The summer of my 16th year, our family physician, Dr. Stoddard referred my father for brain surgery to UCLA Neuropsychiatric Institute. Dr. Robert Rand was the Neurosurgeon who performed the operation. My father never had a chance. Suited men came to visit and monitor us at crucial times. They were always watching and they gave him shots in his thighs and then asked him questions over and over, and told him what to do with me. Very scary and frightening events happened there to keep me further under control. I can only imagine what they did to my father's brain. The day before his scheduled surgery, a nurse came into his room while the whole family was visiting before surgery. He held out a box and explained very matter-of-factly that the hair in the box was my father's, just shaved from his head, and in the event that he didn't make it through the surgery they were keeping his hair to put back on his head in his casket. These insinuations, coupled with the ritual abuse I had previously endured, were enough to further dissociate me. There were other horrifying events performed to frighten me into further dissociation, creating even more control.

My mother and I were told to wait in the hospital lobby until they came to tell us the surgery was over. They called a code name for me over the loudspeaker and responding to the call, I walked up to my father's hospital room. A doctor in a white coat met me in the room and said he wanted me to enter the surgery room and watch. As I entered, I saw my father with his head cut open, with tubes in him everywhere; in his head, in his nose, in his arm, and they told me that my father would no longer hold authority over me. Now he was totally under their control and, now they would be in total control of me. Then they strapped me into the bed next to him and gave me some sort of gas through a mask they put over my nose and mouth. They told me to turn my head so I could watch everything they did to him that day — they took my real father away from me and the doctor said that they would be in charge of everything that happened to me and all my progeny from then on. I didn't know what that meant, but I knew it was bad. They performed some sort of surgery on me, too. They inserted something under my nail bed and later they told me they moved it somewhere else and I would find places on my body with skin flaps where I figured they had put them in. They tested and experimented with implant after implant on me. With some implants they were trying to see if they could totally control me from a distance.

Later when my mother came to look for me, she found me sitting in my father's room bent over with my head down to my knees, while a nurse standing by me explained, "She fainted, that's all. She'll be all right." My father made it through surgery and was placed in intensive care.

Soon after, my controllers told me my father had died in the surgery, that all I had to do was remember how he looked with his eyes closed to realize he was dead. They told me that my 'real' family would take over now and that I needed to understand that it was really best that way. And, although everything outwardly appeared to remain the same, nothing ever was again. The life essence of my father was totally gone; he was not in control of himself any longer. My brother Rick took over the family business and I began traveling more, internationally.

Months after my father's release from the hospital, he came into my room and sat down on the floor next to my bed while I was studying. Upset and very emotional, which was very unusual for my father, he said, "Honey, big things are happening and I've lost control of you." Tears were streaming down my strong father's face. I didn't know how to react. My macho father never cried. I couldn't think to question him or to wonder just what it was he was trying to tell me. So I let it go, along with hundreds of other questions and thoughts that any normal, unprogrammed daughter would have thought to ask.

Sometime later, I was taken to a hospital in Montreal. My controllers called it an "Institute of Higher Learning," but instead of higher learning, I was put in a hospital gown and kept drugged and in restraints. A very important French personality inside of me was created and enhanced there. If I didn't cooperate they put me into a padded cubicle in the dark until I "came to my senses" and began behaving properly. I'd seen over the years just what they had done to my father and I couldn't take anymore. I had nothing to lose by not cooperating. From one of his personalities that was 'in the know' and before brain surgery took his free will away, my father told me, "You don't have to do anything they say honey, they want to take your mind." Years later as I retrieved pieces of my memory that allowed me to see the bigger picture, I remembered numerous occasions when my father laid in programs to help me exit my abuse. He even gave me suggestions to heal and bring my personalities together. I've often wondered if this was a more significant contribution to my successful healing than I could ever imagine.

Bob Hope was one of the first high-powered men Craig 'delivered' me to. This, of course, was by no means my first meeting with Bob, but it was a test for Craig and the first time my young 'handler' would use the programmed skills he learned to take me to my assignment. For my 16t' birthday present in 1967, Craig surprised me with a trip, by train, to the San Diego Zoo for the day. Consciously we were programmed to be committed to a non-sexual relationship, waiting for our projected wedding date to consummate our marriage. At least that is why we thought we were only spending the day, and not the night in San Diego. Due to our programming, neither of us had any conscious awareness that anything other than that was occurring.

We boarded the train, and after a while Craig delivered me to a private car where Bob Hope, Senator Alan Cranston, and a couple of other men were waiting. Craig left me with them and then robotically left the room. I had sex with each of them as the others watched. They were all old men, even in those days.

Later, Bob said he had a little job for me to do and the next thing I knew I was in a big office with wooden floors and a desk with an American flag beside it. When Bob introduced me, I shook hands with the man behind the desk. He impressed me then as an important man, like the President, but he wasn't. Bob left me alone with him. The man asked me all kinds of questions and I told him that I had been insurance company bonded as a requirement of my Christmas employment in a jewelry store. He seemed to like that. He also wanted to check out my body. Following his instructions, I removed my clothes and he 'checked' me all over by feeling. He put his hand behind my neck and pulled me over to him and began kissing me.

This dark-haired executive was much younger than Bob. He turned me around facing away from him and I could hear the noise of the zipper as he unzipped his pants. He pushed me over at the waist and began having sex with me from behind. He explained that he was checking the fit. I didn't know what that meant but was very embarrassed, as evidenced by my red cheeks. He commented on how he liked it when I blushed. He said it meant that I was naive and innocent, and explained he liked them that way. When he was through 'questioning' me, he opened the door and went and got Bob. He told Bob that I'd be fine, that he was very pleased, and went to his drawer, took out a folder, and wrote out a check. He carefully put the folder away, handed Bob the check and said, "Here's a check for the cause." I didn't know what that meant either but they shook hands and both seemed pleased.