My name is Kristy and this story is a true one. It's about the domestic violence perpetrated by my husband (now an ex-) and the legal system that supported him in his actions. For ten years, I lived in Kearney, Nebraska. Kearney is a small mid-western town with a population of close to 32,000. It's the home of the Storm hockey team. The University of Nebraska has a campus there. In 1996, having lived in Seattle, Washington, for twelve years, I moved to Kearney to return to school and get a Master’s Degree there. In 1998, I met, and married, Jim Owen, the owner of a tattoo shop called Kool Tattoo. We lived in a two-story brick building, the second story being our home, and the ground level being the tattoo shop. Jerry, Jim’s son, worked with him in the shop.
Kool Tattoo
1904 Central Avenue
Kearney, Nebraska 68847
Phone: (308) 234-5487
1904 Central Avenue
Kearney, Nebraska 68847
Phone: (308) 234-5487
Life was good. I finished school and got a job in Kearney. The shop was doing well. We began to think of other ways we could make some money and have fun with it at the same time. I cashed in a small IRA I had and we started investing in rare collectible coins and paper money. It was an interest we shared, and it didn’t take long for us to build up enough capital to begin investing in other directions and to start thinking of a retirement fund. By 2005, our coin collection was valued at approximately $200,000. We had an extensive inventory of collectible knives that was worth around $50,000. We also had a small collection of precious and semiprecious gems that was around $4,000. We had a large variety of new firearms. Then, there were the individual pieces of art we picked up here and there that were valued at approximately $6,000. Our home, which was zoned for both residential and commercial use, was valued at $120,000. Our soft-tail Heritage black-and-chrome Harley Davidson motorcycle was worth $14,000. It felt like life was going in the right direction.
It seemed fairly insignificant when, in 2004, Jim sustained an injury to his lower back. The injury healed, and we could’ve moved on with our lives in the same way as before, but that didn’t happen. Jim had fallen in love with a mistress I couldn’t compete with -- prescription painkillers. The painkillers not only made him comfortable, they made him feel complete. It was unfortunate for both of us that the physician prescribing these pills, Dr. Dan Mazour, was willing to supply these medications in such abundant quantities. Oxycontin, Percocet, Hydrocodone, and Xanax were among Jim’s favorites. Benzodiazapines ran a close second. Near the end of our marriage, the prescription meds were no longer giving Jim the “high” he craved, so he added meth to the mix. It’s no surprise that, when our marriage came to an end on April 25, 2005, it did so in such an ugly way.
After Jim and I separated, I decided to go through our health insurance claims and look at the medication Dr. Mazour had prescribed Jim that were, potentially, addictive. What I found was most disturbing. Without breaking it out in dosage strengths, the amount of addictive medications Dr. Mazour prescribed Jim, during one of the years he was a patient of Dr. Mazour's (2005), are shown below. And, these are the prescriptions filled at only one pharmacy. I recall asking Dr. Mazour, on more than one occasion, if he thought that Jim might be taking too many pills. Dr. Mazour never showed concern and just kept prescribing. Oftentimes, these medications were prescribed after Jim made a call to Dr. Mazour asking for them, without the need of an office visit.
After Jim and I separated, I decided to go through our health insurance claims and look at the medication Dr. Mazour had prescribed Jim that were, potentially, addictive. What I found was most disturbing. Without breaking it out in dosage strengths, the amount of addictive medications Dr. Mazour prescribed Jim, during one of the years he was a patient of Dr. Mazour's (2005), are shown below. And, these are the prescriptions filled at only one pharmacy. I recall asking Dr. Mazour, on more than one occasion, if he thought that Jim might be taking too many pills. Dr. Mazour never showed concern and just kept prescribing. Oftentimes, these medications were prescribed after Jim made a call to Dr. Mazour asking for them, without the need of an office visit.
Dr. Daniel Mazour
FCMH Pool Medical Clinic
121 15th Avenue
Franklin, Nebraska 68939
Phone: (308) 425-6249
FCMH Pool Medical Clinic
121 15th Avenue
Franklin, Nebraska 68939
Phone: (308) 425-6249
Those who knew Jim best watched helplessly as he made his descent into the hell that drug addiction eventually takes everyone to. Before the drugs took over, Jim was a strong, muscular, guy with a love for adventure. He had a lot of friends. Many times, people would come to the shop just to visit, and they were always welcomed. But, the more Jim got involved with abusing pills, the less pleasant he was to spend time with him. Eventually, his friends began to avoid him. I soon joined suit and started putting in longer days at work as my way of avoiding Jim. Now and then, I’d bring up the idea of drug rehab, but hearing this only made Jim angry. More and more, Jim began to spend his days in his favorite recliner, getting loaded on whatever medication he had close to him, and losing touch with the reality around him. When he ran out of pills, he’d call Dr. Dan for a prescription and always got one. For days at a time, Jim would isolate himself, sitting in his chair covered with a comforter and popping pills. Personal hygiene lost importance to him, and he would go unshowered, unshaved, and undressed for who knows how long. There was a period of time when he lived off nothing but ice cream and Coca-Cola.
There were occasions when old friends would come up to visit Jim. All who knew him were aware of his addiction to prescription meds. There was never any attempt on Jim’s part to hide it. Jim made it clear to all his visitors that he didn’t need, or want, help in getting off the medications he was taking. In his mind, he didn’t have a problem. Slowly, his strong, muscular body atrophied to the point he where he could barely walk. He was like a man who had aged twenty years in one. He sunk into a deep and chronic state of depression. At times, he was psychotic or paranoid, making it dangerous to be around him. He was losing memory. It was impossible to know what world his drug-crazed mind would take him to next. He started having seizures and strokes that were initiated by his drug abuse. He had an awareness of his physical deterioration, but he had reached the point of not caring.
In 2004, Jim was hospitalized for an overdose of pills that almost killed him. No one ever knew if he had actually attempted suicide or if it was an accidental overdose. During his hospitalization, Dr. Dan was the physician who cared for him. When Jim was released, there was an expectation that Dr. Dan would keep Jim off addictive medications. But, that wasn’t to be. Dr. Dan continued to prescribe opiates, narcotics and benzos to Jim in the same way as before. Jim sense of excitement narrowed down to living for the next prescription pill refill date.
Jerry, Jim’s son, talked to his dad every day. He watched as his dad spent less and less time in the shop and he spent more and more time under the influence of prescription pills. Jerry’s wife, Angela Loebig, was just as aware of what was going on. And, Angela’s brother, John Loebig, knew as much as anyone about Jim getting lost in his addiction. John Loebig served as a police officer at the Kearney Police Department, also known as KPD, and had been on the police force for years. Even though I considered John as a family member and would see him most at family functions, I had asked for his advice and direction on how to deal with Jim’s increasingly abusive behavior at home. I wanted John to know how bad things were getting.
Officer John Loebig
Kearney Police Department
2025 Avenue North
Kearney, Nebraska 68847
Phone: (308) 233-5250
Angela Loebig-Owen
(Jerry Owen’s wife & Officer John Loebig’s sister)
(Jerry Owen’s wife & Officer John Loebig’s sister)
Jim wasn’t a stranger to any of the KPD police officers. It was after we were married that Jim told me that he had spent time in a federal prison in the 1980s for what he described to be a crime of “suicide by cop.” He said he’d had a nervous breakdown after the breakup of a relationship. He’d holed up in his tattoo shop, drank lots of alcohol, and began to talk on the phone to his friends about his plan to commit suicide. Jim’s always been known to have almost an arsenal of firearms, so no one questioned what he was saying. Law enforcement was called, and police arrived, complete with sharpshooters. A standoff ensued. Jim fired off some shots, but none were fired back. Things came to an end when Jim ran out of cigarettes. The police told Jim they’d give him more cigarettes if he gave himself up, and so he did. By the time Jim sobered up, he was in prison and lots of trouble.
And, then there was the fact that Jim, himself, used to be a police officer.
Jim said that, while in prison, he was able to get his life together. He talked about having a spiritual awakening that left him transformed. After serving his time, he returned to Kearney and tried to make amends with the Kearney Police force. I figured he had done well in attaining that goal since officers on the force, especially the younger ones, showed Jim respect. It was normal to walk in the shop and see off-duty officers either getting tattoos or just spending time in the shop.
Between October and December 2005, I had called 911 to report Jim for domestic violence. Jim’s verbal abuse had begun to escalate into physical abuse. He began to punch holes in the walls of our home. He thought destroy belongings in our home when he got angry. More and more, he would fly into a rage for some little thing I might have done that he didn’t like. He began to raise his fist towards me and often say he was going to blow my head off. Along with our other collections, we had quite a few top-notch firearms and lots of ammunition. So, I knew I needed to take his threats seriously.
It was impossible to predict what Jim would do when he was high. There were times when he was psychotic, paranoid, or even catatonic. One evening, Jim stood up from his La-Z-Boy rocker recliner, turned around to face it, and very calmly proceeded to tear it apart with his bare hands. In his more lucid moments, he’d apologize profusely and promise never to get high again. I knew he wouldn’t keep that promise. Calling the police for help was something I gave up on very quickly. Each 911 call I made during a domestic violence incident ended with the police doing absolutely nothing. An there was a price to pay with Jim each time the police left the home. Jim hated for me to call the police for help, which only escalated the level of violence in the home. And, yet, I stayed.
Somewhere along the line, I’d slipped into the mental state called “battered women’s syndrome.” I should have recognized it, but I was in complete denial that it had happened. For some reason, I thought this was something that would never happen to me. Looking back, I’ve wondered how I could’ve missed it. Did I think my education would protect me? that my job would protect me? that the legal system would protect me? Even with the passage of time, the memories from this time are frightening to this day.
A few months prior to the night of April 25, 2005, a big problem developed between me and Jerry and Angela. Jerry and Angela got the idea in their heads that Jim and I should give them a part of the equity of our home. They somehow felt they “deserved” it, especially Angela. While Jim said he’d agree to it, I didn’t. Jerry and Angela knew they would inherit our home after both Jim and I were deceased. But the two of them kept pushing on Jim to sign over part of our home to them, and the pressure made for arguments between Jim and me. It was this repetitious, bitter argument over the building that first led Jim and me to bring up the subject of divorce.
During the evening of April 25, 2005, Jim and I had an argument. At this point, arguments between us had become part of our daily routine. During this particular argument, Jim said something that we had needed to say for a long time. He said he wanted a divorce. I was surprised to actually hear the words, but I agreed with him. Our marriage was never going to improve as long as his relationship with drugs and alcohol was his most important relationship.
I had grown tired of the daily bickering. Looking back, I see myself as a person who had lost hope that life could ever be any better than it was at that time. And, at the time, life had deteriorated into a chronic state of despair. I knew that alcohol never makes a bad situation better, but I had stopped caring and was just looking for some way to escape the emotional pain. I decided that three shots of whiskey would help me feel better. Normally, Jim and I didn’t keep alcohol in our home. But, as his tolerance to pain pills grew, he had added whiskey to the mix. Jim just wouldn’t stop yelling. I decided to get out of the house walked out to our backyard.
I remember thinking it was a beautiful Spring day, but that was to change soon enough. Not long after I’d gone outside, Jim came out of the house to continue the argument. I ignored him, and he didn’t like that. He came up to me and grabbed my left upper arm. I didn’t want him touching me and tried to get away. Jim wasn’t happy about the resistance and started yelling at me, telling me to get back into the house, which was the last place I wanted to be. It was scary to think about what he might do. He didn’t like me struggling to get away from him, and gripped my arm even tighter. He dragged me across the backyard and back into the house.
Once we were inside, he let me go, but only for a short time. He grabbed my arm again and pulled me into the bedroom. He threw me down on our bed and laid on top of me, pinning me there. He started screaming at me, telling me to hit his face. He was so angry. He was big enough that I couldn’t physically get away from him, and he started threatening to “blow my head off” if I didn’t hit him. When he told me to hit him, I just thought he was in another prescription drug-induced state of lunacy that I could go along with until his head cleared-up a little.. But, today was different. I couldn’t physically get away from him, and he was threatening to kill me if I didn’t do what he told me to. So, I used my fist to hit his face. I struck him twice. I’d never hit anyone in the face before. It was a terrible feeling to hit the face I used to love.
After Jim got up and left the bedroom, I locked the door behind him. It couldn’t have been long after this that Jim left our home. He left very quietly without telling me and took our three dogs with him. He had never left the house with all three dogs before. He did this now, though, so the dogs wouldn’t alert me if anyone tried to enter our home.
Jim drove over to his son’s home. Jim’s son is Jerry Owen. Jerry’s wife is Angela Loebig. Officer John Loebig is Angela’s brother. Angela called her brother, who was on-duty as a police officer and asked him to come over right away. She said that he needed to get a statement from Jim about the argument he and I just had. And, Officer Loebig did exactly that, despite being a close relative of all concerned. John brought with him his partner that night, Robin Elliott. In the statement Jim gave, he said I had beat him up, while he was helpless, and that he fled our home in fear for his safety.
Officer Robin Elliott
Kearney Police Department
2025 Avenue North
Kearney, Nebraska 68847
Phone: (308) 233-5250
Jim reported that the “injuries I inflicted” on him were serious. He said I almost put one of his eyes. He also stated that I gave him a concussion, fractured one of his cheekbones, and broke his nose. I knew I hadn’t done anything near that, and wondered what the truth actually was. It was several months after this fiasco was over that Jim told me he had called Jerry when pulling up in his driveway. He asked Jerry to meet him in his garage. Jim explained the situation and told Jerry to beat him up in the face until he looked pretty bad. Then the two went into the house to talk to Angela before Angela called her brother. Her brother, Officer Loebig, arrived with his sidekick, Officer Robin Elliott. All grouped together and came up with a plan to get me out of the house.
When Officers Loebig and Elliott came to my home, they just simply walked in. They didn’t knock at the door or even call out. They just opened the door and barged in. This is something that Officer Loebig had done many times before when he came to visit by himself or with other family members. But tonight was much different. He let himself into my home tonight playing the role of an arrogant bully in uniform. They didn’t have a warrant, and they didn’t have any reason to not knock first. It was when I walked into the kitchen to get water for my steam iron that I saw these two intruders in my home. I hadn’t heard anything when they walked in.
I instinctively went cold with fear as any woman would if she found two male intruders in her home. But then I recognized one of the men as John Loebig. The look on his face told me exactly what was going on. He looked angry and disgusted. I figured that Jim had set things up so that he could finally get his revenge for those times when I called the police on him for domestic violence.
As soon as they saw me, Officer Loebig yelled at me and ordered me to pack up some things. He said I was going to be spending the night at a motel. When I asked Officer Loebig to listen to my side of the story regarding the domestic dispute Jim, he wouldn’t listen. He just kept repeating that Jim wasn’t going to press charges against me. I knew Jim wouldn’t press charges, because his violence in the home would come to light. But I made it clear that I wanted to press charges against Jim. I begged them so listen to my account of what happened earlier this night, but they wouldn’t have any of it. Both officers kept yelling at me to pack up some things, because I wasn’t staying in my home that night. So, I packed some things, scared to death and not knowing what else to do.
All three of us went outside. I couldn’t find my keys and had to leave the house unlocked. Officer Loebig told me to get into the back seat of Officer Elliott’s police car. Before I did anything, I told Officer Loebig that I wanted to take a BAC test. Even though I didn’t know exactly where this whole situation was going, I was afraid that Jim or these two officers would try to later describe me as a drunken slob on this night. I had stopped trusting Jim on anything. Officer Loebig told me I didn’t need to have my BAC tested. I said again that I wanted that test. This time Officer Loebig told me I wasn’t getting one. But I kept insisting on it and was relieved when, for whatever reason, Officer Loebig relented and administered the test. It registered as .03. I found out later that, despite the reading on the BAC, their incident report described me as as being heavily under the influence of alcohol. They also reported that they wouldn’t let me drive my car because of being too drunk. And, they both knew I wasn’t planning on driving anywhere. Both of those officers knew I hadn’t been able to even find my keys.
Both officers ordered me to get into the back seat of Officer Elliott’s cruiser. I was told that he’d take me to a motel. I wasn’t cuffed when I got into the cruiser, but it was implied that if I didn’t comply, I’d be arrested. I was told that I didn’t have any choices here.
Officer Elliott asked me which motel I wanted to go to and explained that I’d be the one responsible for the bill. I said I wanted to go to the Hampton Inn. When we got there, Officer Elliott got of his police cruiser when I did, and he escorted me from into the lobby of the motel like I was some kind of criminal. He stood beside me to make sure I checked into the motel, not saying a word. The young lady who checked me in looked afraid, and why wouldn’t she? Officer Elliott was obviously angry, and my own fear probably showed through.
Once checked in, I walked towards the elevator to get to my room. It was a surprise to see that Officer Elliott followed right behind me and escorted me to my room. I unlocked my door and walked into the room. Rather than leaving, Officer Elliott brushed past me and entered the room. He briskly walked from one end of it to the other, searching the room for something, though I couldn’t imagine what it could be.. And then, he turned and just walked out. What he did wasn’t only weird, it was completely inappropriate. Just the fact that he would force his way into my motel room was invasive and intimidating.
After Officer Elliott left, I felt hysterical for awhile, just crying my eyes out. When I calmed down enough to sit on the motel bed, I looked at my left forearm arm. There were several bruises where Jim had clamped his hand on my arm to drag me into the house. I decided that I needed pictures taken of those bruises as evidence, so I called KPD dispatch, and asked them to send an officer over. I was connected with Officer Elliott who was back in his cruiser and on patrol. When I explained to him that I had physical signs of injury and wanted evidence pictures taken of them, he said to me, “If I have to come down to take pictures of your bruises, I’ll arrest you, throw you in jail, and we’ll make an all-night thing out of this.” I hung up, because I didn’t want to go to jail. But I felt it was very important to get those pictures, so I called the police station again. Someone sent Officer Elliott to my room to take the Polaroid pictures. He came and went without saying one word. I have no idea if those pictures ever made it back to police station.
The next morning, I had to take a taxi to work. Once there, I called the Victim/Witness Unit, which has it’s offices at the Kearney Police Station. I explained what happened the night before and asked if I could go back home today. The woman I was talking too said she was confused by the sequence of events, but there was nothing keeping me from returning home. I recall wondering how many new tattoos, free of charge, would now be sported by the Kearney Police Officers who were helping Jim, Jerry, and Angela.
Bridget Mosbarger, Director
Victim/Witness Unit
2025 Avenue A
Kearney, Nebraska 68848
Phone: (308) 233-5263
[email protected]
Victim/Witness Unit
2025 Avenue A
Kearney, Nebraska 68848
Phone: (308) 233-5263
[email protected]
I then called the Kearney Police Station to confirm that my request to press charges was noted in the previous night’s police report. The officer who’d answered the phone said there wasn’t any mention in the report written by Officers Loebig and Elliott that referenced my request to press charges against Jim, but it did say that Jim didn’t want to press charges against me. I explained that I definitely wanted to press charges. I called back later in the day to confirm that my request to press charges was recorded and, again, was told that there wasn’t any documentation of me asking for that. So, once more, I said I wanted to press charges and asked that action be taken. I would later find out that it was recorded at KPD that I wanted to press charges against Jim, but it was never followed-up on.
Next, I called Jim. I wanted to talk to him about what had happened the night before. He didn’t answer his cell phone for my first three tries, but did answer it on the fourth call. He told me he was at the Victim/Witness Unit filing a protection order against me. He said Jerry was there with him.
After ending this call, I phoned the Victim/Witness Unit. I could feel a sense of desperation starting to well up inside of me and knew I needed an advocate to help me protect myself. I didn’t know who I needed to see to talk about what Jim and the two KPD officers had the night before. When I called, Bridget Mosbarger, Director of the Victim/Witness Unit, answered the phone. I said my name and wasn’t able to say a word beyond that. Right after she heard my name, Bridget got really angry and told me she wasn’t going to help me, because it would be a “conflict of interest.” She didn’t say why it would be a “conflict of interest.” I said that I had talked the her that morning before Jim ever came in, so working with him would be the conflict of interest. But, all she did was repeat that she wasn’t going to help me, and nothing was going to change that. Then she hung up. The tone in her voice had been so hateful. I already knew that there wasn’t any “conflict of interest” policy at the Victim\Witness Unit. They were to there to assist anyone who asked for help. So, the simple truth was that Bridget, for some personal reason, didn’t want to help me.
I knew of a place in Kearney called the S.A.F.E. Center. It’s an organization that helps people who are victims of domestic violence. I figured that the S.A.F.E. Center might possibly be able to help me get paperwork for a Protection Order. I knew I had to do something quick. I talked with Larissa, S.A.F.E. Center volunteer and explained that the KPD Victim/Witness Unit refused to help me because of what was described as a “conflict of interest.” She said that she’d never heard of anyone being turned away from the Victim/Witness Unit before, and couldn’t think of any reason that a person asking for help would be refused service. I shared with her what had happened the night prior with Officers Loebig and Elliott. It took me aback when she responded by saying that she wasn’t surprised to hear how KPD had abused their power in order in a domestic violence situation. She explained that several women who were victims of domestic violence had come to the SAFE Center for help after being mistreated by KPD Officers Over time, I would hear this same story from others who worked at the S.A.F.E. Center. Larissa had the paperwork I needed in order to submit a request for a Protection Order against Jim. I filled it out submitted it to the Buffalo County courthouse.
At noon, I took a taxi home so I could get my car. Jim was home doing what he did for most of his 24-hour day -- sitting in his overstuffed chair, watching TV, and getting loaded on whatever medication that was available. Jim returned my keys when I asked for them, but keys to our home, both our trucks, and our Winchester safe were gone. I needed to get back to work which didn’t leave me much time to find out what he was up to.
When I came home from work on this day, Jim and Jerry were sitting in the living room. Jim was in his recliner, wrapped up in a blanket and was putting on his act of being a helpless, sick, old man. Jerry was next to him, but got up when I came in. He told me that I had no right to be there. I said it was my home, and I had every right to be there. He just kept ranting and raging at me until I finally told him to call the police if he had questions about my right to be in my own home. Jerry did call 911. He told the dispatcher that I wasn’t supposed to be in the home because of how I had so-called “beat up” his dad the evening prior.
Within a few short minutes, at least five KPD officers showed up in my home. The Officers said that one of us, Jim or me, should spend the night somewhere else other than at home. I said I wasn’t going, because I had been forced out the previous night. Yet, the officers kept pushing on me to agree to go. They never even once looked at Jim as the person who should leave. There wasn’t any legal grounds to make either one of us leave the home. Jim told the officers he was too feeble to leave the home and needed to keep his medications close at hand. What he didn’t tell them was that the medications he was referring to were, at that time, Percocet, Hydrocodone, Xanax, and God knows what else.
Jerry was still yelling in my face, being verbally abusive and calling me terrible names. KPD just watched and listened, never addressing Jerry’s inappropriate behavior. After I suggested to Jerry that he take his dad home with him for the night and take care of him, he never said another word. I knew Jerry wouldn’t ever willingly have his dad stay with him.
The officers seemed to understand that I wasn’t leaving. I came to understand that they weren’t going to ask Jim to leave. So, I finally tried to stake a truce and suggested that Jim and I both stay in the home but just don’t talk to each other. I would use a certain area of the home, and he would get the rest. Everyone agreed that it was worth a try. I told the officers that Jerry needed to be asked to leave because he was just stirring up trouble. The lead KPD Officer agreed to this and, per my request, asked Jerry to leave our home for the remainder of the night.
One of the young officers looked at me and sternly said, “Now you better make sure nothing goes wrong tonight. I don’t want to have to make another trip here.” I said, “Why don’t you tell Jim that? What’s the point in just telling me?” The officer didn’t say anything more after that. I just couldn’t get any of them to even consider that maybe Jim was the problem here… not me. I just wanted to scream that being a tattoo artist doesn’t naturally equate to being a truthful, honest person. These officers idolized Jim and Jerry like they were demigods. This father/son duo of Harely riding, hard drinking, fast-living tattoo artists who had outlaw status had all the influence in the world with these officers who seemed to worship the ground Jim and Jerry walked on.
Very shortly after KPD and Jerry left our home, Jerry walked right back in. I went into the bedroom, closed the door, and called 911. I reported to KPD dispatch that Jerry had been told to stay out of my home but he had come back anyway. Dispatch connected my call to the supervising officer who had been present earlier and had told Jerry to leave the premises. The officer said, “Well, Jerry asked if he could go back in the house to see if his dad was OK.” I said that the agreement with KPD was that Jerry wouldn’t come back, and Jerry knew his dad was just fine. I said that Jerry coming back into my home would only stir up more trouble. I heard the officer sigh loudly. It was obvious he didn’t want anything more to do with the situation, but he did ask if any of the other officers were still outside my home. If there was, then he’d ask one of them to come up and talk to Jerry. I walked out onto my deck and saw that the other officers were still present. Apparently, Jerry had walked down to talk to them. He was leaning on the hood of one of their cruisers, smoking a cigarette. The officers were clustered around Jerry, fawning over him like he was a rock star. I explained that all the officers were still on my premises and asked him to tell Jerry to stay away from my home the remainder of this night. I also asked that I to be notified of any further decisions KPD might make that night that involved me or my home.
I did make it into work the next day. I think I was trying to maintain some sense of normalcy. Sometime In the afternoon, a message was left in my work voice mailbox from the Victim/Witness Unit. The message was, “Uh, was alcohol involved in what happened with your husband yesterday?” I knew this person had the results of the BAC test and could answer her own question. Something had triggered her call to me, and I felt sure it was because someone in the Victim/Witness Unit had finally looked at the police report and was questioning the validity of what Jim had told them the day before. I also knew that leaving this type of message for me at work was illegal in that it was a breach of confidentiality, and it made me even angrier at how unprofessional the Victim/Witness staff was. I wasn’t able to return her call before 5 pm, because it was so busy at work. But, this message, along with the circumstances that were to happen later this day, did lead to the loss of my job. And, as it turned out, calling after that wouldn’t make a difference on the course my life was about to take.
At 5 o’clock, I noticed a Sheriff’s cruiser park just outside my office window. I was filled with dread, and hoping against hope that he wasn’t here to see me. But, within a couple of minutes, he walked into my office and shut the door behind him. He had some paperwork for me. It was a Protection Order that Jim had filed against me. It was signed by Judge Icenogle. The Deputy explained that Jim had also been served a Protection Order in response to the one I had filed against him. They were exactly the same except for one difference...
Based on what the Victim/Witness Unit had submitted on Jim’s behalf, he could remain at home, but I was forbidden to return home for at least one year. I couldn’t even go back to pack a bag.
I felt frozen and numb clear down to the core of my soul. I think all of us have heard stories about people who lose everything to some sort of natural or manmade disaster. What gets those people through the dark times is the caring support of others. I didn’t have that. Police officers who had taken the vow to “serve and protect” were now the ones I needed protection against. They were effectively blocking me from receiving services I desperately needed. I was in the middle of a manmade disaster that proved to be more than I could take.
At that point, I began to lose an ability to think rationally, and I believed I had nowhere to go. I saw myself as a homeless person with not even a jacket to keep warm with. My belongings consisted of the clothes I was wearing, the purse I was carrying, and the car I was driving. I began to think about not being able to hold my dogs again, set plates on my table, sleep in my bed, and so many other little things that I had taken for granted but now meant the world to me. I would have to ask someone to let me stay with them tonight. But then I wondered what I could wear to work the next day. I didn’t have an alarm clock to wake me up, a toothbrush to brush my teeth with, or even the prescription medications I would need to take. I then thought about the irreplaceable gifts given to me by now-deceased relatives who had immigrated from Sweden and Switzerland. Those gifts had little monetary value, but were priceless to me. The whole situation overwhelmed me and, before midnight of this day, I would have a complete nervous breakdown. My next clear memory was waking up in a psychiatric hospital.
At the hospital, I was interviewed by Dr. José Nadala, a staff psychiatrist. Dr. Nadala’s determined that, within a few hours, I could be stabilized and discharged into the care of friends. And that’s the recommendation he shared with the Kearney police officers who were present. KPD police officers don’t have education, training, or practical experience in the field of psychiatry. That’s why they depend upon the recommendations of those who do. Yet, in my case, KPD disagreed with Dr. Nadala, and kept me locked down in the psych hospital by placing me under Emergency Protective Custody (EPC) status. This meant I was in lock-down and couldn’t even get off the unit to get a snack at the vending machine, let alone go home. Being placed under EPC can last a maximum of three days. Once these three days expired, a Kearney police officer came by the hospital and issued paperwork placing me under CPC -- Civil Protective Custody, which can last longer than three days. My doctor was infuriated by this action. I don’t know what basis the police department used to place me under CPC. In total, KPD kept me locked down in the psych hospital for over a week, making it possible for Jim to hide the valuables that he and I shared.
KPD may not have had the grounds to arrest me and throw me in jail, but they sure found a effective substitute. What made this an even worse experience was the fact that I was a prior employee of this hospital. I knew the staff on a professional level, and the humiliation of being in this situation was overwhelming. There were KPD officers who would have recognized me as a past employee here because of my dealings with them at the time. This hospitalization wasn't something that I could ever consider to be a "healing" experience.
While in the hospital, I called the bank to find out how much Jim and I owed in outstanding loans. Imagine my surprise when the financial advisor Jim and I had worked with for a few years, Colleen Hickman, said she wasn’t going to tell me! Her voice sounded disdainful, like she could hardly stand to listen to me. She hung up on me. I just didn’t know what to do.
I needed an attorney to represent me during the divorce. I made a call to Charlie Brewster. Someone had told me he seemed okay. Charlie did agree to represent me. I explained to him my situation, and he said he could help me get through this. Of course, I needed to give him a retainer fee first. I had an IRA still just in my name that I could cash-out on. It was just enough to for his retainer.
Charles Brewster, Attorney
Anderson, Klein, Swan & Brewster
1711 East 41st Street Place
Kearney, Nebraska 68847
Phone: 308-237-5545
[email protected]
http://www.kleinbrewsterlaw.com
After discharging from the hospital, I didn’t have a home to return to. I didn’t have any belongings, and I was flat broke. Jim and I had banked at Kearney State Bank for years, and I went there to get some cash with my debit card. But I got a message from the cash machine saying that our joint account had been closed. I thought there had to be some kind of mistake. I went inside the bank and spoke with one of the bank tellers. I was told that my account has been “frozen.” I didn’t know what that meant and felt sure I would have been notified if the bank had closed my account. I asked to talk to Colleen Hickman, the Loan Officer Jim and I had always worked with. She was there, but sent a message saying she wouldn’t see me. My fear, then, was that Jim had talked to her while I’d been in the hospital, and she’d taken sides.
Colleen Hickman
Colleen Hickman
Financial Advisor
Kearney State Bank
(now Farmers and Merchants Bank)
3015 North 2nd Avenue
Kearney, Nebraska 68847
Phone: (308) 236-5411
Financial Advisor
Kearney State Bank
(now Farmers and Merchants Bank)
3015 North 2nd Avenue
Kearney, Nebraska 68847
Phone: (308) 236-5411
I asked to see someone who could help me with my banking account and was able to talk to Shari. Shari was a Loan Officer who worked under Colleen and was someone I’d talked to in the past. Shari explained it wasn’t possible to “freeze” an account, and she’d get the problem worked out for me. While we were still sitting at her desk, Stephanie called Colleen and asked about the situation. The call was a short one, and Stephanie mainly was listening. After hanging up the phone, she said she didn’t understand why it happened, but there wasn’t anything she could do for me. It was clear, then, that whether or not it was right or wrong, Colleen was doing what she could to prevent me from accessing any money Jim and I had at the bank. I sometimes wonder if there wasn't something going on between Jim and Colleen that I hadn’t known about.
Because Colleen was denying me access to my bank information, I had to ask my attorney, Charlie, to subpoena my bank information from Kearney State Bank. I needed to find out why there was so little equity in our home. I couldn’t imagine where the money had gone. As it turned out, Colleen had made several loans to Jim and used our home for collateral. Even though Colleen knew me, and my name was on the deed, she identified Jim as a single person on banking documentation. It finally came out that the majority of the money that was borrowed against our home was actually used by Jerry and Angela to build their big new home.
I eventually talked to Don Kearney, President of Kearney State Bank, about my concerns regarding Colleen’s business practices. Don was already aware that Colleen had been loaning money to Jim as if he was a single person. He said that what Colleen had done may not be ethical, but it wasn’t illegal. He also said I needed to “get over it.”
By working through our attorneys, Jim agreed to let me go to our home and pick up some things. Jim agreed with his attorney that, due to the protection order I had against him and the one he had against me, he wouldn’t be present at the house while I was there. There was a written list of the things Jim had agreed I could have. My list didn’t include anything of significant value. It was mainly clothes, a bed, dishes, things like that. A friend of mine lent me money to hire some movers, and the date was set.
So, I hired a professional moving company to pack and move things for me. My time would be limited, but I could at least get my dishes, a bedroom set, and a few items that were precious to me. Moving day arrived, and I drove over to what used to be my home. As soon as I turned my car off, Jim came out and walked towards me. He said that he wanted to talk to me. I was afraid of what he might to and called 911 to ask for help. I explained the situation to the Dispatcher who had answered and asked her to summon police assistance. The Dispatcher responded by asking me, “Well, is he being violent?” I said that he wasn’t violent at that time, but I was trying to prevent any violence from occurring. I explained the situation about the Protection Orders. The Dispatcher told me that if Jim wasn’t being violent at that time, then she wasn’t going to summon police. And then she hung up.
There was nothing to do except get out of the car and start to work. Jim just hung around me and told me how sad and sick he was and how much he wanted me to go back to him. I didn’t want to talk to him, and that eventually made him angry. He began to make comments in front of those who were within earshot that were meant to humiliate me.
He just wouldn’t stop. So, once again, I called 911 and told the dispatcher that I wanted a response this time from a KPD officer. I explained how the situation I had tried to avoid with my earlier call was now taking place. Apparently, when Jim heard me talking to KPD Dispatch, he made his own 911 call. Within minutes, several KPD officers showed up at the scene. Every last KPD officer that responded went over to Jim to find out what they needed. Not even one officer responded to my call. I had to watch those officers circle around Jim and Jerry like protective mother hens. My own cry for help meant nothing to them. I saw disgust in their eyes when they looked my way, and I was even more disheartened.
I went down to the basement, along with the two young men helping me that day. Shortly after, Officer Greg Benson came down and got in my face. He was yelling at me, saying that I had to leave right then and there. I said that I had permission from my attorney and Jim’s attorney to be there for the purpose of getting some things. I explained that I had an empty moving truck and had hired help to assist in the move. Officer Benson appeared to be looking for any excuse to arrest me. He was so angry that he was shaking all over. I’d never seen anyone this out-of-control with anger. He was acting like a rabid dog, and I remember looking for foam around his mouth. I kept thinking about the loaded pistol on his hip and prayed that he could muster up some sort of emotional control. He had no reason to be abusive towards me, and he was scaring me.
Officer Benson barked at me, wanting to know who my attorney was. I told him it was Charlie Brewster. I got on my cell phone and called his office. Charlie wasn’t there, but I spoke with his secretary, pretending I was talking to Charlie. The bluff worked, and I wondered why the name of my attorney influenced the way Officer Benson handled this situation. But, I was able to get Officer Benson to back off a bit, even though he ordered me to work fast and get out. When Officer Benson strode off, the two young men helping me said they thought I was for sure going to be arrested on the spot. They took some deep breaths, and we all started back to work.
Officer Benson barked at me, wanting to know who my attorney was. I told him it was Charlie Brewster. I got on my cell phone and called his office. Charlie wasn’t there, but I spoke with his secretary, pretending I was talking to Charlie. The bluff worked, and I wondered why the name of my attorney influenced the way Officer Benson handled this situation. But, I was able to get Officer Benson to back off a bit, even though he ordered me to work fast and get out. When Officer Benson strode off, the two young men helping me said they thought I was for sure going to be arrested on the spot. They took some deep breaths, and we all started back to work.
Officer Greg Benson
Kearney Police Department
2025 Avenue North
Kearney, Nebraska 68847
Phone: (308) 233-5250
Shortly after being served with the Protection Order, Jim's mother, Edith Owen, told me that Angela was redecorating her entire house. I had lost everything. Angela, who was very much aware of this, got hold of enough of Jim's cash to redo her home. As I tried to find things to pack, it was explained to me that many of my belongings were already gone. Apparently, as part of her redecoration effort, Angela had helped herself to anything of mine that she taken a fancy to. To think that I had loved these people and considered them to be my family...
I didn’t know it at the time, but this day would be the last time I would never see the inside of my home. And it would be the last time I would see two of my three dogs. Only a fellow animal-lover could understand how terrible that would be, just by itself.
I didn’t know it at the time, but this day would be the last time I would never see the inside of my home. And it would be the last time I would see two of my three dogs. Only a fellow animal-lover could understand how terrible that would be, just by itself.
Jim told a couple of the police officers that he wanted to have a copy of the evidence pictures KPD had taken of his face, and they gave Jim a copies of those photos. Jim took those pictures and showed them to what seemed like everyone he came into contact with who would take the time to listen to him. Jim called me more than once and said that he was going to file criminal charges against me, using those photos as evidence. I always told him to go ahead and do it. I knew he never would. Because the truth would then come out, and it work against him.
Because of the terrible lies Jim and Jerry were saying about me and the terrible consequences that came from those lies, I became determined to take them to court on the grounds of slander. But, I had to save up enough money to talk to an attorney. Eventually, I did and worked towards initiating a slander suit against Jim. The attorney I consulted informed me that I had the grounds for filing a case against Jim. However, the statute of limitations in the state of Nebraska for filing a defamation of character suit is only one year. And, it took me over a year to save enough money to talk an attorney. So, the opportunity to file suit was gone.
In the first meeting with my divorce attorney, Charlie, we talked about two issues. The first was starting the divorce process between Jim and me. Then I also asked him to look into what happened with KPD and the Victim Witness Unit and find out if I had grounds to sue them. I explained the serious wrongdoing on their parts when I had needed them most, and that I’d been greatly harmed by it all. Charlie said he’d look into it, but I would find out later that he never did. The time he had led me to believe he was investigating this case could have been used by someone who was actually willing to follow-through. So, while I still had Charlie retained as my attorney, and was under the impression he was looking into my case against KPD and the Victim/Witness Unit, I read in the newspaper that he had accepted a high profile case representing KPD. A KPD officer had fatally shot a man who was threatening him with a knife. This was on Christmas Day 2005. I don’t know much about legal ethics, but the idea of Charlie taking this case while he was working for me didn’t sound right. It was also at this time that I learned Charlie had been the Buffalo County Attorney for years just before Shawn Eatherton took office. So, Charlie, Shawn, and Chief Dan Lynch are very tight with one another. I’m sure these relationships didn’t work in my favor as I tried to find legal resolution with my complaints.
When Jim and I got married in 1998, we had little as far as possessions go. But we bought a building, remodeled it top-to-bottom, made wise investments in precious and semi-precious gemstones, collectible coins and paper money, collectible knives, Native American artifacts, and several firearms. We also had a smaller collection of artwork that was quite valuable. This was our way of accumulating a fund for our retirement years.
I had all the account names and numbers that Jim and I had used to buy these assets. I gave this information to Charlie, I was able to make it so easy for him to figure out what my half of the divorce settlement would be. Charlie never looked into even one of these accounts. I explained to Charlie that some of the credit cards didn’t have my name on them, and asked him to make sure I didn’t get stuck with them. Charlie wasn’t able to do even that.
Right as we walked through the two doors that opened into the courtroom, Charlie leaned towards me and whispered, “You don’t want any of the personal property, do you?” I looked at him in complete disbelief. During all this time when I thought he was working for me, trying to find the assets Jim and I shared, he had actually been doing nothing at all. He hadn’t ever checked out even one of the account names and numbers I had given him. I still have no idea what he was billing me for during the time he was supposed to be preparing my case. He didn’t itemize the majority of the bills he sent to me and didn’t describe what he was billing me for. And I thought it was just the way all attorneys billed, but it isn’t. So, considering that Jim was holding every possession we shared of any worth, I told Charlie that “yes,” I wanted personal property! I had spent hours and hours and hours and hours putting together the list of assets Jim and I shared. I had given Charlie account numbers and account names with creditors and dealers to follow-up with, which should have made it very simple to put a value on the assets to be included in the divorce. My trust in Charlie was misplaced, and I felt like a fool.
I wanted to get legal consultation on how Officers Loebig and Elliott handled things on April 25. I didn’t have money to hire a lawyer, so I called the Buffalo County Attorney, Shawn Eatherton, for help. The seat of Buffalo County is located in Kearney, Nebraska. After listening to what I had to say, Shawn told me that, because he already had a heavy caseload, he wasn’t taking on any new cases unless it involved a federal crime. I said the crime I had just explained to him, which was about two police officers breaking and entering into my home and forcing me to leave against my will, was a federal crime. Even so, Shawn said he wasn’t going to consider taking on my case, and he was sorry that I’d had such a bad experience with KPD.
Shawn Eatherton
Buffalo County Attorney
POB 67
1512 Central Avenue
Kearney, Nebraska 68848
Phone: (308) 236-1222
[email protected]
Buffalo County Attorney
POB 67
1512 Central Avenue
Kearney, Nebraska 68848
Phone: (308) 236-1222
[email protected]
After the divorce was final in 2006, I got hold of my case file. I reviewed the information Kearney State Bank had given Charlie. Within it, I discovered information I hadn’t been aware of. When Jim and I filed our taxes for 2005, there were refunds coming from both the state and federal levels. Jim had been on disability, so I was the one working and making money. I read in the bank files that Colleen had redirected both the state and federal tax returns into Jim’s Kool Tattoo business account. I didn’t have access to this account, so Colleen had basically committed a crime of theft.
Once I began to get more clear-headed, I read the rest of the Protection Order the Victim/Witness Unit had helped Jim file against me. In a narrative section, Jim had hand-written, “I told her to hit me.” Bridget, in charge of this unit that was formed to protect victims of crime, didn’t even question the reason why Jim would say such a thing to me. After she read this, it seems like Bridget could have spared just a few minutes to listen to my side of the story, and especially before recommending to Judge Icenogle that I be banned from returning to my home.
I decided to have an attorney check into the actions of KPD. It sure didn’t seem right to me what they had done. My only problem was that I didn’t have any money to retain an attorney. I asked for a referral from the Nebraska State Bar Association, but didn’t have any luck. I asked the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) for help, but they said they didn’t take on cases like mine. I sent out letters to Nebraska attorneys, asking if any of them would consider looking into my case on a pro bono or a contingency fee basis. I heard back from some of those attorneys, but only one, Dan Friedman from Friedman Law Offices, said he would be willing to take on my case. I would later find out that Dan had also asked the ACLU to look into my case, but received an answer similar to mine.
I searched around for any state or federal office that would oversee the actions of the Kearney Police Department. I thought, surely, there's someone I can report these unethical actions to. What I found out is that there isn't any supervisory body overseeing the actions of KPD. The Kearney Police Department polices itself. That works out very well for KPD -- but not for the public they serve.
I searched around for any state or federal office that would oversee the actions of the Kearney Police Department. I thought, surely, there's someone I can report these unethical actions to. What I found out is that there isn't any supervisory body overseeing the actions of KPD. The Kearney Police Department polices itself. That works out very well for KPD -- but not for the public they serve.
It’s a struggle to recover from this experience. Some of the things that were taken from me have been replaceable, but some have not. The emotional toll has been the worst. It was a year before I was could hold down a full-time job. How does a woman “get over” being so consistently and coldly violated by a group of men who are supposed to be her protectors? I’m alive today just because of those who reached out to help me, And, until now, none of them knew the complete story of what happened.
Shawn Eatherton is still the Buffalo County Attorney, Dan Lynch is still the Chief of Police, and Charlie Brewster’s still in practice. The worst part is that Bridget Mosbarger, despite using her position to play an integral part of a such a heartless act of ignorance, is still Director of the Victim/Witness Unit.
As much as I tried to stay ahead of the bills I got stuck with in the divorce, I wasn’t been able to do it. In 2010, I was forced to declare bankruptcy. At my age, that means a good credit score is a thing of the past. Jim, Jerry, and Angela may have gotten my money and property, but it didn’t bring good fortune to them. Jerry and Angela ended up bitterly duking it out in divorce court. Jim got all the time and money he needed to abuse pills and drink alcohol without interruption. On June 17, 2009, Jim died as a result of that lifestyle, just five days before his 60th birthday.
I went to the police department and requested an internal investigation into the events of April 25 and 26, 2005. I wanted someone to check into the actions that Officers Loebig Elliott KPD officers and Bridget Mosbarger. Lt. Lewis conducted the interview. He said he’d get back to me with the findings that came out of this investigation. But, he didn’t call me, and he never returned any of my phone calls. I made calls to Chief Dan Lynch, and he didn’t return my phone calls either. Finally, after four months of not getting any kind of response from KPD, I received a letter in the mail from Chief Lynch. It was a short letter, and in it he said that he didn’t see that Bridget Mosbarger any of his officers had done anything wrong in any way. He also expressed his hope that I could accept what happened and move on.
Daniel Lynch, Chief of Police
Kearney Police Department
2025 Avenue North
Kearney, Nebraska 68847
Phone: (308) 237-2104
e-mail: [email protected]
Kearney Police Department
2025 Avenue North
Kearney, Nebraska 68847
Phone: (308) 237-2104
e-mail: [email protected]
In December 2006, Dan Friedman, representing me, and Bob Shively, representing KPD, appeared in front of Judge Richard Kopf, a federal judge in the U.S. District Court for the District of Nebraska. Bob Shively was the name of the attorney representing KPD.
Robert Shively, Attorney
Shively & Lannin, PC
4400 South 86th Street, Ste. 100
Lincoln, Nebraska 68526
Phone: (402) 488-5044
Shively & Lannin, PC
4400 South 86th Street, Ste. 100
Lincoln, Nebraska 68526
Phone: (402) 488-5044
This was Dan’s opportunity to prove Officers Loebig and Elliott had violated my constitutional rights. And he did just that. Judge Kopf agreed that I had been wronged in a way that violated fundamental rights that every US citizen shares.
KPD was insured by a group called the League Association of Risk Management, based in Lincoln, Nebraska. This meant that the Kearney Police Department could afford to have the best attorneys represent them.
League Association of Risk Management
1335 L Street, Suite 200
Lincoln, Nebraska 68508
Local: (402) 476-6801
Toll-Free: (888) 553-5276
1335 L Street, Suite 200
Lincoln, Nebraska 68508
Local: (402) 476-6801
Toll-Free: (888) 553-5276
In defending KPD from any blame, Bob Shively presented the idea that officers Loebig and Elliott were ‘qualifiedly immune’ from suit because, as he put it, "no reasonable official would have known that this action was unconstitutional.” In other words, "no police officer would have known that breaking-and-entering someone's private residence is an illegal act."
Judge Kopf, pledged and sworn to uphold the constitutional rights of his constituency, ruled in favor of KPD.
Even though Judge Kopf found the act of entering my home and forcing me to leave to be an unconstitutional act, he ruled that Officers Loebig and Elliott couldn’t be held accountable for their actions. Judge Kopf determined that it could not be assumed these "law enforcement" officers had knowledge of what was "lawful." It’s amazing what a well-heeled, well-connected, pricey attorney can do. I wondered if I was the only American citizen who now knew police officers didn't actually require a warrant, or even any good reason, to break into a person's residence.
Judge Kopf, pledged and sworn to uphold the constitutional rights of his constituency, ruled in favor of KPD.
Even though Judge Kopf found the act of entering my home and forcing me to leave to be an unconstitutional act, he ruled that Officers Loebig and Elliott couldn’t be held accountable for their actions. Judge Kopf determined that it could not be assumed these "law enforcement" officers had knowledge of what was "lawful." It’s amazing what a well-heeled, well-connected, pricey attorney can do. I wondered if I was the only American citizen who now knew police officers didn't actually require a warrant, or even any good reason, to break into a person's residence.
Judge Richard G. Kopf
Federal Magistrate Judge
District of Nebraska
586 Federal Building
100 Centennial Mall North
Lincoln, Nebraska 68508
Phone: (402) 437-1640
Federal Magistrate Judge
District of Nebraska
586 Federal Building
100 Centennial Mall North
Lincoln, Nebraska 68508
Phone: (402) 437-1640
My concept of personal safety had deteriorated. Dan explained to me that it’s almost impossible to overturn the ruling of a federal judge. Even though he disagreed with the decision, he felt an appeal of Judge Kopf’s decision would be pointless. He went on to say, and he was right, that in the Midwest part of the country, the public still holds the belief that police officers almost always do the right thing. In other parts of the country, the public is more aware of the shortcomings and abuse of power that are part of law enforcement, but that’s not the case yet in the Midwest. So he didn’t recommend that I take this case to trial. He told me that if I took the case to trial, I’d need to be prepared for the attorney defending KPD to rip my character apart. I didn’t know if I could survive another round of emotional ruin.
In the divorce decree, there was a small amount of cash that Jim had been ordered to pay me. There was daily interest he would be responsible for if he didn’t pay on time. Well, Christmas came and went. So did the New Year. I called Charlie’s office several times, but nothing happened. I reminded Charlie that there was interest due, and he told me it wasn’t enough money to mess with. For me, an extra $20 at that time would have been significant. But, he never did get that interest for me. When Jim finally did get a check to Charlie’s office, the first thing Charlie did was file a lien on the check, preventing me from accessing even one penny of that money. Financially, I was drowning. But Charlie told me I’d have to come to Kearney and pay him what he believed to be a balance I owed him before he’d remove the lien. I did it, because there just wasn’t any other alternative. When Charlie sent me bills from his office, almost all of those bills have an “amount due” on them, but say nothing about the work he had done to deserve the money. He did so very little for me. I don’t think I could have had a more negligent divorce attorney if I’d tried.
After all was said and done, I asked Charlie for the paperwork related to my divorce. He gave it to me. I wanted to find out exactly what work he had actually done on my case. After some months, I went through my file. I didn’t see anything that would lead me to believe Charlie had been looking out for my best interest. However, I found a handwritten letter that Jim had given Charlie to pass on to me, which Charlie hadn’t done. This letter was exactly what I had needed to initiate my case against KPD, but Charlie had just sat on this. The letter from Jim was full of the typical apologies and declarations of love that always came after he had hurt me in some way. Along with this, though, he referenced some paperwork KPD officers had him sign on the night Officers Loebig and Elliott took me out of my home. What Jim wrote was, “I never wanted the police involved, I was hurting so much I couldn’t stop them. They told me I would be going to jail if I didn’t sign, so I signed.” Charlie knew I needed this information to initiate a case against KPD, but he kept it from me and did nothing with it.
There were other incidents of harassment by KPD officers that were meant to hurt those who cared about me.
Such as what happened with a small amount of belongings I had temporarily kept in storage… When Jim had let me get a few things out of our home, I put those belongings in a storage unit at a Kearney business called 6th Street Storage. I only required the smallest storage unit available, and a friend of mine had offered to pay the monthly rent until I found a way to make some money. I believed this was the safest and most secure place for my belongings. The facility was surrounded by a high fence. A security code was required to get through the entrance gate that electronically opened. It then took a special type of key to open each unit. I didn’t have enough money for insurance coverage, but felt sure I wouldn’t need it. Yet, despite the high level of security, my very small storage unit was broken into twice. Several of my valued possessions were taken each time. There was no sign of breaking and entering. The lock on my unit appeared undisturbed. Whoever had entered my unit had a security code and access to my key. I knew that the gal who was responsible for the assignment of storage units and security of unit keys was married to a young KPD police officer. Right or wrong, it’s been difficult for me to not connect the two facts. The one thing I do know is that it made me feel violated in a very fundamental way.
In June 2005, Officer Burns went to the home of an elderly couple who he knew had my phone number. Apparently, Jim had called Officer Burns and reported that I had called him “about a hundred times” that day. If Officer Burns had checked out the log on Jim’s cell phone, he would have seen that I hadn’t called him once. When Officer Burns arrived at the home of the elderly couple, one of whom was recovering from major back surgery, he said he wanted my phone number. He then rolled up both his uniform sleeves to display the tattoos on his forearms and proceeded to talk about what a “great guy” Jim was. This incident may be the one that truly sticks in my craw.
Officer Richard Burns
Kearney Police Department
2025 Avenue North
Kearney, Nebraska 68847
Phone: (308) 233-5250
Not long ago, Angela (Loebig-Owen) sent me an e-mail saying she wanted my forgiveness for what she had done. I wrote her back to explain that it would be easier to forgive if she returned some of my belongings that she had stolen. She's never tried to contact me since. As before, Angela felt entitled some something valuable that belonged to someone else and that she'd done nothing to earn. Her heart, filled with greed, seems to be missing the warmth of human kindness.
I’m hoping that, by being able to tell this story, there will come with it some sense of acceptance. I think this experience would almost be bearable if I could find something meaningful in it. If I found out that hearing my story helped someone in some way, I believe it would ease the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness that came with this experience. Maybe there’s someone out there who’s been through something similar. I hope not, but if there is, I’d like to know how they’re dealing with what happened.
I’m hoping that, by being able to tell this story, there will come with it some sense of acceptance. I think this experience would almost be bearable if I could find something meaningful in it. If I found out that hearing my story helped someone in some way, I believe it would ease the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness that came with this experience. Maybe there’s someone out there who’s been through something similar. I hope not, but if there is, I’d like to know how they’re dealing with what happened.
The expectation of those who hurt me was that I would stay quiet and just fade away. But, I’m not going to do that anymore. The reason I haven’t talked about this sooner is because I was unable to wrap my brain around the words I needed in order to tell the story. It’s a funny thing about trauma. It takes the bad memories and hides or dulls them. Then, when least expected, days, months, or even years later, the memories pop up and the event is experienced again…and again…and again. Trauma isn’t something that people get over. It’s something that, at best, they learn to live with.
My experience with KPD police officers has been a disheartening one. They are a group of men who ganged together and did their best to terrorize me. In one fell swoop, they stole from me my ability to access food, shelter, and clothing. They stripped me of my identity, believing they were entitled to do so. And, they wouldn’t stop. This was behavior that these KPD police officers seemed to be comfortable with. Their actions weren’t impulsive ones. Rather, they were practiced ones.
There are solutions to the problem of police officers mistreating those who are vulnerable and who need protecting. But, the direction to implement these solutions needs to come from those who have the authority to do so. I'd like to think that the final outcome of what I went through made a positive impact in the education of law enforcement, but the truth is that it hasn't. At least not yet.
It may be that no one will read my story. Maybe just being able to have a forum to share what I have to say will be the most I can expect. If so, it’s still more than I had. Maybe by telling my story, I’ll be able to finally move towards the state of acceptance. After all, that’s the most I can hope for.
Photos from the Kearney Hub
Photo of Charles Brewster from the North Platte Bulletin
Photo of Judge John Icenogle from the Kearney Hub
Photo of Judge Richard Kopf from Wikipedia
Photo of Charles Brewster from the North Platte Bulletin
Photo of Judge John Icenogle from the Kearney Hub
Photo of Judge Richard Kopf from Wikipedia