxford, we left England in the night. From there, our journey took us to Spain, France and back to the United States-which escalated into a FBI manhunt and America’s Most Wanted.
For years, we were raised on a roller coaster ride of torched houses, cross country road trips, international hotel rooms, run down motels, a gunfight, foreign authorities, Australian game shows, drug and alcohol abuse, a Parisian dungeon, French nuns, a house chicken and madness.
The Travelling Roadshow of the Countess Maritsa a story about the American dream unraveling.
As the Internet age came upon her, Mom was caught just before her segment on “America’s Most Wanted” aired, and she was sent to Federal prison for several years. One detective in Fort Bend, Texas thought she was affiliated with the notorious “Irish Travelers” band of gypsies, but nothing has ever been proven.
The Bionic Woman
One of my earliest memories of my parents was when my Dad got a big part on “The Bionic Woman.” My sisters and I loved that show – it was much better than “The Six Million Dollar Man,” because the Bionic woman was tall, blonde and kicked ass. The 70’s era futuristic “Boing!” sound she made when she flew into the air sent chills up my spine, and even though I was only three years old, I knew she was the good guy. I planned on being her sidekick when I got older.
When Mom gave us the news that my dad had landed a gig on the show, we were speechless with joy. Our father. He had made good. Not only was he going to be on a show we could watch, he was acting with the woman (besides our mother) that we worshipped. My three sisters and I beamed with pride.
The episode was going to be filmed at Vasquez Rocks, near our mountaintop ranch by the Angeles Crest Highway.
“We can even visit the set and meet the Bionic Woman,” Mom added, laughing when she saw our faces.
When the day finally arrived, my sisters and I piled into Pegasus, our old red Volkswagen station wagon.
Our father had named Pegasus with Meagan, who was the oldest of the four girls and usually got first pick of everything- but she was also the smartest. We all agreed that it was the most beautiful possible name for our family car.
The day came when we could visit the set, and Mom shepherded us into the car. As we bounced around in the backseat; she turned on the AM radio and Willie Nelson came on, crackling through the airwaves. We drove down the dusty mountain driveway towards Agua Dulce, the searing sun beating down on that little red wagon, a bright ladybug in a sea of beige.
Pegasus hurtled down the winding mountain road, overlooking the vast expanse of the Mojave Desert. The Three Sisters Mountains were in the distance, shimmering under the heat, blending into tones of caramel and rose under a faded denim sky.
We loved to stand up in the back – it was easier to see everything – and as Mom drove towards the set, we tumbled between the flat back of the wagon, where we would nap on soft blankets, and landed on the hot black vinyl backseat with reckless abandon, burning our asses beneath the calico prairie dresses she bought for us at Gunne Sax.
When we got to Vasquez Rocks, the ochre colored monoliths jutted into the sky- casting a shamanistic spell as they loomed over the set. I stared out the window at the purple Mexican sage bushes rippling in the dry breeze. My father had told me this was a sacred place where cowboys and Indians had lived. But today, the area was covered in trailers, lights, and action; and we started jumping up and down in the back seat as we drove over to set parking.
“We’re here! We’re here!” Erin shouted as we jumped up to the windows and started to brush our hair. Mom turned around after she pulled over and stopped the car.
“Okay, I want you guys to be on your best behavior,” she said, serious as shit. “I know you’re excited, but remember your manners.” She smiled as she spoke to us.
“We will, Mama! We will!” We crossed our hearts and meant it. Nobody wanted to get sent back to sulk in the car, not on Bionic Woman Day.
We scampered out of the car and over to the set, looking around for my Dad. A bellbottomed PA with long hair came up to us and led my mother to some of the other actors and director. She started chatting and laughing with them. We knew to be good, keep quiet, and stay by her until we got the okay to start wandering around and exploring. But I didn’t mind, the truth is; I loved hearing my mother have conversations. When she started speaking, she would tuck her hair behind one ear and come alive. People would start to gather around her, leaning in to hear her stories.
I looked around, and peeked out from behind her dress. People were wearing open necked shirts with huge seventies collars.
Oscar – the Bionic Woman’s boss – came up to us and scooped me up. He carried me around, and introduced me to everyone. He had on huge aviator sunglasses and smelled like spicy man’s cologne, comforting smells, because they reminded me of my Dad.
I wanted to stay and live with the Superheroes, in this world, surrounded by the magic Vasquez rocks forever.
Then, SHE arrived: The Bionic Woman. She came out of nowhere and moved in slow motion, with a serene smile, coming toward us. Before me was the woman who could fly. She and my father stood together and were smiling at the four little girls looking up at them in awe.
Golden sunlight dappled on their blonde hair, making them gleam in the sun. My father smiled at me, his bright blue eyes twinkling, in his Astronaut suit, and I knew he was a God as well.
He was so handsome. He looked like a cross between Robert Redford and Harry Hamlin, and had been Paul Newman’s stand-in on the “Hustler”. He was hired to do all the pool shots for that movie. He was the Stage manager at Lincoln Center in the early sixties, working with the greats of the stage: Elia Kazan, Jason Robards and Harold Clurman. He loved pool halls, women, nice suits and drinking. He taught me about truth and beauty in the Arts and to always strive for it.
When I got older, he told me how he supported his acting career in New York by working part time and doing odd jobs for a crime family in New York, and that he and my mother ran a nightclub in the meat market district for a big mob guy.
One night, he got stabbed 12 times for getting into a boozy argument with his friend, a “made” man, but survived after a bum walked into the bathroom during the stabbing, saving his life. Later on, the big bosses had a sit down to discuss the incident, and decided that Dad was wrong for being disrespectful to a superior, but his murderous friend was equally wrong for stabbing an employee without any upper management approval, so both were admonished they moved on.
He also couldn’t live without an audience of adoring women, or, at least one adoring woman. So when my mom started having children, it took attention away from him, and things started to change between them.
He had famous actor friends; one of them was Dennis Hopper, who gave him role in Easy Rider, before I was born. Mom said Dad sang and performed with Warren Beatty playing the piano back east, hustling women, but I think most actors are born to hustle, one way or another.
If you ever see a Jack Nicholson movie in the 70’s, like the “Last Detail”, the bartender is usually my dad. It was a big deal when he came home from a Theatre tour. We would get dressed up and go out to an elegant restaurant, ordering elaborate meals and later dance with our feet on his shoes.
I think he finally realized he had four children and a wife to support, so he broke down got a good job using his Theatre building skills to supervise set construction at Fox Television-and brought home a regular paycheck.
He told me, when he was in his seventies, “Morgain, I was working up in the rafters on Oscar night, when I saw myself up on the screen with Jack Nicholson. He was up for an Academy Award in ‘74 for “The Last Detail”, and they used my scene as the best clip. But, we needed the money, and I had to work that night. I didn’t go to the show and I’ll never forget it.”
I tried to imagine how he felt, high up there, overlooking the luminous crowd of famous actors, directors and writers-watching his scene- then going back to work rigging or fixing something up there, back to the drudgery of his job.
After Bionic Woman Day, life slowly returned to normal, but my sisters and I couldn’t wait for the episode to air. We bugged our mother constantly.
“Is Daddy’s show going to be on tonight?” we asked her every morning.
“No, not for a few more weeks. It takes awhile for a show to air,” she said.
At night, I stalked the magic box in the living room. I turned the heavy knob on the TV, thunking through the channels, trying to find my father. The static electricity from the screen made the blonde fuzz on my arms rise up, but I never found him flickering through the screen.
My mother came into our room one morning and finally announced:
“Tonight’s the night!”
We jumped with joy. History was about to be made; our dad was going to fight crime with the Bionic Woman.
We had a huge dinner in our dining room, which had the best view in the house, overlooking the vastness of the Mojave Desert. Our house was perched high above the basin, and everything far down in the town lights below looked so tiny. The fading evening looked like melted rainbow sherbet to my three-year old mind.
Nightfall was coming and soon the stars would be thick in the sky, almost as if we lived in space.
We all camped out on blankets in the living room, while my father and mother snuggled on the sofa. The clinking of the ice in his glass of scotch was the sound of a party and happiness.
The Bionic Woman episode was called “The Canyon of Death”; and as we sprawled around the TV on a blanket. Meagan (eight) and Katie (six) would tell me what was going on when things got confusing. My little sister Erin was only one, but she knew something was happening; jumping excitedly and shrieking whenever we shouted, “There’s Daddy!” when he showed up in a scene.
We sat there, hypnotized by the flickering television. But wait, something wasn’t right. My father looked angry and mean, throughout the show. We quieted down and stopped cheering. He was doing something bad and the Bionic Woman was looking for him. Then we began to get it; he wasn’t her crime-fighting friend, he was trying to hurt her.
He had stolen a NASA space suit from the government, and then violently fought off the Bionic Woman before flying into the air with the help of the rocket propellers strapped to his back.
We watched in horror as the Bionic Woman flew up to meet him, tackling him and wrestling him to the ground. We looked at each other, stunned.
Our father was the bad guy.
I was torn. I was angry. How could turn on us and hurt our beloved heroine? Was he really that evil and wicked? We started shouting at the television.
“Kill him.” I heard Katie say beneath her breath.
“Kill him! ” Meagan said, a little louder.
“Yeah! Kill him,” I shouted. “Don’t let him get away!
Our parents thought our reaction was hysterical, but we were really upset; our father was Judas.
Right now all our friends had their televisions tuned into the episode and everyone was watching our Dad trying to kill the Bionic Woman
They tried to warn us before the show that he was the bad guy, but I had kept hoping that Daddy would change his mind while he was in the episode and turn good. But it never happened.
The episode ended.
We eyed our parents on the sofa, laughing.