I paid $ 750 to a Lakota author, his name is Joseph Marshall III (jmarichale@gmail.com). The money was the deposit for bow, arrows, bow case and quiver. That was five years ago. After some years Mr. Marshall informed me that he has no time to finish the items but he would refund me.

I was very disappointed and angry. I mean, why did he accept my order plus my deposit? I'm still waiting for my money! I have sent him countless emails, Mr. Marshall never replies. Mr. He is a well-known author, he has written many books on native americans. Marshall is pretenting to be a good man, but he is the oposite.

Now I would like to give my story to the press. Do you know of any newspaper or magazine which might be interested in publishing it? He hails from South Dakota but is living in New Mexico.

How did u pay?

It was a transfer from my German bank into his bank based in New Mexico.

He's nearly 70 years old. The truth is, even if you sued him and got a judgement, you might never see any money.

I don't blame you for being angry, but I think you should just write this one off.

What a pity that I have sold my Winchester 73 .44-40 ...

Maybe one of you could send him an email, mentioning that a person in South Africa is waiting for a refund in the amount of $ 750. Waiting since years! Who knows, maybe he will react? It's not only about money, but I'll never understand that a well-known author and actor cheated me. I have some of his books. He also played in one of Steven Spielberg's movies, called INTO THE WEST. That DVD is with me, don't want to watch it again...

If you think he's bad about lying, cheating, and stealing, you ought to take a look at some of our politicians.

Well, personally I would not trust anyone with a number in his name but...

Good luck!

What town in New Mexico?

There got to be forums members from New Mexico that can help you out.

So what if he is seventy.

He is living in ALBUQUERQUE, I have his full address, telephone no. etc. Exactly, so what if he is seventy, I'm not much younger...

You will see money, just put a lien on the house or other property registered in his name, happens all the time, so don't write it off yet.
Perhap's, you should start a new post as ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO POSTER, I have situation.

I've helped many poster here on this website in similar or worse situations.

quote:

You will see money, just put a lien on the house or other property registered in his name, happens all the time, so don't write it off yet

Not nearly that simple. You will have to get a court ordered judgement first.

Obviously.

Gatogordo, can you help out Sunshine, since he is not much younger then seventy?

Is there anybody from ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO that can help out and knock on the door?

quote:

Originally posted by Norseman:

Is there anybody from ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO that can help out and knock on the door?

Good idea but mind his arrows

Thanks to all of you!!!

quote:

Gatogordo, can you help out Sunshine, since he is not much younger then seventy?

I'm not much younger than seventy myself and I'm approx. 800 mi from Alb. NM.

In addition, to get a judgement he will have to sue, probably in small claims court. While I am not an attorney, I don't think someone else can assume his position as plaintiff, unless POSSIBLY they have a power of attorney. All this, and the money required, is why I said he should write it off. The age of Marshall is a factor because it means that if he hasn't produced the goods by now, he probably won't.

Ah, the Classic, dealing with Natives story, no national boundaries to this one and I've heard many versions. Come back in a little while and it will be done.

Grizz

I am sorry for your difficulties.

I do not know if this is even the tribe, so check first but here is the website for the Rosebud Sioux Tribe:
http://rosebudsiouxtribe-nsn.gov/

Navigate around in there to see if you can find a contact "Elder" who might be able to make suggestions. Being able to reach a sympathetic Tribal Elder is the approach I would investigate.

If this person is an active author he may not wish to have any negative publicity, so you could try to post a request for him on the Rosebud Sioux facebook page:

https://www.facebook.com/RosebudSiouxTribe/

I would not use that as my first choice, but might provide some help. I'd make sure to have a pic or 3 of relevant documentation with the sensitive data on it blacked out.

Good luck!

Mark, thank you. I have contacted the Rosebud tribe community already but nobody wanted to have anything to do with this matter. But what I did some days ago: I contacted the New Mexico (Santa Fe) General Attorney. Hopefully he'll act against Mr. Joseph Marshall III. In the meantime I almost believe he is sort of protected because of his celebrity status.

Reminds me of the time I was sitting in the Kentucky Club Bar (just across the Santa Fe Street bridge) in Juarez, Mexico back in the 60's, with a friend. We had been enjoying their $.25 drinks for a few hours when this slovenly dressed, drunk fellow sat down at our table. Flopped into the chair really. We asked him to move on, whereupon he told us the white man had been stealing their ponies. He seemed to be implying that if we would buy him a few drinks, he would forget about the ponies. When asked WTF he was talking about, he grabbed the front of my shirt, popping a button, said he was Mescalero, and repeated that the white man had been stealing their ponies. In the process of putting him on the ground, we ensured him that we obviously didn't have his f**king ponies. About the time the table and our drinks went over, the bar tender and his friends in the back were all over us.

It got sorted quickly, in the usual manner. The Gringos (us) had money, and were known for our considerable wit, lavish spending habits, and passable Spanish. The Mescalero had been bothering the locals, didn't have any more money, and probably blamed a few Mexican's present with having stolen a few ponies.

We were told to put the table back in its upright position, sit down, and be nice. The Mescalero was hauled-off by the local police still bitching about the missing ponies.

In your specific case, I think the Rosebud Sioux are just trying to get even for some missing ponies. I think your options are to put him on the ground, or take Gato's advice. Being a foreigner, I don't think you will get much satisfaction trying to win in New Mexico, long-distance, against an Indian or a Hispanic defendant.

On a personal note, I am approaching 70, and I am beginning to think I may HAVE stolen their ponies, so the man in question, being of the same approximate age, may think he already paid you..............probably in ponies.

Keep in mind I am blaming this whole rambling post on those $.25 drinks back in the 60s; particularly the Pink Lady, the Singapore Sling, and the Tequila Almendrada shooters.

This may be a stretch, but you could start one of those Go Fund Me things for $750. I'm sure there are probably a few embarrassed Rosebud Sioux out there who would donate to restore their good name.

quote:

considerable wit

Drunks always think they're funnier than they are, but what the hell, it seems like a good idea at the time.

I've given away most of my "Damn, why did I drink all that....." T shirts, but the memories of the aftermaths still remain. That's why after a particularly long and fun New Year's about 15 years back that I SWORE to myself, and anyone who gave a damn (maybe one, my wife) that I was NEVER going to get commode hugging drunk again. So far, I've kept that oath, with a few close calls along the way.

If it wasn't for hangovers, why would we ever be sober?

"Commode-hugging" rings a bell.

It was back in about '82. My Maintenance Supt. was having a house-warming in his new home in Odessa. Around midnight someone brought out a little sissy looking thing called a red-grape-malt-duck. It was in little bottles like hot sauce sometime comes in. It tasted like Kool-Aid. I drank about a dozen of them pretty quickly thinking they were a joke. A short time after that it seemed like my tongue swole-up. I was speaking gibberish. My brain was still clear as I knew what was happening to my tongue, and I knew I was speaking absolute garbage.

Around 2:00am, before I got naked, thank God, my wife hauled me home. I had to get up at 6:00 and head to the local golf course where I was playing in a golf tournament with one of my friends.

About 4:00am I woke-up with a splitting headache, and a stomach that was about to explode. I rushed to the commode, and hugged it like it was my first love. What I found interesting was that as I was admiring my reflection, I was throwing-up in Technicolor. Totally bizarre mix of yellows, reds, and greens. I thought I might have been having a stroke.

Once I unloaded everything I had eaten and drank from the previous month, and a few internal organs, I got dressed and headed for the course. I didn't make it a mile when my Drlg. Supt. called saying we had a problem on one rig and a mad customer. I diverted to the office, rushed to the toilet and threw-up again. I then got on the phone and did my best impersonation of a sober person, and convinced the customer that the world wasn't coming to an end, and that we could easily solve his problem. I jumped back in my car and headed for the golf course. About half way there I knew Mt. St. Helens was gonna blow again, and I diverted behind the local Safeway and spilled what was left of my guts.

I finally made it to the course and found the tournament had already commenced (shotgun start). I asked to borrow a cart to get out to my partner. They said they didn't have any to spare. I grabbed my bag and trotted as best I could out to Hole #4. He wasn't there. I cut across to Hole #6 where I found him. He said he had to grab a guy standing around as the officials were about to disqualify him since I was late, and he didn't have a partner. Instead they disqualified me. I walked back to my car and drove home. When I crawled back in bed, with ZERO sympathy from my wife, I thanked Jesus for the disqualification.

That was the last commode-hugging experience that I remember.

Red-grape-malt-duck. Remember it, and avoid it at all costs.

I'm sorry to report that since about 1992, it is no longer available. The patent expired in 1992 (who knew you could patent beer?) so you are free to found a new company brewing it today. The demand seems to be there. There is a facebook page with people lobbying for its return. Trying to bring back fond memories such as yours, I'm sure.

BTW, that memorable New Year's Eve event I mentioned was out at our E TX place while some of the crew were waiting for the coming cataclysm of year 1999-2000 computer worldwide failures. Remember that one? I wasn't one of them, but the survivalists among us mostly slept thru the main event. I suppose conserving their strength for the coming armageddon battles. I was still awake through midnight, thanks to some death dealing combination of good champagne, bad champagne, Jack Daniels, Elijah Craig 12 yr old bourbon, and finally some Remy Martin VSOP Cognac. I felt so bad the next morning when I woke at dawn, and, after praying to the porcelain gods, I figured that I had to move or die, so I went rabbit hunting, killed a giant swamp bunny and gave it up. Staggered back to house and went back to bed.

My Y2K experience was that I was at one of the best New Year's Eve parties in Venezuela; ever. I got a call about 10:00pm from a "stud" in Dallas telling me that our CEO had gotten panicky and wanted each Country Manager to go to their office and wait until after midnight and call back in with the situation.

Wanting to stay at the party with my wife, I asked what had happened on all the earlier time zones in the world as they hit midnight. (I think it starts around New Zealand.) He said "Nothing". I waited a few seconds to see if it might hit him that nothing would also happen in Venezuela. I'm pretty sure he read my mind, and said, "He's the CEO; do it".

I drove to the office, sat there, and after midnight I called in and told them the sky hadn't fallen, and I was going back to the party. They said, "OK".

I got back to the party about thirty minutes after all the kissing took place. Who knows, maybe the Y2K scare saved me another romantic night with a commode.

I've been in some tough places but if I NEVER go back to Caracas it will suit the hell out of me.