Why a gypsyTraveller silently ran for President in 2020 — and will again in 2024

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MAYON for President. Running 2020 + 2024 + 2028 + 2032 + 2036. Here for the party. Only voter I care about is the poor and broken. The hopeless. The lonely. The one thinking about suicide. The locked-away. The dying alone. The war vet who hates himself. The raped. The stolen. The trafficked. Those who have to steal to eat. THEM.

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Running as nonpartisan write-in. I was a Republican until they nominated Trump. Husband is a registered Democrat. That makes us a Royal purple.

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The reason for me taking this move is to stop Senator Kamala Harris from becoming the Attorney General for whomever becomes the 46th President. Joining the race myself is an attempt to keep my name …and thus my story… out of Trump’s mouth. My book about me and Willie Brown and Kamala Harris has been on Amazon since 2016. It has been online since 2010. If Trump’s people wanted to use me and my story like a whore, then I am making sure they get more than they can handle.

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NOTE: this website was written in spring of 2018 to discuss a history Ms. Harris and I share. The only update has been the photo of my husband. When I wrote this website, two years ago and the book ten years ago, I had no idea she’d become the de facto President Jan 21, 2021. I re-registered around noon Election Day November 3, 2020.

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THREE THINGS I WILL DO BY EXECUTIVE ORDER THE FIRST 100 DAYS:

#1) immediately fix the obscene lack of housing for the ultra-poor by sending a letter to all municipal governments that if they want federal dollars for roads, they must not only legalize RV living but do proactive things to welcome it, like letting the locals rent permanent sites (or temporary) to RV dwellers. Bam. You’ll never see a problem get so fixed so quick.

#2) In every region, use BLM land to open KINDNESS FARMS that consist of volunteers (mixed with college internships for school loan forgiveness like Drs get) who will be supportive staff for the broken to come, live and grow a LOT of food that we send back to the KINDNESS KIOSKS for those languishing in hellish urban cities. HUD would have a lot to answer for under a MAYON Administration. The kiosks not only supply for no cost REAL food (meat, milk, grain, eggs, fresh fruit and vegetables, herbs, raw honey … you know, stuff the human body needs to heal…), they offer nightly bus rides to the nearest farm. SECOND CHANCE RANCHES for the crowd who, by their choices or history, cannot live on the farms. The only rule for admission to the farms is a commitment to practice kindness. Thus the name.

#3) basic microloans/ car repairs/ set of tools and/or training etc. to help folks “pull themselves up by their bootstraps”.

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Now, if you don’t think that’s not a simple, straight-out solution to a whole swath of modern America’s problems, please just stop reading now. You aren’t welcome here.

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As a budgetary move, I would take an axe to the Food Stamp program. Move it from the umbrella of State Administration back to Federal care. Cut every worker from it. Every. Single. One. Automate the entire system. Remove the so-called qualification of shelter costs and other deductions. No income limits. Everyone who needs food gets a regionally-set budget (think HUD) working out to actually provide enough food for whole month. Each cycle is for 3 months, so it can keep adjusting for actual costs. If you need it, get it. Go to nearest library or use your cell phone. Issued right then. No qualifying questions except, “Need food?”. Get your EBT card at general delivery if you don’t have an address. Savings from all those salaries cut will pay increased benefits. While more food will go into belly of the poor, the truth is, where this money GOES is straight to grocery stores which then goes to corporate food manufacturers, eventually making its way into the farmer’s pocket. Why does the government not give people enough foodstamps, ever in the history of the program? Hatred of the poor. That’s what I will CHANGE that attitude from the top down.

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Don’t kid yourself that I don’t know that I’m a wildly inappropriate candidate. I am here to tell a story about one of the other candidates. I don’t expect (or even want) three votes. In other words, this campaign is about who WON’T be President. But on the other hand, don’t underestimate my life experience just because I come from the wrong side of … … … well, pretty much everything. These are strange times we live in and whether or not you admit it, the times require a leader who can handle doing what’s needed minus any party affiliation. Going forward, the distrust of each party for the other IS the problem. Time for an Independent who can be the ball-in-the-joint, making two limbs (Democrats and Republicans) mend and work properly again.

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You know that huge table where Trump meets with his cabinet, the one they act all humble while he accepts their gratitude and where they genuflect? Once I’d personally disinfected the room, burnt some sage at least, then I would pull out every contract we have with another country (and domestic too – maybe we need two rooms for this), lay them all out and then find who is best qualified to explain it to me in exquiste detail as to why that particular deal is important for our security and how it ties in with other contracts. Then the ones that made the grade (TBA) would be laid out in front of the American people for their examination as well. TRANSPARENCY, thy name is Mayon.

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Well, my intro is gonna be real scatter-shot. No way around it. I plan to keep adding to it until the negative (of who I am) develops into a true portrait. You will never see another politician’s website like this one.

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I’m 58 and my husband is 67. I’ll be 60 in 2020. I have five children. I am white. I was born in Louisiana but at the age of three, my parents moved to Europe and I was raised traveling non-stop, all over the world, but we also spent the occasional summer month with family “back home”. I’d lived in seventeen countries by the time I was 17. So there’s the first thing y’all can start picking on me about in this, the World’s Worst Popularity Contest, that’s the fact that I grew up overseas and even though I came back to live full-time in the U.S. in 1985, I still self-identify as an expatriate.

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Right off, the most easily noticeable defect: I am a gypsy. Yeah for real, a bona fide ethnic nomad, an American-born Scottish Traveller, a group not even on the census, although recognized by the Scottish government. In Europe, we are despised and labeled as GRT which is an acronym for gypsy-Roma-Traveller. Here in America, we are lumped in with the homeless.

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But even worse than belonging to the lowest rung of society, also I have insisted on my right – by heritage – to live on wheels. Have done so almost my entire life. From 1996 to 2006, home was a flat-black Bluebird school bus. Currently the homestead is a 27′ Gulfstream Conquest RV parked on a river in the Delta of the San Francisco Bay.

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Speaking of Freedom, from 1998 to 2001, again 2007-2008, then in 2011, I fought tooth-and-nail (self-represented) in San Francisco courts for the right to live in our vehicle-home on Ocean Beach, so my kids could grow up in a safe, and yes, beautiful neighborhood. Area called the Sunset. They are able to think of it as their childhood home. It was a struggle, but worth it. I wrote a book about it. More than one actually. Self-published on Amazon in 2016.

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Key was that I never once accepted that the street signs outside my door saying I was a criminal or prohibited were true application of the law. This is a long, crusty fight I plan to scratch at some more over the next few months, because I am in active prep to sue San Francisco (for the fact I am forbidden by law, within their City lines, to be a gypsy, that is to say, I can be arrested for expressing my heritage). To be a city of light, they treat RV dwellers horribly: a crime punishable up to 6 months in County if found sleeping or eating in a vehicle 10pm to 5am. Plus dozens of streets are segregated, and one acquires no-knock tickets every night until the (nomadic) home is eligible to be forfeited. My work on that is here: www.nomadicproud.wordpress.com

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My only tattoo is on my right inner ankle, a small cross that is actually a sword to match the one on my husband’s left inner ankle, though mine has the added words: NO FEAR. We got these when our world was capsized in 1998 and we were forced to accomplish a lawsuit against the San Francisco Firefighters Union’s sacred cow charity for mail theft (among other things) settled 7/12/99 San Francisco Superior Court #300155.

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This was the infamous Willie Brown’s City Hall. An illegal City Attorney’s action (1998 – 2001) meant we weren’t allowed to leave the area. For THREE years. The Court took legal custody of the children in order to ensure we – as a family – stayed here to be examined. Not physical custody, just legal. To examine us. Three years. In the end, “no actual CPS issues”. But even with that to show, we didn’t trust that another, equally – corrupt CPS office in some other place wouldn’t use the lies and manufactured evidence by San Francisco CPS workers to finally take our children away. Who would risk that? So we made the decision to stay in a city we deeply hated, surrounded by cops and firemen and social workers who hated us just as much. Our settlement with the SFFD Union includes a mutual stay-away order. Except in emergency and only with my SPECIFIC permission may any San Francisco Firefighters (past or present) union member come in my personal space, and then only in a professional capacity. Nothing could be more apt.

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As for City Hall, we stayed in San Francisco knowing what was waiting for us the minute we returned home. One part of my book (Collected Letters from the Abyss) shows documentation of a lying social worker calling Lafayette, Louisiana CPS to report we are headed there to my mother-in-law’s house. That was when we decided to stay in SF until the kids were grown. Because better the viper you have caged than the one hiding behind a rock down the road. Our kids deserved a safe childhood. If the way to keep them in our care was live here, rather than our happy roaming like before, so be it. Parenthood is all about sacrifice.

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Still, it was a Gestapo suddenly let loose in my life. It changed everything. It changed how I see my country. It made me the angry writer I am today.

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To survive, to pass muster, as a family, so we could remain a family, we had to submit to the examination. That, of course, offended everything in me as a woman and to soothe my own ruffled feathers, I quite literally insisted on making Golden Gate Park the children’s “home-environment”. It was the most subtle of wars. At night, we parked the school bus along what is called the “Great Highway” with no houses on the beach side of the street for more than forty blocks. We’d leave at 5 am (illegal curfew ends then) go to Ocean Beach for their breakfast and put them on buses (no more homeschooling for older kids, only my youngest boy, a toddler, was spared). They would pick out where they wanted the bus to be to come home from school to, what playground or scenic spot inside the park or museum day was happening. Their life was full. It was a magical life, in its own way. But it certainly wasn’t the amazing five-year-road-trip we’d been enjoying before. https://www.amazon.com/Nomadic-Proud-Apartheid-Segregation-Francisco/dp/1519644183/

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From 1992 til 1998, we lived in a compound of tents in the National Forests, traveling from region to region of the Deep South and the Ozarks, down into Florida, as far north as the grasslands, living like real gypsies. And on purpose too. It was an incredible 5-year road trip like a National Geographic documentary, but no cameras recording. The only time we stopped was to have our son, Merlin Mayon, born on March 8, 1996 in Belle River, Louisiana on his grandpa’s bayou strip of land right on the river. Not safe to walk outside at night. Alligators everywhere. Greg’s gift to me was a 32′ Bluebird school bus. We returned to the road, headed west, when Merlin was 5 months old. His first Christmas was spent on the side of Highway 1 in California. We got to San Francisco and got married at City Hall Nov 14, 1997. All travel stopped by Merlin’s second Christmas and that was the era that began with the fire fighters union and ended with Kamala Harris. Bitter ash in my mouth to write that last sentence.
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Who would ever have imagined back in the day, that my fight with the firefighters’ union, in whose name the charity appeal had been made to (it was they who had called up Fox news Christmas 1997), who could have ever imagined that nastiness would lead us to being under the oversight of Kamala Harris who, in 2001, was the woman who helped to crush my motherhood? Then she was a lowly assistant City Attorney in charge of Child Protective Services’ prosecutions who allowed this tangle of lies I’ve proven in my book. Now she is someone who has never lost a race and is California’s junior senator and apparently the favorite Dem female for the 2020 Presidential nomination.

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As I said earlier, don’t underestimate just exactly how much experience I have. Looks deceive.

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To counteract the outrage from the average San Francisco resident who hated our school bus parked in “their” neighborhood, I also wrote a book of essays NOMADIC PROUD as well as a 1918 pg paper about modern hate comments left up for public consumption on mainstream media hit pieces about the nomadic. It is published (along with a shorter paper listing six centuries of laws legalizing attack against the nomadic) on Academia where I was accepted last year as an Independent Researcher https://independent.academia.edu/RamonaMayon

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My history with the San Francisco political bluebloods 1997 to 2001 is the topic of my SECOND book. Its title is the Collected Letters from the Abyss. I simply use their paper to prove the lies and threats. It’s a long book, over 600 pages. Besides documentary proof of the City’s corrupt agents, it has hundreds of photos of our family, the family the City tried to take away from us because we lived in a school bus and our kids knew I smoked medical marijuana (1st letter from UCSF’s Dept of Neurology). In paper on Amazon @ https://www.amazon.com/Collected-Letters-Abyss-destroy-motherhood/dp/1533683867 For those who want a free read but no actual download, go to: http://online.anyflip.com/gdpn/xrdl/ The simple act of assembling our story (using the City’s own hard paper to show the lies and threats) that healed the jagged edges. I was, more or less, able to “move on”, as the FBI agent helpfully advised me.

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As President, I will dismantle the provision of federal money to Children’s Protective Services completely. Let counties go back to paying their way. Bet child abuse statistics drop accordingly. In its place will be a system of child, mother, father, siblings, grandparents, and of course, community SUPPORT that goes directly to the people who need it. Not social workers.

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My Department of Education would create apprenticeships for every industry out there. I’d also insist on the creation of “catch-up booklets” that break down the unnecessarily complex education modules into easily processed information. Like how to do fractions. Lots of folks missed out (or their teachers were crappy), and they are too busy, too embarrassed or just unaware they need to know this stuff. Also, laptops for all students. Gotta bridge that digital divide. Now.

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I am pleased to report, the minute I decided to do this, I turned to Greg, my husband of 25 years, and told him my spontaneous decision. It was Nov 15, 2016 and we were watching a Dr. Phil show with a grieving, devastated mother from Oklahoma who didn’t get to see her dead daughter’s body, nor could the local coroner, as it was inside a state penitentiary. It was gruesome AF. Nobody would give that woman peace to know her child didn’t kill herself (a young son involved, born in prison). She believed her girl had been murdered. I decided on the spot I could do the REAL job needed. I could make the RULES work on every level of government, an INDEPENDENT President who didn’t need Congress and didn’t need lobbyists and didn’t need to pander to a (far-from-center) base of voters (remember that this is barely more than a week after Trump’s election). For women like this distraught mother, I would install a Batman-like Switchboard, an actual hotline at the White House, manned by a BANK of real (and
caring) people who move in real-time, who could walk into the Oval Office and get my signature. Prisons always get federal dollars.

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You have to go deep to understand: Greg and I are best friends and have been able to hang out literally 24/7 our entire marriage meaning we really have spent 125 years together. We were married the second we laid eyes on each other May 31, 1993 in Trinity, Texas. He knew it before I did. 💗 And it was always like that.

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So he knows the kind of woman of I am through and through. When I told him about the Switchboard and that I think I’ll run, he never missed a beat, glows at me a full minute and then says, “I’d vote for you”. But then he’s always been besotted like that. In my heart, though, I always felt the luckiest married woman in the history of love-in-wedlock.

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He loved me, carried me, sheltered me as I experienced firsthand the cruelty of a corrupt government in a way that was meant to break me. Terrify me. Crush me. 2000 – 2001 Kamala Harris was in charge of my fate then, and before her, Katherine Feinstein (daughter of Senator Dianne Feinstein). Yeah, you read that right. Senator Feinstein’s daughter. BEFORE Kamala Harris – now a senator herself. And the feds ignored raw evidence of corruption, a signed and settled lawsuit that laid it out in words, looked right through me because of who and what I am. Oh, I don’t blame them anymore. I’m just here to tell my story about me and Willie Brown and Kamala Harris in 1999. You see, I know how to do that now. I didn’t years ago.

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Because of Greg, because of how he held me steady, I learned how to fight and I fought for my children, for my right to be a mother, even though I’m nomadic, and because of his faith in me, I was untouchable. The Holy Ghost gave the gift of writing and web savvy. She, the Holy Ghost, showed me I was smart enough to learn law. But it was Greg’s understanding of who the real fight with City Hall was with, that was what saved the last vestiges of my motherhood. His wisdom overcame my fury, this went on from 1998 to 2001, for three (3) straight years, together we stood up in a corrupt courtroom and backed them down with their own paper. Even as they accused him of vile acts, he kept his cool and we stood our ground. We kept our kids, even as lies and accusations swirled around us three long brutal years til we were “cleared”. But there was no saving our reputation. It was shredded by the City Attorney’s office.

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All along, I wrote like an obsessive-compulsive. Drowning in words. Climbing mountains of words. Cave-diving for words.

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Greg has stoically had to bear the practical costs of what I do. Yes, the Holy Ghost gives me Her gifts. But it’s been Greg, a mortal man, one from south Louisiana no less, who knows what corrupt politicians can do, and for me, as the writer of our story (for the world to consume), he will always be the hero because he knew from beginning how rough things would get. And they did. By the grace of God, we came through the fire intact. Still friends. Still partners. Still parents, most of all. That’s what Kamala Harris went after. Failed, thank God.

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Greg also supported my 7-year enrollment in the trenches of the war that is the Family Law Reform Movement, as a ghostwriter and web designer. Name of our company is Holy Ghost Publishing. This fall will see the (self) publication of a Practical Guide to Exposing Corruption with an attached online course and live social media platform.

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As President, I would, among other things, make a hot-spot map of all the corrupt municipalities and such by working with Silicon Valley using AI to create a Judge Dredd style website that folks could tell their story to, submit evidence and get a number. Six weeks later, in the mail is a critique of their case per the Constitution and associated rulings (enclosed) and a list of who to go to for help, etc. etc. etc. It would be a game changer, for sure. I’d be very interested in showing that map on whitehouse.gov regularly updated, of course.

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I have some serious issues the way the people who use pain meds for chronic pain have been treated, by their doctors and Congress. According to Roe v. Wade, the 9th ammendment prohibits what my husband (and thousands of others suffer) went through that began when he was assaulted in 1999 in Golden Gate Park that hospitalizedhim for a month. It’s counterfeit drugs using fentanyl that is killing people. That and people being knocked off by their own doctors who deny them life-saving pain medication because they have to worry about their medical licenses and price of malpractice and the schools loans they can’t pay off. I know what to about this too. I lived this nightmare as my husband’s caregiver and advocate.

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I don’t support Medicare-for-All. I support getting the industry to pay its own way, voluntarily agreeing that it’s my way or the highway. The highway being my DOJ opening investigations in just how much do they not pay in taxes. They escape Congressional oversight, a proper tax rate, proper reporting of statistics, and just about any other safeguard while you and I are dying from a lack of health care. Make them support an insurance pool. Now think about how the economy would surge ahead if employers no longer had to pay ever-increasing insurance premiums, because my plan doesn’t harness just Big Pharma’s greed, it unleashes the employer from the hardship of healthcare. See, I am going after true employee support amongst honorable businesses who will be allowed to sign up for a special “reward-because-you-support-your-employees” where they’d get both tax breaks AND no health care costs IF it’s their choice to spread the wealth to pay a real living wage, which by the way, is NOT the Democrats’ empty promise of $15 an hour…figure out how much a 2-bedroom apartment costs and scale it to that because that’s the real world. I do have an issue with this hallowed Democrats’ plan. How on earth is a businessperson going to significantly increase the lower level employees wages without similarly adjusting the wages of employees with seniority or more qualifications? The problem really, in my opinion, how to keep the necessary costs of a living wage from driving up the price of everything from food to child care to gasoline to rent, thus making life even worse for the struggling classes. Therefore a Mayon Administration would put out some kind of tax break to cover the first decade (or so) of adjustment. How? By killing the recent tax cuts for the 1% and slanting that to the business community at large, provided they earned the right to it by actually increasing wages.

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Don’t even get me started on Free College for All.  You want out of paying it, then volunteer to work in one of my programs and we will restructure the loan with a smaller interest and also give you credit for your time you’ve given back to your Community. I’d be completely open to any suggestions to lighten school loan debt (including more grant money) but I would never consider devaluing the entire higher education industry by “forgiving” the country’s debt to it, any more than I’d kill off the insurance industry. Just how much power do the other candidates think they get?

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Day one, number #1 priority, is to begin the hard work of balancing the budget. Nothing else new. No Mars trips. No going back to the moon. Close military bases and ship families back stateside while the forces move to a more nimble, more strike-ready, ocean-based deployment. Every single department of government would be expected to shave off 20% every single January I am President. Period. As my own contribution, I promise to ground Air Force One and Two, except for overseas trips, which would, even then, be grouped around the required G7, G20, etc.

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More negative information: I’ve been on SSI since re-activated Lyme Disease – with some environmental concerns that came from (unknowingly) living half-a-mile from a Superfund site – which has sidelined me from writing-for-pay since 2015. However, intensive herbal research these past few years led me to create a 21-ingredient Inflamma-Tea that is doing wonders. It also tastes quite nice. Book out on Amazon soon. I have already published a journal for charting Lyme disease symptoms when I was trying to figure out if what happened in 2013 was Lyme disease issues or related to the lawsuit I have (personally written) against the City of Antioch for the effects of letting people live on unimproved (or illegally improved) land next door to a military wasteland (Fulton Shipyard). By the way, the self-monitoring charting journal I created can be bought on Amazon as I released it after I realized I had assembled an invaluable aid to being able to confront and to control your reaction to what is happening to you. Lyme disease is called the Great Imitator. For me, it was the other way around. It was masking toxic exposure to heavy metals from an abandoned WWII Navy shipyard, with a documented spill of radioactive waste at least nine times during 1960.

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This knowledge has, literally, driven me into war with a little Delta town over hidden-away, ignored environmental concerns for me (and my former neighbors, not to mention the new elementary charter school that just opened less than a mile away from the so-called “fugitive dust”). Fraud over Federal relocation rights is also in our (pro se) lawsuit. It (the lawsuit) is about half-way through its life cycle.

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Even before this unpleasant experience, all my life I have been adamant that housing is one thing that destroys our ability to move forward and have good lives. It’s a human right and the failure of housing is what divides us deeply as a nation. A version of “I got mine, go get yours, and not-in-my-backyard-mother*@#%er” is very much at play. The worst of Capitalism, in other words. Thus I am going to be a one-issue candidate. Housing. Housing. HOUSING. I am convinced that a single-minded leader could easily solve the disparity of residential security between the classes. How do we call ourselves a democracy when we turn a blind eye to the bold and open relationship between developers and municipal government?

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As I opened with, one small part of my solution to ease society’s anxiety over the poor it never knows what to do with is the system I call the Kindness Farms with Kindness Kiosks in all urban centers where the poor and broken can get on a bus to the Farm in their region. Self-sufficient and not really in need of too much help due to nature of many successful commune experiments. It’s the missing piece of the charity puzzle. Somewhere to put the sick and dying. Another element would be the Second Chance ranches. Not a prison. Quite the opposite. Some people need a different kind of place to be. Not all of society fits into the village or urban construct.

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If elected, I will appoint a Secretary of Returning Children. All the children. ALL OF THEM. Be afraid, CPS workers everywhere, be very afraid. As Christ Jesus Himself said, “Woe unto him who hurts the little child.”

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I care passionately about human trafficking of every shade. I know what to do. The way the DEA and Coastguard go after a bale of marijuana, those resources will be devoted to bringing your daughters home.

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Another immediate executive order would be to name Dec 26th the day we honor all the Native Americans who lost life, liberty and honor at the hands of the U.S. government. Every year I am President, I will make the Dakota Prayer Ride and Water Walk. That’s what executive orders are for. Not threatening the 2nd amendment.

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Refugees are NOT the problem. Worldwide poverty is. People are going to move their feet when starvation is looming. You would. What is needed is a place to put them. I would begin a “Cruise Nation”. The ships are out there by the hundreds. Outfit the cargo area with 3-D printers, industrial sewing equipment, etc. and jumpstart a workforce to challenge China’s. Food, both plant and small livestock, can be grown. Water collection, sewage and electricity production are done for paying customers, why not the truly desperate? Keep people together by geo-political ties. Move them from crisis to productivity within days, not years. They can stay on ships til war stops and they can go home. So what if we suddenly are responsible for an extra 10,000,000 people? Those are souls being saved from horror of war and starvation and lives being put to good use, as opposed to sitting in a filthy tent with one’s sons being recruited for jihad. Speaking of sons, I would pull people out of the ghetto to man these floating refugee camps, because we will need streetwise people who can spot trouble a mile off. Imagine being able to produce an industry (paid for just like how Turkey gets billions to care for Syrian refugees) that not only will be alleviating the NEED for increasingly dangerous border crossings (worldwide) but ALSO it would grow into an industry that will pump cash wages back into lower-income communities by hiring those folks generally considered un-hireable due to prison, gang life, homelessness, etc.

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Moving on to other problems, I know how to make kids feel safe at school again. Click on the Platform Pillars “How to Stop School Shootings”. Don’t wait for 2021, start now. Dogs coming back from war zones, what are you waiting for?! Soon as you elect me, I’ll make sure every school gets a grant for good feed, real military – level trainers and solid breed stock. But start without me, please!

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Another way I’d make thing better for the poor is begin a rewards program for all federal workers (including workers who are state employees but administer federal dollars, like foodstamps). As they interact with the poor and sick and broken, at the end of the encounter, they would give out a postage-paid card in which the person who’s benefit is being handled could write in a positive or negative review. The cards would then be “banked” and at end of a year, a bonus would go out to those who had received a certain pre-set number. Also they would be entered into an annual lottery in which an all-expenses-paid massive bring-your-whole-family exotic vacation would be awarded. People would be kinder to their “clients”.

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I come by all this grit honestly as I live on a fixed income on the edge of the San Francisco Bay area of SSI-for-a-household-of-two (a.k.a “poor”), putting me square in the middle of the lowest caste of Americans. Don’t kid yourself there isn’t a caste system in the good ole U.S. of A. You can’t fix it if you don’t own it. Realize then, I believe I can ease poverty. That’s my platform. The opposite of trickle-down economics.

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I wasn’t always poor. I grew up an expatriate because my dad was in the oil business. My childhood was spent in 5 star hotels and restaurants for every meal and airports and train stations. We rarely stayed more than 3 months in one place, although we also had a 4 bedroom house in Houston, Texas. I was a spoiled little American rich girl who rode ponies all over Europe. My stateside cousins hated me. I homeschooled myself with help of tutors my parents hired. Did this thru highschool and my GED was still 96.something. I didn’t study for the test either. Couple years of community college. I guess now I have to find the damn paper. How funny. Who was the last home-schooled candidate? Abe Lincoln comes to mind.

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I am extremely religious. Walk daily with the Lord. Grew up Baptist. Baptized a Nazarene (Greg is Catholic). Never had the “born-again” experience because I have been always a Christian. I was about 5 when a preacher put his big, heavy hand on my head and told my mama that he “could tell God had His hand on this one.” I glared at him and said, “Then you should move YOUR hand quick.” Spanked all the way home, of course.

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I openly smoke marijuana which I will legalize the minute my hand comes off the Bible on January 20, 2021. Then I promise you that I will give it my best shot to legalize all drugs and end the Cartels’ grip on the Americas.

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I cuss like a sailor. I mean, I can cuss a blue streak. My worst vice, in my opinion.

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I only wear black. No particular reason. It’s what I’m most comfortable in.

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Of course Climate Change is man-made. How stupid to think otherwise. And I am a child of a man who made a fortune in the oil business. One thing I want to point out on this issue is what damage we cause with each and every single bomb testing. Mother Earth’s membrane is stretched with each one. Then of course, we puncture it each time we make a space flight or put up a new satellite. What if there’s a limited number of times we can do that? Just a thought. I’d start with supporting programs worldwide planting BILLIONS of trees. I’d buy proper burning stoves and send them to the 3rd world and attach conditions to every future grant America gives them so they would force their poor people to use them. Go solar at White House as an example and set out to create and meet real landmark goals of weaning the country off of fossil fuels. I’d put cows back on grass (by increasing use of BLM land) instead of standing around getting sick in stockyards. I’d create an industry that recycles plastic straight out the oceans off of barges. I’d bring every great mind I could find to the White House for a weekly lunch so they could teach me what to do. Because I can admit I don’t know everything but I’m a quick study.

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Worst thing about me is that I am a convicted gun smuggler who came back from Mexico to turn myself in because I missed my country too much to live as a fugitive. A judge believed me and gave me three years probation. End of my criminal life. I am a published author now. And don’t worry, I checked. The only office a felon ISN’T prohibited from is the Presidency. Go figure.

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A foolish first marriage at 17, escapism at its best, a much-older man who belonged to one of the wealthy families in Vera Cruz, Mexico led me to another seemingly-glamorous life, mostly racing boats and of course, he had the boats (bought in my name) loaded to the gills with guns.  Same old tired story, to be honest.  One thing led to another.  A dramatic multi-car ATF arrest then four years as a fugitive, rich but a fugitive nonetheless, the marriage crumbled under the weight of my anger and I returned with my four-year-old daughter to Houston and turned myself in, because life without one’s country is just not any kind of real life. I was facing 18 years on multiple Federal counts of gun-running and fugitive fleeing but thankful to God, the Holy Ghost and the Living Christ in Heaven, the charges were dropped everything except aiding and abetting a felon (my ex-husband). I was given 3 years probation and haven’t been in trouble since.  That is the story of how I survived the fall-out of Kiki Camerena’s murder.  I was 5 blocks away the day he was taken.  My ex-husband ran a money exchange on the main drag in Puerto Vallarta 1982 -1985.  He fed at the edge of Caro Quintero’s pond.  Ex is still wanted by the ATF for gun charges.  Caro – and a dozen men like him – were at the parties we went to.  He came to my house. He dangled my child on his knee.   He really didn’t stand out that much, to be honest.  Everyone was dangerous back then.  I was dangerous back then.

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I’m sure it’s just one of those odd coincidences, but 72 hours after I tweeted Trump for the first time, Caro Quintero was put on the FBI’s most wanted list, with a twenty million dollar bounty.

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From my 7 years living in Mexico, I learned to speak Spanish and also how complex Latin politics are, as well as how much people south of the border love their countries like we love ours. But now you can see why I think I bring a certain backbone to what I describe doing here…

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If elected, I would devote massive resources to helping young women (and older!) to escape the cycle of violence they are mired in. It’s a disgrace the way VAWA is treated. Equal pay for women. That would be a good place to start. How do we look our granddaughters in the eye. Put teeth in the Domestic violence laws. Pay for more domestic violence shelters and long-term therapy. Get NRA outta the bedrooms of American women who are being killed at the hands of their partners at alarming rates.

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I also am a modestly trained midwife and intentionally gave birth alone to my last two children (I have 5). Of course I am aware of the dreadful maternal mortality rates in America. Distrust of medical professionals, for sure is part of it, but not all. Do we really, really love our mothers? Everyone goes on and on about the right to abortion (I have had 2) but has anyone thought about trying to create a society where all the women WANT to have their babies? It’s an unbelievably cold, cruel world out there for most women. They can barely survive themselves, much less the babies. Please refer to the earlier paragraph about the need for Kindness Farms. If you want maternal mortality rates to drop (and you want to abolish abortion) then get to work on truly affordable housing, inexpensive healthy food, a safe and inexpensive (yes, read subsidized) system of child care, enforcement (and strengthening) of Domestic Violence laws. Well, you get the idea. Make it safe for us to have our babies and we will. Otherwise get out of my way of the door at the abortion clinic. How do you expect a woman to WANT to have a baby in a bad (or dire) situation? HELP HER!
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I believe in plant-based medicine and I think dis-ease begins with our diets. I’d like to see diets improved as first line of medical care. Increase food stamps, WIC, start a staple food program, and most especially, free breakfast trucks (like ice cream trucks, but with oatmeal and coffee).

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Health care. Tax Big Pharma and use that to subsidize insurance. As for me actually improving health, beyond making food (pretty much) free for poor people, I look to the mayor of Fort Worth and go for “Blue Zoning” entire country by way of mobile units going out to give care where there is none, especially dental care.
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Let’s go a whole other direction, I’d like to discuss the historically bad treatment of the press. Instead of buying new furniture with the $100,000 budget allowed for the new First Lady to redecorate, we’ll be setting up a sheltered space with a huge press pool pavilion. Sure not sitting in those creepy ole yellow chairs while the press are made to act like the Paparazzi instead of being treated like the required 4th estate.

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Inside the pavilion, hundreds of plants and trees and live birds everywhere flying loose. A forest inside. I can’t get to Nature? I will bring Her to me! But truth is the second reason behind building this space will be the best legacy of a Mayon Presidency. TRANSPARENCY. I plan to create, via this building that itself is transparent, a new accessibility to the President’s plans and progress.
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Long skinny pool in front of 13 mini-offices that are all high tech online virtual reality spaces that allow the web visitor to see what’s happening to that topic. Each will hold those big wall monitors like the media use showing real-time work being done on all Presidential promises and the latest, biggest problems the country faces (like climate change). Set up everything so the American public can look in on the work life of their leader. Allow (nah, encourage!) public participation. Online polls. In-person townhalls too. Input from public that means something. Reality-style TV access (to both the projects and the meetings around each). All meeting logs. All the notes. No more back channels.

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This pool house pavilion plan is a play on words. Did you know the current press room actually IS a former pool room? The pool is covered (no water) and it’s meant to keep the press crowded, hot and uncomfortable. The pool as a room divider. Press pool. But in my pool house, press pool house, it’s gonna be a whole new world of access. On opposite side of mini-office alcoves, the press will gather. Rattan furniture. Palm trees. Parrots. Serve nice cold drinks and yummy hot treats. On silver trays. And tell the press to bring a guest on every (yes EVERY) Friday’s Presidential Give-and-Take press hour(s) (because guests at a good cocktail party should want to stay…..and stay….and stay). Just bring the whole family. I kid you not, they need healing most! Can you imagine what that must be like for kids these days, their mom or dad is vilified and attacked. That has to stop! So we’ll supply staff to oversee the kiddos. Movie night for them, a huge outdoor “drive-in” for the latest cartoons. But also Press Spouses need an evening to look forward to. Kick their shoes off, lay back under the moon with their favorite beverage, no worries about supper, enjoying a chance to watch their mates at work pinning me down with answers about what I’m doing about … everything. EVERY Friday.

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My plan is to force TRANSPARENCY on the President’s office, because no-one else would even dream to try (or see why) to literally build a space full of civility so it’s a place to work together.

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Together we will take this nation where it needs to go to heal from the debacle we find ourselves in. Healing starts at the top. I have what it takes to face the consequences of other peoples’ actions. After all, I’m the mother of five children (including two Marines). An experienced mother who is perfectly willing to punish you severely if you act like you need it. But mostly I want you to have enough to eat, clean your room, don’t fight, go to school, work, and grow. It’s time a mother ran the country.

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RAMONA MAYON
1559 Sloat Blvd. Suite B-Box 175, San Francisco, California 94132

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new website @ president47.org coming soon

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