Knowing your fondness for human interest stories, I thought you might like this one. It has nothing to do with a cat.
D.C. Knows I'm the Wrong Guy, But It Just Won't Let Go
By Sean C. Kelly
Sunday, June 16, 2002; Page B01
I am a native Washingtonian who lived in the city for almost three decades -- that is, until a number of frustrating encounters with the D.C. government chased me into Montgomery County. Once I moved to Bethesda, I thought my dealings with the city were over. But I was wrong.
It all started innocently enough. Early last March, I received a residual check for some stunt work I did in the 1996 movie "Striptease." I scanned the deductions quickly and noticed one I had never seen in my many years in the film business: I was being garnished $54.60 for "Support."
This immediately triggered some concern, so I phoned the residual office at the Screen Actors Guild in Los Angeles, which sent me to Warner Brothers, the studio that had issued the check. I left a message, and a formidable sounding woman called back. The deduction, she said, was for child support.
"Don't you have a 5-year-old son?" she asked.
"No, I have three daughters and I've been married for 11 years," I said, amazed. Explaining this to my wife was sure going to be interesting, I thought.
"I have a court order from the D.C. Superior Court to withhold the funds, and there is nothing I can do," she said.
And all I could think was, "Now I have to deal with the D.C. government. Do you have any idea what that's like?"
But of course she wouldn't. She was sympathetic, though, as she gave me a number to call at the court's Paternity & Child Support Branch, and said she would fax my documentation to that office with a note explaining the situation.
"This shouldn't be a problem to correct," she said.
"You really have no idea," I thought.
The following morning, I phoned the Child Support Branch. The woman who called up my case asked if I was a 6-4, 250-pound African American.
"No," I said. "I'm a 5-9, 185-pound Irish American and would be hiding in Dublin if I wanted to skip out on child support payments." She thought all of this was funny. I did not.
"You'd better come down here as soon as you can," she said, laughing.
I dropped what I was doing and went. A few amused faces greeted me when I arrived. It was then that I met Roderick, "my" child support supervisor, who had my file and the fax from Warner Brothers on his desk.
The document ordering that my wages be garnished listed my Social Security number but another Sean C. Kelly. He had a different middle name and he was formerly married (I guess) to a woman who is not my wife. Skeptically, I watched Roderick correct the error. He said he would see to it that I was reimbursed the $100 that had been withheld from by now two checks. "We'll see," I thought.
Two weeks later, I received a check for almost half that amount. But it was made out to the other Sean Kelly -- it had his middle name. I called Roderick. He apologized and told me to send it back, to his attention, which I did.
Three more weeks passed, and then a letter arrived from the very same court ordering me to attend a child support hearing because I had been ducking payments.
I called Roderick.
"What's the deal?" I asked. The Office of Corporation Counsel, a different branch, hadn't removed my Social Security number from the other guy's case, he said. And then he assured me he would take care of it. Something told me not to believe it.
Last month, as the hearing date neared, an attorney I work with told me I had better be there. If I didn't attend, and it wasn't straightened out, a bench warrant could be issued for my arrest.
Concerned, I consulted my new best friend, Roderick. He said not to worry, that because I was the wrong guy, I didn't need to go. It will not come as a shock, I'm sure, to hear that I found his logic unpersuasive. The next day, he left me a voice mail -- saying he needed to speak with me about my child support case.
"We found your Social Security number on another child support case," he said. "But you don't have to worry about that one. It's a different name, and he's paying."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"What happens if he stops paying?" I asked.
"I'm going to take care of it and I'll fax you the information." Roderick assured me that he would send the documents to the Office of Corporation Counsel again to clear everything up. But I received nothing in the mail confirming that the case had been resolved.
So, on May 23, I was front and center at Courtroom 107 at 8:45 a.m. A friend of mine, another lawyer, had warned me that if I didn't show, the U.S. Marshals Service would likely come to my house and take me away in handcuffs. If that happened on a Friday, he said, I would probably spend the weekend in jail.
The prosecuting attorney called me into his office to review my case. At first he treated me like a deadbeat, reviewing the number of missed payments in the case. Finally, I interrupted him and told him he had the wrong Sean Kelly.
"I came down here to rectify this situation two months ago," I said. "I spoke with your child support branch and my supervisor cleared everything up and said he sent you the information. I'm married with three young daughters."
"That doesn't mean you didn't father the child," he responded.
"But I'm not 6-4, 250 pounds and African American."
He looked down at his files then looked up at me, a bit confused. I showed him my license and the pile of documents the Child Support Branch had drawn up, all of which proved they had the wrong guy.
"You're overwhelming me," he said. But he refused to let me go.
He told me that we would have to present my case before the judge. After a three-hour wait, I was called into the courtroom and met Magistrate Jerry S. Byrd.
Byrd listened to my two-month tale of frustration. He seemed both amused and irritated. He said he would see to it personally that my Social Security number was removed from all departments in the D.C. Superior Court system. He promised to update me. That was three weeks ago, and I still haven't heard from him, though I have been reimbursed the $100.
I also told the magistrate that it seemed strange that the court would garnish my sporadic Hollywood paychecks, rather than those from my full-time employer, a commercial mortgage banking company in Maryland. He wasn't happy about that, either.
But he did want to hear all about the stunt business. "How is it possible to be a stuntman from Washington?" he asked. Most of my work was out of town, I said, like the six weeks I spent in Rome last year working on Martin Scorcese's "Gangs of New York."
At least, that's what I told him. What I really wanted to say was that dealing with the D.C. government was tougher than any stunt work I've done. Instead, I just went home to Bethesda.
And just last Thursday, you'll never guess what arrived there: a letter from the Child Support Enforcement Division, this time with my name and address but the other Sean Kelly's Social Security number, informing me that I'm delinquent -- on my child support.
Sean Kelly, a media coordinator for AMI Capital Inc. in Bethesda, occasionally also risks life and limb as a movie stuntman.
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