From The
Archives Of The Struggle Against Climate Change And Animal Preservation-West
Coast Version-Professor Johnny Allan-Climate Guru And Con Artist-Part 3
By Bart Webber
The word scallywag
had very precise historical connotation about low-lives, drifters, medicine show
junkies, card sharks, fornicators, adulterers not covered by the previous designation,
bowling addicts, hell, maybe bocce too, grifters, a class different from con
men and three card monte artist, midnight shifters and every kind of fixer, bag
man and demon holy goof. Maybe all of those terms fit a son of the South from
whence the term came when all hell, according to the residents anyway, when the
South met it righteous defeat back in the 1860s and every such type descended on
the old Confederacy lands. All of this historical extra to place one Professor
Johnny Allan in context before we go through another battle royale with that
ill-gotten brother.
I am not a particular
fan of genealogy in arguing against some great injustice as here when one
Johnny Allan is trying to still hold me up for some serious money for “defaming”
him about his past as a con man and fraud to the detriment of his crumb bum business,
basically a stall in the Olde Town market in San Diego filled with derelict objects
and moth-eaten clothing, especially the serapes as he had tried to pass himself
off as some Tex-Mex refugee seeking the golden road in Estados Unidos. According
to a couple of biographical exposes of Johnny was born not in Texas as now
claimed but in Greenville, South Carolina. Most importantly his roots in the
South go back to a scalawag great-grandfather who headed South after dodging
the Union draft in the Civil War. Headed south for one very obvious reason
about ten proud Yankee farmers were ready to string him up, ready to hang him
high for stealing their pigs. The subsequent generations were no better except
once they got through to the 20th century they had established themselves
in various South Carolina town where the con man, the studied drifter, the two-bit
grifter, the local grafter and the ten percent shavers had some cache. (With the
proviso that the cache was more urban legend than fact and that pleased crowd
were not victimized like those long-ago Yankee farmers)
So these are Johnny
Allan’s bloodlines as we yet again go mano a mano over some legal dispute which
thus far is all smoke and mirrors since everything I have written is true and
Johnny and his lawyer just think they have a fish to fry. Frankly I thought
that the last “exchange” would have ended our relationship. That is when I
published a photograph taken of Johnny and his coterie playing golf at a swanky
Carmel resort he was supposed to be in Africa saving some endangered species.
He had set up a fund based on his recognized work in that area and pocketed most
of the dough himself. Clearly criminal behavior which the government wanted to
pursue but the various environmental organizations affected preferred to let it
go rather than hurt their own revenues from such donations.
This should be
the show-stopper, the thing that gets Johnny and that damned illiterate lawyer
off my back. A friend of mine from U/Cal-San Diego at my request went to see
Johnny’s so-called business in Olde Town. She reported back that if there were
a settlement between us to avoid court it should be for about three dollars, US
since his stall was from nowhere. I thought the photo expose of Johnny and
cronies on the golf course would do the trick so I didn’t think about this
until later. The whole set-up was a front, was a front for Johnny’s drug-dealing,
white slavery trade, fake antique hustling in short what you would expect
somebody like the good professor to do. How do I know. Well that good friend
spent several hours for a couple of days observing what was going on in that stall
and it wasn’t tourists seeking knickknacks. This should set Johnny back on his heels
a bit. Yeah, every bit a son, a grandson, a great-grandson of scalawags.
