Timesuck with Dan Cummins - 310 - The Many Lives of Clark Rockefeller

Episode Date: August 22, 2022

Long before German con artist Anna Sorokin aka Anna Delvey captured America's attention thanks to the popular Netflix series, Inventing Anna, another German con artist tricked numerous members of NYC's upper social circles, and caused a lot more harm, including killing one person for sure, and very likely two people: Christian Gerhartsreiter aka Clark Rockefeller. Clark lived well  under various alias for over two decades, and lived the life of a millionaire for over a decade, tricking investing superstar Sandra Boss into marrying him. Find out how he did it, and how all his lies came crashing down on today's true crime episode of Timesuck. Bad Magic Productions Monthly Patreon Donation:  The Bad Magic Charity for August Camp Easton, where we will be hosting our 2022 Wet Hot Bad Magic Summer Camp. We donated $15,400 to them and added another $2,000 to our growing scholarship fund. To find more or donate yourself, please visit https://www.nwscouts.org/campeastonTICKETS FOR HOT WET BAD MAGIC SUMMER CAMP!  Go to www.badmagicmerch.comWatch the Suck on YouTube: https://youtu.be/JuS2O0HVD8AMerch: https://www.badmagicmerch.comDiscord! https://discord.gg/tqzH89vWant to join the Cult of the Curious private Facebook Group? Go directly to Facebook and search for "Cult of the Curious" in order to locate whatever happens to be our most current page :)For all merch related questions/problems: [e-mail] (copy and paste)Please rate and subscribe on iTunes and elsewhere and follow the suck on social media!! @timesuckpodcast on IG and http://www.facebook.com/timesuckpodcastWanna become a Space Lizard?  Click here: https://www.patreon.com/timesuckpodcastSign up through Patreon and for $5 a month you get to listen to the Secret Suck, which will drop Thursdays at Noon, PST. You'll also get 20% off of all regular Timesuck merch PLUS access to exclusive Space Lizard merch. You get to vote on two Monday topics each month via the app. And you get the download link for my new comedy album, Feel the Heat. Check the Patreon posts to find out how to download the new album and take advantage of other benefits. 

On July 27th, 2008, during a supervised visitation with a social worker, the man everyone knew was Clark Rockefeller. Supposedly, a descendant of the wealthy Rockefeller family ditched the social worker and sped off with his seven-year-old daughter, Ray, known as Snooks. He kidnapped her. Full custody of Snooks had recently been awarded to Clark's ex-wife Sandra Boss, after contentious divorce during the winter of 2007-2008. Her abduction would set off a manhunt involving the FBI that would culminate nearly a week later on August 2, 2002, when Clark was found in Baltimore, Maryland, where he'd recently purchased an apartment for about $450,000 under the name Charles Chip Smith. He was now claiming to be a ship captain relocating from Chile with his daughter

and he was a single father. Obviously this wasn't the case. Yet another lie from a man whose entire life had been alive for the past two decades. Snook's mother desperately wanted her back, even posting a YouTube video where she begged Clark to please return her. Luckily, her daughter would be found very quickly, although I'm sure those six days felt like an eternity

to Sandra. And then Sandra and everyone else who knew Clark or at least thought they knew him would be in for more shocking surprises During the short course their investigation the FBI had just enough time to come across something very unusual For what it first seemed to be a normal parental kidnapping case Clark had no social security number no drivers license He didn't seem to have any kind of identification of any kind that proved he was who he said he was So who the hell was this man?

Everyone in Clark social circle had previously thought that this was a relatively easy question to answer. He was of course, Clark Rockefeller, the Clark Rockefeller, an eccentric and respected member of a wealthy family, an American blue blood family of sorts who had descended from John D Rockefeller, the famed industrialist. Sure people knew that Clark was odd. He regularly thought people were following him and had a collection of millions of dollars worth of art

that he seemed to treat like trash, but of course he acted strangely. Old money, you know. Generations of wealth seems to increase once odds to becoming a little peculiar. You have a little more time to become a little more peculiar than the average person when you're born into a lot of money. But Clark Rockefeller was not born into a lot of money or old money.

He wasn't born into any money. Clark Rockefeller was not a Rockefeller. He was a Gerhard Strider. He was born Christian Karl Gerhard Strider in 1961 to a working class German family. Christian found his way to the U.S. in the late 1970s, quickly started taking the qualities of the upper class elites he so desperately wanted to become someday. Put it on a posh transatlantic accent, he quickly made his way to San Moreno, California, a wealthy suburb of LA where he now claimed to be Christopher Chichester, royalty from

England with German noble ties. For fans, the Netflix series in Ventine Anna, the trend so hard this past winter in spring this dude was the OG and Adele V. O.G. Anna Sorokin Watching interviews of these two their psych psychological profiles seemed remarkably similar and It's like they just don't understand on any level why anyone has made a big deal of them tricking literally everyone around them into thinking that they're somebody They're not that likes not a big. To use a fake identity to manipulate. And in some cases, essentially steal from those around them. They don't see what they're doing as stealing.

They don't see what they've done is all that bad. They just refuse to accept seemingly, literally everyone else's assessment of them as who they actually are. Because they're con artists to the bone. Despite being currently the lesser known to the two bullshit artists, Clark was a way more successful phony than Anna ever was.

He pulled his long cons off better and more, convincingly more successfully. Anna Sorokin, if you didn't watch the Netflix show, is a Russian born and raised con artists who claimed to be German. And she did move there when she was 16, who in 2017 was arrested for defrauding or intentionally deceiving major financial institutions, banks and equateances in the US for a total of

$275,000 she tried to get tens of millions. She made people smart, well-connected, wealthy, educated people, people who wouldn't be so successful if they were overall terrible judges of Character truly believed she was the wealthy daughter of a German industrial titan and was set to inherit tens of millions of dollars if not hundreds of millions of vast fortune. Nope. In reality, she was the pathologically line and manipulative daughter of a truck driver and a convenience store owner. She wasn't set to inherit jack shit. And he used her fake backstory and charm to con her way into New York City's most elite

socialite circles. She made multiple millionaires think she was one of them. She almost got away with getting a loan for over $20 million based on nothing but a web of lies. Anna pulled off her bullshit for about six years. Clark Rockefeller pulled off his for about 20. And when he was finally caught and his house of cards came tumbling down, his unraveling story was revealed to be, I think, a lot juicier and cedar than anus.

The son and daughter-in-law of a San Marino woman whose guest house Christian was staying in, going by Christopher Chichester at the time, mysteriously disappeared in 1985. And then Christian followed and went missing as well, turning up with the missing man's truck a short time later. A missing man who would turn out to have been murdered. For the next 17 years, Christian would first live as Christopher Crow,

then as Clark Rockefeller, then very briefly as Chip Smith. The Rockefeller ailius was by far his most successful fake endeavor. As Clark, he'd meet and marry a Harvard Business School graduate named Sandra boss who made a lot of money. Real money. Fake Clark was all too happy to spend to make people think he was someone he was not. The couple would have a daughter whom Clark did seem to actually adore the role of loving father may have been the most authentic one he ever played.

When Clark's marriage fell apart and his daughter was taken to England by her mother, Christian aka Christopher aka Clark, who'd signed away almost all of his parental rights for an $800,000 pay off, suddenly found himself in a real tough spot. He couldn't just walk away from another life and started a new one again. Well, he technically could, but he really didn't want to. Not unless his daughter was a part of that new life. He actually truly cared about someone other than himself, maybe for the first time, and

this weakness brought him down when he decided to kidnap her. And then he was arrested for kidnapping and then the real truth about Clark Rockefeller came out, fake identities, alleged murders and all, and you're about to hear it. The strange story of Clark Rockefeller today on a wood living the life you've always dreamt of, be worth it if you had to live a lie to have it

true crime addition of Time Suck. This is Michael McDonald and you're listening to Time Suck. You're listening to TimeSuck. This is Michael McDonald and you're listening to TimeSuck. Happy Monday, Meet Sacks. Welcome to the Cult of the Curious. Get in here. Welcome back. If you've been here before, I'm Dan Cummins, Suck Nasty, the Suck Master guy who hasn't looked at socks the same

way since last week. And you were listening to Time Suck, Hail, Nimrod, Hail Lucifer, Fina, Praiseful Jango, Gloraby to Triple M, couple quick announcements and then show, hoping I had a blast at the wet hot bad magic summer camp over a week ago now recorded this in advance. The next one will be recorded before the camp as well. And then I'll let everybody know how, how much fun it was. Hopefully still excited about upcoming tour dates, Huntsville, Alabama, Thursday, September 8th, Nashville, September 9th and 10th right between Miami and Fort Lauderdale and Florida, September 23rd and 24th Palm

Beach on the 25th, Boston, October 6th, 7 7 and 8, Grand Rapids, Michigan area, October 21, 22 and 23rd. Then it's Austin, Louisville, Portland, finishing the fallout and Minneapolis at the Parkway Theater for a few prep shows and then a special taping the weekend of December 9th and 10th. Links to tickets and more info at Dan Cummins.tv and we'll be announcing a bunch of 2023 theater dates here soon. I got a few new merch items in the store this week. Crikey got a ripper of a new tape in the Bad

Magic Store this week featuring me, Steve Irwin, authentic Australian accent guy looking pretty good if I do say sell myself. Smiling because I finished a terrifying rassle with one of my favorite crocs Lucy what a beauty rip I Hit on over to bed magic merch.com today pick up a new crykey. The guys, I mean I don't want to brag but I probably should I probably should win some awards for the most convincing Australian accent of all time And I just like to say that because I know it's not actually that great It'll make some people so rationally angry

because I know it's not actually that great. It'll make some people so rationally angry. Also check out the new Skinwalker Ranch Tea and Hoodie inspired by Suck 205 where we cover the infamous Paranormal Hot Bed in Northeastern Utah, just because it looks cool as fuck. So much good shit, BadMagicMurts.com. Logan has a lot of good stuff in the pipeline. And before I go forward with one more announcement

in the show, AccentWise, it's become my new favorite thing to torture the kids is to do horrible accents. Like we were in Boston a while back. And I don't know if we went out there, yeah, we saw a Lake Street dive. I was like, why were you in Boston after the tour? And I was doing, at a Duncan Donuts, I ordered as a Boston character that was so bad in front of Boston, obviously Boston people and the family was humiliated, which, like Lindsey,

I think was actually a little angry and the kids were just so, they're just a fun age right now to embarrass, but I had the stupid Boston character was, yeah, yeah, just get a, I don't know, maybe a chocolate, chocolate E-Clair. You know, kind of stuff I had is back in the South Bay when I was growing up here in Boston. Back when I was friends with Jimmy Anderson. I mean, Jimmy Anderson, he took a bat to your bean if you, if you stepped out of line.

I don't even know fucking accent that is. But no one was amused other than me, which made it very funny for me. And then when we were flying back from that trip, Kyler sat next to somebody on the plane behind me to somebody actually from Boston, who had an accent, and I got up at the end of the flight and I was like, hey, do you tell your friend there?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Father's from Boston, from Boston, Habba, South Bay. And he looked like he just wanted to melt through the seat and just out like exit the plane somehow, like just by going underneath it. And then on this last vacation, when we were in England, I would start talking in a British accent, which is also not good.

And the kids at Lindsay would literally, like just not quite run, but they would just move away from me. It's fastest public, and just pretend they didn't know me. That's my new favorite thing to do. That's my new favorite way to chair, to raise my family. Okay, last quick thing here, charity. This month's charity donation went to Camp Easton, a Boy Scout Camp here in CDA.

Camp Easton's where we hosted our wet hot, bad magic summer camp, and then we donated $15,400 thanks to our space lizards and Annabelle's and Robert's over on Scare to Death, and also put $2,000 into the upcoming scholarship fund. So thank you, thank you. And now for the topic that sends us all the way back to a pretty recent time actually.

I mean, Jimmy Anson used to talk about it in the South Bay. I won't do that the whole show. I don't think. No, but it is pretty recently compared to most of our topics. The demand who would come to be known as Clark Rockefeller began conning his way through the US back in the late 70s Wasn't until after his capture in 2008 that his story burst onto the national scene Probably the vast majority of us remember the summer of 2008 if you're old enough

He was apprehended that July Even if we don't remember Clark Rockefeller making any headlines. There's a lot of other shit holding our collective attention back then May of 2008 Ironman was released by Marvel Studios. The first film taken place in the ridiculously successful Marvel Cinematic Universe. My God, that universe has made a stupid amount of money in a very short amount of time. As of May 16th, this May 16th, the MCU movies collectively have grossed over $25 billion at the box office alone. Not County Merch, DVD sales, streaming revenue, downloads, name and likeness licensing, etc.,

etc. Just box office money. That also doesn't count the new Thor movie, Love and Thunder, that as of putting these notes together back on August 5th, had grossed another $669 million and counting against a $250 million budget. I'm sure that well over half of the roughly $26 billion haul, you know, box office haul, the MC universe has made is profit, right? Despite whatever they're highly paid and creative accountants might claim. That's a lot of people living in comic book mansions from that to a universe. Also in 2008, California became the second state after Massachusetts,

ah, my own home state with me and Jimmy Anderson used to hang out, to legalize same sex marriage on May 15th. And that made big headlines over the same summer, Barack Obama getting a lot of press while campaigning to become the 44th president of the US. And then there were the Olympic Games in Beijing, that August, back when a shit ton of people actually watched the Olympics, the

2008 Beijing Olympic Games attracted the largest global TV audience ever between August eight and August 24th, 4.7 billion viewers. Over 70% of the world's population tuned into watch the games according to Nielsen. The opening ceremony is still the 12th most watched single program of any kind of TV event in history. Almost 600 people tuned in to watch that live. That's a fucking gigantic number. And Clark was arrested in August the week before. Also true crime wise, his case was overshadowed by old Pupo Lupo. June 4, 2008 former suck subject Jody Aries would stab her ex-boyfriend Travis Alexander multiple times before shooting him in the forehead Began an investigation and later a soap opera like trial for all kinds of graphic sexual details

They would captivate our puritanical sexually repress nation here in the States So what I'm saying is if you miss this story You were in the majority Good news for time suck is now this story despite being covered by a few other podcasts Probably going to be real fresh. And what an interesting story this one is to hear for the first time. And even if you had heard it before,

I'm guessing my take will be a little bit different. I'm guessing Jimmy Anderson, I didn't show up in any other podcast. So let's fucking hear it. You're beautiful bastards. [♪ OUTRO MUSIC PLAYING [♪ To tell this intriguing tale, first time in going to lay out who the Rockefellers were. Picking this name, I got to say, great move.

For the persona Christian crafted and the social circle he wanted to successfully infiltrate and then did infiltrate, can't think of a better name, like any better name. Rockefeller got him a lot of mileage. It holds so much mystique and social value. For some, you know, I don't give a fuck if your last name is Rockefeller or him a lot of mileage. It holds so much mystique and social value. For some, you know, I don't give a fuck if your last name is Rockefeller or Dingledangle. Actually, Dingledangle would probably be preferable. If your last name was actually Dingledangle, I'm guessing you have a kick ass into humor, right? You even tease a lot. And you had to get through that and we're probably going

to get along just fine. Next, we will look into con artist psychology. How and why do we fall for the bullshit of the Christian Carl Gerhardt Striders of the world? Finally, it'll be timeline time beginning with Christian's birth, and he with the state of his life today after his lies finally caught up with him. There is a justice at the end of this tale, which is fun. So Rockefeller, what is in a name? So much with this one. Approximately 2000 people in the US have the last name Rockefeller, which means a dweller in or near the rye field from the Dutch language from

which it is thought to originate. So as far as literal meaning goes, I don't think it carries a lot of social weight. Pretty sure no one gives a single fuck how close you live to a rye field or not currently. Be funny if they did though. Right? Just what? Are you for real? You live in or near a rye field? Oh shit! Never met someone so high class before big money. Oh man, you look at fucking king or something shit. You got those rye dollars dog, those bread bills, you know.

That dough money son. The name carries weight, especially on the Eastern seaboard of America, where most of our old money is due to its association with one particular Rockefeller family. So who are these Rockefellers? The real ones, to make this name so important. Despite the name originally being Dutch, genealogists have suggested that the American Rockefeller line likely traces back to some little known, but probably well off French Huguenots, who had fled to Germany in the 16th century. These Huguenots were a group of Protestants who held

to Calvinist beliefs and defied the Catholic Church's religious stranglehold on France during the Protestant Reformation. These Rockefellers, likely, were originally the French Rockefeller, Rockefeller family, a family that took its name from the Chateau, a Rockefeller in the mountains of Cressos, in Southeast France. I'm probably butchering these French names, by the way. Only videos these words show up in online that I was able to find are videos entirely in French, which was not helpful for me.

Code of Arms was granted to Raymond de Rocquefue. Way back in 1250, these Rocquefue was made large fortunes from their vineyards in this area of France. For centuries, they enjoyed being wealthy minor nobles. Old money plus European aristocracy. You're luminated confirmed. Clearly, at least according to conspiratorial maniacs, or these Rockefellers were people who may not have fed on a dream to chrome.

Might not have been part of some reptilian conspiracy, but instead we're just wealthy landowners, minor nobles, who probably held a distaste for riffraff. Anyway, this family enjoyed their comfortable social position until the middle of the 16th century. When they were driven from France as a result of again, the religious upheaval at the time, they decided to worship their notion of God in a little different way than most of their neighbors

and were punished for it, almost killed for it. What an age old story. How many people in the world would love to punish or kill others for not worshipping their God their way right now? Scary. 100 million over billion. Some of these Rockeffuels did seek refuge in Holland, most fled to Germany.

They fled in order to not be executed in France for being heretics. The first in the German line of this family that we know of by name, or at least out of the sources we could access. It seems to be the sources say this is the first we know. Goddard, rockin' filler, born in the Rhineland, 1590. His grandson, Johann Peter Rockefeller, was the first in the family to set out for America. They dropped that in for some reason. Doing so in the early 1700s, settled in Arnwell Township, New Jersey, 1723.

So they got a German immigrant, just like Christian Gerhard Strider, aka Clark Rockefeller would later be. Practically the same person. It makes sense these swipes today. Of course not the same. The real story of the name Rockefeller being a power name in America and also elsewhere around the world won't start for about a century and a half from this first guy shown up.

Starts with the success of John David Rockefeller, known as John D Rockefeller and the latter half the 19th century He was an outrageously successful industrialist the founder of the standard oil company which for many years dominated the massive American oil industry Standard oil companies the reason and time monopoly laws were created in the US. We just referenced standard oil company last week when Randy Kraft stand worked for them for a while, brought the family out to California. This Rockefeller is widely considered the wealthiest American of all time. The Smithsonian, many other esteemed organizations have called him the wealthiest man to ever live.

And that is saying something. In his prime, if John D. couldn't afford something, literally no one could. Rockefeller's estimated 1.4 billion net worth in 1937 when he died was equivalent to 1.5% of the entire US gross domestic product. According to this metric, he was and still is the wealthiest individual in American business and economic history. For now, Elon Musk might pass him. He came damn close this past year. Musk and his $273 billion dollar net worth. As in my research before recording, the sum fluctuates wildly, sometimes from day to day,

that figure just under 1.2% of the US GDP, at least the 2021 GDP of 23 trillion. Anyway, when comparing one's wealth to the overall value of the economy as a whole, no American has ever been wealthier than John D Rockefeller. He became America's first billionaire in 1916. For the last several decades of his life, when it came to wealth, there was John D, and then there was everyone else. He stood head and shoulders above America's other titans of industry when it came to have an escroge McDuck cartoonish amount of money. Was he also well liked by the common man?

No, no, it was not. No, he's pretty hated by the overall American public for the book of his life. Why don't you really care about that, though? He was also respected, if begrudgingly, by almost everyone, including the bulk of his detractors. And many ways, John D. Rockefeller would come to represent the epitome of the American dream, the beliefs at hard work,

good business instincts, good timing, could make someone anyone rich beyond their wildest dreams. Dude had a great attitude for work. He once told the writer William Inglis, it is remarkable how much we could all do if we avoid hustling and go along at an even pace and keep from attempting too much. That was not what I expected. By taking some downtime, the billionaire was able to pace himself and improve his productivity over many years. I really like that approach idea. Not always been mine.

That's for sure. He napped after lunch. He dosed and allowed chair after dinner in his mid 30s. He installed a telegraph wire between his work and home. That way he could spend three or four afternoons during the week at home, gardening and enjoying the outdoors. Rockefeller planned his day like clockwork and there was a mechanical regularity to a schedule. Each hour of his life

was rigidly compartmentalized tightly budgeted from work to religion to family even exercise I got a lot of respect for that as well. I have a hell of a time doing that consistently But man whenever I give myself a solid schedule and actually take it seriously and respected I get the most shit done John was also respected because he came from nothing. Born on July 8th, 1839, John D. Rockefeller was the eldest son, second of six children born to traveling physician, snake oil salesman. And for what it sounds, just overall shithead, William Big Bill, Avery Rockefeller, also known as devil bill Rockefeller. And Eliza Davidson, Eliza Rockefeller, you know, when he was born, devil Bill would go missing for long periods of time during John D's childhood, leaving his

family in Poverst and forcing them to move from town to town. When he was a kid, John watched Papa Devil Bill count his money when he had it. Life sounds like it was rollercoaster with Devil Bill. He would take huge wads of dough, which he refused to keep in the bank and lovably stack it in front of his impressionable son. John D later recalled he made a practice of never caring less than a thousand dollars and he kept it in his pocket. He's able to take care of himself.

He was not afraid to carry his money. Sometimes devil bill took care of himself and his family. John D sugar coated his dad's past a lot when he would speak about it. Other times this guy just bounced around and just took care of himself. Devil Bill's father, John's grandfather, God-free was a successful farmer, as were several other generations of his family to various degrees, going back to times unknown in Europe, as I mentioned.

Breaking the cycle of Rockefeller money coming primarily from land ownership of some sort, plantation, farm, vineyard, et cetera, seems to have been Devil Bill. Devil Bill's money came from a slew of shady business ventures from pretending to be deaf and or blind as a peddler, a deposition as a doctor, to hockey and herbal medicines that may or may not have been that medicinal. Before his son was John, John D was born devil bills spent time as an interned con artist, maybe kind of fitting that Christian would later pick this name in some ways, going from

place to place pretending to be deaf, soliciting free meals, a l Eliza the daughter of one such target became his wife and John's mother. What a fucking weird way to meet your father-in-law grifting, right? Especially that kind of grift. Hello, Mr. Davison I came to ask your permission to court your daughter Eliza We've met once before if you recall you gave me a free meal last week when I pretended to be deaf I mean when I was deaf, excuse me and you took took pity on my plate and I thank you again kindly for that Happy to announce today that I am no longer deaf never was. I mean, I am no I'm no longer deaf is what I should have stuck with God bless me with a miracle probably so I could hear the sweet songbird tones of your beautiful daughter's voice And I've heard you're paying a handsome dowry to whoever takes her off your hands

That dowry detail is true. Seems to probably been a devil bill's motivation, at least a lot of it for Mary and Eliza. Devil Bill Rockefeller would continue peddling, quote unquote, medicines, running another scam for the rest of his life. And he had a long life lived until the age 95. Sometimes under the pseudonym of William Levinson, when he died in 1906, that was a name on his tombstone. Maybe that snake will actually work, lived long as time. John D's childhood was clearly unusual.

Devil Bill also would be indicted for rape in 1849 when John was just 10. The alleged victim was a young woman who worked in the Rockefeller household and she claimed Bill raped her at gunpoint. Following this heinous allegation, Bill, maybe he was truly a devil, moved his family to O'Wego, New York, close to the Pennsylvania border in 1849. Young John was already a businessman by this time. He would later write about his first business venture that took place a few years before this move. When I was seven or eight years old, I engaged in my first business enterprise with the assistants of my mother. I owned some turkeys, and she presented me with the curds from the milk to feed them. I took care of the birds myself and sold them all in a business

like fashion. My receipts were all profits so I had nothing to do with the expense account so my receipts were kept as carefully as I knew how. In Oswego, New York, John and Tenet Oswego Academy, the family soon relocated to Strongesville, town near Cleveland, Ohio in 1853, where they stayed with Devil Bill Rockefeller's sister and brother-in-law. My father-in-law, Ed and his wife, Patty, actually lived a few minutes from Strongville's day. In 1855, Bill Rockefeller leaves his wife, Eliza, sources aren't real clear why, but they would not get divorced. Also Devil Bill would still be involved in the parenting of the children.

John D would later go to great lengths to use his wealth to hide embarrassing details of his father's life once it became incredibly successful. Journalist knew his dad was a con artist, but they'd never be able to track him down before he died thanks to his name change and thanks to John D's money. They'd never get all the dirty details he wanted

or if they did, John paid to keep those details out of print. We do know that Devil Bill married Margaret Allen, a woman 24 years as junior after leaving John's mom, beginning his secret life. It's a big mess, technically. Eliza only three years younger than him. Maybe that was 21 years too old. Under pressure from his father, John dropped out of Cleveland Central High School, two months

shy of commencement, then enrolled at Folsom Merkenthala Center where he studied double entry bookkeeping, penmanship, banking, and commercial law. On September 26th, 1855, at 16, John gets his first true job working for Hewitt and Tuttle, commission merchants and produce shippers. He'll celebrate job day the rest of his life. Dude loved to work. He reminisces later in life,

all my future seemed to hinge on that day. And I often tremble when I ask myself the question, what if I had not got the job? We all have those moments, don't we? At least all of us old enough to have lived enough life to have them. Moments you look back on and realize, holy shit, I had no idea or I have no idea

where my life would be right now had that not happened. One of my biggest, if not the biggest, probably meeting my ex-wife, seriously. She encouraged me to get into standup, standup later led to podcasting to this podcast. We had two kids together who changed my life, two awesome kids, I can't imagine not having. Kids who led me back to Idaho,

where this podcast really got started or got going. Also had I not gotten into standup, I would have never moved to LA for several years to work, never met my wife and life Lindsay my life would be wildly different had I not asked her out on a date, you know The ex-wife over 20 years ago had she not come to some rehearsal of some little band I was fucking around and playing college kegars so strange these moments Right and there are so many of the moments where you know if your parents had decided not to move or move to a different place or if you would have taken job A instead of job B, you know, your life has changed sometimes so drastically forever.

Nimrod, Luciferina, Bojangles, all our gods, what a strange little game they've set us up to play down here. The same year he got that first job, John D starts keeping careful accounts of his finances in ledger A where he meticulously notes every receipt expenditure later every charitable donation. Wouldn't be long before that kind of diligence pays off. In 1863 at age 24, Rockefeller gets involved in the oil business along with partners Maurice Clark and Samuel Andrews. Andrews Clark and co builds refinery in the flats Cleveland's burgeoning industrial area, which will soon be linked to the East Coast hubs by the Atlantic and Great Western railroads. Two years later, in 1865, Rockefeller would buy his partners out and found Rockefeller in Andrews, Cleveland's largest oil refinery. In 1868, still not yet 30, Rockefeller strikes a major deal with the railroad, guaranteeing a certain volume of shipments in exchange for rebates.

The first of many, this deal was made with Jay Gould, owner of the eerie railroad. At same year, the Rockefeller is now married to Laurie Spellman. Laura Spellman, and has a daughter named Bessie, moved to Cleveland's Millionaires Road. Motherfucker is moving on up. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, 10% of US petroleum refining. John's younger brother, William Jr., also a co-founder. While the very capable businessman, he plays a much smaller role in everything than John D, which is why we don't hear his name as much today. Through secret alliances with railroads, accumulating segments of the supply chain to achieve economies of scale, buying out, and intimidating rivals, and serving the growing demand for

quality care scene, standard oil explodes. Eventually, truly dominate the oil market. The Rockefeller wouldn't become nationally known as a tycoon quite yet. In 1877, it only 38 years old, Rockefeller controlled almost 90% of the oil refined in the US. Still not that many people knew about it, probably because he still lived in Cleveland, not even kidding. Cleveland does not get nearly as much respect as it should. I'm biased because my Polish monster of a wife and her monster Polish family are from there. But Cleveland's fucking dope.

Love that city. No burning river jokes, no browns jokes, coming seriously very cool. Chicago's little brother that's smaller and quieter, but once you get to know him, you're like, yeah, Chicago's great, but you're fucking great too, little guy, who's actually not that little.

I know this has nothing to do with today's story, but I feel like showing Cleveland some love when I can. Even when the Browns do something is incredibly fucking stupid. It's tying their future to a dirt bag like the Sean Watson. What the fuck? Hope he's finally keeping some of his clothes on for his massages now. Or at least no longer trying to rub his dick on masseuses. If you're real curious about what I'm referencing here, just do a quick, go read a few articles. Yikes! Browns made a deal with the devil trying to win a super bowl anyway within two years of controlling almost 90% of all the oil refined in the u.s. John D becomes one of the country's 20 richest men by the mid 1880s standard oil expanded the overseas markets of western Europe and Asia

selling more oil abroad than in the u.s. now and as wealth increases exponentially in 1882 standard oil trust is formed. Rockefeller creates a highly centralized structure with enormous power but murky legal existence. Standard oil builds up its distribution system, streamlining the delivery and sale of oil, using its immense product volume and market dominance to undersell adversaries.

And now the Rockefellers moved to New York and bring standard oil along with them. We're moving on D. Bekeel, Sam and the Spock. No city seems to capture America's imagination. More than New York City does it. Not unless you work in film then historically maybe Hollywood ranks a tick higher but overall this New York. And no part of New York City seems to be more identified with making it than Manhattan. And it is a special city. Standard oil's new headquarters are located at 26 Broadway in Manhattan.

The building there today finished 1926, 31 stories tall, massive, architecturally magnificent, like so many other buildings in the Big Apple. For the next several decades, Standard oil will continue to make insane sums of money while John D. attempts to evade political scrutiny for his domineering business practices. In 1890, Congress passes the Sherman Anti-Trust Act, which outlaws trusts and combinations and restraint of trade and establishes fines for violators. That law remains in effect today. But it'll take a while for this law to catch up with Rockefeller, and the Army of Lawyers

he has retained. In 1904, Standard Oil controls 91% of oil refinement, 85% of final sales in the US. Finally in 1911, the US Supreme Court ordered Standard to break up into 34 independent companies with different boards of directors. The biggest two of these companies that used to be Standard Oil are become one is Standard Oil of New Jersey, which becomes Exxon and then Standard Oil of New York, which becomes mobile. So Exxon and mobile. And then in 1999, those two gigantic oil companies merged back together into Exxon mobile. So so much for breaking up monopolies, Uncle Sam. Look at you, Apple, Microsoft, Meta, Alphabet, a Google and YouTube and more.

Also, this court order actually turned to be a financial windfall for Rockefeller, who still held a quarter of standard oil stock in his recent retirement, or after his recent retirement when he's now 72. The individual pieces of the company worth more than the whole was. And as shares of the individual companies double and triple in value in the early years, Rockefeller becomes the country's first billionaire, with a fortune worth nearly 2% like you know, as I talked about before, of the entire American economy. In his later years, he'll live into the age of 97, great genes in this family.

Rockefeller will turn to, he'll turn to philanthropy. Do a little imagery, he had done philanthropy before, but now he hires Frederick Gates, a former Baptist minister, to make his philanthropy more effective. And this will really help the Rockefeller name endure and trickle down the Clark Rockefeller. He'll create the Rockefeller Institute of Medical Research, the institute called Rockefeller University today, becomes a leader in the new field of experimental medicine. In 1913, the Rockefeller Foundation is incorporated

to quote, promote the well-being of mankind throughout the world. Lofty goal. I like it. Rockefeller gives the foundation $100 million in just his first year. John D will give away 540 million over his lifetime. And that's in dollar terms of the time. And he became the greatest benefactor of medicine in history. Lay benefactor. His son John D Rockefeller, Jr. OG John D's only son also gave away over

$537 million over his lifetime, bringing the total philanthropy of just two generations of the family to over a billion from 1860 to 1960. His son lived the age of 86. If all that money was given in 1960, that would be the equivalent of $10 billion today. Because it started to be donated in 1860, it's worth so much more than that. Some real tricky to accurately determine since it was dished out at, you know, many intervals over such a large span of time. John Jr. would launch the restoration of Colonial Williamsburg.

His wife Abby would be one of the co-founders of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, MoMA, kind of a big deal. John Jr. would also donate 11,000 acres in Maine to what will become a Acadia National Park, adding to all this, David Rockefeller wanted John Jr.'s five sons, donates around 900 million as a 2006 to various causes over his life. And he lived until 2017, age of 101, what the fuck is going on? Maybe the Rockefellers do really drink a drink of chrome. The list of Rockefeller philanthropic efforts is enormous as is the list of places the Rockefellers paid or helped pay to build. The Embarcadero Center of San Francisco that I believe houses punchline comedy club.

I played so many times over the years. If not punchline just right across the street. A giant commercial complex of five office towers, two hotels shopping center. That's a Rockefeller project. Grand Teton National Park, 310,000 acres next to Yellowstone, largely created to Rockefeller, philanthropic efforts. Manhattan's Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts spearheaded by Rockefeller University of Chicago founded with Rockefeller money. This goes on and on. Despite being about a century moved from their prime earning years

and despite giving away billions and billions of dollars, the Rockefeller family still worth around eight billion. One of the top 50 wealthiest American families today. And despite the recent wealth of say the Walton's currently America's billion one of the top fifty wealthiest American families today and uh... despite the recent wealth of say the walton's currently america's wealthiest family with all that wallmark money even though a lot must use worth more all by himself uh... no family in america has ever had the multi-generational wealth and left their mark all across the nation with national park universities cultural institutions

and more than the rock and fellers the only big thing a rock and has done in America has become president. Nelson Rockefeller, grandson of John D, was governor in New York and Gerald Ford's vice president, but never a Rockefeller president. 81 Rockefeller residences, now with the national register of historic places, and all this started with John D. After he died, he was buried at the Lakeview Cemetery in Cleveland, tying all this to our con man Clark. John D was in addition to wealth building and philanthropy.

Pretty good at making kids. He had five. Some of his kids were good at making kids. John Jr. had six, his daughter Edith had five. Many of his grandkids, very good at having kids as well. As a 2006, the total number of his blood relatives, direct descendants, thought to be around 45 million people. Some of his grandkids males obviously had several hundred kids each.

There was a Rockefeller sperm bank and Manhattan in the 70s where it cost a hundred thousand dollars, a hundred grand to get pregnant because you were guaranteed Rockefeller sperm. A few lesser known Rockefeller spent years beating off in that clinic five ten times a week. You've heard the phrase, if you can't beat them, join them. A few lesser known Rockefeller spent years beating off in that clinic five ten times a week. You've heard the phrase, if you can't beat him, join him. Well this place of slogan was, you can join him if you let him beat it. The name of the clinic was the Rockefeller Wealth Juice Distillery. Lee and Arda de Caprio, Ethan Hawke, Chris Pratt, Boomba Thurman, Jennifer Connolly, Tom

Brady, Tiger Woods, Coe Bryant, Magician David Blaine, hockey people, soccer guys, all Rockefeller wealth juice babies. And of course, that's insane. No, that, that, that, that person. No, as of 2006, a total number of John D's blood relative direct descendants thought to be around 150, not millions. This includes the descendants of William Avery Rockefeller, junior John D's brother. And there are hundreds of others that are still tied to the family and the Rockefeller fortune.

And thanks to so many trusts and inheritances, most of them are rich, if not outright wealthy. And finally, unless you're the fucking president of the Rockefeller Family Fan Club, that's a lot of Rockefellers to keep track of, which is what made it possible for Clark to claim relation and fool so many people. And all that history, that is why the name Rockefeller means something to many in America today, especially to those who value status and country without actual royalty. They're about the closest thing America has to blue blood. In full, Clark would assume the name James Frederick Mills Clark Rockefeller. Oh, noise. Fuck yeah, bro. If you didn't

pretend to be a Rockefeller, you can't just be Clark. Now you're gonna be James Frederick Mills Clark. That's not a name, that's a story. You have so many successful, important relatives, you need four names to fucking honor them all. How did Clark get people to believe his story? He wasn't pulling this off in 1900, he was pulling this off in the early 2000s. Someone anyone could have easily gotten online, we just checked into who this so-called Rockefeller really was. In 2005, Wikipedia became the most popular reference website

on the internet. Three years before he was brought down, right? There was a lot of info on the web by that point. It would have been very easy to see, for example, that the woman Clark claimed as his mom, the child star Ann Carter, known for her starring role opposite Humphrey Bogart in the two Mrs. Carols, a 1947 film noir, uh, whom he claimed was dead,

well, it's actually alive and well at the time. She wouldn't die until 2014, years after Clark's true identity was found out. And Anne's Wikipedia page, reference her, is having three kids, none of whom are named Clark. Gail David and Carol. Also, never married to a Rockefeller. Mary to a crispy Newton. But no one, not until shortly before he was arrested, bothered looking to stood up. He was that good. They just bought it. And I get it.

I have also known people who just casually have told me this or that. And I just assume they were telling me the truth. I can reference several who have sold a fake life, not just to me, but to a bunch of people. I actually dated someone. I will not name, not long before Lindsey, for somewhere around nine months maybe we were pretty serious and

Then sadly some six months or so after we broke up I heard from a mutual friend that she had cancer and it was bad She went through all kinds of treatments even flew to Germany for experimental treatments not offered here in the US and in the end wasn't enough Tragic she left behind two young daughters She had a go find me and I helped out a bit, couldn't help as much then. But the post on the go for me page kept me updated on who was around her, helping her,

how things were going, and someone I read, some of the pics I saw really threw me for a loop. Because she told me she had been married. I knew she was married too. And I believed her when she said that she and this guy have been separated for years prior to us meeting, like three or four. She admitted to still being technically married, but they lived separate places, had separate lives, that she and this guy have been separated for years prior to us meeting like three or four she had

been admitted to still being technically married but they lived separate places had separate lives she had dated a few guys seriously before me and after him I met one of them who she was still friends with so the story seemed to check out I stayed over to replace often enough for the whole story to seem you know legit he never stopped by and met him once when I was early in dating with her and she got real weird about it. Told me to tell him I was just a friend, but they didn't act romantic towards each other. I did get pissed. A cusure of dating me behind this guy. He's back. She got furious, strong. He denied that. Said it was really complicated. He was trying to ruin her life. I took her side. Told me that he was literally insane. Disassociative personality disorder.

He was emotionally abusive, and a closeted homosexual who used her as a beard, once they had a kid together, you know, just actually abandoned her, when she didn't want to play pretend married anymore, she became enemy number one, and he wanted to punish her. So, you know, she said he threatened to totally ruin her if they actually got divorced. He didn't want to have to legally pay alimony, child support, etc, etc. It told me all sorts of shit. And in my gut, I questioned a lot of it. I brought up questions to her. She would get so mad.

Cry, the tier-seam genuine, I believed her. I believed he was the manipulative one. But then finally, not long before we broke up, I met her sister in brother-in-law and they told me we shouldn't be dating that she was still married to this guy. And they were working things out. So my head's spinning. I, of course, bring this up. It's the one I'm dating.

She talks about how controlling her sister is and jealous. And she's a very, very Christian and wants her to stay in a loveless sexist live. Emerald because she's in one and blah, blah, blah. And this girl I did was so convincing. The spite having some doubts in the end, I just bought it. I did look online, tried to learn more, but I couldn't catch her any lies. So again, just bought it. And then we broke up not over that, but over jealousy again, just bought it and then we broke up, not over the app, but over jealousy. Her jealousy, but then after we broke up, look at these go-fun me picks, I see that she's back with this guy

and she's given quotes about how supportive her husband is and it was such a mind-fuck. Now I'm thinking like did they get back together or were they ever truly apart? I was out of town, a fair amount, touring. I wanted to ask questions, but she was literally dying. So that's cold and selfish for me to do. And I'm with Lindsay this point.

So what does it really matter? Lindsay didn't like her. Her gut has been better than mine on several people. But I wondered, and I still wonder, was he a good guy? And was she the manipulative one, right? She didn't work. Was she refusing to sign divorce papers and tormenting him somehow?

Well, what didn't I know? A major theme in my relationship with this woman was figuring out how to get her out of what she claimed to be, was a trap, how to free her from this controlling mentally ill psychopath. Without him somehow getting custody of her kids, without him hurting the kids, what she said she was also worried about,

but she never wanted to talk to a lawyer. Always had some reason, some excuse, the time, what's it right? Dropped me crazy, nothing added up. And then I wonder now if the whole story was a lie. You know, I worked with someone. Uh, I now have a lot of questions about like, who really is this person? Uh, you know, he can mess with your head,

con artist, when they refuse to tell the truth or at least all of the truth, no matter how much evidence is stacked up against what they're saying, holy shit, they are such a maddening bunch. So good. They make you feel crazy for questioning them. And I bring all this up to say, I don't think Clark fooled the people he did because they were stupid. You'll see by the end of the stock,

the woman he has a child with is anything but stupid. I think because Clark lied so constantly and so convincingly for so long because he was so charming, he just left people thinking, you know, if they had doubts, well, I must be paranoid. I mean, it's Clark. He wouldn't lie to me. He's a great guy. He's so fun. And the longer you're on the end, the receiving out of these lies, for me, person, the more you

don't, you know, want to believe you've been lied to because that makes you feel stupid. One of our spacelazers, Jen Gray reminded me on Patreon recently. This refusal to accept that someone is a liar, even when you know deep down that their foolish yet can be explained in part by what's called sunk cost fallacy. Defined as the phenomenon where a person is reluctant to abandon a strategy or course of action because they have invested heavily in it, even when it is clear that abandonment would be more beneficial. This helps explain why cult members continue to stay in cults long after cult behavior becomes wildly inappropriate and harmful and helps explain at least for me why people continue to buy someone's

bullshit long after they should have realized that they were being buffloaded. Well that's just what I think. Let's look more into what the actual experts have come up with. Stories of con men such as Clark Rockefeller raised a number of puzzling questions, including what incredible talents for deceit could allow someone to fool so many so dramatically for so long. The surprising answer is not much talent at all. If people get aligned, you don't have to be that smart, that creative. While surveys repeatedly show that people have a great deal of confidence in their ability to detect lies, psychological studies of lie detection reveal that in fact most people have no better than a 50-50 chance of spotting a lie.

Depressing, right? But does make me feel less stupid for being tricked by numerous people, numerous times in my life. Also, to help any of us who have experienced some degree of this feeling less than stupid, numerous studies of so-called lie detection experts, such as judges and police officers, demonstrate that they are no better at spotting lies in the rest of the population. It wasn't the Rockefeller, it was especially cunning.

It was at the people who was fooling like almost all people are easily fooled. Good news, bad news, right? Good news is you're not down for being tricked. Bad news is gonna be pretty easy to trick you get. Let's look further into how people in general end up getting conned. Might have something to do with two opposing facts. One, none of us can believe that it can happen to us because we think ourselves is smarter or better. Two, it happens

to people literally all the time. In fact, the Federal Trade Commission reported that people lost almost one and a half billion dollars to fraud in 2018 and increase of 38% from 2017. Despite their being more articles and ever before online about cons and con artists, despite there being talked about and more articles on podcasts, docu-series, serialized dramas, movies, et cetera, these motherfuckers keep fooling us.

Con artists often prune people's trust and their propensity for believing that what they wish to be true is true, especially with get rich quick schemes and a desire for romance, right? Sex and money, so much alive traces back to sex and money. The promise of getting rich quick or the promise of some idealized romantic companionship, you know, some sexiest, fulfill your every fucking desire, helluose of fina, hot dams that

give a lot of us, or get a lot of us into trouble over and over. We just wanted to be true so bad, right? And the good con artist is hyper aware of that. They also pray health concerns, snake-o-l, baby. Why do we want to be well so we can enjoy life as sex and money? Clark Rockefeller would present himself to his wife Sandra as the ideal partner,

romantic companionship, falls into the sex category. And he would tell many of those around him that he was going to help people out financially. By their artwork, do they need a planetarium to their schools or money, many of the people he met wanting to believe it was that easy. They run into a Rockefeller and their life gets better. In other words, they had trust. Trust is the baseline according to Susan Fisk, social psychologist at Princeton.

Trustworthiness is the very first thing that we decide about a person. Once we've decided, we do all kinds of elaborate gymnastics to believe in people. We want to trust people around us. We want to believe we make good social choices because we are smart. We are good at reading people. And we want to be surrounded by people who care about us and value us. It makes life easier and better. It gives us security and comfort.

There's a lot of incentive to surround yourself with people you trust. And as members of a herd species, and obviously there are hermity outliers to this, but overall, we're hard-wired to want to be surrounded by others. Overall, trust is actually a very good thing for human society, so it's instinctual for us to have it. In 1971, a Harvard Biology graduate student named Robert L. Trivers speculated that the sort of advanced cooperation that allowed people to build pyramids Fight and fail-anxious hold quadrennial elections had emerged initially on a foundational level Out of trust society civilization built on the back of trust the social contract that implicit agreement among the members of a society to cooperate for social benefits For example by sacrificing some individual freedom for state protection built on trust.

If we can't ever trust each other, we can't have nice things. We don't come together to build roads and schools and have law enforcement and armies and universities and hospitals and on and on. All of that requires trust. Trust gives us so many great and wonderful things. Robert L. Trivers again, who went on to get a PhD and become an incredibly important and influential American evolutionary biologist and social biologist, actually called the advanced cooperating required to build a civilization reciprocal altruism, a basic

use scratch my back and I'll scratch yours instinct, a foundational driving force of humanity, a whole package of human emotions has evolved over thousands and thousands of years to encourage this instinct. Trust is one of these emotions. So is guilt, which discourages us from cheating in collaborative situations, moral outrage, which galvanizes the community to punish anyone who does cheat. And we decide who to trust the research suggests people use shortcuts. For example, we look at phases. Hence the well-known expression of face you can trust. According to somewhat recent work by Nicholas Ostrhoff, an Alexander Tatarov of Princeton Psychology Department, we form our first opinions of someone's trustworthiness from their

basic facial features. In a paper published in June 2008, they suggested that our unconscious bias is a byproduct of more adaptive instincts. The features that make a face strike us as trustworthy. If exaggerated, make a face look happy, which with arching inner eyebrows, upturned mouths, and an exaggerated untrustworthy face looks angry, furrowed brown and frown. And this argument, people with trustworthy faces simply have by the luck of the genetic draw faces that look a little more cheerful to us.

If you happen to look like an old timey villain, tie and damsels with the train tracks, well, you're probably gonna not lock it as many handshake deals over the course of your life as you would if you happen to look like Tom Hanks or Betty White or Morgan Freeman. They just look or looked so damn trustworthy. Take the fame away from Jack Nicholson,

dude, does not look trustworthy. Too much arch in those eyebrows. Probably why he's played so many villains convincingly. Something about the curve of his smile based on a lot of his cheekbones. He just reads a sinister and reality, of course, cheekbone shape, eyebrow arc. I don't have shit to do with honesty. But something in our cave, people, lizard brains from back when we were, when people were trying to fool us, maybe one is good at hiding their intentions on on their faces And maybe you could judge a book by its cover a little more reliably It just hasn't evolved fast enough recently to get rid of this silly bias Another set of cues and a particularly powerful one is body language

mimicry in particular seems to put us at ease recent work by Tanya Chartrand a psychology psychology professor at Duke, and work by Jeremy Balinson and Nick Yee, media scholars at Stanford, have shown that if a person or even a computer animated figure mimics our movements while talking to us, we find them significantly more persuasive and honest. Now, where exactly did this come from? Who fuck knows? Maybe from people who mirror us socially generally have more empathy than people who don't totally pull this out of my ass

Maybe we're drawn to what feels familiar because of our clandage ancestors being wary of outsiders People who we weren't familiar with Who often ransacked and raped and took our shit while we had reason to fear them Or maybe our narcissistic ego's just like whatever acts like us a little more than whatever doesn't act like us One of the landmark studies on influence was done in 1965 by the Ohio State just like whatever acts like us, a little more than whatever doesn't act like us. One of the landmark studies on influence was done in 1965 by the Ohio State Psychologist Timothy Brock. In this one, shoppers at a paint store were approached by a research assistant who offered

them advice on what type of paint to choose. He told half of the shoppers he approached that he had recently bought the same amount of paint that they were looking to buy, told the other half he had bought a different amount. By and large, the first group took his advice and the second did not. Something as trivial as buying the same size bucket of paint Brock argued can forge a bond with a total stranger. Right, we want that bond because bonds with strangers historically have kept us alive. So you can see it's pretty easy to be influenced by all kinds of people. And most of the time being influence is good there helps get friends, jobs, partners, et cetera. Most of the time the way we influence one another

on a daily basis is not done with ill intent. In essence, most of us don't weaponize our influence, but con artists like Clark Rockefeller do. Clark, Rockefeller do. Consciously and or subconsciously, they turn our instincts against us. They manipulate various psychological principles to take advantage of us and get what they want. Like the principle of reciprocity. If someone does something

for us, we feel more obliged to do something for them. Con artist uses type of enforced indebtedness to elicit unwise actions from their targets. They look like I'm teaching a class right now. By the way, on how to subtly fuck people over. Hopefully this info is used to try and detect bullshit, as hard as that is to do more often than it is used to spread it. Regarding enforce indebtedness, as an example, someone offering you an exclusive opportunity to invest your money can be seen as doing you a favor. Maybe Clark offers to donate something lavish

or get you into an exclusive social club. This makes people want to return the favor, even if the first favor is still only in the offer stage. Return of the favor could be as simple as continuing to listen to their sales pitch, or as destructive as signing up for some bogus investment scheme. There's also the foot in the door technique, where you ask someone for several small favors before you ask for a big one. Get them used to saying yes to you.

A lot of sales people use this one often. Then there's this, the opposite, the door in the face technique where you ask for something fucking crazy first. And you know, maybe you ask me, I say no, but then you ask for something big, but not quite as crazy later. And I'm more likely to say yes

because I feel guilty for saying no the first time. The next psychological technique has to do with how we fall in line for what people around us are doing. Research shows that if a person believes other people are doing something, then they feel it must be okay for them to do it as well. I may fall in line with this research here from time to time when it comes to drugs.

So and so did it, and they didn't lose their mind or die, so I will definitely be okay. Maybe not the best way to make a decision. I know, but there's some logic behind it, and research shows I'm not a total maniac from pulling that sort of logic. As I sometimes know, it's the lemme effect. In a Nate psychological phenomenon,

a survival trait, an inborn instinct in the majority of people. It refers to lemme and small rodents that were thought to follow each other as they charge off to their deaths off the edge of a cliff. That is actually an unsubstantiated myth about Lemons, but they've become a metaphor for people who go long unquestionably with the group of potentially dangerous consequences. And Clark Chase, you don't want to be the only person doubting

who someone says they are. The only person insisting that something isn't right about the whole Clark Rockefeller store. What have you become friends with everyone else at your social club? And now you're the social leper, right? The outsider who doubted this poor guy. Everyone else buys the bullshit so it must be a good thing to do, right? How many fucking politicians does this apply to? How many people seem to buy their bullshit simply, at least it appears to me because others around them also buy their bullshit so it must be the right thing to

do. The humanity is fucking full of lemmings. I'm sure I'm one myself in, you know, many ways that I probably would hate to admit. Maybe I'm the anti-establishment lemmine. People I respect hate most politicians, so I follow them right off the fuck em' all cliff. I don't know. The principal's scarcity. Another term that helps us understand how people fell for Clark Rockefeller. People are generally worried about missing out on an opportunity or the next big thing.

If confronted with a situation where it seems like an offer won't be around very long, like if someone tells you the deal is for a limited time only, they're much more likely to act. Maybe I've lost some money, making those kind of investments. One last thing, the principle of similarity suggests that we tend to like people

who seem to be the same as us. In a turn, we are much more likely to agree to a request from someone we like. Similarity can be as broad as an interest in financial investments or as fleeting as sharing some personal characteristics. This principle would play a huge role in Clark Rockefeller's story. The people Clark was associated with were, for the most part, very wealthy and successful people, and finance the art world high-end social circles and crock crock Rockefeller would manipulate his association with them using the mere

exposure effect to his advantage. Another interesting principle he knew that if you just showed up to the same places over and over again he would subconsciously become more familiar to them if you could talk their talk he seems like one of them it's much easier to infiltrate their circles. Right Clark must be a good dude. I see him here all the time. He likes the same art. I like you know Goes to the same restaurants smart shady but smart Clark certainly no dummy many of the people Clark duped wanted to believe that they made it into the social group They belong to because they were smart wealthy and successful They told themselves on some level that this group was pretty insular. Not just anyone could get in. So Clark Rockefeller, Rockefeller had to be who he was saying he was, right? Cause he's in. Nope.

Hard fucking no better lies, better back stories, pop a Rockefeller. All right, you meet saxist. The stage has been set. And that was a lot of info, very dense. Now you can relax for a little narrative. Now for today's crazy ass story. But first, a very important, new sponsor would like to share a few words. Hey, gnarly bros and broettes, how's your butthole? Is it cool? Groovy? Copacetic? Or is it like, way gnarly?

Is it like, so sad? Maybe crying into your undisad? Maybe crying clean through your undisad? Does a brown frown have your butt down? We'll turn that brown frown around and keep that back door tight right and out of sight. With Randy's butt socks, specifically designed to be super absorbent and treated with anti-micro-croft, anti-microbial peppermint oil, and anti-order microfibers, so they never stink. Randy's butt socks are also made with a special proprietary silk and cotton blend for maximum comfort.

In addition to embarrassing day-to-day leakage problems, Randy's butt socks can also be used to administer first aid. Maybe you overestimated how much your love butt can handle. Maybe you are overestimated how much your lovebud can handle. Maybe you overestimated how much your partner's lovebud. Good handle. Maybe you overestimated what any human butt could ever f**king handle under any conditions. Well, don't worry, Randy's got you. When you get whatever you shoved if they're out, just plug that not quite as tight or

right in your hole with one of Randy's butt socks or even a pair. Or maybe even a full set of a half dozen pairs of Randy's butt socks. Order Randy's butt socks right now when you call 1-800-SAD-TUSH and get 2-Divers and off to soft this thing you've ever shoved up your ass, dare untie, or your money back. That was not a real sponsor, of course. That was a tasteless reference to last week's horror. Let's now get into the many lives of Clark Rockefeller in today's time suck timeline. Right after any news was coming, today's real mid-show sponsor break.

Thanks for taking a round. Hope today's deals appeal to you other than the Randy stuff. Now let's actually meet the man who became Clark Rockefeller. Shrap on those boots, soldier. We're marching down a time, some time, line. February 21, 1961. Christian Karl Gerhardstreider is born in Seeksdorf, Seeksdorf, Bavaria, Germany, a little 2000-person town, about 60 miles

southwest of Munich, and just a few miles from the Austrian border to Simon and Earngard Gerhard Strider. His father was a house painter and an amateur artist, mom as a seamstress, neither are of course Rockefellers. Seaksdorf seems like a quaint little ski town full of Bavarian hospitality, natural beauty, breweries, some cool old buildings, and not a lot else. It's seems like a quaint little ski town full of Bavarian hospitality, natural beauty, breweries, some cool old buildings, and not a lot else. It's just like a quiet place to live a quiet life. What was Christian's childhood like there? Well since he refuses to speak about it, and even if he did, could be really trustworthy

the words that come out of his mouth, we don't know much. He seems to have never returned to his hometown after leaving it as a teen, not even once, whenever life he had there, he clearly didn't seem to want it anymore. Didn't seem to stay in contact with literally any family members, not even his brother, Alexander Gerhardstreider, the only sibling he seems to have had. Not surprisingly, the one friend of the family who would speak about him once he was arrested for kidnapping and murder over 20 years after leaving said he always had a rich fantasy life growing up, and that he loved to assume imagined identities.

This friend said he was like Batman, always going into different roles like his dad, he was an artist and he had these crazy ideas. Maybe this dude was destined to con. In 1978 when he's 17 Christian meets an afloen American couple in Germany, Elmer and Jean Kellen, he just happened to be traveling the same train as them. They told him that if he was ever in the US, he should look him up. They didn't really expect him to ever do that.

Just some of the people say to people they meet abroad, the Kellins later admitted it. And they were just a wee bit surprised when 17 year old Christian arrived unannounced on the family's doorstep in Meriden, Connecticut in 1978. They were shocked when he turned their offer to stop by if he was ever in the area into an invitation to stay with them for a while. He also said to the immigration officials that the Kellan's had invited him to stay, which was how he was able to get

into the country. Feeling guilty, like they must have communicated incorrectly, like it was somehow their fault, he assumed that he could stay with them and being nice people, they let him crash at their place until he could find someone else to stay with. How fucking uncomfortable would that be? I would like to think I wouldn't let this guy stay at my house to be showed up in a situation like that, but if someone is manipulative as Clark showed up, I don't know, maybe that fucker would have tricked me too. Gotta hate weasels like this guy.

What is shit he needs to do to someone? Elmer! Jean! Oh, so great to see you! Thank you again for the invite. You guys are so incredibly generous to let me crash at your place for a bit. I just, I never, I'm sorry, I just,

I would never be able to realize my lifelong dream of having a chance at living in America if not for you two angels. You know, just, they're just like, oh, yeah. just sort of like, oh, um, uh, yeah. Oh, of course, wow, sorry, we don't have the guest room ready. I just never thought you would show up, you know, unannounced and stuff, but you know what, you're here. And that's what matters.

Hey, Jean, can I speak to you alone in the kitchen for a second? What the fuck is that weird German boy doing in our house? Christian told his parents that a New York radio station, hired him as a DJ, bullshit. then his folks lost track of him. It seemed like he just walked away, kind of abandoned his family, left his old life behind. After living with a Kellence for a short time,

he posted an ad for lodging in the local newspaper, eventually landed lodging with the Savio family and nearby Berlin, Connecticut, suburb of Hartford, Berlin, how appropriate. Told the Savios he was an exchange student that he was going to finish high school in the States, also mentioned that his family in Germany was incredibly wealthy. His daddy Claim was an industrialist.

He named dropped Mercedes, implying his dad worked for them on a high level. In the Savio home and in Berlin high school, Christopher Gerhard's writer, as he was calling himself by then, he kind of just changed his spelling a little bit, began his process of reinvention. He practiced his English, cultivated an appearance of nobility, tight European clothing, long, well kept hair, white sunglasses. He was particularly fascinated with Gilligan's Island, specifically the character Thurston Howell

III, character played by Jim Bocchus. Thurston how the third was an ass scott wearing millionaire member of the northeastern elite who spoke at a transatlantic accent frequently quibbled with his wife, lovey, also thought menial labor on the island was beneath him was constantly looking for ways to monetize natural resources. Christian even mimicked Thurston's speech patterns and maybe more. Do you remember that show? Gillikens Island. It was fantastic. Still is. Remember Thurston. Here's Thurston and Lovey talking about the world. Just to give you an idea of the kind of dude Christian wanted to be that he basically would become. It's a weird choice. I thirsted howl the third being of sound mind and body. Yes, of course. I thirsted

howl the third being sound mind and body to hereby bequeath and devise, all my holdings and the transcontinental railroad to one Gilligan. Oh, I don't think you should leave the railroad to Gilligan. Oh, no, but boys love trains, my dear. No, the railroad definitely goes to Gilligan. And he can't possibly afford it. You said yourself that it loses a million a year. Yes, yes, you're so right.

You're absolutely right. I tell you what, leave the diamond mine to Gilligan. Oh, I thought of ginger for the diamond mine. She has such a lovely throw All right, much more appropriate for ginger. Now I wonder what are we going to leave the dear dear dear professor? How about that little island in the Pacific you mean Australia? So we're for a 17 year old to one of these people, do not be like that dude. The show originally aired from 1964 to 1967, only ran for three seasons. I wonder if Christian watched it,

grown up, back in Seagstorf. Christian will quickly wear out his welcome with his ovios, he acting like Thurston. While he slept on their couch, not exactly luxurious living, he acted like he was living luxuriously. slept on their couch, not exactly luxurious living, he acted like he was living luxuriously. Each day when he woke, he began to expect his breakfast

to be prepared for him and his clothing laundered. Why did they put up with that? Maybe they thought they were gonna get some piece of that fake daddy's Mercedes money or something, maybe alluded to that. But they got sick of it. The final straw came one winter afternoon

when he refused to get up from the couch to unlock the door for Edward Savio's little sister. He was, he was above it, dear. The Savio's kicked the free loader, free loader out to was already in the process of reinventing himself. By the time he left the Savio house, now he was calling himself Chris Kenneth Gerhardt, changed Carl to Kenneth, Americanized his last name, the transformation, you know, going further. He'd hung around Berlin long enough to graduate high school. Now he leaves for the University of Wisconsin, the Milwaukee campus where he'll study film and where he'll later tell the salvage, and a phone call.

He planned to vote for Ronald Reagan in the 1980 presidential election. One of them said that that was impossible because he wasn't an American citizen. Not a problem, he said, he would soon have a green card and become a legal resident. February 20th, 1981, about to turn 20 year old Christian gets a quickie green card marriage to 22 year old Amy Jersild Dunkey. For some reason, she wouldn't file for divorce until 1992 to persuade Dunkey to marry him. Gerhard Strider falsely claims that if he had to go back to West Germany, he'll have to go into the military, be centafight in the Cold War on the Russian front line.

The day after their marriage becomes valid, he just fucking ghosts this lady. Several weeks after the wedding, stop showing up for classes. Then he calls the oldest, oldest Savio brother, Edward, who's now living in LA, trying to establish himself as a screenwriter. He will become one. He tells him he just arrived in LA himself and wants to say hello. And he's also going into the film business. So cool.

Having now mastered English, the young man is calling himself Christopher Chichester, ready to start another new identity, not in LA, but a nearby San Marino. Good call. Too much competition for hustlers in LA. LA full of con artists and hustlers. I used to joke around with friends that there were no waiters or baristas or anyone just working a straight regular job in Santa Monica or Beverly Hills, Hollywood, et cetera,

under the age of about 70. Only actors, producers and writers, you know, also working other jobs until they became rich and famous of course. It seemed like everyone was just taking action classes or trying to sell a spec script or involve somehow and some an entertainment venture. Some were serious.

Most seemed to be just full of shit. Most of them didn't seem to be there for love of the craft. They just, you know, wanted to be famous and they would tell you all sorts of bullshit to get you to believe they were on their way to becoming a big star dolly. Now, they'd prey on people making them think they can make them a big star. So what did Christian now Christopher pick San Marino. He probably chose it because of affluence. San Marino, which lies Southeast of Pasadena, created in 1903 by the American railroad magnets, Henry E. Huntington, when he purchased a San Marino ranch and founded the community. From its inception, it attracted

the wealthiest families from nearby Pasadena's well-healed upper class. George S. Paton, senior father of the famed American general, services cities first elected mayor. For first few decades, the city's population and number of residential parcels were effectively stabilized by stringent minimum lot size requirements. Sam Marino's limitations on new development meant that anyone who wanted in had to buy in and pay up.

Also, a little racist, real blue blood shit. During the 1960s, San Marino residents expressed deep concerns about threats to the community's racial makeup. In 1966, a San Marino board of realtors published ads alerting local homeowners that a drastic federal forced housing law now being considered by Congress will destroy your basic rights unless you act now The federal legislation in question would eventually become the fair housing act Exercising preference the ad warned it could result in payment of unlimited damages

It was a very white affluent community that was very concerned about letting anyone in who wasn't rich or white into their community and Any kind of home only way maybe come in and you know clean some dishes and most of the lawns, but then get the fuck out. Or maybe don't even come into town, the most of the lawns. In the mid 1980s, gardeners still racially self-identified in San Marino classified ads. That's when you know your community is racist, it's fuck. When a bunch of your neighbors don't even want any non-whites, pulling weeds and pruning trees.

In 1974, the city council formed an ethnic harmony commission to study how best to deal with the issues relating to the sudden change in the city's ethnic makeup, doing an influx of Asian immigrants. Jesus Christ, how do we deal with this new ethnicity? I'll answer that, going to do it yourselves. Go say hello, meet the new people. Find out that you probably have a lot more in common with them than you thought, and then get the fuck on with your life I lived in a very ethnically mixed neighborhood on the edge of LA in Santa Monica primarily Hispanic and it was great Ethnicity doesn't equal crime or anything negative poverty in a feeling of no socio-economic opportunities

That creates problems for a community not race. Where about poverty? Where about a lack of opportunity? creates problems for a community. Not race, worry about poverty, worry about a lack of opportunity. These days, things in San Marino are a little different. Only 49.8% of households in San Marino are white, but it's still pretty affluent. When Christian moved to San Marino, it was a town of a lot of white people

who were old money worried about a change in of the guard. Christian showed up pretending to be exactly the kind of person they wanted to move in. White alleged royalty from England with German noble ties. And San Marino Christian lived in what was known to some locals as submarino, one of the city's informal divisions. Maybe still called that, not certain. Then there was maybe still is super marino on the hill with houses, you know, $5 million

an up. San Marino was on the flat, good big houses, doctors and professionals. And then Submarino, where houses were a little cheaper for maybe engineers, school teachers, some comparatively lower income households. Christian was living rent-free in a guest dwelling when he moved to San Marino behind the main house of Ruth D.D. Sohis, known to neighbors as a reclusive

alcoholic. Some of her family will become convinced that Christopher was stealing from her, manipulating someone who was almost always drunk and when sober, it doesn't sound like she was real with it. Right away, Christopher became a regular at local businesses and any social club that would have him. Social clubs were where free lunches were served to members

at the prominent churches he became familiar where he crashed weddings with Bountiful Buffets at libraries he became familiar, he crashed weddings with Bountiful Befeys at libraries he became familiar he'd loiter for hours reading soon with his Ivy League clothes impeccable manners and aristocratic accent he was squiring various local elderly widows around enjoying their big houses and lavish lifestyles I had to guess he was scamming the fuck out of them we'll have more details from his life as Clark Rockefeller not as much with

previous incarnations. Christopher Flash and oversized business card around Sam Marino embossed with what he claimed was the Chai Chester family crest, a heron with its wing spread and eal and its beak and the family model firm and fully firm in faith. The card read Christopher Chichester, Christopher Chichester, the 13th BT, 13th Baronette, San Marino, California. With this 13th Baronette is living in local alcoholic reclucents guest house. Huh. Christopher told people who was royalty in England, specifically

descended of Lord Mountbatten, the British naval officer, and last British vice Roy of India. We've actually met Lord Batt, Lord Mountbotton here in the Suck. No wonder friends is Dickie, met him in the Lady Diana episode of his name, Sounds familiar. Christopher also said he was descendant of Sofranches Chichester, a British businessman and pioneering aviator, someone knighted by Queen Elizabeth, for becoming the first person to sail single-handed around the world in the fastest circumnavigator nine months and one day overall in 1966, 1967 left. One day he showed a San Marino resident newspaper from a neighboring community where the headline was all about

Sir Francis Chichester, a complete with a picture of him and the famous salinship of his, the Gypsy Moth, and the story mentioned that his relation, a young Christopher Chichester, incredibly was living in San Marino. That resident will later wonder how he if a fucking doctor that somehow he forged that newspaper, because the star of the suck is not related to that dude. Star of this sec Christian, Christian definitely put a lot of effort into his royal Christopher Chichester act. He put a lot of work into crafting a, the character of a British gentleman. Every time he would meet a new woman, he would kiss her on the hand. He's thirst and how the third love.

He looks simply radiant, darling. That dress looks simply divine on you. I must have died. I simply must have. For I'm in the presence of one of God's most beautiful angels. And with men thanks to all his library study time, this dude did hard at Conning he could seemingly intelligently talk about anything business, a society politics, especially royalty. Soon he become a Rotarian, a member of the Rotary Club and was a member of the city club as well. The city club in San Marino has been around since 1926. It's where a lot of deals have been made, more wealthy movers and shakers in the area have made and maintained a lot of important

friendships and business relations in this club. Christopher showed his face around here a lot. Quickly became the darling of the city fathers and their wives and daughters, including a woman named Carol Campbell, who accepted a lunch date with him. Since you surprised to find the esteemed nephew of Lord Mountbatten, driving a nerdy tan dot-son, interior of which was completely plastered with yellow post it notes to himself like as in written to himself to Christopher. The day turned out to be a round of errands with Christian talking about himself the entire time Carol

thought he was a creep and a liar. Good for Carol. Unfortunately, many, if not most of the other people in the area thought he was legit. Within a few years, he even had his own local TV show Inside San Marino. It was public access on Channel 3 and the crew, quote unquote, only consisted of a part-time teenage cameraman and the producer Christopher Chichester. But still it helped him raise his profile in the area. A woman named Peggy, Peggy, oh my gosh, Peggy, a bright. The show's interviewer marveled over how he got so many guests to appear on a show almost no one watched. He got the who's who of San Marinos up across to sit down for interviews, making them

feel like local celebrities playing those egos, radiant darling, you'll be mean, you'll have a star love. Nine miles down the freeway from San Marino is the University of Southern California with its celebrated film school. And here, Christopher Chichester also became a familiar presence. Quickly, it seemed that he knew everyone and everything going on at USC. Although no records list of chichester

has ever been a student of the film school, he always seemed to have a screenplay from its library under his arm. Dana Farara, a film and journalism student at the time, would say he acted like he was a teacher's aide at Arthur Knight's class, which was a prestigious introduction to film course, and which guest speakers included like, you know, Alfred Hitchcock,

Orson Wells, Clint Eastwood, I've heard of him. We're all the big stars with common debut their films for the students. He told others he was working towards an MFA in film. He wasn't. Still he invited some friends to be his guest at a USC party attended by director Steven Spielberg George Lucas Robert Zemeckis and a number of Hollywood stars to celebrate the opening of the Marsha Lucas post-production building

State of the art multimedia facility apologies if it's Marcia I believe it's who Mars Marsha or Marcia. I'm getting you passes, Chichester said, and sure enough, you fucking dead. Slippery Fucker. At the party, he seemed to know everybody, all right? Steelberg, everybody posing with them for photos, laughing, drinking, looking for all the world,

like an affluent young man with tight design of pants and a V-neck sweater. Things were going fucking great for the young German swindler at West. So why didn't he stay out there? Well, as West Coast plans began to unravel when some unexpected snafu led him to killing a couple of people.

He would only later be convicted for killing one of them, but I definitely think he killed both of them. Suddenly, Dee Dee's house, it was another guest besides Christian, her adopted son, John. Geeky guy in his 20s, who had a low level job in the computer department of a jet propulsion laboratory nearby Pasadena, Pasadena. I'm not calling him Geeky by the way, that's sources.

He arrived with his wife, Linda, a vivacious redhead as she described, aspiring artist who worked as a clerk at the dangerous visions science fiction bookstore and a couple had four cats. And something John realized that Christopher was conning his mom. And Christopher then realized John was about to take away his meal ticket, expose him to the community, he'd worked so hard to ingratiate himself towards as a fraud. Now Christopher had to get rid of this new and unexpected problem. In early 1975, John and Linda told friends they had landed an important job with the US

government satellite program. Couldn't share any more details. A lot of top secret shit. They were sworn to secrecy. Linda let it slip to a friend that they both had to report immediately for duty in New York, but they would return to San Marino in two weeks to pack up their shit. Clearly our con man was behind this lie. Shortly after John and Linda started sharing the story, Christian, and this won't look

good at all later, borrowers chainsaw from a neighbor. Also at that same time, friends noticed the Christians backyards all dug up. Instead, it was having some plumbing problems. And multiple neighbors later remembered seeing strange colored smoke comes from a chimney around this time. Time of the disappearances, murders, more incriminating. He asked friends about places that could dispose of drums filled with mysterious chemicals. Maybe worst of all, he tried to sell a bloodstained rug to a friend. Eight weeks later, since not a word had been heard from them, Linda's sister called D.D. Sohuss for an explanation. She didn't have one. D.D. also sounded fucking hammered when she spoke to

Linda's sister, babbling something about a secret mission she couldn't talk about. Linda's sister, naturally, called the police, who now spoke to D.D. when officers showed up at D.D.'s house. She was again fucking wasted. And again, she battled about some kind of secret mission she just couldn't talk about. Edie did tell officers that she knew that John and Linda were okay though. She had heard from a secret source. Everyone would later think this source was Christopher. This mystery source was giving her updates on her son and daughter-in-law who except for two postcards purportedly from Linda, postmarked in Paris, France were never heard from again. Linda or someone pretending to be Linda only wrote about two short sentences in each and

totally boasting very off to her family. Her sister didn't think she sent them. Someone pretending to be her did. Also some unnamed woman claiming to be Linda's friend picked up her cats from a kennel months after she vanished. The kennel owner didn't get her name. If he didn't give the cats to her, they were going to be put down anyway. Weird. Christian sent that woman. If he didn't give the cat tour, they were going to be put down anyway.

Weird. Did Christian send that woman? Did he feel bad about the cats? And then the trail on John and Linda goes cold for a long time. But then five months after disappearance, D.D. Sohuss now files a missing persons report on her son in daughter-in-law saying her source has also disappeared. Funny enough, his disappearance coincided with Christian, decided to skip town. He said a family member had died and he had to go pick up, pack up the estate.

Took all he could out of San Marino and he left including the pickup truck that belonged to John. Trucked him, you know, he must have been hiding from D.D. In late 1988, Gerhard Strider will be pulled over and Greenwich, Connecticut, while driving that pickup. But he then left the area before police had interviewed him. And at that point, police had no proof that Jonathan and Linda Sohuss were dead, or that they hadn't left California voluntarily. Gerhard Strider also attempts to sell this truck to a preacher's son in Connecticut, who doesn't buy it, because he doesn't have proof of title.

To this day, no one knows what happened to Linda Sohuss. Her body has never been found. John's body will be found now, and years later, Gerhard Strider will be convicted of his murder. Once in Connecticut, Gerhard Strider will be convicted of his murder. Once in Connecticut, Gerhard Strider starts now going by another identity, Christopher Crow, a TV producer, Chobies. And that's how they do it. Sam Marino, I mean Hollywood. Christopher Crow claims to be a TV producer from LA who worked on the 1980s revival of Alfred

Hitchcock presents his alias matches the same name as one of the producers for the series. He can talk to producer talk. He knows a lot about film. So no one can get it. It seems to question the great pretenders new backstory. New life number three, right? He showed up in America at 17-year-old Christian Gerhardsch Rider. Then goes to college for a while in Milwaukee as Chris Gerhardt. Then uses some poor woman to get permanent resident status. He comes Christopher Chichester. Now he's Christopher Crow. get permanent resident status, becomes Christopher Chichester, now he's Christopher Crow. Soon he'll ditch all the Christopher-based aliases and lead his most successful fake life. And Connecticut Christopher gravitates once more to private clubs and older single women, lonely old women with money, a charming young con man's dream.

Backing up a bit before getting pulled over in that stolen truck at the Indian Harbor Yacht Club in Greenwich, the 26 year old befriends someone who works at SN Phelps and company, a leading brokerage firm, also in Greenwich. Or Grant, I think it's Greenwich, not Greenwich. Maybe it's Greenwich. Soon Christopher Crowe gets an interview with the well known venture capitalist Stan Phelps, a graduate of Yale University in Harvard Business School who had trained junk bond king Michael Milken among others. Milken worth somewhere around four billion dollars today.

Stan Phelps, not a dummy, but Christopher Fulham. Phelps Hires Crow is a computer whiz. According to those in the firm, Christopher looked like a million bucks. Maybe wasn't as good a computer, but looked apart. I had custom made shirts with his monogram, CCC on the pocket, wore a classic burberry raincoat, no hair in his head looked out of place, although he was hard working, Peter's Crow frequently found himself in the trading room,

talking about his Hitchcock series, he pretended to have worked on, bragging about some other made a bullshit he never did. He'd speak often about his mother and sister in Paris, show photographs of his mansion in France, same place to a couple who disappeared, wrote postcards from, probably not a coincidence. Paris clearly on his mind at this time, I'm sure he spent a lot of hours library studying

up for a new backstory. His new job ends with weeks of it beginning when he's abruptly fired after the completion of his background check. The social security number he wrote on his application, belonged to former sucks subject, David Fuckin-Burke burkowitz son of Sam the serial killer who haunted uh... new york in the uh... seventies uh... what the fuck why would he pick that guy's number i don't think it's a quincense he picked that number shortly after almost certainly

killing two people wonder if he thought about killing again or maybe did kill again if he was smart and sneaking up to pull off leading multiple fake lies for two decades probably smart enough to have hidden a few extra bodies somewhere. A Gerhard Schreider doesn't ditch the new alias despite this firing. He hops right back on the Christopher Crowhors. Despite having neither a college degree nor any semblance of experience in the financial world, Crow is next hired to head a department in the US offices of Niko Securities Limited on Wall Street with an estimated beginning annual base salary

of 150 grand. The department with offices in the World Financial Center would consist of five bond salesmen as well as a team of up to 15 traders and analysts. On July 13th, 1987, press release read Christopher Crowe who formerly round the Battenberg Crow on Wetton Foundation will lead the endeavor as vice president. Well, he was never director of the Battenberg Crow on on wetten foundation because there was no such foundation. God damn this guy was good at bullshit. He never worked in finance, no degree in finance. Unreal. I'm not sure I could lie my way into a job stock in shelves at Target. This guy bullshit his way into 150,000 base salary and finance. And that's in 1987, where $150,000 was the equivalent of about $400,000 today.

The appointment made headlines in the Bond buyer, a Bond industry periodical, which reported the Crow's department was participating in a $250 million Chevron Capital USA deal that came to market yesterday, as well as a $150 million Colgate Palm Olive Corporation offering. Crow said the department will mostly work, will work most heavily in the long term industrial sector. Customers like industrials, he said, adding that they've been oversaturated with banks and finance. Probably something he overheard during his brief tenured SN Phelps and company.

He doesn't know shit about bonds or the long term industrial sector. His staff is unimpressed. It's obvious to them he has no experience. He was hired as the sales manager of corporate bonds, even though he had never sold a single corporate bond, but he did look the part. He was now living in another guest house on a Greenwiched State, a state claiming

that he was renovating the main house. He wasn't. He just cawned someone else into getting to live in their guest house. Sources don't say I'm guessing he found another lonely older woman charmed by this handsome young man, maybe helping for some of that young dick to rejuvenate herself with. He still claimed to be related to Lord Mountbotton. He invested a lot of time in selling that ruse.

Lord Mountbotton was part of the Bottonberg family from Germany, old European royalty. He also said he had a collection of roles, voices and Italian sports sports cars and every thing he owned was monograms, CCC. But all those claims don't help you in the bond world if you don't know fucking anything about bonds. And soon he was released. I'm still impressed he just got the job. Must have found a better social security number to use for that background check. After getting the lead go from this job, he gets another job in finance. A job with the Manhattan offices of the prestigious securities firm, Kitter P. Body and Co. Fuck sake.

But then in late 1988, he gets pulled over in John and Linda's stolen truck. Why is he still driving that? In the course of their investigation, police discovered that Christopher Chichester and Christopher Crow are one of the same. Possibly tipped off, even though he wasn't going to be arrested, not yet, Crowe quits his new finance job shortly after having started it on the pretext that his parents were missing an Afghanistan, and he simply must rush off to save them.

I don't know what accent that was. He wouldn't reappear for years, and then he'll never be seen again as Christopher Crowe. That alias is now dead. In late 1992, Christian Gerhardt's writer reappears in New York City as Clark, Motherfucking Rockefeller. James, Frederick, Mills, Clark, Motherfucking Rockefeller. What did he do between 1988 and 1992?

No idea. Probably nothing good, maybe killed a few windows. Maybe started taking their shit, something. He now moves into an apartment at 400 East 57th Street and as quickly as possible starts acquiring fancy new status symbols like a Gordon Seder named Yates. Get himself up a upper society dog and some impressive pieces of modern art. How did he get him?

Con, someone into guessing, I'm guessing, stole him. Fucking killed somebody until come. I started meeting people at St. Thomas Church on Fifth Avenue, the epicenter of Manhattan and Piscopalianism, told him he was, from the Percy Rockefeller branch of the family, not a direct descendant of John D, but plenty rich. Percy was an nephew of John D, son of William Avery, what Rockefeller junior,

listed as a co-founder of Standard Oil. So smart, give people even less reason to question him. Gonna be a little less likely for someone to dig into Billy Rockefeller's branch than John Deese. Here in New York, he really begins to take on an old money eccentric persona. Acts paranoid, walks around the radio device that he claims it's connected to a security office,

to which he has to regularly report his whereabouts, says he never goes to restaurants because he can't trust the kitchen. Maybe he's paranoid because people are looking for him because he fucked him over or killed a relative. There's so much more to his story that we'll probably never know. He eats mainly cucumber and watercress tea sandwiches only on peppered fombreed with the crust removed of coast on it and peppered fom cookies preferably of the nantucket variety. Says his favorite food is haggis. Does anyone's favorite food really haggis?

A savory pudding made up a she-part liver and lungs and not enough spices to make you forget your eating a bunch of fucking she-part liver and lungs. And his drink of choice is Harvey's Bristol Cream Sherry. Most people buy him. Why question if he's a Rockefeller or not? Of course, he's eccentric and weird after a lifetime of privilege and riches raised by generations before him who grew up with privilege and riches When asked what he does for work. He tells people he is solving third world debt Particularly in the Pacific Rim and that his parents had died when he was just 16 just before he went to Harvard Yes, he went to Harvard now sometimes in other stories. He said he was a Yale man

Said he entered Yale University at the age of 14 despite being mute for most of his childhood. Still working the kinks out of this persona. Regarding the whole mutinous thing, he said that an accident in his childhood had caused him to be mute, which he was for eight years until he saw a dog and then suddenly he helped woofness and began to speak again. Oh, woofness, how adorable and precious and fucking stupid. One day he asked an art collector if she would help him appraise his collection. She asked for the names of the artist he had pieces by, is shocked when he rattles off

a who's who of modern art, Jackson Pollock, Mondrian, Rothko, Twombly. The art dealer estimates that his collection is worth several million dollars. But it's hard to say it's true in about the room. Most of the pieces sitting on the floor, but he's real. I don't know. What's going on here? Was he borrowing them? Were these forgeries?

Who knows? He said he inherited these pieces of art from his great aunt, Blanchette. The museum of modern art benefactor and widow of John D. Rockefeller III. All seemed to make sense. Blanchette Rockefeller had died in 1992, so there could have been a state settled. But when the art dealer suggests a piece for Clark to add to his collection, he says,

no, because he doesn't buy pictures with green in them. That didn't seem like the opinion of a serious collector. But maybe he was just eccentric. Also, never bought anything of value from this art dealer. Was it because he didn't have the money? Was it because the pieces he had weren't really his? He'll later buy some paintings using the money of the biggest victim of Clark Rockefeller,

maybe next to his future daughter, the woman who would become his wife. At the St. Thomas Church, Clark met Julia Boss. The smart, stylish, attractive woman who was the twin sister of an even smarter woman named Sandra, who was attending Harvard Business School. Julian Sandra had grown up in Seattle in a nice two-story Cape Cod house, sister of an even smarter woman named Sandra, who was attending Harvard Business School. Julian Sandra had grown up in Seattle in a nice two-story Cape Cod house, paid for by

their father, who was Cape Cod style house, paid for by their father, who was a Boeing engineer, and these twin sisters were competitive. As seniors at Blanche at high, they were the only two sibling merit scholars, each pushing the other. As small kids, they'd always found ways to turn whatever imaginary game they were planning to a competition so someone could win. They competed to sell the most girl scout cookies as kids, as adults, the competition moved to possessions. Who bought the best and most expensive Hermie's scarf or Christian LeBouton shoes? Who had the best degree, the best job? After graduating from Yale, Julie worked as an assistant to

the publisher Algonquin Books and was engaged to be married to a fellow Yaley from an upper middle class family in Coral Gables, Florida. Sandra, meanwhile, worked in an elite private equity firm, then in a debt market with Merrill Lynch. People remember her as sharp, but shy, eager for success, but a little socially awkward. Julia, her sister, winning in the romance department now, but then Clark shows up. Clark, here's of Sandra through Julia, gets her to set them up on a date. Now, not just any date, he wants to throw Sandra a party. Clark Rockefeller throws this party for Sandra in 1993.

Not just any party, a clue themed party based on the board game. At this party, the players are guests that are mentioned trying to figure out who killed Mr. Body, the millionaire host. Rockefeller instructed each guest to come costume as a character from the game. And to tell the door man, they're there to see Mr. Body. Rockefeller plays the role of Professor Plum, a Harvard archaeologist. Sandra comes as Miss Scarlett, femme fatale Hollywood actress, and the two are immediately attracted to one another.

He was, she told friends, the brightest man she'd ever met. He knew the works of the obscure 20th century novelist she loved, spoke several languages fluently, including Klingon, the language of the Star Trek warrior race. Yes, trekking nerds, sometimes speaking Klingon can actually help you get laid. Not often I imagine, but sometimes Clark was charming, witty and worldly. He told Sandro that he'd been raised very rich, but then sadly his dad's money had been wiped out by a terrible and unfair lawsuit. Sandro told him she didn't care that he didn't have money anymore. She would make plenty for the both of them. She actually liked the fact that he seemed unmaterialistic, and she loved that he worked so hard

to alleviate third world poverty, a big plus. I mean, he didn't do that, but she loved that he told her that he did that, and their relationship went along swimmingly. The following year, Clark asked Sandra to marry him at the Episcopal Church in Islesboro, Maine in the summer of 1994. Islesboro, a very hoydie toyty little island community full of more second homes and primary homes. Very thirst and power. The third dolly simply splendid magnificent magnificent even you simply must go there your life cannot be complete without it left Sandra says yes, they announced her engagement with a stilton and Sherry party at Clark's apartment Stilton a very expensive English blue cheese $400 or more per pound Nothing but the best blue cheese for clock to blue blood darling

On January 13th 1995 1995, the NBC show unsolved mysteries, which averaged 9 million viewers per week at the time, air the segment on the discovery of the bones of John Sohuss, underground on his late mother's former property. Uh oh, May of 1994, the bones have been found, buried in the backyard of the couple's former property, not far from D.D.'s guesthouse. Sohys' family members had the bones matched John's general description, but since Sohys had been adopted, there was no way to compare his DNA against that of biological family members and arrive at a conclusive identity. Forensic evidence showed that the victim had been struck in the head twice with a rounded

blunt object and then stabbed six times, and then the body had been cut into three parts. The segment told of DD's delusions, John's mysterious job offer AND of the strange border who lived in the guest house, one Christopher Chai Chester. Trying to think of Robert Howe, Robert Stack, the program closed with the photo of Chai Chester. Now, do you think he happened to be known as Christopher Crow, the man who tried to hawk John's truck and he sometimes went by Christopher Mountbatten? And also, Christian Gerhard Strider,

native of Germany. Dude snuck another alias in there with a few people, Mr. Mountbatten. The man hunt for Gerhard Strider was on, but the identity had long ago disappeared and no one connected Gerhard Strider to Clark, not yet. I wonder if Clark happened to see that episode though. Clark and Sandro get married and then tuck it in 1995. Clark's parents were coming, he told her, or weren't coming, excuse me, he told her because they were dead, but other rock of fellers for sure were coming. They simply must come, darling. They wouldn't miss such a splendid affair love, not for all the world. But then in the last minute, he said that there was a problem, and that he had to uninvite them. But don You know, don't work it out, not their first little tiff left,

and everyone will certainly meet up in the future. It'll be motherfucking splendid. His dog Yates, named for the British novelist, Edmund Hodgson Yates, served as the best dog. Sandra later thought it odd that he didn't have a best man or any old friends come to the wedding. But, you know, he had trust issues. From when he used to have a lot of money,

and everyone wanted it poor guy. Sandra had met no friends, no family, no co-workers even, who helped him do all that to save in the third world shit before they got married. How could she ignore all these red flags? Because he was charming as fuck. He had a story for every concern. His explanations, you know, look stupid in their totality, and you zoom out, look at everything. But from moment to moment, he always made everything seem so plausible. Even the marital paperwork part. Sandra had signed all the necessary marriage documents and trusting the task of filing them to her husband,

but then he never did that. This will help Sandra a lot when it comes to their divorce later because they were never actually legally married. Nevertheless, they settled into married life in New York and Nank Tucket. Rockefeller ran asterisk, LLP, advising third world countries on their finances in theory. As we told Sandra, he didn't make any money at this job.

He explained because the nations were dirt poor and charging them a consulting fee would be evil beneath him. She found that endearing. What a wonderful man he was. After graduating from Harvard Business School, Sandra accepted a position at McKinsey and company, an ultra-discreet global consulting firm which advises the world's leading businesses,

governments and institutions, and whose staff has included former CIA operatives. Everything seemed to be good. In the marriage, Sandra was busy moving up the McKinsey ladder, leading the company's work for New York's Senator, Charles Schumer, Mayor Michael Bloomberg, regarding the global competitiveness of New York and US finance services

She'll become partner in 2000 and senior partner in 2004 and meanwhile Clark is you know saving the world Those Sandra later denied using her husband's name for any kind of leverage our friends do have did remember later how proud She was if you married to a Rockefeller She acts like she didn't care, but they could sense it was really important to her. All right, she was winning. Her sister had married into American blue blood. She had the couple's apartment at 55th Street and six Avenue became a showcase for her expensive art paid for with Sandra's money.

She's making a solid six figures. We celebrated our first art purchase, a large painting by Roscoe on a cold wet New York City afternoon, Sandra wrote for an art news article. The Rockefeller's kept collecting works by Robert Motherwell, Clifford still, Piet Mondrian, and of course, more Mark Roscoe's Roscoe was in was a Latvian born, but primarily raised in America, abstract painter who died in 1970 to age

of 66, mostly known for color field works. Big rectangular blocks of rich colors. He painted the kind of shit that frankly, a lot of people, people like myself admittedly not that educated in the arts will make fun of when making fun of quote, modern art. I mean, I can appreciate the brilliance of a da Vinci, right? Because this painting still seems so alive all these years, later, so many details captured so beautifully. I see that and I think that takes talent. I sure as fuck couldn't paint that.

But I see a Rothko and honestly, right or wrong, I think, yeah, I can do that. I can fucking nail that. I can paint big rectangles on a canvas. Give me about an hour. No art class needed. And I know there's more to it than that. But I am also not surprised that this is the kind of shit that the clerk liked. These kind of

paintings, when the art world falls all over themselves to talk about how brilliant they are, it does often read like a big con to me. Because, you know, come on, sometimes it is. All art is subjective, but some is way more subjective than other art. Like, you know, holy shit, you fucking did it. That this painting has no perspective, no carefully observed details, not even the creation of hidden shapes and meanings. It's his big monochromatic rectangles. How impressive.

You're the talk of the town. You just bullshitted your way in just like Clark. And sorry if you're a big Rothko fan. For me, the similarity is striking, right? He probably saw some of himself and works like these. And it was just easy for him to bullshit about stuff like this. Clark and Sandra would go out to dinner often at the finest most exclusive restaurants,

always beginning with cocktails at one of Rockefeller's clubs, usually the Lotus, the Tony literary club, Howdes and Evanderbilt Mansion, whose membership directory listed Clark's name just below that of billionaire philanthropist, Lawrence Rockefeller, pulled that off. How did that happen? Well, he spent a lot of time at the right places and he volunteered to help with whatever. He had a lot of flexibility. Thanks to not having a real job. Right. Just a pretend job. And now he has Sandra's money for membership fees. She's making a few hundred thousand dollars a year.

And it's getting, you know, increasing year to year. The two will have dinner at clubs like the Metropolitan on East Sixiest Street, founded by JP Morgan, where the staff always greeted their host with a chorus of, good evening, Mr. Rockefeller. One time, dining with friends, the friend looked out the window and said, oh Clark, you can see the Rockefeller Center from here. And Clark literally reached into his pocket, pulled out a key and said, yes, I have a key right here. Ah, too much to do, too much. You don't just get a key to the Rockefeller Center for being a Rockefeller. That was fucking weird.

Of course, darling. We simply must sneaking for drinks one night. It'll be splendid. We'll go to the secret bar on the rooftop only for Rockefeller's new friends. I have a key for that as well. And of course they know me darling. Everyone who's anyone knows the Rockefeller. The friends smelled bullshit. The thing is that there was no fucking way there's just one key in the Rockefeller Center because that's crazy

Another time Clark told a friend who was spreading over unpaid federal taxes That he could hook him up with a private line belonging to George as in the the president He told all kinds of stories He had investments suddenly in Mexican aerospace technology. He suggested a friend that he had some interest in buying outright a national magazine. Maybe the Atlantic. As her position was Mackenzie Gru, Sandra was away from her husband more and more, which left him with plenty of time to network and just continue to be this real life, thirst and how the third weirdo.

He would often walk his dog Yates in Central Park, where he would later say that his dog was very much in love with Amelia, Henry Kissinger's dog. Yes, love. Yates is adorable. Even Ophelia, Henry Kissinger's dog thinks so. The dude had quite the splendid, summer romance, you know, talk of the town. It's got such a fucking tool. One day, Crosse Pass with Broadway producer Jeffrey Richards, they get to talking. Richards tells him he's producing a new play by David Ives, who had written all in the timing and Rockefeller exclaimed, I've seen that play six times. He hadn't. He then hinted that he might like to become a backer on Ives's next play. He won't. But Richards arranges to meet with his new potential investor and Ives,

after which Clark Rockefeller offers a playwright a ride on his private jet. But the jet will not materialize because he doesn't have I can have a jet. He also says he's going to invest in this new play, which he won't, because he doesn't have the money to back it. He just fucking wanted to feel important. He loved it. He loved to have these two guys kisses ass at some private club in front of other members so we could look important. So others would think he was important.

What a fucking weird way to live. Imagine knowing that you have no private jet, no ability to access a private jet. You can't fund some theatrical production in Manhattan. And you're not a fucking Rockefeller. You take a noted playwright and a Broadway producer out to lunch to hear a sales pitch for a project you're not actually interested in.

How sick to get all these guys, you know, to get these guys all excited. Yes, of course loves. We'll have to go big with the budget, really get some star power for the leads. No expensive spare with the sets of Zaire and Dollins. We simply must pour piles of mula into ads. It will be the most grandest glorious production ever.

It must be. And these guys leave lunch, they can, wow, this can be big, this can really be huge for us. But then, you know, Clark leaves lunch without any intention of even necessarily returning their phone calls. He got what he wanted. Got to feel important at their expense, but who cares? You know, they're not him. So fuck them. Clark told others that he regularly invited friends to run their dogs at Polkantino. Polkant de Kau. Polkant de Kauhills. I don't know, some story, 3,400 acre Rockefeller estate

in their Terrytown, New York. One friend, connector Rockefeller, to the artist, William Quigley, who's working, being collected by politicians, entertainers, and entrepreneurs. Oh, this dude is good. Some of his shit is incredible. Shows a lot of technical skill to me,

but also some of his works are just a bunch of slashes of color on canvas, and a bit clerk like that stuff. Within a month quickly was someone to rock fillers apartment where he was staggered by clerk collection of modern art, clerk promptly promised to buy some quickly paintings, told me wanted to introduce him to a great friend of his Larry Gagosian, one of the world's foremost art dealers. First however, came a series of lunches and dinners, usually at the Lodos or Lotto's Club, that literary club, you know, placed Mark Twain, a lifelong member and frequent guests called the Ace of Clubs. Here, Clark would explain shit in front of Quigley, like, let's have the Oyster's

Rockefeller. And once when a, when Bishop Oyster is baked in Spinach arrived, he said in his East Coast lockjaw, quickly, do you know why they call these Oyster's Rockefeller? The artist was like, no, because the green... Such wit! Fucking, I want this guy so fucking punchable. Quigulator remembered Clark's backstory, a change from meeting to meeting. At one point, he said his profession was advising foreign governments

on how much money to print. He's an expert in international economies now. The end of many of a meal of beef ribs and sucka tesh at one of the many clubs he frequented. Rockefeller would exclaim, isn't this grand? And if it was an extra grand evening, he would add,

I swear to God, this is the exact quote, it's a peach melbonite. I want to pick this guy up and throw him off the fucking roof of one of the civilians. God damn it, simply grand darling. We're having a peach meld tonight. Uh, finally Rockefeller called the Gagosian Gallery and said he wanted to buy it quickly. Tomorrow, Sandy and I will go to Gagosian in New York and look at

your portfolio. Rockefeller wrote an email to quickly on October 11th, uh, 1998. We will take along a very important person from the Whitney Museum, and we will place an order for 12 paintings. This operation should impress Gagosian quite a bit. Rockefeller repeatedly assured quickly that price didn't matter when he purchased art. Saying he gave a blank check, never told his banker to tell him how much he paid.

Got a cool guy. However, neither Rockefeller nor the Whitney Museum ever bought a Quigley painting from Gagosian. Rockefeller did acquire three quickly works in his life, bought one from the artist at a discount, got one as a gift for free and picked up a third at an estate sale for a nominal sum. So he probably swindled that person. Everything seemed to be going so well for this motherfucker. He's living his dream life, Sandra's money, and his bullshit, has him hobnobbing in the social circles, he's a long dreamt of.

But then in early 2000 tired I imagine of a lot of this dumb fuck stories not checking out Sandra leaves him She's had she had to have had concerns when they did taxes Clark filed her as a single person He told her tax prepare that they were siblings because they didn't have an actual marriage license He didn't want authorities to know where Christian Carl Gertschreider was. I'm guessing because a new authorities might want to talk to him about a pair of disappearances and at least one murder back in California. His fantasy is at risk of crumbly now, but the 39-year-old is able to woo Sandra back and quickly gets her pregnant.

I simply must come inside you, darling. It'll be grand. Let's make a peach male the cream pie love. Can you imagine being dirty talked to by this motherfucker? Well, some guy who speaks like Thurston Howe from Gilligan's Island. How do you like it when I smack that ass darling?

I simply must slap your pussy to love. It'll be grand. I'm gonna tie you up and have my way with your ass, my lady. I'm gonna lick it, rub a lotion all around it, Ralph. Then I simply must fuck it, I must. It'll be grand. And when you come and you're going to come so hard, Ralph, especially when I push the wand on your marvelous clip, darling,

I'm going to stick my dick in a bowl of peach melva. Lucicina like that joke, I think. Now determined to work things out for their child, Sandra stays. Not long after this, one day Clark comes home to say he'd had an unpleasant altercation with a woman in Central Park while walking the dog. Soon the police come to the department to speak with Rockefeller privately about the incident. I wondered, this woman figure out who he really was.

Maybe someone from his past, catching up with him, someone he fucked over. Spooked perhaps, Clark now declares that he doesn't want to live in Manhattan anymore. His new idea, new Hampshire. Why suddenly want to give up the cool life he made for himself in New York City? Well, I have to think, you know, he was about to be exposed. New Hampshire, he again chooses to surround himself with wealth and privilege. He and Sandra moved to Cornish, New Hampshire, population only 1600 and 16 in 2020. But a pretty famous place, a place made famous by the 19th century American sculptor Augustus St.

Gardens. And such part time residents as artist Maxfield Parish, former president Woodrow Wilson, whose Cornish home was once considered his summer White House, located at the southern end of New Hampshire's Upper Valley. Cornish has a thriving residential community that encompasses old colonial style homes and elegant estates, spanning acreages of a lush, verdant hills and lake shores.

He tells him friends that he'd chosen Cornish because of its location, halfway between Sanders' job, currently headquartered in Boston, and his company in Canada. Wait, what? Yes, now he owns a fucking Canadian company, okay? He tells people he owns a company that makes rockets, space shuttles, satellites,

or something. Maybe some jet engines. How was he not worried that this shit would make its way back to his wife? Who knew this wasn't true? On Corners, Sandra, who legally I guess does keep her name. Sorry, I don't know why I added that, but it seems to keep her name boss. She pays Sandra boss pays $750,000 for Doverage, the former estate of the famous US jurist Leonard Hand and artist Thomas and Maria doing. Rockefeller immediately embarks on an extensive restoration, taking it down to the studs, digging up the back yard for a swimming pool, keeps his art in storage tubes and a collection of Rockefeller memorabilia and his upstairs office, all of which he liked, he liked to

show off to visitors. I want a woman named Alma Gilbert, the director of the Cornish Colony Museum, wants to include pictures of Doveridge in a book about homes and gardens in the area. Rockefeller objects, send her an email that says, I work for the US Defense Department and I cannot have it known where I live. Well, he didn't work for them, but what's he worried about being named in some local book? Because it could lead lead him being exposed. If someone looking for him, I'd be able to find him.

Rockefeller made himself known in town. He would grandly ride to the village streets on a Segway, wearing a Yale baseball cap, or be driven by a chauffeur in this fancy cars with 10 of windows that were bulletproof. He parked someone he claimed was a 21-car collection, including a number of antiques on his 25 acre property. He has an old police car. He'd bought it auction on whose side he stenciled Doveridge security, and then parked at the entrance of their estate. Yeah, he's showered around town again, like I said,

armored Cadillac. His name drops, guests, he entertains supposedly, including like German Chancellor, Helmut Kohl, astrophysicist, Stephen Hawking. These people didn't fucking go there. Then on May 24, 2001, Clark gets something real in his life. Sander gives birth. A friend drove Clark and Sander to Dartmouth, Hitchcock Medical Center,

and he's no longer driving this time. I guess just again trying to keep his identity from being revealed. Where Ray Storrow Mills, Rockefeller, is born. The one person he didn't seem interested in cheating or conning other than giving a fake name. The one person he won't be willing to abandon. He nicknames her Snooks.

It's simply splendid dolly. It's Snooks. And fake Clark will happily live with real sander and real Snooks and Cornish for about five more years. Clark hangs out in a few clubs in the area, raises Snooks, lies to everyone about doing all sorts of shit, known all sorts of important people. But then the Cornish charade ends in 2006 when Snooks turns five and is ready to enter kindergarten. Clark wants to homeschool her, but Sandra insists that Snooks needs to be around other

children. Rockefeller starts telling friends he can get her into Spence, the private girl school in New York with one phone call, doesn't get her into Spence, but does get her into spence the private girl school in New York with one phone call Doesn't get her into spence But does get her accepted at the prestigious Southfield school for girls in Boston Which shares the campus with Dexter the boys school where John F. Kennedy went to school one point and Boston's where they move In the fall of 2006 Sandra pays a reported 2.7 million for a townhouse in Boston on picnic street Near where then senator john carry had a house

And Boston Rockefeller continues to be a state home dad to other parents at his daughter school though uh... he says he's able to become the state home dad because he sold his Canadian jet propulsion company to Boeing for a billion dollars yeah i mean that makes sense you know you get to uh... chill out and just be with the kid after you sell a company for a billion dollars i mean you deserve it you'll start a new company few years later so that for another bill in a decade or so. What else? Clark also talked a lot about how he's going to donate a planetarium to the school, which of course never happens

Every morning he'll walk snooks to the bus stop stop right outside of the bar that was where the famous sitcom cheers Was supposedly set so they used exterior shots of this location for that show. As soon as Snooks was safely on the bus, Clark would then stroll down the street to a Starbucks where he soon found a new group of marks who called themselves Cafe Society, a group of Beacon Hill lawyers, Harvard researchers celebrated architect and other successful business people. When they saw him around, they didn't interact with him until he appeared one day, huffing and puffing. They asked him what he was up to, said he just pushed an arm wall up the fifth floor of his house, up to the fifth floor. Clever little drop, right?

Now everyone knows he has a five-storey house near it. He's got money. The Starbucks Group also learns very soon that he's a Rockefeller, as well as the director of the ultra-private Algonquin Club down the street, to which he soon invites his new found circle for breakfast. At the club, they see that his name is on the wall. He is fucking good at this. He designs websites for free for people to club, to ingratiate himself, obviously tosses

around the Rockefeller name, and presses many with random knowledge and talents. He wants to play his nine recordings of Cole Porter's from this moment on for a group to see which them could identify various vocalists. His only person any of them knew who could play the didgeridoo. Of course, I play the didgeridoo love who doesn't. I spent some of this free time with the Boston, uh, Anthony him, one of the oldest and most exclusive private libraries in America to which he gained membership to the intervention of his neighbor, John Sears, Harvard Law graduate, former Suffolk County Sheriff on Saturday

mornings. Even when he been out late the night before, he would make it at his practice to read the children at the athenium. And he was an excellent reader who could perform a number of accents. He could recite pieces from memory, including long poems. Almost every day he would take snooks to the athenium and read to her and she could read by the time she was two. When a neighbor suggested that Clark bring snooks over for a play day once, she said, Oh, no, I don't do play dates. Play dates off of children. The first time she met one of the neighbors, she said, what's your name?

And he said, my name is Elwood Headley. And she said, hmm, let me see. E L W O O D H E A D L E Y. Fucking nailed it. She was five years old. Do feel terrible for little snooks in this story. Clark dooted on her. He sounds like he was a great dad to her, but his fatherhood was built on a stack of lies. The next year, there was a picture of snooks on the cover of the Beacon Hill Times, a photograph of her with the diagram she'd made.

She'd drawn the entire periodic table of elements on the corner of Charles and Beacon streets, right on the sidewalk as well. Father and daughter would stroll through Beacon Hill, dine together, read books for hours on end. It seemed like the father and daughter were equally obsessed with one another. I love you too much, Daddy.

Snooks would often say, those two got along great, but he wasn't getting along well with Sandra again now. Something was happening behind the scenes. Maybe she finally realizes she has been lied to big time for years about fucking everything. Fake divorce, a real custody battle about to follow. Both will move out of their townhouse for a bit. Sandra lives at the Boston Ritz. Rockefeller moves in with some European friends a few blocks away. Snooks shuttles back and forth between the two. Clark is now almost entirely cut off from his source of income as wife. It was

making more money than ever. She's been sprinting up to corporate ladder. Clark asked people to buy back some antique cars he sold them. He tries to sell his art, but doesn't seem to be able to. Maybe it's because it's not real art, it's forgeries or something. He'll later have to resign from the Algonquin Club in 2008 and that'll really sting. It will not be splendid, darling. It will not be grand love. He told his friends, his wife had taken all his money and that she had only married him because he was a Rockefeller.

He said he was going to interview every high-powered attorney in Boston, excuse me, so that Sandy would not be able to hire any of them because it would be a conflict of interest. That wouldn't prevent her from getting a really good lawyer. And once the divorce was underway, Sandra's father, William Boss, finally fucking decides to investigate his son-in-law. Since he and other members of the family had come to suspect that Clark was either siphoning off money from Sandra or hiding Rockefeller wealth from her. First, Boss goes on to his Wikipedia to check out Rockefeller's late mom and Carter, former child star, right, who supposedly died in a car wreck. Can't believe it took someone this long

to do this. According to Wikipedia, of course, and still very much alive and never had a sound name Clark. It's all right there. The whole time just waiting to be revealed. The deeper Boss Doug, the more inconsistencies he found, he reported them all to Sandra who then hired a private investigator who found out who the fuck her husband really was. Rockefeller unwilling to risk exposing his past and unable to produce documentation to prove his current identity quickly agrees to custody terms with Sandra in 2007. Because she'll do this, she'll agree not to expose him as being Christopher Chichester.

Sandra gets nearly everything. Their historic house, historic church, they bought in Cornish, the townhouse in Beacon Hill, full custody of Snooks, a judge approves her request to take their daughter with her to London to live, where she has a new job. She moves to the Knights bridge district of the city. Rockefeller's parental visits are limited to only three visits a year one day each with supervision. Damn. And return Clarkets at $800,000 basically pay off.

Two cars, her engagement ring, and randomly address he had given her, and then, you know, no investigation further into his past. No exposure. Sandra just wanted him to go the fuck away. He converts at least $300,000 into South African gold coins. And I actually added some outside of my notes about her knowing that she was, that he was Christopher Chichester. I actually don't think that's true.

So let me retract that now. I just, I got caught up in the excitement that's narrative in the add of that detail, which I shouldn't have done, because it's not in the notes. And I don't, the private investigator, I don't think made it all the way to connect him to this person who is possibly involved in a murder in California. I think he based on what I interpret from the sources got close, he panicked, and was like, okay, just, just, please can we do this, and then I'll go away. So now he converts, Africa goes away, at least least $300,000 the money she gave him into South African gold coins called

Krugerrands and then into gold US coins keeping the rest in cash So I'm guessing he's moving this money into this gold and that gold and cash to keep it from being traced Now early 2008 Clarks bouncing back and forth between Boston, New York City busy trying to line up a new sugar mama and May of 2008 he meets Roxanne West a young woman from a West Texas oil family who traveled between New York and Texas frequently They met at a party at the Lawrence Stuy Stuy grad fine arts gallery on East 69th Street in New York. He told her he was 40 a Yale graduate a single parent with a seven-year-old daughter Produced by a surrogate mother. Well, now he's 47 never went to Yale not a single parent with a seven year old daughter produced by a surrogate mother. Well, no, he's 47, never went to Yale, not a single parent.

Told her he was on his way to China on a business trip for his work now as a nuclear physicist. He goes so big on these lies. And he's just come from giving his daughter's class a one hour tour of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She accepts his invitation to lunch the next day where his stories get even wilder, and then after which he began sending her a flurry of text messages. Here are some of these exact text message quotes. Problem, I cannot get you out of my head.

What to do? Ah, just gave it a Saturn for the last 10 minutes viewing excellence tonight in Brookline. Wish you could see this, wish I could see you. This one's my favorite. In a submarine, crowded, strange, thought of you a minute ago. Fuck. And then one more sipping, strange, tropical drinks on then tuck it now. We'd love to see you. This coming week, perhaps go to Central Park and kiss. Sound good. The

desperate hard push does not work for Roxanne. She's fucking creeped out. She thinks this guy is full of shit and she cuts ties. He went way too far with the submarine in text. What the fuck would he be the submarine? And how are you sending the text from a submarine? Back in 2008, the technology wasn't possible then. If you can go that far, it might as well even go farther. Thinking of you love, sending this from my personal bio-dome on Mars,

the red planet is simply splendid darling. You simply must accompany me on my next trip. We'll go for a ride on the rover to watch the sunset. It is magnificent love. Must be going now. My robot assistant Alfred simply insists I board the rocket. The life of Clark Rockefeller seems to have run its course now. More and more people start to distance themselves from him.

He's coming known to more and more as someone who is just epically foolish. Christian Gerhardt's writer needs a new masterware. But first he wants to get his daughter's snooks back. July 27, 2008. It's a sunny day in Boston. Dressed in khakis and a blue lacoste t-shirt or a collar shirt, not t-shirt. Clark is carrying snooks on his shoulders, walking towards Boston common where they're

going to ride the swan boats in the public garden. It'll be grand. It'll be peach melba. Good morning, Mr. Rockefeller. Someone greets him a social worker mandated by the court to supervise visits It's tagging along behind he and his daughter for you know one of their very few visits as they approach Marlboro street a Tree-lined avenue near where a former senator Ted Kennedy has a house a black SUV limousine quickly cruises over to the curb Rockefeller had told the driver Darryl Hopkins that he and Snooks had a lunch date in Newport, Rhode Island, with a senator's son, and that he might need help getting rid of a real clingy friend, aka the social worker, who might try to get into the limo, but do not let

him get in. Rockefeller paid $3,000 for the trip, told the driver, under no circumstances, was the friend supposed to come along for the ride. So the driver wasn't surprised as he looked in his rear-view mirror to see Rockefeller whisked Snooks on his shoulders and a clingy sort of guy right behind him. Probably was a little bit surprised when Rockefeller pushed that dude to the ground, picked up his daughter, yanked the car door open, pushed the kid into the limo so fast she hit her head in the door frame, started crying.

I really whacked my head daddy, she said, but Clark not paying attention, he just shouts, go, go! The driver steps on the gas, drags a social worker who would grab the hole of the back door handle several yards before he lets go, falls onto the pavement. Within minutes, according to Rockefeller's indictment, he told the driver to pull over. Then after being let out, the driver had to have been thinking, what the fuck did I get myself into? He hails a cab, explaining to the limo driver, he wants to take his daughter to Massachusetts

General Hospital in order to make sure that the bump on her head is not something serious. He instructs a limo driver, just wait for him in this nearby parking lot. I'll be back soon. The driver does as he's told, waits approximately two hours before leaving when Rockefeller never shows up. Rockefeller took the taxi, not to the hospital, of course, but to the Boston Sailing Center, where one of his many female friends was waiting for him there. She had agreed to drive him to New York in her white Lexus for 500 bucks. Rockefeller told her that he and Snooks had to catch a train that would get them to a boat launch on Long Island by 8 p.m.

He really planned all this out. Soon after they arrived at Manhattan, they get stuck in traffic and are grand central terminal out of nowhere. Rockefeller sweeps up his daughter, throws an envelope full of cash from the front seat, takes off out of the car. The surprise woman's cell phone rings a few minutes later. It was a friend calling asking if she'd seen the amber alert concerning Clark Rockefeller's Clark Rockefeller's abduction of his daughter. She'd been used. Now she realizes it's been fooled into providing transportation for what the Boston District Attorney later charges a custodial kidnapping, but she has no idea where Clark and Snokes have run off to, they've vanished. At the same time, Boston police

are now entering Clark Rockefeller's name into national databases and finding nothing. Back in Boston at a suite at the four seasons hotel, Sandra Boss is told the unfortunate news. Can you please give us his driver's license number and officer Assar? She says he doesn't have one. Do you know if Clark has a social security number? She tells them, no, is he on your tax returns?

No. How crazy. I feel bad for her. She must have felt so embarrassed by how this looked. Clark had fed her so much bullshit that now seems so blatantly ridiculous. Clark's credit cards are all under her accounts. His cell phone number was under the name of a friend to each of the investigator's questions about her ex-husband's identification papers. Boss had to say she had no idea. After turning up nothing in the ID department, investigators frantically start retracing Clark's last moves and they catch a lucky break. The night before he'd fled, he'd had a glass of wine in a friend's house.

When they arrived there, later on July 27th, just hours after the kidnapping, the friends still hadn't washed the glass, so luckily Clark Seaman was still inside of it. One of his many eccentricities was coming inside a glass of wine after he drank it. Of course not love, no that's simply ridiculous. No they lifted fingerprints from the glass, sent him off to the FBI lab in Quantico, Virginia. Following day July 28th, the case falls to special agent Noreen Gleason, a tough blonde 17-year veteran of the FBI assigned to the Boston Field Office. Her first calls to the Rockefeller family.

She said, they said, under no circumstance is there a link. We are not connected. For five days, Noreen and her team of FBI agents tried to hunt whoever the fuck Clark really is and his daughter down. Fearing that the worst had already happened, the Clark was operated on some kind of logic of if I can't have her nobody can and then he may have killed her. and his daughter down. Fearing that the worst had already happened, the clerk was operated on some kind of logic of, if I can't have her, nobody can, and then he may have killed her.

They soon unravel Rockefeller's elaborate escape plan. He had told many of his rich friends, some supposed upcoming destination, always different, always alive, told one he was sailing to Peru, informed others he was going to Alaska, others, the Turks and Kekos, others, the Bahamas. They just have no fucking clue where he's really gone.

While the kidnappers' prince are being analyzed, the Bureau, and hopes that someone might recognize him, release pictures of Clark to the media, and now a lifetime of carefully constructed identities starts emerging. Agents realize that some people know him as Chris Gerhardt, University of Wisconsin Film Student. Others know him as Christopher Chichester,

the standard of British royalty, who had claimed that to the residents of a wealthy LA suburb in the 1980s, he was this big fucking royal guy only to manage after being stopped for questioning in a disappearance of a California couple. Others remember him as Christopher C. Crow, a TV producer who had worked for at least three Wall Street investment firms in the late 80s before suddenly vanishing for four years. Most knew who was Clark Rockefeller, a Boston socialite whose friends included important artists, writers, producers, physicians, financiers, and members of prestigious private clubs. And then the results of prints come back from the lab and the alleged kidnappers, none of

these people. It's Christian Carl Gerhardst Rider, a 47-year-old German immigrant who had come to America as a student in 1978 and who had disappeared into a complicated existence that the Boston District Attorney would call the longest con I've seen in my professional career. Investigators then get another bigger break. A real estate agent in Baltimore recognized Rockefeller's picture on television and called the FBI.

The agent said he just sold a guy, this guy, a carriage house on Ploy Street in Baltimore for $432,000. The man paid for it the previous week with the cashier's check. The guy looked a lot like the wanted posters, but identified himself as Chip Smith, said his daughter was Muffy. Of course, this is my daughter Muffy. He said he was a single dad, a ship captain,

and had relocated from Chile. Noreng Lee's and Getson News embossed at 1 a.m. in August 2nd, just a little less than six days past when the girl was taken. After an hour later, a team of investigators has surrounded the house on Ploy Street. Through the windows, they can see an open case of Sherry, of course, and paintings leaning against the walls. But they detect no movement inside. They start worrying that Clark had already fled. But a phone call will still will soon reveal he's still at home. Investigators have previously

discovered Rockefeller's yacht, a rundown 26 foot stiletto catamaran, which he kept docked in a Baltimore marina two miles away. Through a window of the boat, they were able to see a file labeled chip Smith. Presumably, the plans for the new identity he was setting up and they knew they had their man. So then they got the manager of the marina to call Rockefeller on a cell phone telling him his boat was taken on water. Almost immediately, movement is now detected in the Poise Street house and then Rockefeller, excuse me, then Clark walks outside. Hey, Clark! A plane's closed agent calls out and Rockefeller turns around. Where are you going, Clark? Ask the agent. And then Clark responds,

I'm headed back to my mouse and biodome with Snooks darling. And I get to inform you that my rocket ship only has seats for two. And then he quickly turns around, head back inside as officers prepare to storm his new home. He launches on a small rocket

out of an opening in the retractable roof. It was simply grand darling. A real peach melba kind of escape. No, what Clark really does is say, I'm going to get a turkey sandwich. That's just does is say, I'm going to get a turkey sandwich. That's just, you know, calm just a guy get a turkey sandwich. And then rudely instead of letting the man get his TASS sandwich, 20 agents with assault rifles or quickly upon him, pinning him to the ground while other storm the house and rescue

snooks. Back in Boston, FBI Special Agent Noreen Gleason now calls Sandra Boss to tell her her daughter is safe and her ex-husband is in custody. Sandra overwhelmed with emotion literally passes out for a few moments. With a few weeks, within a few weeks of its arrest, on August 24, 2008, still claiming to be Clark Rockefeller, Christian gives one of the only interviews he has given from jail. And it is fucking weird. You can listen to it on YouTube.

It'll be about five minutes long. There's no video, just audio. He's being held in the prison general population in the single bunk cell in the seventh floor of the Nashua street jail also knows a Suffolk County jail in Boston. According to the Boston Globe reporters who conducted the interview, Clark, Christian, burst into the room smiling with a cheerful demeanor of a host welcoming guest to his party. Clark Rockefeller, he said fixing his gaze on a visitor and extending the hand. His nails were still manicured. He wore tassled loafers with his great jailed issued scrubs. He turned to another visitor and another bowing slightly to each Jesus. Settling into a wooden chair, he says he wants

one thing to be clear. I am Clark Rockefeller. His lawyer, Stephen B. Herones sat on his side throughout the interview and interjected each time reporter asked Rockefeller about his life before 1993 or about the murders of John and Linda Soes. Clark would not answer any question of actual interest to anyone but did seem eager to talk. Pepper in his speech with Thurmond fucking howl ask phrase it such as quite so and rather he rambled on about the six or seven languages that he speaks the historical novel about the roots of the Israeli state hoodies writing and his work as a researcher as a researcher of anything from physics to social science he seems very happy like his current imprisonment is just a small setback

and soon he'll be back to his life of private clubs and cucumber and watercress tea sandwiches, darling. And people thinking he's someone important. He paints himself as a devoted father, who read the Tennyson poem The Daisy to his daughter, 25 times in a single evening, and who taught her how to read newspapers and scientific journals before she was three. He's unashamed, unapologetic, even wistfully reflects on the six glorious and wonderful days. His quote, he spent with his daughter of 18 authorities. He said, we had such a wonderful time.

It was my six days of being well with, it was like a trance. It was so wonderful. It was so great to be with my daughter again. Rockefeller insisted that he decided to take his daughter, owned the day before he picked her up. Though authorities say he'd been planning to kidnapping for months. And he said he bought a house in Baltimore under an assumed name months ago just because he wanted to live quietly.

He also strained to profess to not be able to remember, gosh dang, large chapters of his life. Oh my heck. I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to remember. He says at one point, I don't lose much thought over it. This is the thing he's done to this day. He has this weird amnesia where he's simply forgot anything that's incriminating. He's very, very vague about what jobs he's had,

saying that he worked as, you know, again, some kind of researcher. You know, he trained for this by auditing various classes at various universities. He said, my subject was whatever my clients seemed worthy. It could have been literally anything. He said he built a good reputation, but would not give details about the work. Couldn't remember the names of clients. So how do you get the

name that doesn't show up on a government identification form? Clark offered an odd explanation. He said, his name even given to him by some dude named Harry Copeland whom he described as his godfather from New York, who died in the late 90s. And Rockefeller said he insisted that's what my name is. Not the fuck. When asked if he was actually related to the Rockefeller dynasty or dynasty, he said, as far as I know, I'm not, but I very well could be. This interview was conducted after law enforcement confirmed that his fingerprints belonged to the ones found in Kerl, Christian, Kerl, Christian Carl Gerhardt's writer's immigration file, but he still won't admit that's who he actually is On September 3rd 2008 Gerhardt's writer is charged with furnishing a false name to a law enforcement officer following an arrest

On September 29th a Boston court sets bail for Christian Who is still saying he's Clark at $50 million a lot of money because he's deemed unsurprisingly huge flight risk And you know a risk to kidnap a daughter again if he makes bail. His trial has set to begin March 23rd 2009. On October 2nd 2008, at a hearing request to buy his defense attorney, Steven Herones, Herones request a reduction for from the $50 million cash bail. Instead the judge orders the defendant to be held without bail. So take your bail and shove it up your fucking little T and C crest or whatever the sandwiches are called cucumber sandwiches ass. Early November, Rockefeller retains a

new set of lawyers, hires the firm of criminal defense attorney Jeffrey Denner, who has this to say regarding his client. There's nothing about this case that takes it out of the ordinary range of a fairly straightforward parental kidnapping allegation. As far as being an alleged person of interest and a potential California criminal prosecution, we don't believe for a second that is going to result in any criminal conviction or liability for him. And he absolutely denies any wrongdoing whatsoever

in connection with his purported stay in California. When asked about various names his client has assumed over the last three decades, you know, two in change, religious little over two, then I would say he's certainly not the first immigrant who's come to this country and anglicize himself for purposes of adjustment to life here. Nor is there anything illegal about the use of a list of or other names per se, unless there is an indication they were used for some fraudulent purpose, which we do not believe is the case here. Really down plain, the fake lives,

uh, this dude has led out here February 13 2009 Gerhard Strider's attorneys filed notice that they intend to use an insanity defense his lawyer described him as a dedicated father to strut over his divorce and mentally ill. Now he's fucking mentally ill but not because of that divorce. Uh jury selection begins for Clark's kidnapping trial May 26 2009 and the trial starts soon after Gerhard Strider faces charges of kidnapping given a false name to police, two assault and battery charges for allegedly pushing the social worker to the ground

and then instructing the limo driver to take off as the social worker tried to climb into the car. The defense will claim that Gerhard Schreider is in a sane that he believed Snooks was communicating with him, telling him telepathically to rescue her. I wish you could have experienced reading my ideas, we girls mind, darling. It was simply grand love.

Plenty of people, however, will come out of the woodwork to expose who Clark Rockefeller truly was. It wasn't crazy. Not in that way. He was just incredibly full of shit. Sandra Boss testified that he literally never held a job during their relationship. Never got a fucking single paycheck. All of his claims were bullshit.

Despite not working, he would held money and food from her, and the winner would only heat the part of the house where he slept. When she pressed him to get a job, she claimed that he replied it would be beneath the Rockefeller. He truly had become a real life therson now, which is crazy, because therson was not intended

to be an aspirational character. He's a fucking dickhead, the least likable character on Gilligan's Island intentionally. And even that character worked before, he got stranded on the island manual labor was beneath thirsty, but not all labor Boss told the court today or boss told the court Sorry that by the end of their marriage she earned about $40,000 a week Damn, but there are finances where you know controlled by her husband And that is wild that she would be that successful work wise, but at home let Clark run the show. And about $40,000 a week by the way is about two million a year.

She also testified that Clark once convinced her he was a member of the Tri-Lateral Commission, private organization of prominent citizens who advised governments on international cooperation. Boss said he called it the group and he would even fly to Texas for focus meetings. At one point she said Gerhard Srider complained that his clients blamed him for the collapse of the Asian markets. But you know, he never got a single paycheck. Boss claimed that her husband spent all their money, but boxed it selling to painting from a collection, he claimed was worth a billion dollars. That's not. I don't think his collection was really worth anything. There's never any talk about like it being sold to like raised money for his defense.

Now Clark's defense attorney, Jeffrey Denner, asked her how she a Harvard Business School graduate could be duveted by Gerhard Schreider for so long. When I love what she says here. She says there is a difference between intellectual intelligence and emotional intelligence. I'm not saying I made a very good choice of a husband. It's pretty obvious that I had a blind spot.

All I'm saying is that it's possible that one can be brilliant and amazing in one area of one's life and pretty stupid in another. Well said Sandra Boss. I would argue that sentiment is true for all of us. It's all of us, no matter how smart we may be in certain areas, in certain aspects of our lives, are probably pretty stupid in others, at least in moments. And Sandra is so damn smart in some ways. A daily mail, 2015 article on her,

revealed that she was one of just two women and one of just 10 people who sat on the bank of England's board of the Prudential Regulation Authority, a board that is centered to the health of the entire British economy. The PRAs, the financial services industries, main watchdog in Britain, it's a thousand plus staff policing 1700 banks, building societies, insurers, and investment firms. service industries main watchdog in Britain is a thousand plus staff policing seventeen hundred banks

uh... building societies insurers investment firms and standard set of topics intercircle from two thousand fourteen twenty twenty she still works for the bank of England as a consultant cherry on various important sounding committees uh... guessing she's knocking out way more uh... back to two million dollars a year now and she controls the money all of it while clerks it's in prison more on well she's doing, it's incredible at the end of the timeline. She is fucking killing it. Testimonious Clark's kidnap in trial ends on June 3rd, 2009. The final witness was Dr. James

Chu, a psychiatrist at McLean Hospital, who said he believed that Rockefeller exaggerated his symptoms and was not insane when he kidnapped Snooks. Chu was called by prosecutors to rebut the testimony of two defense mental health experts who said Rockefeller suffered from mental disorders and was legally insane when he took his daughter. The two defense experts testified that they had diagnosed Gerhard Schreider with delusional disorder, grandiose type, and narcissistic personality disorder. I'm simply incredibly delusional, darling, splendidly not-sistic. There's simply no way I

could be held responsible love. You must let me plead and send you, you simply must. I'm positive any psychiatric facility, I'll stay and we'll have a peach moba. Chuse had no way. Clarke, you know, not insane. He diagnosed Gerhard Schreider with a mixed personality disorder with narcissistic and anti-social traits, but felt he had exaggerated his symptoms of mental illness and definitely knew right from wrong. So the insanity plea does not fly. June 8, 2009, closing arguments conclude, a Suffolk County jury convicts Gerhard Strider on June 12th of parental kidnapping and assault and battery with a dangerous weapon. In addition to the four to five years for the kidnapping conviction, Gerhard Strider also sends to a two to three-year term for

the assault to run concurrently with the kidnapping sense. He was said to serve his terms at the Massachusetts Correctional Institute of Con in Concord, Massachusetts. He was acquitted of two lesser charges, assault and battery, and providing a false name to police. Though he entered the courtroom with a smirk on his face, he showed little emotion during the reading of the verdict, and once mouthed, oh shit, after the second guilty verdict. Yeah, oh shit's right Clark. And his punishment is just getting started. The legal and media spotlight on Gerhard Schreider

has brought renewed attention to the unsolved murder of John Soes, whose dismembered remains were found buried in the backyard of his former house in San Marino, right, 1994. Well, two years later, after, you know, Christian is, you know, sent to prison in Massachusetts in 2009, when now in 2011, authorities conclusively confirmed for the first time the bones discovered in D.D.'s backyard do in fact belong to John Sois. They were able to use

DNA provided by his biological sister, Lori Moltz. The premature technology of DNA testing back in the 1990s and the fact that Sois was adopted as a child,, the premature technology of DNA testing back in the 1990s and the fact that Sohuss was adopted as a child, delayed the definitive identity of the remains, even though investigators had felt confident the bones were Johns for quite some time. With a positive idea of Johns remains on March 15, 2011, California authorities filed a complaint at the Alhambra Superior Court seeking the return of Christian Gerhard Schreider to California to stand trial. We're seeking extradition, said Jane Robison, spokeswoman for the Los Angeles County District

Attorney's Office. It has been more than 20 years that the victim's family has had any justice. Gerhard Schreider's lawyer, Jeffrey Denner, who represented him during his 2009 kidnapping trial said his client is innocent of murder. I have no doubt that Mr. Rockefeller, Gerhard Schreider, isn't even remotely involved in this very, very violent crime. I am surprised that this 26 year old murder, that they didn't have enough to indict him on then, I'm very curious to see what has changed. I don't even know what has changed. They probably get fucking DNA evidence. And I love that he's called him Rockefeller still. January 24, 2012, Judge Jared Moses of LA

County Superior Court, rules that Gerhard Schreider must stand trial for the death of Sohys. The trial begins March of 2013. There'll be three weeks of testimony, 40 witnesses, 160 exhibits. Gerhard's are shown two plastic book bags found buried with Sohys's remains, one from the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee, where Gerhard's writer attended classes, one from USC, where Gerhard Schreider attended classes, one from USC, where Gerhard Schreider also audited some classes. One juror said that this was the most solid piece of evidence presented to the jury. And what an idiot.

Why would he bury his shit with remains and not somewhere else? Jurors also heard evidence that Gerhard Schreider was in possession of these so-husses pick-up truck following the murder, and Ger Gerhard's writer spent the trial days taking copious notes, but remaining silent. What was he writing? This is simply not true, darling. Don't let those their lies get you down love. Your grand clock, your clock Rockefeller, blue blood king, seller of billion dollar

space companies, you are simply splendid. Uh, and his closing argument, Suproscutor tells jurors that this was not a movie, a book, a TV show, or a documentary drama. This case is about two people who lived and died. On April 10, 2013, Christian, now 52 years old, is found guilty of one murder, the 1995 killing of John Sohis. A LA jury made up a six men, a six women spent about a day deliberating over whether, you know, Gerhard Strider killed Sohis or not and buried the remains in the backyard of a San

Marino home. Although deputy District Attorney Habib Ballion acknowledging his close and arguments Monday that he presented no witnesses, no physical evidence and no motive to connect Christian Gerhard Schreider to the murder He spent the last three weeks arguing that the circumstantial evidence was enough to convict him of the crime Defense attorney Denner argued that while his client lied about his life and made up lavish stories, he was not a murderer. Defense also argued that it's possible that Linda, uh, so husk, you know, killed her husband. No trace of hers ever been found. Probably because your heart's writer killed her. I wondered like maybe killed, uh, John at the home, and that's why he buried him there, but maybe he was able to trick Linda into meeting him at some other location where he killed her,

and then was able to, uh, was able to more properly hide her remains. After he was convicted Gerhard Schreider fired his lawyers, represented himself during the sentencing phase that will not work out well for him. Gerhard Schreider maintained his innocence during the sentencing hearing, saying, I want to assert my innocence and that I firmly believe that the victim's wife killed the victim. But be that as it may, once again, I did not commit the crime of which I stand accused. August 15th, 2013, he ascends to 27 years to life for the murder of John Soes.

So so much for self-representation. To be speckled in handcuffed, Gerstarch's writer, platinum blue jail jumpsuit, now fouls the lengthy motion for a new trial. Does that the same day? I would like to once again reassert my innocence. I would like to definitively state I did not commit the crime of which I stand convicted. With

when L.A. Superior Court judge George G. Lemmellie said evidence and testimony provided no basis for a new trial, the convicted man then withdrew the motion. Before the sentence was imposed, John So his sister Ellen told the court told the court the verdict gave no closure for the family, because Gerhard Strider wouldn't admit to anything. She said to him, why did you kill my brother? What happened to Linda? I believe Linda's dead and I believe you are responsible for her death. John's father died in 2002 without ever knowing what happened to his son.

This destroyed him, said Ellen Sohaz. He told me that he thought of John every day. He would periodically call me deep in his grief and say, why John? Gerhard Schreider is initially transferred to North current state prison, September of 2013, before being transferred to Ironwood state prison in March of 2014. His appeals are denied. October 23, 2015, and again on January 20, 2016, exhausting his state appeals, still has federal appeals pending. In December of 2016, he was transferred to San Quentin State Prison, where last week's Derbag also sits, Randy Kraft, with good time credits he'll be eligible for parole in

December of 2029. He'll be 68. He's currently 61. His first parole hearing scheduled for November of 2028. Today, Sandra Boss, now 54, works at the investment management company, BlackRock. Little more on her. Sandra Boss truly has gone full boss bitch.

She is an impressive meat sack. According to her bio on BlackRock's website, Sandra is BlackRock's senior managing director, global head of investment stewardship for BlackRock, and a member of BlackRock's Global Executive Committee. She is responsible for leading BlackRock investment stewardship in all its activities as it engages with companies to promote effective governance and create value for clients. BlackRock is headquartered in Manhattan, where I imagine she must work, and is the world's largest asset manager with $10 trillion in assets under management as of January 2022. $10 trillion and Sandra leads their investment stewardship, a senior marketing director of

trillions of dollars. I have to imagine with stock options, she is now worth well over $100 million, probably several hundred million dollars. She was making $2 million a year back in 2007 and she has climbed way the fuck up. A big corporate ladder since then. Good for her for not letting, you know, Clarks to seat record. What didn't kill her seemed to have made her stronger, you know, fake Clark while I'm sure he fucked her head up and left her with some serious trust issues for sure didn't break her.

In addition to doing so well, she also looks fantastic. She looks good 15 years younger than 54 if not more, very attractive. And I only bring that up because of her relationship to Clark. I have to wonder how good does it feel for her to be eating the finest foods, working with I imagine the world's most premier trainers, nutritionist, estheticians, doctors, etc., etc., driving or being driven around in the most luxurious vehicles, traveling in private jets, having a badass office with a killer view in Manhattan, maybe several offices around the world with killer views, owning several homes, looking like a million fucking bucks, looking like a couple hundred million fucking bucks. While Clark owns nothing and sits in prison. I love the cliche, success is the best revenge, and I believe it. Holy shit, how she succeeded. Her last name is still the maiden name she reverted to or maybe just kept, maybe just kept when she was with Clarks and say we're never technically

married. You know, Camp Lamer for keeping that name. I hope she has at least met some great dudes if that's what she's wanted. It doesn't seem that she is married or maybe she just kept her name again and was married. It doesn't seem that she's married. But I hope that she's at least met some nice dudes, some super handsome kind, honest dudes with the exact kind of dicks that she prefers. Perfect length, perfect girth, scrubbed up, super clean wins, and as they've used them in

ways she prefers, right? That's even more success, more success revenge, right? I hope she's been coming so hard and so loud on satin sheets, Hail Lucifina. Well, that silly fuck Christian quietly jerks off on a prison mattress. That has to sting. And he so deserves it. Sandra has also got to raise her daughter now, how she wants,

Snooks born in May of 2001 is now 21 years old. And if mom is sharing some of that wealth with baby girl, his parents often do, she's fucking loaded. Still has an insane, murderous, manipulative shithead of a dad, which is terrible,

but being wealthy probably makes it a little less terrible. Love that the story has some justice at the end. Pretty happy ending for some of the main characters all things considered. Hail Nimrod for that, and now let's get out of this timeline. Good job, soldier. You've made it back. Barely.

And Clark Rockefeller has been sucked. Kind of. Clark Rockefeller also doesn sucked. Kind of. Clark Rockefeller also doesn't really exist. Not any meaningful way. The man behind the name Christian Carl Gerhard Strider, born to a middle class German family in 1961. Journey to the US after meeting an American couple on vacation when he's 17, takes the opportunity to reinvent himself,

something he seemed to do even as a child. He stayed with family as a foreign exchange student before en rolling in a university in Milwaukee, getting a quick green card marriage, reinventing himself on the West Coast. And San Marino, California, he fits in with the country club, country club crowd by claiming to be Christopher Chichester, man with ties to British and German nobility. But then that's Sowers when the son of his landlord, a young IT guy named John Sohis and his wife Linda abruptly disappear. Lot of evidence led back to Christopher Chichester who quickly escapes with the couple's truck. Back on the East Coast, Christopher would reinvent himself yet again as Christopher Crow.

A sometime film producer, or TV producer, who held at least three jobs in banking. He was fired from one job after the company discovered the social security number. He gave them actually belonged to convicted serial killer David Berkowitz, managed to secure two other highly paid jobs before the discovery of a corpse, thought to be so husk in California, led to police to begin looking for Christopher Crowe in connection with the murder. Then after four mysterious lost years, moves on to his final iteration in the city that never sleeps. Clark Rockefeller, member of the illustrious Rockefeller family.

Many artists, Many, artists, producers, galleries, lawyers will be taken in completely by the eccentric wealthy man, including a financially brilliant woman named Sandra Boss, who marries Clark in 1995. Despite his apparent connection to one of the wealthiest families in America, Clark lived a lavish lifestyle completely funded by his wife's income. He needed her money to expand his art collection by antique cars, where hand tailored suits because he didn't actually have any money of his own. Though he's fond of telling his neighbors that he sold a business in Canada for a billion

dollars, Rockefeller never held a steady job and got a paycheck during his marriage to Sandra. Finally, having enough for a line husband, Sandra, files for divorce in the winter of 2007 to 2008, Gerhard Schreider goes away for $800,000 in a chance to avoid anyone working for the court looking too hard into his real identity. But to get that deal, he has to agree to only three visitations a year with his daughter after one of those first court orders court supervised visits. Gerhard Schreider manages to shake off the social worker and abducts his daughter. Luckily, the FBI

manages to capture him after almost a weeklong manhunt and his daughter is unharmed. Then, shortly after the kidnapping trial, police began building a case for him for the murder against him for the murder of Jonathan Sohis. In 2013, Christian Gerhardt's writer, given a life sentence in prison, essentially, for murder proving that not even a man with an incredible gift for deception like Gerhardt's writer can always escape the truth forever, but it's his story over. Because he could get released on parole in December of 2029 and he'll be 68.

We have enough time to pull off one last big con. Boston crime boss, Wadi Bulger, still had the energy to run all sorts of rackets in his 60s. He lived on the land of 80 authorities for over 15 years, still armed the teeth when he was captured in his 60s. He lived on the land of dating authorities for over 15 years, still armed the teeth when he was captured in his 80s. I think American televangelist Kenneth Copeland's crooked as fuck and running a con on his congregation and he's currently 85 still seems to have a lot of energy. Recent suck subject sexual predator Peter Nygardt, he was still drugging and raping women and girls on a regular basis while running

a company and making hundreds of millions of dollars a year, while party and jet setting all around the world all throughout his 70s. And Christian seems healthy. He might still yet find a few people to pray on, find himself a member of some private clubs once more, dining on those cucumber and watercress tea sandwiches. It'll be simply splendid, darling.

I've never really got to live the life of the Chilean sea captain, Chip Smith. I think his name was, and I must love. It'll be grand. It'll be a real, real peach melba kind of con. But will Christian get paroled in 2029 if he still can't admit who he actually is and stop pretending to be anyone

other than Christian Gerhard Schreider? His refusal to back down from a bullshit story, right? What kept his old fake lives going might just keep him from living out a new one. Time now for today's top five takeaways. Time suck, top five takeaways. Number one, Christian Carl Gerhardt-Schreider went by many names.

His most committed aliases being Christopher Chichester, Christopher Crow, and ultimately Clark Rockefeller. To some, he was a film student to others, a movie producer, a banker, someone who worked on third world poverty or had a defense contract with US military or some type of billion dollar Canadian space company, founder, CEO, something like that. The man has been a seemingly infinite number of stories about his past, but didn't always pick the best back stories. What would really alert his father-in-law, and then his soon to be ex-wife to the fact that he was truly not who he said he was,

was his claim that his mom was former child star and Carter, and that she was dead. But Wikipedia revealed she was very much alive, and well in 2008, and never had a kid named Clark. Wikipedia brought him down. Number two, Clark Rockefeller, Christian Carl Gerhard Schreider, abducted his daughter, Ray, aka Snokes,

under July 27th, 2008 and for almost a week of frenzied searching the FBI finally found him in Baltimore Maryland claiming that he was one more fake person chip Smith, Chilean sea captain yet another fake life This one he only got to live out for a few days Number three Christian Carl Gerhard Schreider was convicted of killing John Sohuzz back in 1985 Back when Christian was living as Christopher Chai Chester and staying at the guest house of D.D. Sohuzz back in 1985. Back when Christian was living as Christopher Chichester and staying at the guest house of D.D. Sohuzz and San Marino, California. John Sohuzz and his wife Linda went missing after telling friends and his family they'd gotten some kind

of secret job with the government. They disappeared. Shortly after the time of their disappearance, Christopher Chichester is spotted borrowing a chainsaw from a neighbor, having a dug up backyard, and he tried selling a bloody rug to a friend. Gerhard Schreider even started driving John's truck. Finally on April 10th 2013 Gerhard Schreider is convicted by an LA jury of John's first degree murder and sentenced to 27 years to life. Sadly Linda or her remains have yet to be located. Number four, the longest lasting and most infamous identity of Christian Gerhard Schreider would be that of Clark Rockefeller. Christian claimed he was a relative of the oil magnate, John D. Rockefeller, and because certain crowds still love the Rockefellers and because he could talk to talk to the upper

crust, he ran the scam for over a decade. He's able to live the life of a real thirst and howl the third, just like he dreamt of doing his a team. As he sits in prison today, I got to wonder if he thinks that decade was worth the punishment that came after it. Number five, new info, more evidence that Gerhard Schreider killed Linda Sohess. Over the final years of her mother-in-law, D.D. Sohess's life, as the alcoholics health declined, D.D. became dependent on a couple that one Christopher Chai Chester had introduced her to before he vanished, dawned on Linda Weatherby. Nearing death, and at Linda Weatherby's behest,

Dee Dee sold her home, bought a mobile home where the Weatherby's operated a trailer business, when the home was sold, that was alone made to Linda Weatherby for $40,000, and Dee Dee made Linda the executor in charge of all her personal affairs. Linda got all the Dee Dee had left when she died in 1988, and then years later, on her deathbed, Linda Weatherby made an interesting confession. had left when she died in 1988, and then years later on her deathbed,

Linda Weatherby made an interesting confession. She said that Christopher Chai Chester had killed D.D. son John and John's wife Linda as part of some crazy financial scam that she was also involved in. She wanted to get that offer conscience before she died. Too bad her confession was not enough to convict Christian for another murder and keep him in prison for sure until he dies. The many lives of con man Clark Rockefeller has been sucked. I hope you found it simply splendid darling. I hope you found it grand love and earful of peach melba.

Thank you to the team here for making this episode possible again. Thanks to Queen of Bad Magic, Lindsey Cummins. Thanks to Logan Keith for directing, producing today. Thanks also to our new mystery producer. I'll be announcing in a few weeks. Thanks to Bitelixer for upkeep on the Time Suck app. Art Warlock, Logan Keith, creating the merch at BadMagicMurch.com and helping run our socials. Thanks again to Sophie Evans for the initial research this week. Thanks to the all-seeing eyes moderating the Colt the Curious, private Facebook page, the mod squad for making sure

Discord keeps running smooth. And everyone over at the Time Suck Reddit threat. Yeah, thanks to everyone keeping all the stuff active. And the badmagic subreddit as well. Next week on Time Suck, we stick with the theme of deceit and murder with a case of gypsy rose blanchard. You may have heard about it from the many documentaries in the Hulu TV adaptation that were produced after Gypsy and her boyfriend Nicholas, Murder Gypsy's mother, Dee Dee, in June of 2015. The shocking crime was all the more shocking

because neighbors, friends and fans worldwide had followed Gypsy in the news for years, thinking that she was a sick little girl with a kind devoted mother. It seemed that Gypsy had, you know, possibly the worst medical luck with diagnoses of muscular dystrophy, asthma, allergies, brain damage and more, but thank God, she had a wonderful mother who was an angelic caregiver, but that wasn't really the case. Gypsy had turned out, had not truly been sick.

D.D., who was thought to have had a month's house in syndrome by proxy, had fabricated the whole thing to keep her daughter under her control through physical and psychological abuse. She also profited off the fake illness through charity trips, donations, even got a house. The house they moved into in 2008, provided by Habitat for Humanity. Over the years Gypsy slowly realized that her mom was telling her what her mom was telling her about her illnesses was not true. She didn't need a wheelchair. She could walk in her own. Her hair wasn't falling out due to medications like her mom said. She wasn't

even the age her mom said she was. She was well into her 20s now. What the fuck is going on with the help of her internet boyfriend Gypsy develops a brutal plan to get free all of this cases insanity next week on TimeSuck. Right now let's head on to this week's head over to this week's TimeSucker updates. Let's start with some laughs. Let's go with a message from a meat sack who's a real dick. Richie writes, hi Dan and and fam, I've been a listener for a few years now. You guys have kept me entertained and educated on many tedious and traffic-filled commutes. Well, thank you. I've always thought about writing in but never felt the time it was right until I opened up my news feed and saw this article. It's a twist on the classic Florida man,

and search something strange here tagline. However, in this case, I offer up my own state of Louisiana. Title of the brief article is Louisiana man caught with sharks, meth in terribone parish. And a sub title of he threw a shark overboard during the investigation. I cannot have been more proud. But now for the real reason I've always wanted to write in. I appreciate the fact that in any story you tell with the person named Richard, kind of today's story finally not have Richard in it.

You always take the time to rub out a few dick jokes, pun intended. I look forward to it. In fact, well, brother, my name is Richard Fitz. you always take the time to rub out a few dick jokes, pun intended. I look forward to it in fact. Well, brother, my name is Richard Fitz. Not only that, my dad's name is Richard Fitz. So my parents chose to set me up for a life of a thousand different plays on the name Dick Fitz. Needless to say, I go by Richie.

Thanks for being awesome, Dan. Yeah, thanks for being awesome. I don't know why I started the essence of this. Well, thank you, Richie. And thank you, thank you, Dick Fitz. That is a rough one. Dick almost fits. Dick never fits.

Little Dick always fits. Dick shit fits. That might be my favorite. Dick shit fits. Well, if it isn't, Mr. shit fits. Dick shit fits. I think your parents made the right call. Right, it's a fun name.

Probably gave you a great sense of humor. Next up, Marvelous meets that Kyle, last name redacted, has some love to share for a wonderful man. Kyle writes, Hello, Grandmaster of all things is suck, fair warning. This message comes spring loaded with plenty of pollen and freshly chopped onions, so proceed with care. I'm a long time listener, I have often preached the ways the suck to those close to me, most of them ignore my ramblings, but one person who took note was my granddad.

He had been suffering with a brain tumor in which he had been having treatment and to pass the time he would listen to the time suck. If you notice the use of past tense in the previous sentence, then well done, you have a keen eye. Unfortunately, my grandfather passed away surrounded by the ones he loved recently. We bounded over a lot of things, but later in his journey in this realm, time suck was the main thing. It hurts like hell that this has happened, but one of the last things he told me was that when he gets to meet Lucifina, he will twist on

our titties until she promises to watch over me. He then finished the sentence by telling me that he loved me and that he is so proud of me as the pollen got you yet. If you read this on an episode, I hope that all fellow meat sacks take this as a little reminder to hug the ones you love a little tighter. If not, this will remain a personal message between you and I. And the rest of the bad magic team on how some of my grandfather's final words were time suck-related. The podcast made this treatment something to look forward to, and on his behalf, I will

never be able to express enough gratitude to you. I'll make sure my grandfather gives you a big three to five stars and a big yellow above the clouds. Thank you, PS, please only use my first name if shared with our wonderful community. Well, only your first name was you, Kyle. I did not tell anyone that your last name is Rockefeller. Kyle Rockefeller. Sounds like you had a wonderful grandpa. What a beautiful thing. I hope he did not have to twist Lucifian's titties to get her to protect you. I hope you grandpa has now explored other parts of Nimrod's vast realm, getting into all kinds of

fun shenanigans, and hopefully some of them do involve Lucifina. And I hope he stops by from time to time to let you know that he's still around. Thanks for sharing a tiny little look into a great guy's life with us. Much appreciated. Now a little update on the Gerald and Charlene Galegosuck, kind of a Stockton California update from a very funny sack, Guy Green. If you don't recall, yeah, I was a little harsh in my description based on what I saw in sources of Stockton. And Guy writes, even as a child, I knew that town was horrible. I could feel it. And driving through there was absolute nothing, and. And driving through there was absolutely nothing, and driving through there,

there was absolutely nothing that looked at all nice. The statistics you relayed confirmed every impression I've ever had in that place. As a young teen, I stayed a month, one sweltering summer with an uncle there. I thought maybe one of his neighbors had a big dog or three until they never cleaned up after, until I walked the four blocks to the neighborhood

convenience slash liquor store, and was enveloped by the stench of dog shit the entire walk and the entire visit. The neighbors I met during that visit were about what you expect from folks who live in a place that solidly smells like dog shit as were my uncle and family. At 21 when I found myself in the California Conservation Corpse or core, the centers in Stockton and Riverside were the ones we desperately hoped not to get assigned to. Rumors abounded of Corps members getting stabbed and otherwise assaulted, sometimes because they just cast their checks at the same predatory places that also offer payday loans, sometimes just because. A few years later, I had a summer job

hauling tomatoes in the Sacramento Valley, and hearing that my load was going to Stockton was always a gut punch. Traffic there is horrendous, and the route to the Canary goes to the Sacramento Valley, and hearing that my load was going to Stockton was always a gut punch. Traffic there is horrendous, and the route to the Canary goes to the City Center, where day or night someone wearing gang colors and or spun out on crack and or suffering from unmedicated schizophrenia was guaranteed to step into the street right in front of my 40-ton rig. Once I ran out of fuel, two blocks from the entrance to the Canary about 20 yards past the liquor store, there seemed to be the social hub for the neighborhood. It's worth noting here that tomato canaries stink like rotten vagina, but at least it was a change from dog shit. It wasn't three minutes before a very fit looking young man

in a wife, Peter and Blue Bandana began writing laps around my truck on a low-rider bike. I honestly don't know what would have happened, what would have happened if there hadn't been another guy for my outfit four minutes behind me. And it helped that he was big buffed and sported a mono brow that made him look and rage all the time, even though he was one

of the nicest guys you'll ever meet. We siphoned a couple gallons from his tank onto my lunch cooler, and I went on from there. I really doubt I could have talked my way into a better outcome. My family and I just drove through Stockton yesterday, returning from a vacation to the great green north. My opinion about the place remains the same after

all this time. The city should be evacuated, the freeways left to function, but fenced off, saved for one gas and shopping note, an upscaled pilot or loves should suffice. Then salvage whatever materials and components that are worthwhile and let nature reclaim the place. It's simple, and would solve many problems on many levels. Much greater cities have been abandoned and left to ruin, why not stocked it when archaeological interest is the best it could possibly aspire to. Guy that wouldn't really crack me up. The sarcastic satire. So thick. Love it. And now we're going to move on to a beautiful message from a sweet sucker Jesse Murray who writes, Hey, suck master Bojangles handler and Tammy Y. Net karaoke singer runner up.

A long time sucker, first time updater, love literally everything you guys do, three out of five would not change a thing. I'm a long time fan, still waiting to pick up my squirrel lure from the breeder, but was only acquainted with the suck through my brother-in-law. Allergy warning time, a little over two years ago,

my brother-in-law Chris passed away unexpectedly while working in the frontline medical field during the peak of COVID. Though I never got the chance to meet Chris in person this dude was a certifiable suck subject. In his 38 years he hiked the entirety of the Appalachian trail, traveled most of the US and was a genius in his field. After Chris passed away and I was tasked with helping my wife and her family settled Chris's accounts which through his repeated time-soaked bookmarks led me to become a member of the cult of the Curious. It was through you and time-soc that

I felt like I got to connect with their brother-in-law and never met. Someone who fed on the same thirst for knowledge and shared the same sense of twisted humor as I have. Chris will finally be laid to rest in proper fashion in late August as many of his friends dedicated a rest stop slash bench on the appellation trail that will serve as his memorial. I wanted to say thank you to the bad magic team for bringing me and Chris together post humously. Till Chris thanks for the episodes, the hiking gear and to let him know his sisters and his mom love and miss him very very much. If any of you suckers are ever on the appalachian Trail and see a bench in West Virginia take a rest, hum some triple M and remember Chris for me. That was very kind, Jesse. Thanks for sharing that message.

And Chris, if you're listening, thank you as well. Thanks for, you know, posthumously spread the suck. Thanks for being a great guy. Thanks for fighting on the front lines during the pandemic and making the ultimate sacrifice and your efforts keeps the rest of us safe. I hope that bench gets a whole lot of use. So much butt action. If you get a chance to sit on it, maybe don't fart me, it's X.

Stand up and fart, then sit down. Or shove a sock up your ass. Then sit on the bench. Show the respect. I didn't know Chris, but I feel like he'd appreciate that. And now we will end on a real quick hitter of a message from Silly S. Sucker, Jake Lingerfinger. Doubt that's his real name.

Who writes? Betta Sida, Hata Pina Bada. Wait, Betta Sida, Hata Pina Bada, Papa Fish. Well played, Mr. Lingerfinger, well played. Thanks, time, Suckers. I need a net. We all did. Another Bad Magic Productions podcast has been recorded.

Please do not pretend to be someone else this week. And then for the next 10 plus years, avoid work and do shit like hang out in private clubs and dine on cucumber and watercress tea sandwiches. Just keep your regular old life. If it seems boring, livin' it up by continuing to keep on sucking. Music And magic productions. Dear Journal, today August 5th, 2022, I clock Rockefeller, have taken a moment to wonder

what my splendid XY of Sandra Baal's up to. As I sit here after a meal of pigs in a blanket, all rotten potatoes and pudding and perhaps some green beans, I have to wonder what she and Snookson up to. Oh, I bet she is lavishly spending tens of millions of dollars and probably, oh, while I avoid my bunk mate, trying to penetrate my anus, probably having splendid kind of grand peach melbertime sex. That must be simply divine. On satin sheets, while I sit here in my prison bunk, Snooks must be riding the fancy as cars and meeting the most wonderfully entertaining type of people while I talk mostly to Low Jack and

his friend, uh, fucking, fucking skinhead guy. I'm not sure what I'm doing here, how I've messed up, I simply must get back to my my billion dollar Canadian space company something shit this really sucks this is not blended down it not a bit