Mom And Dad Wedding Photo / Maureen Smith McGovern and Donald McGovern


I was doing some online research and came across this.

I’ve never seen a wedding photo of them, I don’t have any pictures of my parents from that era.

I think they got married in 1975 in Malibu. I was at the wedding as a flower girl but don’t have any photos.

How To Defeat Monsters


So proud of myself for publishing my difficult & horrific child sex crimes story. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve been through some horrific ongoing abuse. People & institutions I trusted ruined my life on purpose for their own gain, they gaslit me, exploited me, attacked me & my credibility, ruined my livelihood and self made successful pet sitting business and acting career, but at the end of the day, my story reveals them for who they are. They tried to silence & ruin me but they were defeated & exposed for who they are. I started this journey to find the men who sexually assaulted me and tortured me when I was a child, and tell the story of the celebrity pedophile who stalked me sexually when I was a child & the media & politicans who protected him, and what I uncovered showed that the people in law enforcement & media & politicians turned out to be worse than the actual child rapists/pedophiles. My story is a triumph because I showed the world how monsters & child rapists are allowed to flourish and win in this world. Our politicans and law enforcement and media helped them. If you are silent in the face of oppression you are on the side of the oppressor.

I was not silenced. You did not win

#CountessNotes #ActorsLife

The Travelling Roadshow Of The Countess Maritsa


© 2021 The Travelling Roadshow Of The Countess Maritsa

All Rights Reserved

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

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

Dad The Wicked Die Slow Psycho Joker

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.

Dad, Mom, Lana Saunders, Mike Whitney

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.

Halloween 1981  Kingwood, Texas.

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.

Morgain and Mom 1986
Cousin Judy, Morgain, Katie. Moved to Oregon, 1985

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.

Crocodile Mumdee

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.

Provence

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.

As this story has progressed and I started doing more research , I began a quest to find the men who sexually assaulted me as a child and reported them to the police and FBI.

What I have discovered has created several more layers to this story that I am still documenting.

I was also exploited by several people in law enforcement and media and have been reporting & documenting the victimization they inflicted on me and there is a current active fraud investigation after I filed a complaint about Paul Holes to the Contra Costa District Attorney’s office. I reported Peter & Jim Clemente to the LAPD and their fraud and the LAPD recommended filing restraining orders against them.

Writing my story and having an emotional breakdown after what the LAPD put me through has taken an enormous toll on my health so I’m taking a break right now and healing.

I have enrolled in school to finish my film degree and going back to classes in January 2021.

I plan to do a documentary about my journey to find closure to my child sex crime cases and the people in the media and ex law enforcement & current members of law enforcement who exploited me along the way.

I found one of my attackers. His name is Steven Dale Davis & he is a convicted child rapist in prison in Utah. He’s been there since 1984 and nobody wanted me to find him. Because Steven Dale Davis & William Birch Davis  leads to their crime/burglarly/rape partner Joseph James DeAngelo & their criminal father  Paul Otto Davis & his crime partner / relative / family member Terry Peder Rasmussen. Terry Peder Rasmussen is not his real name. The real Terry Peder Rasmussen died in Colorado in 1972 and the serial killer known as Terry Rasmussen stole his identity.

I figured it out when I was searching the social security death index. The serial killer Terry Peder Rasmussen supposedly died in December 2010 and he doesn’t come up on the social security death index, only the Terry Rasmussen who died in 1972.

I called the prison in Santa Susanna where Terry Rasmussen supposedly died & they told me he could be there under a different name.

Regarding my other child sex crime / stalking / trafficking that happened in 1986, Ben Stein gave a public statement about me and my claims that he stalked me and attempted to rape me from 1986-1988 and my mother trafficked me to him and used me as bait to get money out of him. He lied and stated that he has no idea who I am and that he’s never met me, even though I have the two newspaper articles he wrote about my mother in 1986 for the Los Angeles Herald Examiner,  statements from witnesses who were there at the time he stalked me when I was 12-14 years old , the photographs he took of me and how my mother sexually trafficked me to him for money and he attempted to rape me in the 7th grade.  I also told my school, Tomlinson Middle School in Fairfield, CT to my school counselor Mr. Lawerence Peacock. I told him about Ben Stein stalking me, his attempted rape and my mother sexually trafficking me to him and I told Mr. Peacock about the rape and torture and sexual assault I endured with my sister in 1980 involving Steven Dale Davis and the other men who were in our bedroom attacking us.

I posted my LAPD police report and statement I gave to the LAPD in 2016 and posted the two articles Ben Stein wrote about my family and my mother in 1986 for the LA Herald Tribune.

I’ve written in my other posts about XG Productions Peter Clemente, Tim Clemente & Jim Clemente’s exploitation of me and the current Paul Holes fraud investigation at the Contra Costa District Attorney’s office regarding his exploitation of me and my active child sex crime cases.

The story continues …..

The Countess

The Travelling Roadshow Of The Countess Maritsa


© 2021 The Travelling Roadshow Of The Countess Maritsa

All Rights Reserved

 

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

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

Dad The Wicked Die Slow Psycho Joker

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.

Dad, Mom, Lana Saunders, Mike Whitney

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.

Halloween 1981  Kingwood, Texas.

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.

Morgain and Mom 1986
Cousin Judy, Morgain, Katie. Moved to Oregon, 1985

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.

Crocodile Mumdee

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.

Provence

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.

As this story has progressed and I started doing more research , I began a quest to find the men who sexually assaulted me as a child and reported them to the police and FBI.

What I have discovered has created several more layers to this story that I am still documenting.

I was also exploited by several people in law enforcement and media and have been reporting & documenting the victimization they inflicted on me and there is a current active fraud investigation after I filed a complaint about Paul Holes to the Contra Costa District Attorney’s office. I reported Peter & Jim Clemente to the LAPD and their fraud and the LAPD recommended filing restraining orders against them.

Writing my story and having an emotional breakdown after what the LAPD put me through has taken an enormous toll on my health so I’m taking a break right now and healing.

I have enrolled in school to finish my film degree and going back to classes in January 2021.

I plan to do a documentary about my journey to find closure to my child sex crime cases and the people in the media and ex law enforcement & current members of law enforcement who exploited me along the way.

I found one of my attackers. His name is Steven Dale Davis & he is a convicted child rapist in prison in Utah. He’s been there since 1984 and nobody wanted me to find him. Because Steven Dale Davis & William Birch Davis  leads to their crime/burglarly/rape partner Joseph James DeAngelo & their criminal father  Paul Otto Davis & his crime partner / relative / family member Terry Peder Rasmussen. Terry Peder Rasmussen is not his real name. The real Terry Peder Rasmussen died in Colorado in 1972 and the serial killer known as Terry Rasmussen stole his identity.

I figured it out when I was searching the social security death index. The serial killer Terry Peder Rasmussen supposedly died in December 2010 and he doesn’t come up on the social security death index, only the Terry Rasmussen who died in 1972.

I called the prison in Santa Susanna where Terry Rasmussen supposedly died & they told me he could be there under a different name.

Regarding my other child sex crime / stalking / trafficking that happened in 1986, Ben Stein gave a public statement about me and my claims that he stalked me and attempted to rape me from 1986-1988 and my mother trafficked me to him and used me as bait to get money out of him. He lied and stated that he has no idea who I am and that he’s never met me, even though I have the two newspaper articles he wrote about my mother in 1986 for the Los Angeles Herald Examiner,  statements from witnesses who were there at the time he stalked me when I was 12-14 years old , the photographs he took of me and how my mother sexually trafficked me to him for money and he attempted to rape me in the 7th grade.  I also told my school, Tomlinson Middle School in Fairfield, CT to my school counselor Mr. Lawerence Peacock. I told him about Ben Stein stalking me, his attempted rape and my mother sexually trafficking me to him and I told Mr. Peacock about the rape and torture and sexual assault I endured with my sister in 1980 involving Steven Dale Davis and the other men who were in our bedroom attacking us.

I posted my LAPD police report and statement I gave to the LAPD in 2016 and posted the two articles Ben Stein wrote about my family and my mother in 1986 for the LA Herald Tribune.

I’ve written in my other posts about XG Productions Peter Clemente, Tim Clemente & Jim Clemente’s exploitation of me and the current Paul Holes fraud investigation at the Contra Costa District Attorney’s office regarding his exploitation of me and my active child sex crime cases.

The story continues …..

The Countess

Google Declines to Remove Libelous Ben Stein Article About My Child Sex Crime Cases


—– Forwarded Message —– From: Morgain McGovern <morgainm@yahoo.com>

To: Karen Widman 31201@lapd.online <31201@lapd.online>;

Brien Pogue <30523@lapd.online>

Cc: removals@google.com <removals@google.com>

Sent: Friday, November 20, 2020, 12:24:49 PM PST

Subject: Fw: [7-5041000030733] DMCA Notice Web Form Submission: Morgain McGovern


Hi LAPD,

Please add this to my child sex crimes casefiles, it’s more damage Ben Stein has done to me with his disgusting predatory behavior and blatant lies about his pedophilia and child abuse he inflicted on me, and now he’s publicly defaming me. 
I have several witnesses who confirmed in writing that he has met me and knows me, as well as the two articles he wrote about my mother and family in the Los Angeles Herald Tribune in 1986.

Thanks
Morgain McGovern

On Friday, November 20, 2020, 9:14:28 AM PST, removals@google.com <removals@google.com> wrote:

Hello,

Thanks for reaching out to us.

At this time, Google has decided not to take action on the following URLs:

https://theblast.com/c/ben-stein-woman-restraining-order-bizarre-accusations

We encourage you to resolve any disputes directly with the owner of the website in question. Visit https://support.google.com/websearch/answer/9109 to learn how to contact a site’s webmaster and request a change. If you pursue legal action against this site that results in the removal of the material, our search results will display this change after we next crawl the site. If the webmaster makes these changes and you need us to expedite the removal of the cached copy, please submit your request using our webpage removal request tool.

Regards,
The Google Team

Response from Google/ Second Request To Google To Remove The Ben Stein / The Blast Slanderous and Libelous Article They Are Hosting On Their Website About My Child Sex Crime Cases


Morgain McGovern <morgainm@yahoo.com>

To:removals@google.com

Cc:Karen Widman 31201@lapd.online

Thu, Nov 19 at 5:39 PM

Hi Google,

I do not own the copyright to The Blast article, I am trying to find the right department and contact person at Google to file a complaint/notice of libel and slander regarding The Blast article which you are hosting on your website which contains false information & statements about my LAPD child sex crime case regarding Ben Stein.

I am disabled with PTSD (see attached Social Security Disability) from the trauma I suffered regarding my child sex crimes, sex crime cases and especially now this damaging false article you are hosting on your website which states false information about my child sex crimes cases with the LAPD.I believe there has been a miscommunication when I filed this complaint. I am seeking the contact information and person to ask Google to report the facts and evidence I have regarding my active cases with the LAPD and remove the libelous and slanderous Ben Stein article from “The Blast” which states false information about my child sex crime case with the LAPD.

Please direct me to the contact information and person responsible at Google to remove this slanderous and libelous article about me and my child sex crime cases that have been filed with the LAPD.

I’ve attached my disability paperwork so you can add it to your file.
I have severe PTSD from the recent events that have occurred and the damage and harm your platform has caused me from hosting this libelous article.
Attached is my LAPD police report regarding Ben Stein’s child sex crimes inflicted on me along with the other active child sex crime cases and cyber crimes cases I reported to the LAPD.

RE Ben Stein Denies Bizarre Sexual Assault Allegations from Woman
Ben Stein Denies Bizarre Sexual Assault Allegations from WomanBen Stein is scratching his head after a woman claims the famed TV host sexually assaulted her almost 40 years a…

Please direct me to the contact information and person responsible at Google to remove this slanderous and libelous article about me and which contain false information about my child sex crime cases that have been filed with the LAPD.

Thank you,
Morgain McGovern

On Thursday, November 19, 2020, 3:57:47 PM PST, <removals@google.com> wrote:

Hello,

Thanks for reaching out to us.

With regard to the following URLs:

https://theblast.com/c/ben-stein-woman-restraining-order-bizarre-accusations

It is unclear to us how you came to hold the copyright in this material, as it does not appear that you are the author of the content in question. If the copyright was assigned to you, please provide a copy of the relevant assignment agreement. Otherwise, please explain further what the basis is for you owning the copyright.

Regards,
The Google Team

Request To Google To Remove The Libelous Ben Stein “The Blast” Article About My Child Sex Crimes They Are Hosting On Their Platform


Re: [7-5041000030733] DMCA Notice Web Form Submission: Morgain McGovern / Ben Stein The Blaze articleFrom:Morgain McGovern (morgainm@yahoo.com)

To:removals@google.com

Cc: 31201@lapd.online (Detective Karen Widman, LAPD Van Nuys)

Date: Wednesday, November 18, 2020, 7:20 PM PST

Hi Google,

RE: The defamatory & libelous Blast article you are hosting on your website which contains false, slanderous, libelous & harmful statements which Ben Stein made about me and the child sex crimes / child sex abuse he inflicted on me

https://theblast.com/c/ben-stein-woman-restraining-order-bizarre-accusations


I am CC’ing the detective (Karen Widman) who apparently handled my Ben Stein police report.  I reported Ben Stein to at the LAPD in June 2016 and I want them to be aware of the defamatory and false statements Ben Stein made about me to “The Blast” and the article you are hosting on your platform.

I think there’s been a miscommunication about my request to remove the libelous & harmful article from “The Blast”  regarding the Ben Stein statements he has made about me in The Blast article which you are hosting on your platform. 


It’s not a copyright issue, you are hosting an article by “The Blast” regarding my child sex abuse that contains false statements made by Ben Stein to “The Blast” about the child sex abuse he inflicted on me when I was a child.

Attached is my 2016 LAPD Ben Stein police report & statement I gave to the LAPD so you can investigate and do your due diligence. The detective who handled my case at LAPD Devonshire is Detective Karen Widman.

Attached are also two articles Ben Stein wrote about my family and my mother, Maureen McGovern for the Los Angeles Herald Tribune in June and July of 1986. Ben Stein has met me and I am attaching proof & a police report. I have requested my full casefile from the LAPD and am waiting for them to send it to me, as soon as they send me my case file with the detective investigation and interviews and notes, I’ll be happy to send you a copy.

I was 12 years old when Ben Stein took photos of me & first started grooming & sexually exploiting me and aged 13 when he continued to stalk me and then solicited sex from me across state lines.

From 1986 to 1988, I was sexually trafficked to Ben Stein by my mother and during this time I reported his stalking and abuse to my school, in the 8th Grade, to Mr. Lawerence Peacock at Tomlinson Middle School in Fairfield, Connecticut, which was documented.


The article you are hosting on your Google platform contains false statements about me and the child sex abuse that Ben Stein inflicted on me.

Attached is a copy of my Ben Stein police report and statement I gave to the LAPD. 
Please remove the Ben Stein article from “The Blast” about my child sex crimes you are hosting on your website, it contains false and damaging information regarding my child sex abuse committed by Ben Stein against me and is causing me great harm and distress.

Please refer me to the correct department and contact person and contact information at Google who is responsible for handling the removal of the libelous article about me which Google is hosting, if you are not the correct contact person.

If you have any questions, please email me at morgainm@yahoo.com and my phone number is (747) 250-9872

Thank you, Morgain McGovern
(747) 250-9872
morgainm@yahoo.com

On Wednesday, November 18, 2020, 12:08:36 PM PST, <removals@google.com> wrote:

Hello,

Thanks for reaching out to us.

With regard to the following URLs:

https://theblast.com/c/ben-stein-woman-restraining-order-bizarre-accusations

It is unclear to us whether or not you are the authorized copyright agent for the content in question. Only the copyright owner or an authorized representative can file a DMCA Infringement Notice on his/her behalf. Please note that you could be liable for damages (including costs and attorneys’ fees) if you materially misrepresent that your rights have been infringed.

If you or your client is not the copyright owner for this content, we cannot process your notice. Please have the copyright owner file a DMCA notice with us. If you or your client is the copyright owner, please provide more detail explaining how this is the case.

Regards,
The Google Team Ben Stein

Attached

First Article Ben Stein wrote about my mother and my family in June 1986

LAPD Ben Stein police report & statement given to LAPD Van Nuys in June 2016

CLICK LINK BELOW TO READ MY BEN STEIN POLICE REPORT & STATEMENT

Ben Stein police report and statement PDF

SECOND REQUEST/ RESPONSE FROM GOOGLE

Morgain McGovern <morgainm@yahoo.com>

To:removals@google.com

Cc:Karen Widman 31201@lapd.online

Bcc:Morgain McGovern,Morgain McGovern,morgainmcgovern@gmail.com

Thu, Nov 19 at 5:39 PM

Hi Google,

I do not own the copyright to The Blast article, I am trying to find the right department and contact person at Google to file a complaint/notice of libel and slander regarding The Blast article which you are hosting on your website which contains false information & statements about my LAPD child sex crime case regarding Ben Stein.

I am disabled with PTSD (see attached Social Security Disability) from the trauma I suffered regarding my child sex crimes, sex crime cases and especially now this damaging false article you are hosting on your website which states false information about my child sex crimes cases with the LAPD.I believe there has been a miscommunication when I filed this complaint. I am seeking the contact information and person to ask Google to report the facts and evidence I have regarding my active cases with the LAPD and remove the libelous and slanderous Ben Stein article from “The Blast” which states false information about my child sex crime case with the LAPD.

Please direct me to the contact information and person responsible at Google to remove this slanderous and libelous article about me and my child sex crime cases that have been filed with the LAPD.

I’ve attached my disability paperwork so you can add it to your file.
I have severe PTSD from the recent events that have occurred and the damage and harm your platform has caused me from hosting this libelous article.
Attached is my LAPD police report regarding Ben Stein’s child sex crimes inflicted on me along with the other active child sex crime cases and cyber crimes cases I reported to the LAPD.

RE Ben Stein Denies Bizarre Sexual Assault Allegations from Woman
Ben Stein Denies Bizarre Sexual Assault Allegations from WomanBen Stein is scratching his head after a woman claims the famed TV host sexually assaulted her almost 40 years a…

Please direct me to the contact information and person responsible at Google to remove this slanderous and libelous article about me and which contain false information about my child sex crime cases that have been filed with the LAPD.

Thank you,
Morgain McGovern
747-250-9872

On Thursday, November 19, 2020, 3:57:47 PM PST, <removals@google.com> wrote:

Hello,

Thanks for reaching out to us.

With regard to the following URLs:

https://theblast.com/c/ben-stein-woman-restraining-order-bizarre-accusations

It is unclear to us how you came to hold the copyright in this material, as it does not appear that you are the author of the content in question. If the copyright was assigned to you, please provide a copy of the relevant assignment agreement. Otherwise, please explain further what the basis is for you owning the copyright.

Regards,
The Google Team

Second Article Ben Stein wrote about my mother June/July 1986 Los Angeles Herald Tribune