Who is Holocaust Museum Shooter James von Brunn?

This is from Talking Points Memo’s  Reader Blogger Joe Wood:

VonBrunn

Hitler’s worst mistake is that he did NOT gas the Jews. –James von Braunn, HolyWesternEmpire.org

James W. von Brunn holds a BachSci Journalism degree from a mid-Western university where he was president of SAE and played varsity football.

During WWII he served as PT-Boat captain, Lt. USNR, receiving a Commendation and four battle stars. For twenty years he was an advertising executive and film-producer in New York City. He is a member of Mensa, the high-IQ society.

In 1981 Von Brunn attempted to place the treasonous Federal Reserve Board of Governors under legal, non-violent, citizens arrest. He was tried in a Washington, D.C. Superior Court; convicted by a Negro jury, Jew/Negro attorneys, and sentenced to prison for eleven years by a Jew judge. A Jew/Negro/White Court of Appeals denied his appeal. He served 6.5 years in federal prison. (Read about von Brunn’s “And so, on December 7, 1981, a bright, crisp morning James Wenneker von Brunn visited the Federal Reserve Building on Constitution Ave., across from the Washington Monument, Washington D.C. I had cased the building twice before, and talked at length with one of the guards, a retire U.S. Marine. I posed as a freelance newspaper reporter. I wore a trench-coat with a camera-case slung over my shoulder. . The Marine (“HARRY”)) guided me through the Board Room, and Paul Volcker’s office; there I met his secretary, a smartly dressed middle-aged lady with gray hair. My objective was to arrest Volcker and the FED Brd of Governors.

I intended to bind their hands, and persuade them to appear on Television. There, on camera, I intended to read to the American public my indictment of these treasonous liars. If I survived I expected to be arrested, then stand trial before a jury of my peers. Back then I had faith in our system of justice. The Federal Reserve building fronts on Constitution Avenue, however, the main entrance, the north side, is at the rear. Here broad steps lead to a bank of impressive brass-encased doors, plus one turnstile doorway. Upon entering the building one faces a wide north to south marble corridor. Since my visit they installed security devices. Three (?) elevators stand along the west wall. A uniformed Negro security-guard, to the east (my left), seated behind a desk, required visitors to log-in. Attached to the desk was a closed cabinet containing, I had been informed, riot weapons. Two hall-ways, each running east to west, traverse the length of the building; they intersect the main corridor. Two security guards patrol them. Between the halls two flights of marble stairs along the west wall rise to the second level balcony, overlooking the main corridor. Harry (the ex-Marine) is stationed there – He protects the Board Members’ offices and the Board of Governors conference room. He too has a desk-cabinet with riot arms. On the first floor, opposite the balcony is a waiting room. A guard there directs visitors to their destinations, makes telephone calls to confirm appointments, etc. I waited there with a beautiful young brunette applying for her first job. She wore a luxurious sable coat, which I helped her remove when she complained it was too warm. I didn’t dare unbutton my trench coat, which concealed a sawed-off shot gun, a .38- police-special, a Bowie knife and a carpenters-apron containing cord, etc. Later the visiting-room guard said he thought I looked “suspicious.” The camera-case slung over my shoulder now contained a phony bomb, which, it appeared, could be activated by a phony detonator (range finder). As I didn’t want to kill anyone I carried no ammunition.

The previous day I re-confirmed that the Board would meet and Harry would NOT be on duty. However, upon arrival I saw that Harry was on the balcony, his partner had called in sick. Such are the fickle uncertainties of Fate. The ladies on the balcony decorating the Christmas tree departed, to my great relief, giggling and rosy-cheeked. About an hour had passed since my arrival and visitor traffic was increasing. Still my name had not been called to “photograph” the 2nd floor. I knew I had to make a move. Fortuitously, the waiting-room guard left his station to escort the beautiful lady. Now was the time. I walked down the corridor to the Negro guard at the front entrance, shoved the .38 in his gut, and escorted him out of the building. A woman awaiting an elevator suspected nothing. Outside I told the Negro to walk North and keep walking. He was a tall-lanky dude with red-veined cornea. I returned to the lobby, waited briefly then returned outside. The Negro guard disobeyed and was walking east toward the police station. I warned him that cross-hairs were zeroed in on his spine. One more step and my “comrade’ in the bushes would kill him. Fortunately there were no pedestrians to overhear. The Negro turned and walked north. I never saw him again. At the trial the black attorney praised him for his courage.

Back inside I walked down the corridor and up the marble stairs to the balcony. There, five or six men and women were conversing before the closed board room doors. Harry approached me, testily. I didn’t call you, sir. Go back downstairs and wait. I displayed the .38, keeping the barrel lowered to he couldn’t see the empty cylinders. Sotto voce, escort me to Volcker’s office. Now. I’m going to arrest him. No one will be hurt. Get your ass moving. I ain’t going nowhere, says the ex-Marine. The talking group disappeared down the hall. In that case Harry I’m going to kill you. OK, kill me. Quiet, keep your voice down. Where to you want it Harry, gut or head ? Do it, Harry says. Harry, you dumb bastard. Don’t you know the FED killed your buddies in Nam? I ain’t leaving. Harry, you can help America. Expose the g-d- Jews. Kill me, he says. One last time, I shoved the gun in his gut. NO, says he. Never expect a U.S. Marine to leave his post. I handed my revolver to him (later, in court, he testified that he jumped me and wrestled the weapon from me. Good man, Harry). I removed my trench-coat, went to the ante-room and sat down. A regiment of armed cops arrived. I told them to note that I had no ammo. They handcuffed me. A bomb-detection-team arrived to inspect the camera-case “bomb.” Soon I was hustled into a police van. There were iron benches and nothing to hold on to. It was dark inside. I was given a “joy-ride,” bounced around like dice in a shaker: slammed from wall to wall, as the driver hit every curb and pothole that he could find. Hard on the crotch. My trousers were soaked with blood.

The first night was spent in a two man cell with a white druggie. The floor covered with vomit. The only white man I saw in the DC jail, police and inmates were ALL black. My Parole Officer, appointed by the Court, was a Jew rabbi. I’m tempted to recount my prison experiences — which included fights, suicides, murders, sympathetic nurses, librarians and purloined legal documents, but that is another story probably never to be told. No time.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a distinguished gentleman, Elgin Groseclose (America’s Money Machine) entered the fray. The 83-year old monetary expert had appeared in that capacity before Congress on numerous occasions. He telephoned me, introduced himself, set a date to meet with him in his D.C. office. He was slim, tall, nattily attired, with white hair and kindly eyes. After an exploratory conversation during which I stated my case, he volunteered to testify in my behalf. He refused to meet with me again. And would not assist in the preparation of my case. He sought impartiality. A few months later he died of cancer

Meanwhile, I was contacted by a U.S. Senator (who must remain nameless), who he offered me a plea bargain (repeated by Harriet Rosen Taylor, JEW judge, in private on the eve of the trial): If I would plead guilty to one count of gun violation (I had no DC permit) they would not prosecute me for Robbery, Burglary, Attempted Kidnapping etc. I refused. I wanted the trial broadcast to the American public. I was confident in the validity of my charges. I could find NO attorney willing to take on my case, including right-wing barristers. ACLU demurred because weapons were involved. I decided to appear pro se, in my own behalf. The government appointed an attorney, who it turned out was half Jew and was a member of NAACP. He was to guide me through courtroom protocol. However, when the prosecutor objected to my every move it became clear they would not allow me to appear pro se. So the half-JEW presented most of the arguments while Groseclose and I presented the FACTS.

I sought to subpoena Zbigniew Brzezinski, Security Advisor to Jimmy Carter; and Paul Volcker, Chairman of the Fed Brd of Governors. Brz, in his book Between Two Worlds, states that Marxism is the wave of the future, the USA must embrace it. Also Brz was appointed by David Rockefeller to organize and head the secretive Trilateral Commission, a One World organization. Paul Volcker was instrumental in floating FED loans to the USSR, to build truck plants, steel mills, etc. which produced war materials shipped to Korea and Nam, killing U.S. military personnel. The judge would not allow the traitors to be subpoenaed. Elgin Groseclose gave testimony extremely damaging to the FED. He supported my charges of FED treason; he testified that Congress was self-serving, ignorant and frightened; therefore, the FED could be removed ONLY BY FORCE. It is a tragedy that Elgin’s testimony never saw the light of day.

The courtroom was filled with Blacks and Jews. When the prosecution made a point they cheered; conversely I was booed. Judge Harriet Rosen Taylor made little effort to quiet them. The prosecution team was led by a JEW, but Nixon, a Negro, tried the case. They decided, early on, that their case was to be based on my racism. The racist charge was predicated on a 1000-word essay that I had intended to read on TV during the FED “action.” My MS, now available at www.holywesternempire.org, stemmed from that essay. There are many notable quotes therein that offend Negroes and Jews — including several by Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln. The jury and all alternates were Negroes, with one exception, a diminutive, gray-haired White lady sitting between two Negro female behemoths. Almost all the Negroes had served jail sentences, and many black ex-felons were rejected at voir dire. One black male slept through most of the trial.

A unanimous verdict was handed down. I was guilty on all counts, and sentenced to 11 years. Elgin Groseclose visited me several days later in the City Jail. He affectionately patted the glass that separated us. There were tears in his eyes. An attractive blonde seated nearby was visiting her Negro husband. It was a most depressing scenario. 6 months later I was sent to Springfield, MO, State Pen for psychiatric examination. I was declared sane “without even a hint” of paranoia, etc. However, I received a low IQ. The tests were taken in pencil, and became part of my prison records. This bothered me. Upon arriving at Ray Brook, FCI, I arranged to take Mensa tests (oral and written). A prison psychologist was sent in to administer them. He had a lisp! Even so, much to my surprise, I was admitted to Mensa. Meanwhile. My preparations for Appeal went badly. The court appointed another attorney who didn’t even have an office! By the time his brief reached me in prison, the Appeal had been adjudicated. Ben Wilson, my Easton, Md, attorney, was hesitant but finally agreed appear in my behalf before the Court of Appeals. Ben had Jew clients. He received Admiral Crommelin’s plea in my behalf; painstakingly written in longhand. The Admiral asked Ben to review it, have it typed in legal format, and then present it before my court appointed attorney made his Appeal. Meanwhile, Adm. Crommelin had personally met with Pres. Ronald Reagan in my behalf (I have a photograph of John and the President). The day of the Appeal, Ben and my sister appeared at court. The three appellate judges were Black, Jew and White. Sadly, Ben had suffered cold feet. For this Crommelin holds Ben Wilson in utter contempt. Ben had not prepared Crommelin’s appeal and he arranged to arrive in court after the decision was handed down, i.e., Guilty on all counts. BELOW IS A LETTER that I wrote while in prison to SecNav James Webb. I hoped to interest him in my case. The letter explains in detail how the Government rigged my trial.

Honorable James Henry Webb. Jr,
U.S. Secretary of the Navy
The Pentagon
Washington, D.C. 20500

James W. von Brunn Federal Prisoner #07128-016
P.O.Box 904-H
FCI Ray Brook, N.Y. 12977
Federal Reserve Caper”

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