Sunday, May 5, 2013


I don't have a bed.
I haven't had a bed since I was attacked and robbed in my home at 4995 Prince of Wales, NDG, Montreal on October 7, 1996.
While I was being attached, I managed to call 911.
The Montreal Police I hoped would rescue me, came  - and helped the thief instead. 
The police officer took me by my arm and took me out of  my home, leaving all my life's most precious belongings in the hands of my then teenage niece, Dawn McSweeney, and those she calls her "partners in crime" on her own blog.
There was no legal procedure, no warning, no explanation, no discussion, no justification. The officer "helped" me out into the street - physically - and warned me in front of my assailant that I must never return to the house for any reason. I was not allowed to take anything with me except my purse, my bible and a pair of shoes I had intended to wear in church just before I was attacked.
The police left me alone on the street in front of my home without as much as a coat, and just drove away. And I soon learned, they never filed a police report.
All my life's most precious valuables - and the lives and property of my aged parents -were left in the hands of Dawn McSweeney and her boyfriend of the day, Alex Lavergne.
I have been begging for the return of my belongings since that day. I reported the details of Dawn McSweeney's crimes to the Montreal Police, Quebec's Provincial Police, the R.C.M.P., members of governments of Montreal, Quebec and Ottawa, so-called "human rights" organizations, and finally, the media, day and night, month after month, year after year, with no help. My life was drained out of me. I am now fighting cancer.
Marlene Jennings, Member of Parliament,
and Quebec Deputy Police Ethics Commissioner,
stated at two public meetings in Montreal in 2008,
"Mrs. Carter's rights were violated three times."
But no one would help me. No one in authority that is. I survived with the help of precious friends.
After I was left in the street by the Montreal Police officers, I spent the next two or three days living in my old Pontiac, parking in the street near the hospital at night because I could use the bathroom there. It was October in Montreal. The leaves were beginning to turn and the nights were very cold. I ran the car heater sparingly. I warmed up in the hospital emergency waiting room.
I was 60 years old, suffering from breast cancer and the effects of chemotherapy, unemployed, grieving the loss of my husband, sick, poor and scared.
My friend, Carolyn, a devout Christian, could not bear to see me living in my car and in the street. She insisted I come to her home. Carolyn gave me food, shelter, some clothing - and loving reassurance.
After two weeks, I found a small apartment. I had just a little money in the bank. I was living on welfare.
Dawn McSweeney had my life - my most precious valuables and personal treasures, the gifts and memories of a lifetime, my home and my family.
Dawn McSweeney moved into our home at the beginning of October, 1996, and within one week, she had possession of my life. She moved into my parents' home and made herself queen. 
Dawn had always been jealous of the love and respect my father had for me. Pop was my teacher, my mentor, my companion. Since I was little, he would take me on long walks and talk to me about all sorts of things - science, politics, opera, poetry, history, the world, the aurora borealis - the universe. He took me to book stores and to the movies. As far as I can remember, my mother always stayed home, She was a loving mother, but a hermit.
By the time I was fourteen, I was working at my father's side in the family business, Metropolitan News Agency at the corner of Peel and St. Catherine, "The Crossroads of the Nation". I was always close to my father.
Dawn McSweeney hated me. And the police gave her everything she ever wanted  - and more than she could have hoped for. I knew she would pilfer because I knew her since she was born and I knew her character, but the Montreal Police gave her everything I had worked for all my life  and more.
I appealed to the Montreal Police at the Mariette street station for help. They promised everything would be alright. Everything would be returned to me if I was just "patient."
Within one or two days of the attack and robbery, I appealed to my Prudential Insurance agent, Brian Thornily, to start an investigation. He didn't.
Later, an agent from Prudential came to my apartment and told me Prudential would not investigate and the case was closed. 
I had paid premiums to Prudential Insurance - "The Rock of Gibralter" - through the Thorniley Agency of Pointe Claire, Quebec - for thirty years. But they dropped me like a hot potato because, the Prudential agent said,
"The Montreal Police did not file a report on time.".
When my darling husband, Cliff Carter died in 1992, I was grief stricken and completely burned out. After three months, I started looking for work - without success. Everyone said I was "overqualified." That meant I was over thirty years of age and this is Quebec. I was Carter, not Cartier. So friends urged me to come to Ontario.
December, 1992. I put my furniture, household items, books, files, photographs and almost all my clothing into storage and, on New Year's Eve, at exactly midnight, I crossed the border into Ontario in my wonderful old Pontiac, with the clothes on my back, some toiletries, and my Siamese cat, Amethyst. 
All my most precious valuables were stored in my parents' home on Prince of Wales, where I grew up. I had stored valuables there since the 1980's, because the apartments I shared with Cliff were not very large and the landlords were really wicked - and they always had the keys.
I struggled to get the Montreal Police to investigate and recover my precious belongings from my home. They found endless way to stall, to delay, to avoid helping me.
In 2000, I started publishing VICTIMS' VOICES - a newsletter designed to help crime victims. I wrote detailed reports of the crimes of Dawn McSweeney. I rented a post office box, made photo copies and developed a mailing list of members of governments, community organizations, human rights organizations and the media. I published VICTIMS' VOICES and mailed it for years - to no avail.
After years of being ignored by the Montreal Police and members of governments in Montreal, Quebec and Ottawa, I was finally able to buy a computer and, in time, I started my blogs, PHYLLIS CARTER'S JOURNAL and DAWN MCSWEENEY, THE GURU THIEF.
More than 97,000 people around the world have now read my reports, but the Montreal Police still refuse to take any legal action against the thief, Dawn McSweeney and her accomplices.
Remember, it was the Montreal Police who helped Dawn McSweeney rob me and turned over all my belongings, and the lives of my aged parents, to the thief.
When I moved into my little apartment, it was bare except for the basic kitchen appliances and the wall to wall carpet. Friends provided a few dishes, a pot, a pan, some gently worn clothes, toilet articles, a blanket, some sheets, some food, a small black and white TV. I made curtains by hand out of bed sheets. 
My minister helped. Sales in the church basement provided utensils and clothing, books, and things you never think of until you don't have them - including a willing ear, encouragement, occasionally a $20.00 bill I never asked for - and friendship. But no help to recover every precious thing Dawn McSweeney stole.
For several years, I slept on a plastic foam mat on the floor. About eight years ago, I brought my furniture and books and files and clothing out of storage. I had to give most of my furniture to charity because I had no space. But I rescued my wonderful sofa and I have slept on that all these years.
I have no bed. I don't want a bed. My darling husband died twenty-one years ago and a bed can be a very sad and lonely place without the person you love.
And so, every day and every night, I write my blogs, appealing to thousands of people all over the world to help me recover everything Dawn McSweeney stole from me, and from my parents, and from my siblings, and from their children - with the help of the Montreal Police and the irresponsibility of politicians and so-called "human rights" organizations.
All the details of Dawn McSweeney's crimes are open to the world at Phyllis Carter's Journal - It is All About Justice - and Dawn McSweeney, The Guru Thief -
Since the Montreal Police and politicians at all levels of government refuse to take legal action, I am seeking a bounty hunter to recover all my precious belongings and return my father's property and life's savings to the heirs he designated specifically in his own will, I am offering a $5,000. reward.
If anything I have said or published through all these years is less than the absolute truth, why has no one sued me? I am eager to have this case heard in criminal court.
Sue me, please !

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