Judicial Whistleblowers Entitled to Protection and Compensation

img_0939
After being nearly run over by a black Cadillac in front of witnesses a few weeks back at a local Irish pub (Celtic Harp), you might say I need a pair of bodyguards. Pictured here is former Super Bowl winner for the Denver Broncos, Jamie Brown.  A victim of blunt head injury, I have been asked to look into the cover-ups while a major lawsuit is nearing settlement. Pictured also is Mike Paladino who joined me for the Whistleblower Summit and Civil Rights Conference in Washington.  FYI: I am standing 5 foot 11 inches and weighing in at a “mere” 200 lbs.

By Dr. Leon R. Koziol

Having just returned from a whistleblowers summit and conference in Washington D.C., I had the privilege of meeting numerous victims of government abuse. Of all that were featured, few exceeded my ordeal. Indeed, because I heard about the summit at the last minute, the sponsors could not get me on the speakers agenda which had already been formalized. However I was allowed to present my case followed by an interview with Summit sponsors for future publication.

My focus was different than most presenters who decried retributions by federal and state agencies (executive branch of government). I was determined to obtain protection for that unique category of citizens known as judicial whistleblowers. These are the ones who expose corruption in the judicial branch, the forums created by the people to bring justice for all the other whistleblowers. At present, there is no real protection for us as my ordeal has abundantly demonstrated.

From my pedophile custody judge removed from family court (Bryan Hedges) to divorce judges soliciting bribes to fix custody cases (Gerald Garson and Thomas Spargo), we have a growing crisis on our hands. These are judges taken down only because of courageous whistleblowers. One was a father-attorney in divorce. Another was a mom who lost custody of her child. How many more have never been caught? Without judicial whistleblowers, the other types may never see justice even with the federal Whistleblower Protection Act now in effect.

For this reason, Judicial whistleblowers need legal protection and monetary compensation for the risks and injuries they endure. After exposing widespread corruption among wealthy Americans dodging tax liabilities in Swiss banks, whistleblower Bradley Birkenfeld was wrongly prosecuted by the IRS and sent to prison for a thirty month term. Ultimately he recovered $102 million as part of a new IRS whistleblower protection program.

His ordeal has striking similarities to mine, wrongfully prosecuted by unethical ethics lawyers who were ultimately allowed to resign for falsifying their time sheets (Albany chief counsel Peter Torncello, Steven Zayas and Elizabeth Devane). My children, licenses and livelihood were all seized in retaliation for the widespread corruption I have been exposing to no avail before a self-regulating profession and court system. Less than 10% of all commission complaints in New York and California are even looked into.

This autumn, my book, Satan’s Docket, will be published. It exposes my shocking ordeal while serving as an instruction manual for all parents affected by our nation’s divorce and family courts. Unsure whether the title was a good one, all doubt was removed this past week in Washington with the presentation and release of Birkenfeld’s book titled, Lucifer’s Bank.

In an effort to pave the way for judicial whistleblower protection in New York, I presented a 25-page, $25 million claim before the New York Legislature. After personal visits to legislative offices, I finally got a call from legislative counsel for the Assembly Judiciary Committee (Weinstein). The uphill battle I faced was mutually detailed.

I have yet to receive replies of any kind from my former Assembly representative, Claudia Tenney, campaigning for Congress at the time, my Senate representative, Joseph Griffo, who declared me his friend time and again, or Anthony Brindisi, Assembly representative in the district where my law practice was shut down. All this occurred within the span of a few years after 23 unblemished years as a successful civil rights attorney and ten years as a model parent without even a complaint before any child protection agency.

Please share this post for the general benefit of all Americans. As U.S. Senate Judiciary Chairman Chuck Grassley stated at a recent Whistleblower Day celebration, “You can’t fix something if you don’t know it’s broken. That’s just common sense.” But it’s much more than that for judicial whistleblowers: “You can’t get justice if corruption is being concealed by those who are supposed to deliver it.

Leon R. Koziol, J.D.

Parenting Rights Institute

(315) 380-3420

 

 

2017 National Whistleblower Summit: Valuable Aid For Court Victims

img_0913
From left to right, Louis Clark, Executive Director and CEO of GAP (Government Accountability Project), Tom Devine, its Legal Director and Leon Koziol, Whistleblower Advocate


“You can’t fix something if you don’t know it’s broken. That’s just common sense.”  U.S. Senator Chuck Grassley

That is a quote taken from U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee Chairman, Chuck Grassley, of Iowa at the 2015 National Whistleblower Day Celebration. He is the man at the center of investigations involving Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton. It is a quote which aptly depicts my ongoing mission to obtain justice and overdue reform for victims of divorce and family courts across the country.

I attended the 2017 Whistleblower Day Celebration and three-day Whistleblowers Summit in Washington D.C. this past week, having been interviewed by its sponsors at the Mott whistleblower law offices next to the Supreme Court. Among other things, I also participated in a dinner meeting of prominent whistleblowers at the National Press Club near the White House.

As this post is being made public, my 2017 corruption report regarding Title IV-D funding abuses is being delivered personally to Senator Grassley at a meeting set for 4 pm today at his Senate office. This report was previously delivered to a congressional oversight committee and U.S. Attorney General Jeff Sessions. It depicts an epidemic harming parents in divorce and family courts in the states which is being censored and suppressed by special interests and bar associations.

During the three-day summit, I had occasion to exchange valuable information with best selling authors of books depicting whistleblower ordeals. They included Bradley Birkenfeld who spent three years in prison for exposing corruption in the Swiss banking system. On his release, he recovered a record $104 million under the IRS whistleblower program. His book entitled, Lucifer’s Bank, has striking resemblances to mine, Satan’s Docket, projected for publication this autumn.

A key goal of my book and travels is to bring legal protection for a unique group of citizens known as judicial whistleblowers. At present it does not exist, and as my case has amply demonstrated, the retributions can be horrific and utterly inhuman. Attendees at this summit were shocked at my ordeal as presented in a one-page book summary and eight-page chapter summary available by request at leonkoziol@parentingrightsinstitute.com.

Of course, I am not a legal aid, public defender or government funded entity. I am a high risk, confidential and specialized consultant bringing public attention to individual cases. I no longer practice civil rights law and do not give legal opinions, but I do have lawyers available as part of our referral program. Hence, I rely on donations and product purchases at www.leonkoziol.com.

This summit sponsored by The Government Accountability Project, ACORN 8 and other prominent organizations was extremely valuable and should be supported. This week I will feature key summaries such as this one to enlighten my followers on a growing epidemic in these courts so that reform and justice may be achieved for as many victims as possible.

 

Dr. Leon R. Koziol, Director

Parenting Rights Institute

(315) 380-3420  

IT’S NOW AVAILABLE: Shocking new book entitled, Satan’s Docket

image.jpeg
Angie Policelli, a long time follower of this site,  congratulates civil rights advocate, Leon Koziol on his newly completed book at Panera Bread cafe in New Hartford, New York. Book signing events are anticipated for this autumn.

This shocking book is now available at http://www.parentingrightsinstitute.com

Dr. Leon R. Koziol

Parenting Rights Institute

(315) 380-3420

Sorry I have not been very active on this site  in recent months. It is due largely to my preoccupation with a book project years in the making but developed in ernest since November, 2016.

A publishing contract was signed this past week. The book exposes corruption in America’s divorce industry. Similar to themes introduced by film makers in the movies Gladiator, Sleepers and Devil’s Advocate, this literary work captures over thirty years of political, personal and litigation experience in a 108,000 word manuscript titled, Satan’s Docket.

A release date in late summer, 2017 will be announced before a marketing campaign which I intend to take before every member of Congress. The goal is to elicit a congressional oversight hearing behind the abuse of Title IV-D funding by “court predators” as I call them. A copyright is already on file in Washington, and advance manuscripts are available for a $25 contribution at http://www.leonkoziol.com.

These courts have been transformed into a trillion dollar industry harming parents, families and children. Highly protected by special interests and bar associations, reform efforts have been viciously censored and eclipsed by “child protection” propaganda. My ordeal is a prime example. I will use this book to demand a comprehensive investigation by the Justice Department.

As I have explained to my book clients and in my professional critiques of individual cases, the public will find it hard to relate to personal divorces and family court ordeals. Fewer still will want to re-visit the painful experiences if, in fact, they are familiar with the travesties of justice which are growing at epic levels.

For this reason, my book is spiced with real life experiences ranging from high profile trials to my adventures across the country and Europe. There is a healthy dose of intrigue, humor and even romance exceeded only by the vast education to benefit anyone implicated by divorce, custody, support or other family litigation.

Major segments are devoted to my experiences in upstate New York, from casino litigation to local politics. Familiar names, forgotten villains and even famous people are featured in a 22 chapter plot. It is a veritable encyclopedia or crash course for litigants certain to inspire outrage and reform long overdue in this corrupt industry. The following chapter titles will give you its flavor:

 

Table  of  Contents

Part One:  Corruption

Chapter 1:  Return to Paris

Chapter 2:  Overground Railroad

Chapter 3:  Religion Under Seige

Chapter 4:  Downloading the Mind

Chapter 5:  Judge Paris Calls Paris

Chapter 6:  Weaving a Tangled Web

Chapter 7:  Soulmate Encounter

Chapter 8:  Amber Alert

Chapter 9:  Gender Skirmish

Chapter 10:  Shark Attack

Chapter 11: Earth’s Child

 

Part Two:  Carnage

Chapter 12: A Wedding to Die For

Chapter 13: Daddy, I want to go there!

Chapter 14: Mermaid Island

Chapter 15: Diamond Girls

Chapter 16:  Killing the Dream

Chapter 17: Orchestrated Law

Chapter 18: Sum of All Evils

Chapter 19: Snake Bite

Chapter 20: Shopping with Martha

Chapter 21: Alcohol Related Holocaust

Chapter 22: King Eby

Epilogue: The Divorce Coliseum

 

 

  

 

Ladies, it’s not Fifty Shades of Grey. It’s Better and True: A New Book about Corruption in Divorce Court

IMG_1683
I met her in Paris, inspiring a main character in Part One of my new book and a lady I will never forget

Dr. Leon R. Koziol

Okay, anyone can write a novel, right? It’s all made-up, fairyland stuff. I authored and published one myself in 2014. It’s called Voyage to Armageddon, and you can get a copy at Barnes and Noble Bookstores or order it on line at Amazon.

But what if a real story emerged, one that could actually happen to you. Welcome to my new literary work, years in the making and soon to be published. In fact, after releasing my first chapter on this site yesterday, I got a call and e-mail this morning from a publisher I did not solicit offering me a contract. An uncensored version is now available by ordering it on this site.

Yesterday I dedicated the first chapter to: “All Loving Dads on Fathers’ Day.” Today I am dedicating this chapter to all moms who love their children the same way. It is a segment of my fugitive ordeal in Paris when I sought international protection for parenting rights. You can also get the background and an excerpt which verifies the wide appeal of my book in two earlier posts of my Fathers’ Day Trilogy.

Today you get the PG-rated segment of Chapter Five entitled, Weaving A Tangled Web. It’s about a mom I met at an Irish Pub in Paris. The rest is the wild ride she gave me at the Bastille District, a night in Gay Paree I will never forget.

Enjoy!

We pick up my story here at page 76:

During one such visit, I was treated to real entertainment after a wholesome meal. The singers, fiddles and jigs were straight out of Ireland, a short flight across the English Channel. It was also on this day that I met a single mom who was in the heat of a custody battle in the states. A group of estranged parents were exchanging multi-nation divorce scandals with me at the bar when this mom whittled it down to an exclusive conversation.

She wore a brown plaid skirt with white blouse, smiling in a manner wholly at odds with the war story she was conveying. Slender with long jet-black hair curled around one side of her shoulder, she could not have been much taller than five feet. All the trappings of an Irish lassie with an Asian origin, she was as cute and sexy as a woman could be. Seated on a stool to my right, she was quite nervous while relating her ordeal, crossing her legs and switching them regularly.

“So, Mr. big-shot New York lawyer, what do you know about French custody law? Can I pick your brain or is there going to be a fee for this?”

“You must’ve misunderstood my ordeal. I’m not a big-shot, I got shot big-time, more like an assassination by my own profession for exposing its corruption on parents like you.”

“Well I overheard you talking with the guys a little while ago about a billion dollar casino you shut down in New York.”

“You must’ve caught only part of that conversation too. I won the judgment that should have shut it down. I did what my surrounding landowner clients hired me to do, but like custody and divorce, money talks. The casino’s still there.”

“Well, then, you must still be good at what you do.”

“Depends how you look at it. I mean they flew in lawyers from Washington to argue against me on that casino case. One of the law firms was Cravath, Swaine and Moore. You should see their office building near Times Square. But even with my winning decision, they did an end-around with federal authority over Indian matters. Money usually wins out no matter the harm to gambling addicts or in our custody cases, the children. It’s all fueled by lawyer profits and federal funds.”

“So why not set up a law practice here in Paris?”

“I’m a bit intrigued by your questions. We barely know each other. I thought your custody case was in the United States. What do you care about French law and a practice for me in Paris?”

“Let’s just say my issues cross the borders. I may need to apply custody laws here but they’re not in my favor. I paid good money for the best lawyers to make sure my child was safe under my care. But I’m finding that my abusive ex is going to have him seized and returned to him.”

“Huh, that’s strange. From what I’ve read, France has a maternal preference in such matters. That seems to prevail even though it’s part of the European Union which stresses that both parents and their children have a right to a relationship. So I would think you’d be happy here. In the states, dads are 85% of parents paying child support. You should be good there too.”

“Well my case is unique. It goes far beyond basic custody laws.”

“How so?”

“It involves international law. That’s why when I heard you talking about national sovereignty with Sean and his friends, I figured you might be just the right guy for my case.”

“Again I think you misunderstood what we were talking about. I got off on the Native-American sovereignty issues associated with that Indian casino compact. They have their own custody norms. It gets very complicated. Nothing that could apply to you.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Do you have a business card? I’d like to give you my whole story on the phone, maybe over some early morning expresso if you don’t mind. Right now, it’s too noisy at this pub. That’s why I didn’t pick up on all of what you were saying.”

“Sure, no problem,” I replied while handing her my parent advocacy card, “but it’s all just bar talk. Don’t get too pumped about any of it.”

Over the years, I had been dealing with victims electronically for the most part. In this case, I found a custody warrior who had taken on much more than her parenting rival. Like me in New York, she had taken aim at corruption in the California divorce system, having written reports to various commissions, monitored court proceedings and organized rallies against domestic violence. In the end, she came up with essentially the same conclusions I did.   

Her name was Linda, and she related an ordeal which could be considered my maternal counterpart. But there were puzzle pieces missing in all the competing bar talk. Occasionally melancholy, she betrayed great wit and broke out laughing at her own jokes. But when it came to court corruption, her mood got cold and sullen. A deep seated hatred for this custody system had found its way to our meeting, a potential release that might allow her to move on with life.

Despite being consumed by all her litigation, Linda managed to exude a feminine quality flavored by an eclectic mix of emotions. She was a tough gladiator, sensitive caretaker, an intellect, airhead, dictator and hopeless romantic all rolled up into one, lighting up at least ten human “disorders” on the DSM-5 manual from what I could tell. She impressed me as a rival to Debra Messing in her role as Kat in the acclaimed movie Wedding Date.

As our lively discourse progressed into the night, the music faded more and more from our attention span. I could sense that something special was developing between us. In a matter of only hours, our dialogue had converted total strangers into kindred spirits, fate-driven partners on a mission to save our offspring from common enemies thousands of miles apart.

The bar was getting louder as we were getting more intimate, so I invited Linda out for a stroll. I’d seen enough romantic couples arm-in-arm on these streets during my nightly returns to the hotel. Anxious to get a taste, it was a chance I took. To my delight, Linda happily accepted. Upon satisfying the lease payment for our extended stay, we exited Corcoran’s into the night time glitz of a lover’s side to Paris.

We headed back toward Place de la Bastille which was teeming with activity, from late diners seated outside various cafes to diverse tourists engaged in dialogue of many languages. You couldn’t help wondering how all those words meshed in one place without conflict or collision. We took photos of one another, then together at the urging of an elderly couple on an anniversary honeymoon. With their well wishes, we were suddenly on an impromptu honeymoon of our own.

One street off the northeast side of the plaza was quite inviting. We sauntered aimlessly along Rue de la Roquette, pausing from time to time to investigate the boutiques which caught Linda’s attention. Then we turned right onto Rue de Lappe as the passages narrowed. Here we found clubs galore and a hoard of night-goers which might intimidate most mature types, but to us it was an unexpected adventure, a trip back in time, a foray into our long-lost youth.

For no particular reason except its peculiar name, we boldly entered a night club known as Yellow Mad Monkey. Lots of energy inside, and there were actually large plants suspended from the ceiling to give this place a sort of jungle décor. Tarzan himself might swing down for a beer. There was a pair of chairs at a table that seemed available, maybe the only ones in this crowded venue, but the two couples already seated there appeared to have claimed title to them.

We must have looked out of place because, sensing our predicament, one of the guys invited us to join them. His name was Pierre from Quebec City, Canada, and he politely introduced us to his wife, Charlene, and acquaintances, Hank and Sheila. The latter couple across from us was from West Virginia and the foursome had met at the Louvre earlier in the week. None of us being locals, it was easy to join their conversation over tourist sites visited or yet to be explored.

“So what brings you two to Gay Paree?” asked our spontaneous host. He was a tall, stocky fellow in grey slacks and black silk shirt, middle aged with trim facial hair of Toby Keith variety.

“Oh we’re on our honeymoon, second marriage,” Linda replied with convincing character. She directed a celebratory smile toward each of our table mates and earned the intended reactions. I was last in line and first in shock but caught on quickly. We were going to have some fun with this, a role which that elderly couple assigned to us a short while ago and see where it all went.

“That’s so nice. Such a lovely couple, you guys, don’t you think Pierre?” Charlene was a shapely woman dressed in black pants and sky-blue top. A pearl necklace and jewelry on both hands signified their joint success. “I remember when we were on our honeymoon in Niagara Falls. So long ago, but it seems like yesterday. Where did all that time go?”

“I say we all get a shot to celebrate your new life together.” The offer came from Sheila, a long time girlfriend of Hank, the third man at our table. He was a burly guy dressed casually in jeans and a Mountaineers jersey evidently suffering from a sight defect because he could not seem to keep his eyes off Linda’s chest.

Sheila, on the other hand, came across as a fun-loving type, curvy figure and bleach blonde hair caught up in a bun. A red dress matched her rosy cheeks, and her arms were sufficiently intimidating to get Rambo accepting whatever offer she might make.

“Uh, sure, I guess, but I don’t do shots,” I interjected. “I’ll just substitute with a bottle of Bud. How about you, honey?” Linda was immediately ecstatic with my play-along, looking for max excitement the way a child explores a carnival, except this one had not been serving soda pop.

“Darling, I’ll have another vodka cranberry. We’ve had a long day, folks, and I can’t wait to get back to our room. You know how it is with wild sex, just can’t get enough fast enough. So the last thing I need is to pass out on my new hubby.”

Linda’s remark caused me to burst out with a laugh. So unexpected, it’s the way she delivered it, convincing yet perplexing. I guess you had to be there. I contained myself as quickly as I lost it, but our friends were already reacting with squint eyes and strange looks toward me and then each other. Linda was holding for now, but I was sure I could make her dam burst if I wanted to.

“Yeah like she passed out last night. And to think she was buck-naked when I took her off the elevator. Sweetie, you think you can make it to our suite tonight?”

“Not if you don’t get your hand off my thigh and back on the table where everyone can see it. Sex under the table is prohibited here, love, didn’t you see the sign at the entrance?”

It now appeared that our audience was unsure whether to be amused or disgusted by our x-rated, rapid-fire exchange. Charlene was cracking a Mona Lisa smile, Pierre looked stunned, Hank’s eyes were still glued to his prize but Sheila distinguished herself with an arousal at each remark.

“Yeah I saw that sign,” I replied. “And you’re going to see divorce papers if you pass out again.”

“Aw, such a jokester! See, Lee’s got this loaded gun when he doesn’t get his way.  I love it when he shoots me dead at night, if you get my drift.” Linda added a few winks as if anyone needed it and pressed on. “Besides, we got company, honey, so behave.” Still sporting that trademark smile, she never missed a beat. This was getting more interesting as were the reactions.

“Alright, I’ll behave, but you owe me big time baby.”

“I love it when I owe you big time. When you’re big, I’m submissive. That’s the way it should be when a real man takes control.” Looking over her listeners with their disheveled appearances, Linda turned plaintive but only so long as necessary to keep her ruse in play.

“Sorry guys, we’ve been doing this foreplay thing all evening. It’s how we stay up all night taking care of business. How about you guys? Any action yet Charlene? Niagara Falls can’t be that far away?”

There was no reaction from Charlene. She just looked back at Linda as if she had just seen the monster in a horror flick. Linda was obviously getting quite loopy and carried away with her charade. In the process, she was taking us both over the falls here.

Concededly this was a foursome that was hard to read, square peg in a round hole, a classy reserved couple touring with Bonnie and Clyde. But give Linda credit, she was resilient. On the chance she offended anyone, she tried to make amends. Unfortunately, she overcompensated.

“I mean, we’re all here to have a romantic time together, aren’t we? I was just trying give you guys some inspiration the way we’ve been going at it. So’s it gonna be wild sex tonight or not?”

There was still no reaction from Pierre’s wife or anyone else for that matter until Sheila jumped in. It was anything but what we expected. In fact, it was much more than a game changer. Linda could never have imagined what her offer would elicit. It’s something we’ll never forget.   

“Hey, whatever you two got going on, I wanna be a part of it. Did you hear that guys? Linda says she wants to share, like we all did last night. And what a night! Honey, you won’t crash on my watch, and as for your man, he ain’t seen nothing yet. You’re gonna love our toys. Let’s go now.”

Sheila’s counter-offer was shocking enough, but we were blown away when the other three at our table nodded approvingly. Linda and I were now their prey. It had to be an ambush. Neither of us could utter a word. Talk about censored speech. How were we going to get out of this jam?

They were all seriously serious, and for a moment I think Linda was feeling like she had just checked into the Hotel California. We stared in wonder, glanced at each another, our thoughts racing for a quick exit strategy. Then I took control.

“Sheila, you’re on.” I handed her a hotel business card with a room number scribbled on the back. “Bring your hottest nighty. And Hank, I got a cure for your eye problem, it’s called gasoline. We gotta go.”

I grabbed Linda by the hand and rushed her out of the club like mad monkees. That’s when her dam finally burst. Laughing hysterically, she stumbled alongside me down the sidewalk. It wasn’t long before we disappeared inconspicuously among the crowded streets.

When we got comfortable with our escape, Linda stopped, turned toward me and seized my elbows with each hand. She had that wild-eyed shock still plastered all over her face. It was as if she was suddenly back in high school after completing some kind of dare or sorority prank.

“I can’t believe what just happened,” she screamed, laughing to the point of tears. “Please tell me that didn’t just happen. Did they really think we were soliciting for a double manage-et-trois?”

“Not we, you! I never offered anything and you started it all. But I think they call it swingers.”

“Yeah like you weren’t enjoying it.”

“Actually I was, right up to the point where Bubba from the back woods was gonna have his way. I gotta say, Linda, you are crazy! I never met anyone quite like you.”

“Same here, I never met someone like me either.” She answered with a giggle as we locked our arms again and resumed our aimless stroll on the streets of Paris. “I really like you, Leon the lawyer. You got me out of a real jam there. I could use help like that in other areas. Can we get together tomorrow night? Drinks are on me.”

“I gotta hope you’re not too messed up right now. You downed a lot tonight and might forget this whole thing even happened in the morning. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Absolutely, I’m getting good at this. A great stress reliever with all of what I’ve been going through. I got this lawyer right now who’s acting like a scared boy in front of my custody judge.”

“Well, then, it’s obvious you hired the wrong lawyer. Protecting a child is a man’s job, love.”

Linda quickly wrapped her arms around my head, inflicting a French kiss like I had never experienced before. “Wild sex could be the icing on our wedding cake tonight. Whatta ya say?”

“Tempting as that is, let me take a raincheck for now. It’s been a long day. Can I get you a cab, walk you home? I can’t just leave you unescorted in this condition.”

“Aw that’s so sweet. A real gentleman. Are you falling for me too, Lee? I sensed a bit of jealousy you know, back at that Monkee club. Gasoline? Seriously?” Linda was now slurring her words.

“The guy was a pervert, Lynn, he never said a word all night, just kept staring at your breasts. Talk about mad monkees in a jungle, I swear this one couldn’t formulate words. Besides, what’s a newlywed husband supposed to do? Good show by the way. You definitely know how to take a guy off-guard on a first date.”

“Well I gotta say, you rose to the occasion and delivered nicely too. I’m so glad we got married on our first date. Never heard of anyone having a wild ride like this.”

“Maybe I delivered, but not to get a star role in some Deliverance movie. What were you thinking? I had all I could do to keep up with your shenanigans. And how in the world did those two couples match up?”

“Yeah, I wondered the same thing. By the way, you didn’t really give your room card, did you?”

“I can’t believe you’d even ask. It was one of many cards I’ve been collecting for an extended stay here in Paris. My reservation at the current place is up next week, and the card I gave is from the last hotel I stayed at. The number on the back is the basement weight room.”

Linda laughed aloud, then stopped and faced me again, this time with a serious look. “Hey Lee, with what you just said, a great idea popped into my head.”

“Please, not another one. I can only handle one per century.”

“No, I’m serious, hear me out. I got this villa on the Riviera. I only come to Paris on business. I stay with relatives when I’m here. Why not visit me this weekend? Put off that reservation. I know you’ll love it down there.” She made her pitch enthusiastically, and frankly I fell for it, if not her. The proverbial tumbleweed, what did it matter where I went?

“Wow, that’s quite an offer. I’ve never been to the Riviera. Always wanted to go there though. This is all so spontaneous, but staying on the move may be just what the doctor ordered, especially after that call I got from Judge Paris.”

“Judge Paris?”

“Never mind, long story. Tell you what, the more I think about it, the more I like your idea. Let’s get together tomorrow night. We’ll meet at Corcoran’s and talk about this some more. If I can survive that forest fire you started at jungle bar, I can handle anything.”

“And I could use a guy like you to keep me out of fires like that. Sorry I got you into it, but you gotta admit, we had a riot getting out.”

“O, what a tangled web we weave when we first practice deceit.”

“What are you talking about, Lee?”

“Never mind again, another long story. It’s a quote from an old friend, a real old friend. Hey there’s a cab, let’s grab it.” We hopped into the back seat and away we went.

“Two stops, Rue de Clery at Poissonniere and Montmontre,” I announced.

“Oui, Monsieur.”

“You sure you don’t want to make it one stop, Lee?”

“I’m a gentleman, remember? I may end up in Paris forever. So we got lots of time to get to know one another. If it’s going to happen, I want it to be special. And I think you’re real special, unfortunately very drunk too.”

“Alrighty then, bad for me, good for you.”

Linda eased us down into the seat and assumed a commanding position over me. Then she began to kiss, caress and stimulate me as if she had not had sex in a very long time. Come to think about it, neither had I.

To my amazement, an unexpected metamorphosis was occurring, a sweet transition from nightmare to fairy tale. We were two oppressed victims making our way to paradise without a care in the world. The cab driver lost sight of us in his rear view mirror and could only fantasize about our moans and maneuverings as he navigated to our destinations.

Eventually he came to a stop. Linda got herself together and exited while I monitored her walk toward some family home in this vicinity, the drop-off location she gave me for the cab driver. Barely onto the sidewalk, she turned, bent over and blew me a kiss. I smiled back. Then she sauntered off to points unknown, her now wrinkled blouse draping off one side of a displaced skirt and whatever was left of her hairstyle in utter disarray.

As the cab driver resumed his route toward my hotel, I reminisced about this extraordinary day. I did not know what to make of it, much less a woman who won my heart in so many ways. I may not have known much about my destiny, but I did know that I wanted more of Linda. Maybe it was that perfume, her special touch, the ambiance of Paris or a wild ride at the Bastille. Then again, maybe she was spinning a web I had never seen before.

 

Dr. Leon R. Koziol

Parenting Rights Institute

leonkoziol@parentingrightsinstitute.com

(315) 380-3420

An Inspiring Gift to All Loving Dads on Fathers’ Day

img_0476
A friend I made during a documentary excursion in western New York last year

By Dr. Leon R. Koziol

Well the day has finally come, the earliest release of my startling new book to be formally published later this summer regarding divorce and family court corruption. I am making the opening chapter available at no charge as a gift to all loving dads on Fathers’ Day 2017. Please share it freely.

It is also a release that is highly beneficial as an educational product for all abused parents and families. The background for this book and an excerpt demonstrating its wide appeal were posted here the past two nights. This one will conclude my Fathers’ Day trilogy.

Last year, I was joined at this time by a doctor, dentist and engineer from different parts of the country on the steps of the United States Supreme Court. We conducted a news conference in support of a first-ever shared parenting case.

Today, one year later, fathers continue to be discriminated and oppressed in these courts. Nothing has changed in decades while other equality movements have achieved great strides. Gay-lesbian rights, for example, have long passed us by.

Due to my continuing stand, judicial whistleblowing and a pretend mother seeking to replace me with a millionaire father, I will not be able to see my daughters this Fathers’ Day. I have never been found to be unfit, never charged with any crime, never a child abuse report. The public is witness to my model parenting.

Since my testimony before the Moreland Commission on Public Corruption in 2013, I have received no phone calls from my teen daughters. This form of cruel and unusual punishment is un-American and unprecedented from a human rights standpoint. My book is the foundation for a renewed crusade against the injustice.

The pretend mother, Kelly Hawse-Koziol, has gone to the extreme of alienating my children in every way. Sadistic judges and lawyers bent on revenge have joined her sick agenda. Together they have managed to eradicate every aspect of the paternal family in a manner which would impress Adolph Hitler himself.

The opening chapter of this book is my response. It is highly relevant to that alienation and should inspire all to action. The events you will read are shocking but true, backed by footnotes and voluminous files. Help me promote this three year project any way you can for the sake of similar victims. Unity is sorely needed.

The complete 100,000 word manuscript has been offered to New York’s high court for protection from ongoing censorship by an unethical ethics committee whose chief counsel and deputy lawyers resigned quietly due to falsified time sheets. The book relates my ordeal and that of many others I met in a nationwide reform effort.

Nearly every paragraph, phrase and word contained in this literary work carries with it special meaning for the more discerning reader. It can easily be missed. However every segment of this chapter is fleshed out with increased intrigue in the 20 chapters which follow.

Happy Fathers’ Day !

                                                                   Chapter  1

Return to Paris

Cumulous clouds were advancing toward the Maginot Line as our jet engines announced their approach to Charles de Gaulle Airport. Out of curiosity, I squinted northeast toward those extensive fortifications as we made another swing over Paris.

Somewhere out there was a barn where my father had been concealed when that Line proved ineffectual to Hitler’s invasion. Somewhere out there my dad was returned to the war against the Nazis during the liberation of France.

His name was Louis, and after that war he wanted no more of the horrors he had survived in Europe. He ended up raising a family in the United States, land of liberty as he loved to call it, never imagining that his son would one day return here to escape persecution in America.

That may seem implausible to you, but it was occurring on this very flight. I’ll explain as we go along. For now, it’s the paradox of my bizarre journey through a lucrative court system, a conscientious stand against my profession and an evil which has lurked there for too long.

As I peered out the fuselage, thoughts of my predicament overshadowed the grandeur of the city below. Still incomprehensible was my pending status as a fugitive from justice, or more precisely a victim of injustice, a whistleblower not unlike Edward Snowden or Julian Assange. The main difference is that I hadn’t even been accused of any crime. I was no threat to national security.

As insane as that paradox in the clouds, my only crime was that I wanted to spend more time with my precious daughters during a divorce case. While committing that crime, I was forced to expose the real ones in a government industry that was extinguishing parenthood as we know it. The shocking events you will now read about comprise the retributions which followed.

This was a continuing ordeal after ten years. Its perpetrators figured that no human could sustain such abuse for so long. Who would believe it anyway? Like Nazis in the day, they labeled me, seized my children, ruined my livelihood, and subjected me to a form of house arrest. Ultimately I would succumb to a stroke, breakdown or untimely death. I would simply vanish along with my judicial whistleblowing. Judicial waterboarding is the way I put it before the Supreme Court.

My dad endured five years in a Nazi camp after drinking urine from the floor. I’m not Jewish as that might suggest, but between his stories and genetics passed down, he no doubt influenced my own ability to survive. There were gang fights and race riots during my boyhood, high school football when corporal punishment was standard procedure, legal hazing in my college fraternity, law school in greater Chicago, a death defying event on a mountain and the 2016 elections.

Alas, this would be a walk in the park, or so I thought. Instead, with all the trappings of a Dixie lynching, it became anything but a routine divorce, beginning innocently enough in a city called Utica, New York. In my worst nightmares, I never imagined fleeing oppression in my homeland, seeking protection at the United Nations, on the lam in Lake Placid, addressing national media at a murder scene in South Carolina, sheltered on an island in the Pacific Ocean and now here.

I was not on some honeymoon. I had already done that in Paris and could never have planned for this. If only I could’ve avoided it altogether. But a prominent black minister in Manhattan declared this to be my destiny. So here I am, whatever he meant, and it did turn up shocking proof of judicial corruption that would make John Grisham cringe. If there was a destiny, it was shared by every mom and dad descended from the beginning of humanity itself.

For all the injury I sustained, this could have been the ride of a lifetime. But I had stirred a hornets’ nest, and in no small way, exposing the raw underbelly of a child control syndicate, a judicial forum where countless parents were summoned to resolve sensitive family matters only to be treated like common criminals. It took my case to our highest court where I filed for disqualification of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg due to her politicking from chambers.

An accomplished civil rights lawyer, I was naturally drawn to challenge the heartless seizure of children in our third branch of government. That’s the true definition of divorce court. Family court was its evil child where the real carnage occurred. After a two year separation without incident, everything was promising for my daughters. That’s when an invasion was launched by judges and lawyers anxious to conquer my world in a parenting environment they did not belong.

A Supreme Court justice had this to say about America’s family courts: “Under our Constitution, the condition of being a boy does not justify a kangaroo court.” [1] But that was 1967. An erosion of parental authority since then has changed his pronouncement to the condition of being a father or career mom which does not justify the stigmatizing classification of “non-custodial parent.” We are now a society living under the yoke of an increasingly fascist system of child control.

Proof of this remains viciously censored or masked by highly convincing propaganda. The state dictates to the parents that it is acting at all times in “the best interests of the child,” an utterly preposterous, if not fraudulent claim, before it bankrupts them in a protracted custody or support battle. It creates and then fuels an incendiary contest over one’s offspring only to reap huge profits from the crimes, domestic violence or emotional trauma which predictably results.  

Victims who oppose this centralized power face the prospect of losing their children, their careers or imprisonment without due process or jury rights, all of it orchestrated under “the law.” It was the common denominator of so many parental advocates I came across during my reform efforts across the country. Victims could not fathom what was truly happening to them while being subjected to investigations and examinations for every indiscretion or human error.

This easily abused “best interests of the child” standard remains the weapon to achieve all sorts of unconscionable outcomes. Our children are effectively controlling their parents now under this system, an inverted order of childrearing as I described it in my reports. Moms and dads under constant threat of losing “custody” are spoiling these children while surrendering their natural authority to parenting figures more focused on self-service than genuine parent-child relations.

That was the essence of my public message and the principal reason for persecution by my own government. It was certainly not a novel message but one which had never been so vigorously promoted by a lawyer and parent singularly qualified to achieve overdue court reform. The targeted evil had roots in feudal England where the King declared his sovereign power over all children. That edict was adopted by divorce courts here despite its clash with our Constitution. [2]

It gives pause for parents to reflect on a state leader who understood this power and exploited it over time to wage the most horrific war in human history:

The state must declare the child to be the most precious treasure of the people. As long as the government is perceived as working for the benefit of children, the people will happily endure almost any curtailment of liberty and almost any deprivation.

                         Adolph Hitler, Mein Kampf, Publ. Houghton Miflin, 1943, pg. 403.

The result here was not so much a military war machine as it was a custody war machine to raise revenues and fees, to invade every aspect of our private lives, exercising power that would make the NSA, CIA and IRS envious. To be sure, a veteran family judge condemned the targeted evil long ago. Judge Dennis Duggan bucked his judiciary by refusing to continue use of degrading terms such as “custody” and “visitation.” [3] Here is how he justified his revolt against the state:

At the outset, the Court notes that the terms ‘custody’ and ‘visitation’ have outlived their usefulness. Indeed their use tends to place any discussion and allocation of family rights into an oppositional framework. ‘Fighting for custody’ directs the process towards determining winners and losers. The children, always in the middle, usually turn out to be the losers…

This Court has abandoned the use of the word ‘visitation’ in its Orders, using the phrase ‘parenting time’ instead. If the word ‘custody’ did not so permeate our statutes and was not so ingrained into our psyches, that word would be the next to go… This misplaced focus draws parents into contention and conflict, drawing the worst from them at a time when their children need their parents’ best.

Duggan evaded the core problem in his decision, that elephant in the courtroom known as “profit motive.” Still he was precipitously close to triggering vital reforms. It was no surprise then that his decision was quickly reversed on appeal, and despite similar condemnations in a 2006 judicial report, [4] the inflammatory depictions of mom and dad have survived. In my own reports, I urged that such terms were more appropriate for prisons and funerals, not parent-child relationships. 

Our federal government remains a major cause. A bevy of bureaucrats has become the super-parent of American society through coercive funding laws. Enamored with wars declared on every kind of issue to incite tax hikes, they have managed to convert sensitive family disputes into rewarding public battlegrounds bleeding with militaristic decorum. These courts are now overflowing, judges so overwhelmed they delegate their entrusted duties to outsiders who complicate ready solutions.

My credible reform message threatened this gold mine. It was one that might take flight with social and secondary media. Hence it had to be eradicated from its inception. Suddenly I was a one man fighting machine according to a talk show host in Florida. I had silent supporters, parents and concerned citizens who could navigate beyond the propaganda of a self-regulating court system. But they were intimidated, and this was also a prophesy of sorts which made me more of a nemesis.

During my reform crusade, I explained how power brokers were laying a foundation for the New World Order through this custody institution. Orchestrated court conflict was being exploited to show parental incompetence and the justification for an eventual state take-over of childrearing. It was following the lead of compulsory education and how that became institutionalized. Along the way, collateral damage to our economy was immeasurable through declines in worker productivity.

They say the pen is mightier than the sword, but here the power brokers possessed both. My message was not extreme as my persecutors would claim. It was backed by true experts unaffected by the bottom line, billable hours or fictional justice. However, it was also a blow to the egos of lawyers who just didn’t get it, infected by a delusional belief that they were protecting children while profiting handsomely from our misfortunes. And that meant I had to be crushed like a bug.

Their agenda began with the usual spineless deflection from duty when a serious wrong is brought before our courts, one which threatens big money interests. Divorce lawyers, child attorneys, diverse psychologists, case evaluators and forensic experts were only some of the beneficiaries I extolled as court predators. They were exacerbating an epidemic for profit, one that was triggering suicides, serious health issues and human rights violations. It was the Goliath I was out to slay.

Unrealistic perhaps, but there were weapons in my arsenal. I had an unblemished professional record, won substantial recoveries,[5] defeated high profile law firms to invalidate a billion dollar casino compact, [6] set free speech precedent as a city corporation counsel,[7] New York Times sent reporters to cover my campaign for Congress, and Morley Safer traveled to my law office for an interview featured on 60 Minutes. [8] How could they discredit all that and more? Well they did.

Still, someone had to make this stand for the sake of our children and future generations, or at least go down for something more than personal gain. It is also said that a hearse comes with no trailer hitch. You can’t take your belongings to an afterlife. In this cause, I had found my life’s purpose, a way of helping people long after my time on this earth was over. Everything in my being had finally come together. Every child in every location was now my moral client.

Unfortunately, Goliath was a trillion dollar industry, and what few protesters I could find appeared traumatized by it. My own ordeal was triggered by a judge who refused to hear my arguments against the antiquated entitlements of Title IV-D of the Social Security Act. In lay terms, this was the Child Support Standards Act which required the naming of a “custodial parent” for state courts to receive federal funds. It also incited highly profitable custody wars.

I was shocked by the number of lawyers who had little or no idea how this law operated to fill their bank accounts. More disturbing, I could easily track the severe harm it inflicted upon everyday society, a veritable Titanic yet to collide with destiny and over-occupied by families originating from all parts of the world. They included stowaways from our schools, homes and workplaces routinely hauled into family courts as needless witnesses to the carnage.

Couldn’t these people see the pollution billowing out of those judicial smokestacks? With so much focus on global warming, homeland security and industrial flight, how could they glide so casually over an “inconvenient truth” at the root of so many other societal problems? With more than 300,000 lawyers in New York and California alone, this pollution was growing by the day. These elusive predators made their living selling conflict in a childrearing niche foreign to their trade.

Crucial reform was therefore long overdue, but my divorce judge was nearing retirement. Hence, it was no surprise that he was mired in the stereotypes of a distant past, when moms stayed home and dads worked to support children. He would shoe horn me into the degrading “non-custodial” category and presume that anything else I did was irresponsible. That’s before he was replaced by thirty-five trial level jurists by the time I wrote this book, unprecedented in judicial history.

Due to my exposure of court corruption, a systemic prejudice had arisen, requiring a venue change. When that was denied, it left me no choice but to move for disqualification of each newly assigned judge. I also urged that fathers remained victims to this last bastion of institutional discrimination due to the lucrative nature of the custody mandate. Shared parenting was a preferred model but this judge was not about to risk his reputation to do the right thing.

Instead he punted, referring me to the legislature for reform. Hence, you might say this entire ordeal was court ordered. That I should single-handedly seek a judicial remedy in a legislative assembly was like directing a mechanic to repair a car in a bakery. Any lobbying effort would require my exercise of free speech against my profession. Before a lawmaker could sponsor a bill to change a custody statute, his constituency would need to be convinced the old law was flawed.

When I aspired to do exactly that, it was the judiciary which opened fire on my free speech in the forums where constitutional rights were supposed to receive their greatest protection. My plain exposure of the flaws was so offensive that a family judge threatened to have me removed not only from “his” court room, but the public courthouse altogether. When that failed to intimidate me, he issued a gag order which was removed after I challenged it in New York Supreme Court. 

A legislative solution was a herculean task and my divorce judge knew it. Shared parenting bills had been routinely squashed by powerful special interests because they threatened predator profits. So, like the abortion right, I pursued the fast track through our courts, insisting quite logically that the much older parenting right which enhanced life deserved at least the same protection as the one which destroyed life without having to go before a gridlock legislature. [9]

New York was widely known to have the most dysfunctional legislature in America. [10] Reputable studies declared it, record late budgets proved it, and even legislators sought re-election on that theme, condemning one ethics commission after another for their impotence. I testified before the Moreland Commission on Public Corruption seeking to dissolve the “window dressing” Commission on Judicial Conduct. Instead it was the Corruption Commission that was shut down.

The futility of seeking a judicial remedy in our legislative branch was as obvious as the abortion bills were prior to Roe v Wade. No, this was not my Goliath. Such a deflection would not work on a lawyer who had held office in all three branches locally. Defamatory court decisions under the protection of judicial immunity would not dissuade me either. The best way to relate my crusade is by quoting former New York Senate Leader Joseph Bruno from his book, Keep Swinging. [11]

As one of the few survivors of federal criminal prosecutions against prominent state legislators, Joe chronicled thirty years of corruption, dysfunction, and budget impasses during his long tenure. Here is what he concluded before his conviction was set aside due to intervening precedent from the Supreme Court:

You’d get no argument from me that the New York State Senate and Assembly were in dire need of ethics reform. Yet if the citizens of our state ever got around to demanding those changes, it would behoove the people to pay special attention to the behavior of prosecutors and judges who cared more about making a splash in the media than they did about justice.

Well this book is about justice and that “special attention” from our citizenry, a collection of shocking stories which reduced a prominent lawyer and model parent into a bankrupt fugitive. It explains why Joe suffered as he did in court after remaining oblivious to all those citizens who complained before the very commissions he helped create. It details the potential consequences for those who truly care about abused children and seriously act to reform our courts.

It is also a story of love and devotion. You can send a man across the world and he’ll sacrifice his life in the war on terrorism, you can cultivate domestic violence through draconian laws and he’ll risk himself again in the name of public safety, you can even resurrect debtor prisons for child support and he’ll do his time under protest, but never come between a daddy and his little girls. Even when they’re ninety years of age, he’s busy constructing mansions for them in heaven.

Dr. Leon R. Koziol

Parenting Rights Institute

leonkoziol@parentingrightsinstitute.com

(315) 796-4000  

  

[1]   In re Gault, 387 US 1 at pg. 28.

[2]    Finlay v Finlay, 240 NY 429, 148 NE 625 (1925), quoting In re Spence, 41 Eng. Rep. 937 (1847)

[3]    Webster v Ryan, 729 NYS2d 315 (Albany Fam. Ct. 2001) at Fn. 1.

[4]    2006 New York Matrimonial Commission Report to the Chief Justice (the “Miller Report”).

 

[5]  Patterson v City of Utica, 370 F.3d 322 (2nd Cir. 2004)($333,820.32 civil rights jury verdict argued before Justice

Sonia Sotomayor)

[6]  Oneida Indian Nation v Oneida County, 132 F. Supp.2d 71 (NDNY 2000)

[7]  Koziol v Hanna, 107 F. Supp. 2d 170 (2000)

[8]  Morley Safer, Whose land is it anyway? CBS 60 Minutes, Sunday, May 23, 1999

[9]   Roe v Wade, 410 US 113 (1973); Meyer v Nebraska, 262 US 390 (1923)

[10]  Brennan Center for Justice at New York University School of Law, The New York Legislative Process: An

    Analysis and Blueprint for reform (2004); Still Broken: New York State Legislative Reform (2008)

[11]  Joseph Bruno, Keep Swinging, Post Hill Press, pg. 253

Extraordinary Book Exposes Court Corruption to Elicit Federal Inquiry

image
Unwinding with a Very Special Court  Victim During a Book Project

Dr. Leon R. Koziol

I’ve met a lot of wonderful people during my crusade to reform America’s divorce industry. They include victims from Manhattan to California and even Paris, France.

Many will appear in my new book to be published very soon. Started in 2014, it is intended to elicit hearings and a congressional inquiry into Title IV-D funding abuses and court corruption. I will be promoting it to a global market.

There has never been a literary work like this. The complete opening chapter will be released on this site as a gift to dads on Fathers’ Day. It is sure to inspire all parents.

This was a herculean task. Reform is suppressed because victims do not want to protest or revisit war stories. Alec Baldwin is one example of a crusader who abandoned our cause long ago.

As an accomplished trial attorney and model parent, I have been at this reform effort for over ten years. Nothing on the horizon promises hope even for future generations.

I have now responded with a book that will attract wide readership and hopefully a mainstream documentary like the 60 Minutes one that featured my work years ago.

It is what the current epidemic requires. I have done this through real life adventures, an extraordinary mix of romance, humor and education that will entertain even those who never divorced or had children.

 So even if you are turned off by court stories, you may find my two-part work, Corruption and Carnage, the equivalent of a modern Iliad and Odyssey of the divorce industry.

You be the judge. The following excerpt comes from a chapter entitled “Shark Attack.” A complete, uncensored manuscript can be purchased here prior to publication.

 Please share this message for the sake of our rights.

 

Our story picks up on the French Riviera at pages 82 thru 86:

 Fortunately, Karen saved us from whatever catastrophe might be awaiting. “He’s here,” she announced quietly from Terri’s left side with a sense of urgency. “Let’s ditch these losers so he doesn’t think we’re with them.” Seated on her other side, I could overhear the peculiar exchange.

“You sure? Mare’s a bit toasted, and I don’t trust that guy who keeps staring at her.”

“He’s staring at you, idiot. We can all see that. Besides, they’re big girls. They can join us later at the hotel. There’s gotta be something going on at the lounge. Come on, they’re playing these guys like we were at the other bar. I already told Kate our exit strategy, and she’s good with it.”

The private exchange apparently led Terri to conclude that a better opportunity would not last long because she whispered something in Karen’s ear while reaching again for my hand under the table. Then she rose and rushed for the door with me in tow as if a blow-out sale had just been advertised. Once outside, she let go and raced down the street.

 “Where you going?” I yelled in my confused state on the walkway. “And what’s going on?”

 “That’s for you to find out, Lee, if you’re man enough anyway. I’m getting my car. Follow me!”

For all I knew Terri was using me. Maybe there was some jealous guy she was setting me up to confront for ego purposes. I had seen that adolescent routine many times back home. Or maybe the girls were genuinely being stalked by their earlier suitors.

Whatever the explanation, this was no idle challenge. I couldn’t just ignore it especially with the way she concluded with that sexy giggle. I didn’t bother to think this out. Time was of the essence, so I quickly revved up Linda Lovelace and gave chase.

At first, she was nowhere in sight. Then, from a side street, a shiny red Porsche pulled out in front of me and sped down the city streets. Terri’s scream out the window was as recognizable as the rest of her when she spotted me on the bike.

It turned into a chase scene as the streets gave way to open highway, a winding route familiar to me only because of my earlier drive here. And that was during the daytime. Now my cycle skills on every sharp curve or blind descent would be tested to their limits. Suddenly I felt like I was back in Mexico as the midnight rider.

This was obviously not just any man-challenge. I was keeping pace with a woman suddenly turned wild who was testing how far I would risk my life to make her mine. I thought about my fugitive predicament but by now there was no turning back. I was far too committed.

There was still a lurking thought that she was making a permanent getaway. But with every mile I conquered, it was looking more like an adventure of a lifetime whatever the outcome. This Terri woman was acting like Danica Patrick of the Grand Prix in Monaco which was now just up the highway. She shot through a tunnel headed toward Monte Carlo. I enjoyed watching the Grand Prix on television but never expected to become a part of it this way.

We never made it that far. Instead, Terri led me down a winding road toward the seashore. I rounded a bend with a drop-off on my right. The Porsche had come to a standstill in a lookout spot. Before I could pull in behind, its tail lights kicked off and she vanished.

I quickly took note of an access trail to the beach which she obviously intended to have me follow. On the chance our stay might be long, I hid the rental under a distinctive olive tree to mark its location. Cicadas and crickets kept guard.

I looked around and could find her nowhere. So I hiked down the access trail and struck out for the open beach. A strange moon was lighting up every little depression and mound in the coarse sand. The sea was mildly turbulent with silver reflections skipping off its surface. A foreigner in an exotic land, I asked myself what I was doing here.

Presently I stumbled upon a large rock near the shoreline where Terri’s clothes had been thrown into a pile on top like road signage for a porn shop. It was erotically stimulating to say the least. I looked up and down the beach, back toward the dunes and finally out across the sea. She was nowhere to be found.

I called out her name, getting more bewildered as this adventure progressed, now with a concern that Terri might have become the victim of a shark attack. I had seen the documentaries, but this situation was very real and new to me. The only sound I could discern was that of rippling waves at my feet and a vehicle on the precipitous road behind me slowly navigating its way eastward. Then all was curiously silent.

Suddenly I was drawn to a head piercing the surface of the dark water about fifty yards in front of me followed by a blood curdling scream. The first thing that came to mind was something I only imagined from the movies, being swallowed whole by a great white while trying to save a swimmer from one of its mates. I limited those nightmarish rescues to women and children.

Hey, I’m all for male bonding at a sports bar, but shark fights are not a recognized sporting event. Sorry guys, you’re on your own in these situations especially if you’re like those dudes back at Wayne’s Pub. Where were they when you truly needed them? I could have had each one distracting the shark while I rescued this damsel in distress.

Fortunately it was all a prank. Gasping for air, Terri managed to laugh loudly while treading water. “I got you Lee,” she cried out. “And don’t say I didn’t. You really thought I was that college girl in Jaws. I always wanted to do this to someone. I just wish I could’ve gotten a better look at your face when it finally happened.”

She continued to humor herself over the event, ever proud of her achievement on this warm Riviera night. Now I realized what that moon was all about, to put a spotlight on my dumbfounded appearance. I wasn’t sure if I was angered or pleasantly relieved.

“You are the quintessential bastard!” I yelled back. “All this time you were putting me at risk to carry out a sick prank? It wasn’t funny Terri.” There was no immediate response as I thought about it further. “You mean Karen even helped you set me up? I was ready to pry you loose from the fangs of a hungry shark. And how was I supposed to do that anyway?”

“With all your manliness and chivalry,” she hollered in return before slipping beneath the surface. I kept my eyes peeled, spotting her farther out a few moments later.

“With that scare, you won’t find me anywhere near you now.”

“Oh come now, little boy, don’t be a baby,” she teased. “And stop with that ‘quintessential’ bullshit. What are you, some kind of lawyer?”

“Actually, yes, but I like to keep it private so that I can have more friends.”

“Well then what are you standing there for? Get out of those clothes and come on in. If you want friends, I got one for you right here …”

 

Dr. Leon R. Koziol

Parenting Rights Institute

leonkoziol@parentingrightsinstitute.com

(315) 380-3420

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shocking Book Hopes to Ignite Parenting Revolution

IMG_1683
Corruption and Carnage in America’s Divorce Industry: A Mom and Dad story conceived in Paris

By Dr. Leon R. Koziol

It’s been over two months since my last posting on April 6, 2017. I have been focused on completing my first non-fiction book on the subject of corruption in America’s divorce industry. It is an alarming documentary which I hope will elicit nothing less than a parenting revolution for the sake of justice, overdue reforms and our children.

It is a truly profound literary work based on ten years in the reform movement and more than thirty years in the courts as a trial attorney, civil rights advocate and aggrieved parent. For those of you familiar with my ordeal, this is a must-read with immense educational value.

It was a project started in November, 2014 shortly after the Family Law Reform Conference sponsored by Dr. Joseph Sorge and Divorce Corp. in Washington D.C. It was during a flight to Paris where I was seeking to get international human rights agencies involved. In fact, Joe and I talked on the phone while in different parts of Europe engaged in the same mission of reform.

Some excerpts were published on this site in the spring of 2015 but they do not begin to reflect the caliber or quality of the finished product. Its completion was motivated by former New York Senate Leader Joseph Bruno. In his book released this past November entitled, Keep Swinging, Joe chronicled thirty years of corruption, but he blamed the criminal prosecution against him, in part, on apathy of the people to seek reform and justice.

Joe Bruno is quoted in my first chapter, one that I intend to reprint on this site on Fathers’ Day to give you a preview of the truly remarkable content which follows, 100,000 words altogether. At present, I have two publishers under consideration as I await a hopeful offer from a world class company. This was a phenomenally complex project.

Due to its compelling nature, there are footnotes and references throughout to back up my case for a federal investigation into Title IV-D funding and the corruption it has brought to our court systems and families. This is without question the most suppressed and censored epidemic of our day. My literary release aims to expose it so that serious protests will begin across the country.

When a model parent and judicial whistleblower is prevented from seeing his daughters on Fathers’ Day without any report of unfit behavior, not even an accusation of any criminal wrongdoing, while heroin addicts are being reunited for Mothers’ Day, it’s time to take serious action to a level never seen before.

With the completion of my twenty chapter manuscript, I will be making uncensored (raw) versions available on this site at a reduced cost of $20. Actually, the raw version is more valuable than the later published version which will be edited to exclude some material which could save litigants thousands of dollars in fees and court costs.

The book is bifurcated into two parts. The first (macro) part is largely a collection of stories from across the country obtained over the past ten years. Some are familiar, others are astounding, many are anonymous to protect the victims, but all of them make this a rapid-fire, page-turner. You or someone you know may even be in it.

These stories are conveyed not with depressing regurgitation but flavored by romance, humor, education and situations familiar to any parent in these courts. They come from both dad and mom perspectives with the latter derived from one I met in Paris. Hence it has international appeal even beyond English-speaking countries while touching upon most divorce and family court subjects, from custody and support to domestic violence and judicial misconduct.

The second (micro) half is a chronology of my personal ordeal. No one truly knows the full scope of persecution I endured for taking a conscientious stand against my profession. It’s the price I paid to make family courts more child-friendly and less lawyer-rewarding. This half is likely to attract lawyers, judges and politicians most because it contains renditions of high profile litigation contrasted by sweet stories about children which are sure to capture the heart.

There has never been a publication like this. If successful, it is my intent to start a new book about a victimized father in New York City and finish one about a mom in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania. These are highly challenging assignments because no one wants to read about a he-said, she-said harangue in an isolated family case. Even Alec Baldwin was a failure in his book, A Promise to Ourselves, eight years ago. Media reports focused on his suicide attempts.

I apologize to all those callers I have not been able to help during these past six months of focused energy. I bear no animosities to anyone I may have offended along the way. Instead I am appealing to all fellow parents and court victims to join me in a reform effort to impact future generations. I truly believe that this book is the fateful reason for my suffering and sacrifices. They were not in vain after all. I will close with a relevant excerpt:

There were too many years of censorship by the Third Department (licensing and appeals court) which I compared to the Third Reich in my filings. True story. No mention was made of any of this in its reinstatement decision. I was simply responding with the same, if not greater level of boldness to government abuse, hence yielding a clear explanation behind the retaliation which was so severe and unjust.

 So if you’re still here reading this, you’re in good company. My work has been monitored by judges, politicians, investigators, doctors, lawyers, maybe even an Indian chief. I got the interest of Donald Trump’s chief counsel in 2016. As stated, a family court gag order on my website was removed after I challenged it in New York Supreme Court. Seven website postings were attached in their entirety to a confidential ethics report. Never once was I charged or sued regarding them.

Dr. Leon R. Koziol

Parenting Rights Institute

leonkoziol@parentingrightsinstitute.com

(315) 380-3420