Iconic fashion illustrator, late Joe Eula's fortune used for human trafficking.
- targetNoMore
- May 24, 2023
- 8 min read
Updated: Apr 23, 2024
This has been devastating damage to me and my three children. It is still ongoing and keeping me from my youngest son. I am permanently disabled because of trauma.
A true story of historic fame, intertwined into devastation, generations later.
I was oblivious to the looming daedal of unrelenting malice before me in July of 2018.
I had just come out of so many life and death violence experiences, new sobriety, and the most unexpected need for a friend. Because my fourth husband abused me mentally to no end. Then he broke 4 of my ribs. He insisted that I did this to myself. I was so mentally abused and self-medicating at that time that I believed that too. Until I woke up.
That was when this two-headed snake named Domenic Joseph Eula slithered into my life, again. He tried dating me sixteen years prior and I turned him down because of a thirty-year age difference. I never realized he was obsessed with me. He knew me, he knew my single mom story.
Art was a common interest between Domenic and me. Well, that and a promised house on Bainbridge Island, Washington. He wanted to be close to his son and family. He knew I absolutely love that area in particular. Seattle is my favorite place, my old stomping grounds.
Domenic was clearly in awe of his uncle, Joe Eula, to the point of obsession.
Domenic's stories and memories are fully awesome. No matter how many times I’d hear them. All of it, firsthand. All of it romanticized to entice me.
Joe was an active part of the beginning of The Art Institutes. My Associate of Arts was earned at AIS in Seattle, in the very early 90’s. The Visual Communications program was great at that time. I learned enough for me to figure out how to put this website together after relinquishing my artistic abilities beginning with single motherhood. More than thirty years ago. I had never used a computer before college. But I was in the darkroom through high school and got my degree from an alternative school. The nitty-gritty of art fascinates me almost as much as the result, in all mediums.
I learned about the culture at that time. The cast of characters boggle my mind. Liza Minelli, Christian Dior and Andy Warhol to name a random few. I think Joe Eula was close friends with Liza. I had a beautiful coffee table book about Joe, but I had to sell it because of Joe’s nephew, to stay alive.
This world and era of culture is a pure treat, to me.
Those things along with promises of how I’d see my son sank in, and Domenic’s deception melded effortlessly. I needed to feel like my physically brutal past year was coming to an end with a very bright light ahead of me.
This man had me shopping online for expensive things that I would never have. Ideas to keep me hanging on.
Domenic is a dominating person. But he's also quite charming and enjoys talking about himself.
He confided how his mother would say “I wonder what the poor people are doing now?” as an opening line at cocktail hour, five o’clock, sharp. But she wasn’t kidding. They really think and thought that way.
But not Joe.
Domenic’s mother, Joe’s sister,
was also a “rich” woman who lived through the Great Depression and would hang up used paper towels to re-use from frugality, not to be green. Domenic picked up on both of those qualities.
I began to realize he was a sociopath when it was too late.
My family has a fascinating and famous cast of characters as well.
My Great-Great Uncle, Arthur Chapman, was a notable author. His most famous poem,
and book is Out Where the West Begins. Arthur wrote several other books including
John Crews, The Pony Express and Cactus Center.
Arthur Chapman’s son, John Chapman was both a famous author and movie critic.
He was most notable for
"Tell it to Sweeney!"
My great aunt had a great photograph of her father, John, with Walt Disney on one side of him, the other John F. Kennedy, at a black-tie event. I remember it in her hallway with an assortment, with other amazing original art from that period. Priceless. Literally, priceless because it’s likely at the Denver Art Museum now.
When I was in Domenic Joseph Eula’s web, I was beginning to realize how I was lured into this realm. I was also thinking about how cool it would be to marry someone with so much character in his family. Until I learned, Domenic was obsessed with that era as much as he was with me.
Domenic managed to get into my head when I was under his roof. He really, really showed me who is boss. His house was isolated, and winter was setting in. He’d complain about everything I did that was not focused on him. Everything. He threatened to send my dog to a “kill shelter” in Cortez, nearby his isolated, modest Colorado house.
I was afraid of Domenic, to the point of shaking and feeling faint.
Next, the manipulation of my family and friends set in like a creeping fog of fury.
My promised things to be replaced [my whole apartment and lifelong treasures] turned into a microwave oven that he is probably using today. Domenic would use phrases such as:
“All good things come to little girls, who are patient”.
During that time, Domenic was having me ‘talk him up’ to my friends and family. This is the classic first step to total narcissistic control. In the malignant form.
He had been curating that for months at that point by feeding me lies that were realistic and believable. Domenic made sure that I bragged about him when I was paying my rent. That was just before my sabotaged surgeries. I was barely healthy enough to walk, and I was only beginning to be able to speak again after my sobriety program. I was still seriously recovering from my soon-to-be ex-husband breaking four of my ribs. I was a mess, but I had an optimistic future to be excited about.
Domenic was banking on it.
I told my landlord about how I was marrying a very wealthy man, with a big enthusiastic smile, as instructed. The “power of suggestion” is a commonly known phrase for a reason. Because that month, he gave me money for my rent, with “extra” to “buy something nice”. At that point that would be my “internet bill”. About three weeks and nearly dying later, Domenic came to “save me” from my pitiful life, in his eyes. I was confused, weak and at a point where I just wanted to have someone take care of me. He convinced me to walk away from that apartment and all my possessions, there and then.
I also talked Domenic up to Karin – [kah-rin], my great aunt. John Chapman’s daughter. Karin would correct anyone that made the mistake of calling her “Karen”, immediately. She was raised around drama, and she was dramatic. She was also extremely difficult to be around.
My (now grown) children tolerated her as patiently and politely as they could, throughout their childhood. Karin was temperamental and extremely sensitive. She had a hard outer shell, so it was hard to tell how much she held in. Apparently, it was a lot.
Photo (from left), my son, Dakota (age 4), my daughter, Savanna (age 6), Karin Bond, my late mother, Nancy Chapman & myself, Deborah Tyree-Knott.
I remember mother taking care of Karin after she had surgery once. The experience was more than she could take, emotionally. But she bit her lip and endured so much sharp-tongued, demeaning abuse because she was trying to make sure that we end up with the family inheritance.
Karin was delighted to learn of this proposed marriage. She was truly excited for me. And at that point, so was I. So, when I was suddenly homeless and begging for money, she became somewhat mean. In the past, I’d borrowed and repaid a loan almost immediately.
“Why abandon me now?”, I thought. It was because Karin thought I was freaking stupid, that’s why. She was of that generation and had had a lifetime of family wealth. She didn’t understand, and she was brutally judgmental.
She just flat out didn’t believe me. I was begging Domenic to help with rent before I tried small claims court. He flat out told me to ask my family for money. My uncle(s) sent a miracle, but by the time I stayed in motels before I could obtain a roof over my head, that was gone. My Uncle(s) still don’t and won’t understand what happened. I can’t say I blame them too much.
Karin would only send $300, in a huff.
I was still in contact with Domenic daily to stay alive. I told myself I was in love with who he pretended to be, and that turned into Stockholm Syndrome. He kept me barely alive with “loans”, later due by sex. He’d say, “I’ll add it to your tab, Tyree” as though he was joking. Dead seriously.
Domenic’s “daily banter” calls were so abusive. His cocktail hour. If I wasn’t ready and waiting for his call, he became irritated. He would want to talk upwards of an hour. He would want to know everything I was doing for money to get by. He wanted to hear about how I scrimped here or there. He wanted proof that I was trying to sell my things online to get by. He wanted me to visit him weekly to keep me barely alive, and still owing.
That was about the time I shaved my head.
I didn’t think of it then, but cutting my hair
was the only power I had.
Domenic didn’t like that very much. He punished me for it.
There were times that he would berate me over something I did, that was wrong in his eyes. Sometimes relentlessly and for days. I’d apologize to the point of begging and crying
when I really wasn’t sorry at all.
I’d beg Domenic to stop. Just – stop.
This happened every single day.
I imagined how it would be, curling up in the bed of my truck with my little dog if I got evicted. I had never been put in such an intentionally helpless situation before. I was so lucky to have been able to afford cheap motels until I found a place to begin with. But those funds were gone, and fast.
I had to prove my loyalty to Domenic constantly. This was where he had me fired up that a family member with as much money would only send $300, when I was most desperate to meet basic human needs. One might wonder if I was just being dramatic and ungrateful. Exactly what Domenic wanted.
Domenic also wanted to test my loyalty to him. We spent hours “arguing” about it. So, I told her off in an email and copied my uncle(s). Looking back, this was insane! This was how this man manipulated and kept me hanging on for dear life.
The rolls and punches that came after that were a whirlwind. I couldn’t believe how deep the bottom really was after bouncing off each cold, hard step along the way. I’m still three landings and four more flights to go at this point.
I thought getting sober and staying that way was hard. My sobriety pales in comparison to this continuing pre-planned annihilation of my family.
It took almost two years to get over my anger with Karin and apologize. She “accepted”. But she really didn’t. She was so disappointed with me that she gave every penny, every possession and her townhouse proceeds went to charity. She carefully chose and planned accordingly. Her obituary states that she had no remaining blood relatives.
Not even my kids.
I hope this blog will help me and my family attain justice. It is probable this blog will hit home for others, related to narcissistic abuse. Please share.
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