Welcome to my updates page. Please stay with it as the F.B.I.'s long campaign
of fraud and abuse and their plan to assassinate me is still ongoing, lately using
the corrupt U.C. Berkeley police in concert with the City of Berkeley courts.
You should know that between the police departments of Berkeley, San Francisco,
Santa Cruz, Monterey, Santa Rosa, Palm Springs, San Jose and Bangor, Maine
and New York City I have been kidnapped and pistolwhipped unconscious while
handcuffed, I have looked down the barrels of police guns twice, I have received
threat letters, have been verbally threatened, have been falsely arrested dozons
of times, have received over a hundred invalid parking tickets, a dozon traffic
tickets that were the result of police fraud and I have been beaten by martial arts
thugs who said only; "We don't need the publicity." attacked with a baseball bat,
falsely slandered as a stalker of Stephen King on American Journal twice and the
three main T.V. networks at least once. I have been railroaded in a cover story in
Berkeley's East Bay Express and I have witnessed the corruption of my country
and it's corrupt law enforcement branches for twenty years now beginning with a
surprise interview from San Francisco Secret Service agent Terry Chodash in
early 1983 shortly after I began going public with my findings.
I'm not just imagining all this abuse or the importance of what I am exposing.
I have been endorsed, publicly, by Paul McCartney April 01, 1990 at the concert
he gave at Berkeley. I have it on tape; "Yeah, Steeeeeeeeeve! That's right! I don't
know what you think Berkeley but I want you to know that we like it and we need
you, as a people, to get to the promised land. Oh yeah, the dream; Free at last,
free at last thank God Almighty, free at last." Although Paul later played Live and
Let Die that same evening he did give me his endorsement during the instrumental
of Fool On The Hill on April Fools Day.
George, Herbert Walker Bush gave my story recognition during no less a mass
venue than the second Presidential debate in Richmond, Va. in 1992 when he
said; "...But I am a president who's been talking the issues. You know, nobody
likes 'Who Shot John' but I think governor Clinton is concucting a negative cam-
paign this election..." He was refering to my magazine; "Everybody's Business:-
Who Shot John Lennon?" that I had personally circulated weeks earlier in his
home town of Kennebunkport, Maine as well as King's home town of Bangor,
Maine. Two weeks after my visit Bush dropped 15 points in Kennebunkport. His
debate remark was his way of acknowledging to his neighbors it's all true.
You can verify this with the New York Times debate transcript. He also said the
same thing days earlier during the Hurricane Andrews relief fund speech.
Currently the U.C. Berkeley Police have, I believe, resorted to fraud and treachery
to cost me perhaps a thousand dollars and to eventually remove my drivers li-
cence and my large, logo'd motorhome that reads; "www.lennonmurdertruth.com"
all over it, from the streets. I'm talking about a fraudulently issued red light citation
that I received Feb. 12, 2002. I will forego the details and get on with a general
overview of the abuse I've suffered over a twenty year span, first..
( P.S. : Paul McCartney has just announced a concert at
the Oakland Collesium this April 01, 2002.)
MESSAGE TO PAUL; Saw your concert. Magnificent voice/talent but playing Live
and Let Die and Let It Be consecutively was a case of "...speaking words of NON
wisdom.." thank you. Had you some of John's courage, or even your own twelve
years ago , you would have displayed my web address and endorsed it. Maybe
then we could have started to end the mid-east catastrophy.
U.S. Govt. Plotting To Kill Steve Lightfoot:
What is it like being Steve Lightfoot? What is America doing to me now that I've
discovered and come forward with evidence that proves the story about a lone drift-
er named Chapman was just so much government/media hogwash? Now that I
have a potent website: " www.lennonmurdertruth.com " what lies ahead for the
man daring to hold the government responsible for John Lennon's murder?
Please do log onto my website. It is probably the biggest expose in U.S. history
and probably all time. I can also prove Nixon was responsible for J.F. K.'s assas-
sination using the same cryptographic codes that exist in Time back then. Don't
wait for me to get killed before you do your part and help me come forward. Stop
letting the media slam me as a whacko and honor my efforts with a grassroots
effort to bring this empowering information to the whole world, especially now.
If you read my previous section; Current Update, you saw some pretty outrageous
claims made by me accusing the F.B.I. and the U.S. government of being engaged
in unlawful behavior, literally an integrated conspiracy to eventually assassinate
me. That I believe the State of California is witchhunting me in order to slow me
down where my expose activism and financial status is concerned. I might add
that the mass media is also a part of this campaign of obstruction and terror. Most
notably KGO Newstalk and KSFO, their sister station in the same building, of San
Francisco, the T.V. magazine American Journal, ABC, CBS, and NBC, Berkeley's
East Bay Express and other sources have falsely presented me to the public, cast-
ing me as a whacko and/or a stalker of Stephen King, both being a viscious lie.
You will not believe what you are about to read: all the dirty, documented details
of what the "bad cops" with apologies for the majority of good cops out there, have
been doing to my life since 1983. You will not believe it could all happen to one
person, but especially one who has no criminal record nearing age 48. I assure
you everything you are about to read is true, and, while I'd rather stay on message
with my Lennon expose, I must warn you just how in danger I really am. I must
appeal to your better side and ask you to help me come forward, and fast, please.
Months after my discovery I was visited by Terry Chodash of the S.F. Secret Ser-
vice in early 1983 at the Santa Rosa Library. I would find out later that he was
wearing a blond wig and even colored contacts (very convincing) then. He insist-
ed in meeting with me and threatened that I had to submit a handwriting sample,
asked me what else I knew, and eventually left. He never denied my allegations.
A few years later I bumped into him outside the Federal building, out of disguise,
with his real brown hair and eyes.
From that day on my life has become an American nightmare:
In 1983 I received a summons from Gene Tunney, District Attorney of Sonoma
County, alleging : attempted grand theft, and breaking and entering, that I had
absolutely nothing to do with. In the report were direct quotes from Stephen
King's movie Christine: "I'll get you..." and after a half dozon court appearances
where I was the only one there, the case was dismissed. I was appointed the
same attorney who represented mass murderer Juan Corona and he tried to
corral me into a questionable paperwork proceedure that I refused to submit
to. He even tried at one point to fill out my questionaire himself.
The whole ordeal was perhaps a message from the government to me" :You've
broken into our codes (breaking and entering) and;"We'll get you.."
In early 1984, as I recall, I was rousted by Santa Rosa officers who ran a warrant
check which showed a ticket for riding a bicycle on the sidewalk and I was arrest-
ed, flown, by plane to Salinas overnight, where I got food poisoning, then bussed
to Oakland, Sacramento and all the way to La Vista, near San Diego, over a three
day trip and then a senior officer there told me : " Mr. Lightfoot, we're going to have
to discuss this John Lemmon thing....do you know that we could cut you up in little
pieces and flush you down the toilet and nobody would ever know?..."
I took my protest to Berkeley, Calif. and began to experience a lot of police inter-
ference in , not only my activism, but also my private time and twice they tried to
push false evidence, ( I believe pot ) on me by strangers I had never met. On both
occasions it was a brazen setup, team operation implimenting split second
timing and both times, since I was not in possesion to begin with, the matters
were dismissed, but not until after my employer had to bail me out.
More typically I would be surprised by a group of officers who would search me
for no reason, or where my activism would be concerned, try to silence me and
shut me down and, I believe, used undercover police or affiliates to assault me.
In all five times. Total strangers would try to wail on me. Twice I was sruck from
behind in the head and once I was kicked in the back and the police, rather than
allow me to have the third arrested, were later seen talking to him while he
leaned up against their patrol car. Another time a stranger on a bicycle threw me
out into the street and after I got him in a headlock two men in baseball caps and
T- shirts were there to break it up and let him get away.
When I took my activism to San Francisco the police fraud would turn to terrorism
and I would find myself , ultimately, almost killed a couple of times, arrested often,
my possesions, signs and guitar confiscated and the like. A lot of what happened
I can't remember, there was such a steady stream of harrassment, but here is
what I can for now :
It was in 1984 that I first took my activism to San Francisco. In fact Walter Mon-
dale and the Democratic Party headquarters was in San Francisco, running a-
gainst Reagan for the presidency. I was experiencing an unusual number of phy-
sical assaults and not just the usual police harassment in both Berkeley and San
Francisco. I recall taking my evidence to the F.B.I. I remember a man sitting in a
chair across from me in the lobby who said: "Have you ever heard of a book called:
" None Dare Call It Conspiracy "?" That's about all they had to say.
A few months later I received a bizarre letter from a Dennis C. Lee. It had several
pages from a book titled Rubber Monkees that were along the lines of something
Stephen King would write, pretty sick stuff. Included was a photo sequence of a
man mimicking the act of being shot. I recognize that man as the one who gave
me a ride across the bay bridge and tried to drive me 50 mile out of my way, he
said to San Jose, a few weeks earlier. I remember, then,. seeing no door handle
as I considered bailing while in motion. I had to insist pretty sternly to be dropped
off in Oakland. There were other pictures: one of a gun blazing in your face Statue
of Liberty and one of a large "Sugar Daddy" candy bar.
I was most alarmed though by the handwritten inscription that read:
" Mr. Steven Lightfoot,
You haven't got the whole story yet, but since you won't cease your investigation
I thought I may as well "CLUE YOU" to "Phase Three" D.C.L." A similar letter I
would receive eight years later signed Stephen King matches the handwriting.
I immediately took this letter to the F.B.I. and they staunchly refused to even touch
or acknowledge it. As if they already knew what it was all about.
Two weeks later my father, Philip Lightfoot, an M.D. from Healdsburg, Calif. , died
in a small airplane crash in New Zealand.. He was one of three who died out of
six passengers on a ski lift plane ride. It also happened on August 09, 1984, the
tenth anniversary of Nixon's resignation. My immediate family refused to acknow-
ledge the coincidence but I will always believe the odds are 50/50 that the govern-
ment , or someone, had my dad killed, if just to scare me off my story or remove
the one man who would most likely have responded to any abuse the law enforce-
ment branches might deal me. Of course that's possible. The one worry I had
then was that I would be killed next before I inherited money to pour into my Lennon
expose. I spoke out publicly for people not to believe any suicide scenario in the
event I should die.
When I told the students at Cal Berkeley that my father had just died in a suspi-
cious plane crash I was greeted with chuckling and supressed laughter. That
was the all time low point of my career. What a sick planet I was trying to save.
A few months later I watched from one of the Democratic headquarters t.v.'s as
Mondale conceeded the election to Reagan.
A few hours later, after I had turned into sleep ( I was sleeping outdoors, over-
night )I was awoken to the sight of police flashlights and a gun pointing directly
in my face.. No I.D. check was attempted but my belongings were searched before
they left. That message seemed to be: " Reagan's back in. You gonna stop now?"
I inherited some money shortly thereafter and I bought a '75 Chevy van and began
living in it, saving all my money for informing the public, since the media and the
courts had let me down.
Now that I had a van I could carry billboards and a guitar, and I did a lot of protest-
ing. I especially hung out at the corner of Van Ness and O'Farrell in San Francisco
and for hours a day and five days a week usually. After a while I found myself
being harassed by the police. I remember one week that included five seperate
contacts and two verbal threats to shoot me full of Thorazine.
My signs and literature were confiscated several times, including over three ar-
rests for blocking the sidewalk, unnecessary noice, whatever they could come up
with, and every time the charges were dismissed.. On one occasion the S.F.P.D.
took my signs two days before the much hyped Golden Gate Bridge walk. I suffer-
ed the same problem in Santa Rosa,: police taking my signs for no reason. I
also experienced a rash of false citations. Once, after I avoided a roadblock check-
point that had been set up I was pulled over a half hour later by a waiting patrol car
who had been waiting for me to pull out of my parking space, the minute I did. They
must have known that I didn't have my insurance and registration, but stalked me
like prey to enact the ticket. The abuse got bad enough that I began to advertise
the police chief's name on a billboard alleging a murder plot against me. before
the harassment stopped.
My very first visit to San Jose in ten years was met with four police cars and sever-
al officers who conducted an unlawful search of my van based on a tip from a wit-
ness who did not exist. This occured just minutes after I exited the freeway to
watch Johnny Carson in a business parking lot. Prior to the incident I noticed a
white unmarked car with a bizarre antenna idling near me. I was charged with
and infraction of marijuana possesion. I was denied the provisions of U.S. law
as the court rammed the conviction through. This is the only non traffic conviction
I have ever had in my life, to this day. Months later one of the officers involved
illegally searched my van again within two minutes of my parking at another San
Jose neighborhood. And on the eve of my appeal deadline two patrol cars tried
to enter my van at four A.M. without cause. I rolled my window up and honked and
yelled out "Help! The police are terrorizing me!" for five minutes before they left. I
drove around the block later and saw two blue U.S. Government emblazened
cars around the corner from where it all happened.
In San Francisco, while taking a nap in my van on Haight Street, two individuals
took turns urinating on my wheel. I confronted the two of them and they sandwich-
ed me together and said: "We don't need the publicity." and promptly hit me with a
spin move in the nose. After I got this individual in a headlock, the tall one behind
me, dislocated my left shoulder. They tried to break my hip with their boots and
grabbed my head by the hair and smashed my face into the sidewalk breaking
my nose open and sideways. I drove myself to St. Mary's Hospital where my arm
was pulled into place and where I pushed my own nose back on straight. . I began
seeing two doctors for repairs. After a few months I finally had my nose reset.
This assault happened in late June of 1987. I made a citizens arrest on Thomas
Decker two days later but District AttorneyCostello released him without charges.
In Sept. of the same year, and right after my nose was fixed, Yoko Ono was con-
ducting an art exhibet at the Dyansen Gallery in San Francisco. I called the gal-
lery manager and told her who I was and that I wanted to see Yoko. Later that night
I met a 45 minute wait to get in, the line was so long. A womans voice called out
for me and I was let in ahead of the others. A few minutes later Yoko arrived, wear-
ing sunglasses at night, carrying a bouquet of flowers. After she made her way to
my part of the room I presented her with a large envelope. I told her: " Yoko, this is
about your husbands murder. Please read it. " That is all I said and did. Almost
immediately she and her security ducked into a side room and, I presume, exam-
ined the contents: four copies of my evidence magazine with instructions to get
the other Beatles a copy. They emerged and left after about five minutes.
A half hour later I was sipping champagne and minding my own business, talk-
ing with other people, when a large man in a brown suit flashed me a police
badge and began pushing me violently in the back out the door and down a flight
of stairs. There were four waiting policemen and a van. I was picked up by all
fours, not resisting arrest, and one officer said to me " We're going to beat your
ass!" as they carried me across the street. I yelled out to the crowd what they had
just said. I was handcuffed and put in the van and driven to, I presumed, the police
station. I realized after twenty minutes later and the scenery that I was being driven
to a neighborhood near, what was known as Candlestick Park. The officers pul-
ed over and burst through the door and began brutally beating me, pistol-whipping
me and kicking me, literally unconscious. I had to pinch myself at how I came to
be in a van and just beaten when I came to. I thought I was about to be killed. I
made my peace with God. They pulled over to make a phone call and then drop-
ped me off at S.F. General Hospital. The two officers names were Kevin Hall and
Steven Rist. When I asked where we were officer Hall said:"I'm going to break
your nose." a passing doctor heard him say that. I was strapped down to a gurney
and calmly waited for the doctor to arrive. I explained that I was a political activist
who was just beaten by the police for no reason. I would learn that they made a
false report alleging that I was yelling death threats to Yoko. I explained that this
was a lie they told to cover their crimes. The doctor understood and seemed to
agree. I was nonetheless transported to Santa Rosa for the allowed 72 hour hold.
I was released a day early, battered, but judged sane. I immediately walked to the
Santa Rosa Junior College campus and showed the students my injuries and
bloodsplattered suit. I told them about the thirteen head X-rays and the other
wounds requiring stitches, my swollen wrist and ankle.. Ultimately my organs had
to be examined in a large tunnel device they were so bruised. I showed them
the truth about America and free speech. A few weeks later it would dawn on me
that Yoko may have been behind the order to assault me. I'll discuss this probabil-
ity later only to say now" Don't trust Yoko".
I was at the height of my activist campaign with my signs out at Van Ness and
O'Farrell and Reagan's cabinet was resigning one by one. My own government
was getting ready to kill me, the brave individual insisting on truth, justice and the
American way. And the terrorism campaign would persist. Frank Jordan was the
chief of police during those times. As soon as he was replaced by chief Casey,
I believe, the terrorism in San Francisco stopped. A concert by Paul McCartney in
Berkeley, where he actually endorsed me( see intro) in 1990 also helped stop the
In 1992 I finally got the courage up to take my newly logo'd van"STEPHEN KING
SHOT JOHN LENNON, to King's home town of Bangor, Maine. Within seconds of
leaving my parking space, right after I was interviewed by the local television sta-
tion, I was pulled over by the Bangor Police and cited for running a red light. I ran
no red light, in fact the media was there with my picture in the paper the next day
receiving the ticket. It was all a setup. I encountered police a total of six times that
first day. I was chased out of parking lots, followed by police as I walked through
the local mall, two men in a SUV broke into my van and stole my keys and my
tape recorder that I had been using earlier. According to a witness. It was right
out of a movie. I decided to stay and fight the ticket. Weeks later I was given
another fraudulent ticket when the officer only saw me walking a half a block away
from my car for not having a safety sticker on my windshield. During that episode
he said, and even later admitted in court, that "Stephen King gives me five thou-
sand a week to harass you. How do you think I afford that house on the hill?"
I beat both tickets after having to stay almost six months. There were other, or-
dinary people, my first week in town, who I caught trying to disconect my brakes
while I was inside watching T.V.. For the most part thought the people of Maine,
certainly in Kennebinkport, seemed to recognize my evidence as being for real.
Once I was pulled over after a dragnet had been set up to spot me only I had al-
ready received my state safety sticker the day before. No ticket.
One day I said, over talk radio, that "...the most disturbed man in Bangor is Step-
hen King." That got him out of the woodwork. Hours later he confronted me while
I was playing my guitar and singing a protest song about him downtown. We first
crossed each others paths, going the opposite direction. He went all the way to
the isolated doorway I was at and buttonhooked back to meet me as I stood at
downtown's ground zero next to the store that sold most of his books. He wagged
a threatening trigger finger at me as if to say: " I'll get you, you !#@* but calmed
way down and stood right next to me to stutter"T-t-t-take c-care. I w-w-w-want you
to t-take c-c-care." then sauntered away. I wouldn't speak to him.
One night, while watching David Letterman in my van, A book was dropped by
a young man through my window. It was titled "Let Me Take You Down" . It was
a book about Mark Chapman. On the inside jacket was a handwritten letter to me
signed Stephen King. (see website) A bookmarker was found on a page that
has a passage about Chapman offering "...$50.oo...anything...for that picture of me
getting John Lennon's autograph.' There was also a smudge mark opposite the
passage as though to mark it. A veiled bribe is what I made of it. After all, my evi-
dence includes a photo of him getting John's autograph. The book itself was pure
government sponsored propaganda designed to more deeply embed the big lie
in America's consciousness about a lone assassin.
A subsequent analysis of the handwriting revealed that it matched the letter I re-
ceived from "Dennis C. Lee" in 1984 before my dad died.
Initially, when I first arrived there, the local T.V. station conducted a disingenuous
interview which never aired, and another interview I granted to an independant
source at a hotel in Bangor.
Winter was getting chilly and I went to New York City to prepare for the anniversary
of John's death and get my evidence rally , that I had planned, a shot.
District Attorney at the time Sullivan would not see me about Lennon's murder.Big
surprise. He was the chief on the scene of the murder, now promoted to D.A..
The parking police were on my van like bees on honey, I think I received four or
five and beat some of them. Once a police car shoved one through my door jam
so I wouldn't see it, not a parking officer, a police officer. I spent too much time
going back and forth to court to fight them and most were totally unfair.
Not too much in the way of actual police harassment I was amazed to find. Just
one lone incident of an officer trying to gain entry while I remained silent under the
covers in my bed until he left.
I returned to California puzzled at how King's home town could stomach letting
their kids play in the same town as the murderer who killed their hero, John Len-
non, and not arrest him. King pretty much buys their silence with money; a base-
ball field, hospital grants and university grants and he lets the locals play roles
in some of his movies, etc. Too bad for the rest of America, that sellout. I only hope
they see the folly of their feigned denial in time. Frankly, I hope the same for the
people of California, for everyones sake.
I settled in Monterey, Calif. and found that the city had passed new phony laws to
outlaw accoustic guitar playing and singing downtown. Dean Flippo, D.A. of Monter-
ey County, was a public supporter of Attorney General Dan Lungren, who's tenure
precided over much of the terrorism I was subjected to. The Monterey police gave
me a total of at least three target based tickets. In the instance of the one I beat
the officer took two mini-vacations to avoid trial after I was able to locate a witness.
When I finally came to court the room was closed with no explanation or advance
notice. It was bizarre, indeed. That matter was finally dismissed.
I ventured to southern Calif., L.A. and San Diego, and did not experience the same
police fraud there, except a phony ticket I received for just showing up at the O.J.
Simpson mansion during that media frenzy.
KOGO radio of San Diego allowed me a one hour interview. I actually aired the
tape of McCartney endorsing me at the Berkeley concert only to watch them mangle
it later that same day in their news reports.
Stephen King was advertising his scheduled stop at Sant Cruz, Calif. for a book-
signing and followup event at the Memorial Hall. I pulled up stakes to be there and
expose him with a billboard that read:" STEPHEN KING IS A MURDERER: IT'S
TRUE OR HE'D SUE" I was passing out flyers to warn the public of Kings linkage
to Lennon's murder and the absurdity of their community hosting him, when I met
the owner of the bookstore hosting his arrivcal: Neil Coonerty, of Bookshop Santa
Cruz. He told me" ...the police and I have discussed how to handle you..." At no
point did he advise me I wasn't allowed the same rights as everyone else, or to
stay away. In fact my van was egged at the scene and I received a parking ticket
at the same moment I was dealing with that distraction. King arrived at the back
entrance to the bookstore and I remained outside the front door with my billboard
and leaflets. After a while a young man came out to tell me that he was asked by
a little girl" Did you kill John Lennon?" and that his response was: "No(dramatic
pause) comment'" The young man also told me King was telling lies about me
inside. He insisted that I should go in and confront King. It seemed too easy. It
seemed like a setup. Yet there was no official reason I couldn't go in, so I did. I
made it three to five steps inside and then Wham!. Several undercover officers and
agents pounced on me and dragged me outside with my billboard, handcuffed me
and with the television cameras getting it all on film. I was taken to jail and locked
up on judge Sullivan's signature, I believe, for suspicion of trespassing. That night
I was on the national news cast as a stalker of Stephen King, in handcuffs, getting
pushed into a police car. Meanwhile King was entertaining the town with a speech
that included me:" ...I guess we knocked a few shingles off of his roof....Lightfoot
has been a stone in my shoe for a long time..." No denials of my claims however.
I was released two days later with no charges filed. The town of Santa Cruz, un-
der the corruption of chief Stephen Belcher, performed it's grotesque act of irony
and wickedness casting me as the villian and King as the hero. Poor Santa Cruz.
In fact chief Belcher turned out to be one of the most corrupt officials I would suf-
fer. He and his henchman D.A. Art Danner. In all I received over three false cita-
tions for unecessary noise, disturbing the peace etc. in the years I visited there.
At the height of the terror I was featured in a cartoon in the local Metro : The car-
toon shows mall police at a carnival style firing range with my van as the central
target in a crowd of "dangerous whacko's" that he is trying to shoot. On the cover
of that issue a gun points at the viewer, taking up the whole page.
Neil Coonerty, owner of Bookshop Santa Cruz is a former city councel member.
Attorney Christopher Smith of Santa Cruz was using his Mystery Spot tour guides
to slander me with lies in their speeches. The Mystery Spot is that famous hoax
house that is so slanted it makes things seem out of balance. I found this out from
a friend who couldn't believe his ears. Something about an alian spacecraft I sup-
posedly linked to my findings. Mr. Smith was very agitated when I confronted him.
(To be continued )