Sunday nibble special: Reality bites

I worked for Cesar Millan for ten years, and I was there when the incident in question with Lidia happened. Here are my thoughts on it.

Truly about a nibble, indeed.

I suppose that I should just address this now, sooner than later, because I know I’m probably going to start drawing some sort of media attention because, reasons. Also, the public story broke on Friday, and friends started sending me links left and right.

The media has been hyping it as “Cesar Millan’s pit bull Junior killed Queen Latifah’s dog,” with a side of, “Oh, and bit a top young gymnast.”

Although the second part did happen a bit over four years ago, it’s just now making the news. The very short version is that a woman named Lidia Matiss has filed suit against Cesar Millan, primarily because, she claims, his recently deceased pit bull Junior mauled her leg, leading to the end of her promising gymnastics career.

In addition to that, she alleges that Junior also mauled one of Queen Latifah’s dogs to death at Cesar’s Dog Psychology Center and, she says, that was covered up by the staff being told to claim that the dog was hit by a car.

As my readers may know — and the name of the website is a big clue — I used to work for Cesar. In fact, I worked for him for just over a decade, originally as operations manager for his online business, but then as his head content creator and editor and in-house ghostwriter.

So there are things I know and things I don’t, but I can really only comment on what Lidia alleges in her lawsuit. Not that I’m under any kind of NDA but, like I said, there are things I know and saw and things I don’t, so I have to tread a very fine line to avoid committing libel.

What I can say is that there is at least one misrepresentation in the story, and that’s that every single version I’ve seen states that Lidia was bitten in a building that Cesar owned. I know that that one is not true because I was at many a meeting before we moved into it and near the end of my tenure there, and it was all about leasing the space.

What Cesar did own was his Dog Psychology Center, but let me pull back the veil here a little bit on how his whole enterprise operated.

The first thing you should know is that Dog Whisperer and Dog Nation and Better Human Better Dog and anything that appears under the National Geographic banner had nothing at all to do with the company I worked for in more than an arms’ distance way.

Well, with one exception that I’ll bitch about later.

But, in other words, Cesar on TV was an entirely different division from our company, which started out as Cesar Millan, Inc. (CMI) and eventually became Cesar’s Way (CW), both of which handled the business of his online presence and etail sales. It may or may not have been his loan-out company as well, but I was never privy to that information, so I cannot comment on it.

While it was CMI, it shared offices with MPH Productions, which was the company that originally brought Cesar to NatGeo and pitched the show. Well, okay… they took the idea that two female producers had pitched to them, because they’d found Cesar, and sold it to NatGeo.

CMI shared offices with MPH for the first few years in a space on Hollywood Way in Burbank that was long since converted into a Target Express across the street from a Model Train Shop. If you ever want to hang out where my desk was, stroll inside and find the aisle that gives you a straight-line view of the optometrist across the street. Near the back of that aisle and about eight feet from the wall is where I would have been sitting.

What I can say about those days is this: Cesar got screwed by MPH — that much was proven in a lawsuit that dragged on for ages but finally resulted in the two women and Cesar winning back the rights to the name “Dog Whisperer.” Second was that MPH was ridiculously generous to everyone on their staff and CMI’s — because they were apparently spending Cesar’s money.

And yet, there was still this weird arms’ distance thing. In those days, if Cesar ever came by the office, he was definitely kept on the south side, where MPH was, and even though the CMI folk were the ones who ostensibly worked for him, we were treated like red-headed step-children, at least by MPH.

Back to the division of labor thing, though. MPH dealt with NatGeo to make the show. Meanwhile, CMI dealt with Cesar’s wife at the time, Ilusion, in order to design and market various products, including DVDs not produced by NatGeo, training accessories, toys, and so on.

We also coordinated and staffed his seminars which, at the time, were nationwide.

During my first two years there, we had two gigantic issues with third parties. Well, sort of third parties, but this brings up yet another division in CesarLand.

In addition to the NatGeo side of things, mostly run out of Washington DC, and our Burbank offices, there was the Dog Psychology Center. When I started, it was located in what was basically a donated parking lot in South Central L.A. It wasn’t given a lot of attention on the show, but functioned mainly as a long-term rehab place for problem dogs Cesar was training.

Eventually, he did make enough money from the show to buy the acreage in Santa Clarita, California, that became the Dog Psychology Center (DPC), and I was very privileged to visit that place many, many times over the years, and meet a lot of the animals, including Lorenzo the Llama, Marty the Donkey, who was a total sweetheart, and Cesar’s entire flock of goats, who would play hard to get until you thrust a handful of lettuce at them.

But, again, the DPC was a totally separate entity. It had its own staff and director, and as far as any of us from CMI were concerned, we only got to go up there by special invitation.

That’s probably getting a step or two ahead, though, because those DPC trips didn’t become regular until another event happened and, again, while I’m not privy enough to the internals to make any positive assertions, the short version is that outside auditors were brought in, they looked at the books, and cried, “Foul!”

That was in 2009, when a Man Called Bob (which should be in all caps with TM next to it) swept in, saw what was going on, announced, “Well, this is bullshit,” and CMI divorced MPH and moved along the way.

We wound up at first in a building we all dubbed The Bouncy Castle, which was found by Cesar’s younger brother Erick Millan. It was… weird, but exactly what we needed. (Side note: Erick is a ridiculously talented designer and all-around nice guy who eventually moved back to Mexico to establish his own design firm.)

After we moved, and since a Man Called Bob convinced Cesar to trust him, Cesar was suddenly a lot more accessible to us, and I think it was the first time he actually realized that he had a team that was bigger than the DPC and the marketing hacks at Nat Geo.

This was also the building I was working in when I took a chance and Cesar suddenly realized, “Shit. This dude writes?”

It all happened because I suggested a bit of entertainment for the holiday party to a Man Called Bob, got him to approve a budget, and then I rewrote the lyrics to two Christmas carols to be Dog Whisperer themed, brought in six actors to sing them, and Cesar flipped his shit in joy.

That was about five years after I’d started working for him, but it was a major career change. I went from operations manager to content creator, editor, and unofficial Voice of Cesar overnight.

We eventually moved out of the Bouncy Castle and wound up in a place closer to Burbank Airport that we dubbed The Shoebox, but it was a move up for a few big reasons. One was that we brought our warehouse operations in-house, so no longer had to rely on a third-party fulfillment center, which saved my successor a ton.

We also had studio space and editing suite within that warehouse in which we could do quick videos — either product demos or more elaborate greenscreen stuff, and we had an in-house video/editing team as well, which started to crank out online content independent of NatGeo.

Finally, the nicest part of it being a two-story building was that all the corporate people — execs, legal, Foundation, and creative (meaning Cesar’s brilliant brother Erick) wound up on the second floor. Meanwhile, the newly created Digital Team in charge of all things online got to share the rather much larger than we needed ground floor.

Side note: From day one to this point and beyond, the office was always dog-friendly, and I brought both of mine nearly every day. In fact, I took advantage of this to finally break my dog Shadow out of her fear-aggression toward other dogs, and I think that Sheeba just became so blasé about the idea of “let’s go to work with daddy” that she wound up being comfortable anywhere.

Don’t take that as a total endorsement of Cesar, though, because that was mostly me, although I did have to know his philosophy and methods backwards and forwards in order to write about them, sometimes as myself, but more often as him — and that was as weird to me as it sounds.

So from late 2012 to 2017, I became “The Voice of Cesar,” writing his weekly column/fan message, co-ghostwriting one of his books, and creating a ton of non-bylined dog advice articles, implying they were his.

There was no attempt at fraud here, though. Just a show biz reality. Very few celebrities, unless they were already known as writers in the first place, write their own material, whether it be their books, blogs, social media posts, etc.

The vast majority of them are created by the web marketing teams for a few really good reasons. One is to protect the celebrities from themselves, making sure that they don’t commit any major faux pas. Another is to keep the voice consistent and, ideally, properly spelled, and grammatical. Finally, there’s the simple fact that the celebrity is probably far too busy in front of the camera or doing live interviews and the like to have any time to sit down and write.

All of this applied in Cesar’s case with one other factor, of course. English was not his first language and he didn’t even start learning it until he came to America when he was an adult. He can speak it perfectly well, but actually writing the words is a challenge for him, particularly when it comes to spelling.

I can vouch for this, though — in Spanish, he’s super-literate.

But… when it came to being part of the necessary deception, what did I care? He paid me good money to do that, even after the company cut bait and fled to its final, smaller HQ, which happens to also be the place in which Lidia alleges that Junior bit her.

We still had a warehouse in the back and a small video production department, although the editing suite was now a not-so-sound-proofed office sharing space with the digital team.

Oddly enough, although it was a one-story building, it was basically split into three zones, so we had the same division. Executives in the front, digital team in the middle, and warehouse and shipping in the back. I was in the middle, with a direct line of sight view through the door to the front office and front doors if the door in the adjoining wall were open, which it usually was. Important in a moment.

Meanwhile, the DPC was still doing whatever it was it did miles away. And I was a true believer in Cesar right up until the end, but for a few years now, I’ve been not so sure.

As for the Queen Latifah thing, I vaguely remember some mention of one of her dogs being killed, but we never heard anything besides the “dog ran in front of a car” story ourselves, so I’m not touching that one. The only people who know the truth were working at the DPC at the time.

The one thing I can state as a fact is this. I was there, in the office, on at least one instance when Junior bit Lidia. I didn’t see the actual bite, but, as noted, my cubicle was in direct line of sight of her mother, Lisa’s, office, so I had a very good view of Lisa and Lidia coming out, Lisa exclaiming that Junior had just bit her daughter, and Lidia limping, although I couldn’t see the actual injury because she had that leg turned away from me.

A Man Called Bob jumped into action and saw to it that Lidia got rushed off to the ER. I honestly don’t remember how Cesar reacted because, by that point, those of us on the Digital Team, i.e. in the back half of the office, were too busy discussing the incident ourselves.

But what I can state absolutely, without committing libel, is that Cesar’s dog Junior did, in fact, bite the back of Lidia’s leg — calf or thigh, I’m not sure. But since she was the daughter of CW’s Of Counsel at the time, it was all kinds of awkward.

Did Junior bite her more than once, either that day or on subsequent days? Not to my knowledge, Was he generally vicious?

Well, again, all I can discuss is what I know, and since I knew Junior for most of his life, having met him as a squishy little pup, he was never vicious toward me, or either of my dogs. Then again, I think that he always liked me, so the worst “mauling” I ever got from him was when he decided to come over, lean onto me hard, and then lick my face.

Ooh… how vicious!

Honestly, though, Cesar’s response to the lawsuit is weak. His lawyers basically said that Lidia should have assumed the risk, knowing that Junior was unleashed around the office. One big problem: The “bring your dog to work” policy came with a caveat. If your dog was ever vicious and bit another dog or human, then they were banned.

I cannot deny that I saw the aftermath of the bite, but that’s all that I can say. I didn’t see the actual extent of the injury. I just know that Lidia was taken to the ER immediately. I also don’t remember exactly when in 2017 this happened, although I know it was near the end of my tenure.

For whatever reason, Cesar’s Way decided to disband the digital team and go with an outside contractor for online marketing. I was laid off the Friday after Labor Day in 2017, although I was retained to keep writing Cesar’s weekly columns for a nice monthly salary through the end of March 2018, and did receive a ridiculous severance package, including reimbursement for my unused sick time, which was all of it.

The only sick time I did use was because of that weekend in August 2016 I’d wound up in the hospital, so that was a different year. But that experience, getting laid off, and the ton of money I walked away with led directly to the creation of this website.

In other words, yes, Cesar treated me and the rest of us well once he realized he had employees but, on the other hand, we were also trained to look the other way a lot — or at least gaslight ourselves whenever some scandal threatened.

I mean, as the team maintaining his online image, we were the ones who had to jump in to protect things, and we only ever got the story that came down to us from the executive suite. In protecting the boss, we were really protecting our jobs.

Tell me that you’d do differently — although most of what we had to deal with didn’t involve people being bitten or dogs being killed. Rather, it was gross misrepresentation by Cesar-haters (who are legion) of his techniques.

Are his abilities as a dog shaman perhaps inflated a bit? Probably. (He tried to do his thing with my dog Sheeba, and she basically gave him stink eye and ignored him.) Does he rampantly abuse dogs just for fun? That’s a hard no.

But… I was an insider for a long, long time with Cesar, and I can say that he’s no saint. No one is. I don’t have any of the dirty laundry and honestly don’t know whether it really exists. All I know is that Lidia is not lying, at least about her injury.

So, to Lidia… godspeed.

Friday Free-for-All #67: Free jet, evil, relaxing, famous

Here’s the next in an ongoing series in which I answer random questions generated by a website. Here are this week’s questions. Feel free to give your own answers or ask your own questions in the comments.

If you inherited a private jet from a stranger, what would you do with it?

Well, the first big problem with this is the “Oprah Effect.” Remember that time that she gave everyone in her audience a brand new car for free? You may have even seen the footage online, the famous, “You get a car. And you get a car. Everybody gets a car!” moment.

This was in 2004 and the cars in question were brand new Pontiac G-6 sedans with an MSRP of $28,500. Only everything was not what it seemed. For one thing, it was not like Oprah bought the cars for everyone. Rather, they were donated by Pontiac as part of their marketing budget. But it gets worse.

The people who received those cars because they couldn’t afford to buy one of their own were hit with a gift tax bill of over $6,000. So it was the gift that kept on taking. A lot of people reportedly had to sell the cars in order to pay the tax.

So… if that private jet comes with a hefty gift tax bill, no thanks. I’m going to sell it off to cover the taxes and make whatever profit I can. However, if this is a fantasyland with no tax — and if someone is giving me a private jet — then that changes.

It all depends on how big the jet is. There’s no way I’m going to pay the operating costs for the thing and don’t feel like contributing to ruining the environment by leasing it to a charter flight company. Nope. I’m going to buy some land, plant that plane on it and convert it into a home.

Now, depending on size, it could be anything from a glorified studio with a really neat basement to a luxury home with its own kitchens and screening room.

Hey, planes have been converted to homes before, and there could be worse places to live.

What is your definition of evil?

To me, evil is when somebody intentionally causes harm, distress, pain, loss, or other physical or emotional trauma to another person for the benefit of the person inflicting those things. Now that benefit can simply be to get their jollies — this covers serial killers and the like — or it can be for financial gain — this covers most billionaires and politicians.

Obviously, this makes a wide range of acts evil. Jeffrey Dahmer and John Wayne Gacy were evil because they killed people for fun. But so is a multi-billionaire who owns a gigantic company but refuses to pay the employees enough money so that they don’t have to rely on public assistance to eat and won’t allow them to unionize or give them retirement benefits.

It happens when an international fast food company ignore real physical harm one of its products does to people because it’s cheaper to buy them off at $40,000 per incident, or when a major manufacturer discovers a flaw in their product that can kill people but decides to do nothing because it would be “too expensive.”

And then there’s that special kind of evil: Anyone who takes advantage of any kind of power relationship in which they have the superior position and all the control — and then uses that in order to sexually harass or assault the other person. This is what the MeToo movement has been fighting against.

Where is the most relaxing place you have been?

Okay, I need a palate-cleanser after that one — mind’s-eye bleach, as it were. The most relaxing places I’ve been tend to be rural and forested. I’ve written before about visits to my grandparents’ farm on the central California coast, and I found it very relaxing because it was quiet and slow-paced.

Of course, I was also a kid — the last time I was ever up there, I was eighteen — although maybe that’s a measure of its power. Any place that can calm down an angsty, angry teen is magical.

But as an adult, I’ve gotten to know a place up near Big Bear in California. Most of the year, it’s actually a Christian camp/retreat for school kids, although it doesn’t really have any blatantly Christian symbology, and the one spot that was clearly intended as a church is just benches made out of half logs and arranged outside with a lectern in front but nothing resembling an altar.

Anyway, before COVID, a group geared toward Southern California GBTQ+ men and their allies used to go up there for camps twice a year, once in the winter and the other near Labor Day. I was fortunate enough to go a few times, and even though it would only be for a long weekend, it would be an amazing battery recharge.

Here’s the way I can tell that a place is relaxing me: I fall asleep within minutes at night and wake up with the sunrise, ready to go. That doesn’t happen in the city, where I tend to lie awake for what seems like hours, then find it damn near impossible to wake up in the morning.

I also have this bad habit of actually being asleep and dreaming, but what I’m dreaming is that I’m awake and thinking about the things I’m dreaming. And I know that this is true for a few reasons. One is that I’ve had SOs and roommates tell me that I was happily snoring away the entire time I thought I was awake, and they had no reason to lie.

The other is that the “thought” that appeared to be just things I was musing would actually take on all of the hallmarks of dreams, with the visuals and so forth, but it would still feel like I was intentionally imagining them while still lying in bed, awake.

That doesn’t happen up at the camp near Big Bear, and the best parts, really, would be when I’d hop out of bed at dawn, be the only one up yet to head over to the shower cabin, then quietly get dressed, grab the tiny notebook I’d brought with me, and stroll out into the woods alone.

That was a magical place. Quite often, there would mist among the tall trees dancing in the shafts of sunlight peeking through, and on more than one occasion I would suddenly see a deer stop and see me, and then pronk off at high speed.

There were sounds and life everywhere, although most of it not visible. Birds sang in the canopy above. Sometimes, the trees made their own rain, which would plop audibly onto the ground. The distant roar that at first seemed like it might be freeway traffic was actually a river flowing downhill in the far distance. The forest smelled of the new life of pine needles combined with the musty, earthy smell of the dead leaves and needles underfoot — all of which were giving life to the forest at the same time.

There were always plenty of woodpeckers and ground squirrels flitting about, and the human constructions, which consisted of maybe a dozen cabins, the director’s house, the main meeting/dining hall, a small lodge, the zip-line, and a swimming pool all seemed to be a part of the landscape rather than an intrusion.

It was also during this camp that we visited a nearby lake and I went canoeing for the first time. We were in a three-person boat and I was in front, meaning that I was in control of steering. I was surprised at how intuitively I picked it up, how fast we were actually able to go, and how calming it was to be gliding smoothly across the water.

I don’t know when we’ll be going back. Maybe September, maybe not. What I do know is that the group has regularly had a pool party in L.A. every year for the 4th of July, but for the second year running, none has been planned. So I don’t know when I’ll get my little shot in the arm of relaxation again, but I can’t wait.

Oh, one other thing. I actually started this site the weekend after I came back from my first time at the camp — which was the same week the company I’d been working for made me a victim of their next round of downsizing layoffs.

Who is the most impressive famous person alive today?

He was a former world leader who is still alive and, despite his advanced age, just doing what he does, working with his hands, and helping people. At heart, he was always just a simple farmer who wound up going into public service and rising to the position of governor.

Then, he was inaugurated as 39th President of the United States in 1977. His name is James Earl Carter, but the world will forever know him as just Jimmy.

Sadly, he didn’t have much success as a president, but he came into office at a really bad time for the country. His predecessor, Gerald R. Ford, was the only person to become president without ever being elected (with two arguable exception) when Richard Nixon resigned.

It was probably a done deal going into the election in the Bicentennial year of 1976 that Ford was going to lose, and he probably could have lost to a lawn chair. But that was more because of the taint of Nixon, and it didn’t help that Ford pardoned him for his crimes.

It also didn’t help that he presided over the continuing energy crisis and crippling inflation. The economy went in the tank on his watch, and Presidents get blamed for that constantly.

Ford was actually one of those rare moderate Republicans who isn’t all that bad. The other examples I can think of having been a President of the U.S., Governor of California, and Mayor of Los Angeles — Eisenhower, Schwarzenegger, and Richard Riordan.

Although they were in favor of small government, they applied that in both directions, so while they don’t get brownie points on how they handled business and regulation, they did also make it a point to try to keep the government out of women’s wombs, gay people’s bedrooms, and elsewhere. Hell, Riordan even took part in the Gay Pride parade in L.A. in 1993 as Mayor-elect at a time when that was still a big deal.

But, getting back to Jimmy Carter. He had been the mayor of Georgia, but was so unknown during his time in office that he appeared on the game show What’s My Line? in 1973. Although Gene Shalit did correctly identify him as a governor after seven questions, nobody had any idea what state he governed or what his name was.

By the way, you know the whole current trend of moving film and TV production to Georgia? Well, Jimmy Carter started that back in the early 70s.

Now, in retrospect, one of the obvious purposes of the TV gig was to put out there that Carter was going to be chairman of the National Democratic Campaign Committee (NDCC) for the 1974 mid-term election, so it was clearly an early move with the 1976 presidential election in mind.

Still… none of this should in anyway denigrate what Jimmy Carter achieved, which was going from relatively unknown southern governor to President in just a few years. Yes, Ford was probably doomed from the beginning, but Carter was the dose of likable Everyman that America seemed to need at the time.

And then circumstances and history came along to fuck him up the ass and prove that Nice Guys Finish Last. Leading into the 1980 election, his administration was rocked by the 1979 Oil Crisis, which saw prices soar along with something the U.S. hadn’t seen since World War II — rationing.

The Iran-Iraq War began in late 1980, making things worse. But the really big thing that totally screwed Jimmy over was the Iran Hostage Crisis, which began on November 4, 1979, when 52 American diplomats and citizens were seized at the embassy by students and held for 444 days.

They were released just after noon EST on January 20, 1981. Put a pin in that date.

Carter authorized a rescue attempt that began on April 24, 1980, but the helicopters involved were ill-equipped to deal with the sandstorms, which not only damaged or grounded the ships, but led to an accident in which a copter crashed into a C‑130 tanker aircraft during refueling, killing all eight people on the chopper.

This did not go over well with the American people. Imagine the reaction, for example, if during Obama’s raid to kill Osama bin Laden, instead of succeeding, a helicopter had crashed into the complex and killed eight people. He never would have been re-elected in 2012.

Now combine that with Carter’s inability to get the hostages released, and he was doomed in the election of 1980. But… there’s a gigantic catch. Ronald Reagan and his campaign were directly responsible for urging the Iranians to not release the hostages before the election.

Or, in other words, those bastards cheated. What a surprise. And that’s why Iran did not release the hostages until right after Reagan (ptui! cursed be his name) was sworn in.

And then Jimmy Carter faded out of the public eye for a while, but not for long. I would say “also, not for good,” but it’s exactly the opposite. Everything the man has done since leaving office has been for good.

In 1982, he and his wife started The Carter Center, a non-profit NGO dedicated to human rights and the alleviation of human suffering. They seek “to prevent and resolve conflicts, enhance freedom and democracy, and improve health.”

He also did a hell of a lot of diplomacy from the end of his tenure through the early 2000s, but what he’s most known for now is Habitat for Humanity. You know — the volunteers who swoop in and build affordable homes for people.

And, despite bouts with cancer, some falls and bruises, and being generally, oh, I don’t know, fucking 96 years old, he’s still going. And that is why I think he is the most impressive famous person around today.

Bonus points: He’s famous for all the right reasons, and I hope that he’s an impressive famous living person for many, many years to come.