Great Neck was one mistake, Ruby Rohrlich

Daniel A. Foss (U17043@UICVM.BITNET)
Tue, 12 Mar 1996 00:06:12 CST

Ruby Rohrlich, you asked me what did you do to me that I should do this to
you. One thing you did, out of class snobbery, was praise Great Neck NY.
Where on Feb 10 I was raped. Names of the guilty and their occupations, etc,
appear at the end.
Date: Mon, 11 Mar 96 23:52:23 CST
From: "d." <U17043@UICVM>
Subject: Great Neck was one mistake
To: Ruby Rohrlich <>
Dear Ruby Rohrlich,

As I recall, just for starters, you heartily endorsed the entity called
Great Neck NY as a paradise of education and morality; whereas to my knowledge
it is a sinkhole of Perverted rapists preying upon the identity-confusion of
a hapless wretch driven mad by the crazed imaginations of the Stony Brook
University Community and tarred and feathered and driven out of town on a rail
for having resided on campus at the same time that a sex crime occurred, having
been rescued from jail only by the victim's steadfast refusal to identify this
writer as the perpetrator; the circumstance that this writer never owned a gun
and has not owned a car (to keep a gun in the trunk of had he owned one) since
1979 - this was June 10,11,12 1994 - was not considered. Consequently,
*sexfiend* as well as *junkie* have been indelibly burned into this writer's
identity, for cynical exploitation by rapists at their convenience.

The rape of Feb 10 was in no way sexual, but represented the pure exercise
of Power over a hapless victim who had no capacity to resist; what is more, the
*two* rapists (the procedure was quite evidently worked out in detail between
the perpetrators) dispensed with sexual arousal altogether. Obedience to orders
to submit to Perverted Acts was their objective. I myself have been sexually
impotent since eviction from Stony Brook in June 1994 anyway.

The perpetrators had been my "oldest friends." Friends change qualitatively
in relation to you once the parity of socioeconomic status ceases. They treated
me, increasingly over the years, as an object, or member of a human zoo of
mental defectives/psychos/wackobananas. Why, the evening before the rape, I
was told to keep my hands off their computer, as the latter "gets broken all
the time by the Retarded children." So far was I deemed distant from consenting
adulthood. And, what with my vulnerability to feelings of Sex Perverted Devia-
ted Menace To Women & Public Morals, I couldn't have been any kind of consent-
ing *anything*.

One curious detail was, that the Friendly Taxi Co. of Great Neck had
received prior instructions to not pick up any passengers headed for an
airport without express permission of the perpetrators.

Orders were given like this:
"You wanna get into bed, danny?" (Unable to resist, I got into his side
of the bed, as the closest thing to sullen resistance I could manage.)
"No, I wantcha to get into *Eva's* side of the bed, danny." (I then closed
my eyes, thought of England, and told a story about the husband's old girl
friend, he Gave At The Office, which I hoped would infuriate him; stories about
his wife do not.)
"Don't'cha think Eva deserves an orgasm, danny?" (At this point, when I'd
be required to move some part of my body, THE WHOLE THING SUDDENLY REGISTERED!
I'D BEEN RAPED! I then said, "Ugh!!!" and ran out, packed, and called the cab,
which refused to pick me up, the plane takeoff was rather soon, without *permi-

As the Women's History Month exhibit on Violence Against Women said, "BEING
DRUNK IS NO EXCUSE!" What I was, obsessed by self-loathing as a socially
constructed Sex Pervert, was the same as Drunkenness, had analogous effects.
Only, I was never perverted besides the usual fantasies. You can't avoid them
in magazines, fiction, whatever. Admittedly, I was left with a lot of time on
my hands. But the fact remains, I never did that stuff. THESE RAPISTS WERE REAL
had nothing to do with the fantasies wherefor I got run out of Stony Brook
(where it was Well-Known I was Thinging About Something I Shouldn't Have Been
Thinking About if not quite precisely what it was), but in the context of my
tormented guilt, that didn't matter.

The rapists are:
Bertrand G. Winsberg, MD, psychiatrist.
Eva Winsberg, MSW, psychiatric social worker.

The rapists reside at:
34 Hutchinson Court, Great Neck NY

The rapists' computer userid is:

Ruby Rohrlich, you stand condemned of class snobbery above and beyond the
call of duty as a Decent Respectable Professional Member Of The Upper Middle
Class. You stand condemned before the Judgment Seat of the People as a sympa-
thizer with your class peers, irregardless of Criminal Perverted Rapist Acts
they may have committed. You stand condemned of massive and flagrant bias,
negating your utility as a social scientist. You have no right to plead.

May history have mercy on your soul. Cuz I aintgonna.

That's no joke. Better believe it. And for speaking out, I face terrible
punishment at the hands of the guilty.

When I asked you for help, back about a month ago, you brushed me aside.
Frankly, I don't give a goodgoddam what this looks like. I have told my story,
which I regard as empirically valid, if, ideologically speaking, counterReal.

I give not a fig that the Criminal Felon Perverted Rapists are subscribers
to The Nation, The New York Review Of Books, The New Yorker, and The New York
Times, inter alia. Nor do I have the slightest intention to allow into evidence
that these Felons, these Dangerous and Violent Criminal Perverts, are patrons
of the White Cultural Arts. Burn all your white culture, Burn baby, indeed,
BURN before I worry about your precious white civilization, placid and remote
from where the suffering is, the suffering increasing daily absolutely as well
as relatively.


Goddam, I always *knew*, if the Personal is Political, then I'd turn into an
Ayatollah. And there, I just did. To prevent that, for decades I denied that
the personal is political, or vice versa. "The personal is personal. The
political is politcal." That's what I said. But, providing we omit all
consideration of voluntary sex, or "cultural issues," as Buchanan calls it,

You know the worst thing that happened to me? For the first time, when I
didn't have eye trouble, I can't read. Before Feb 10, I couldn't stop reading.
Now, I can't read. My mind is dead. I do not forgive this. Ever. This crime
may only be avenged the way a rape victim usually avenges her rape. (Though
the logistics of the double murder are beyond my capability, and herewith
renounce all intention to avenge myself in the only way deemed honourable.)


Daniel A. Foss

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