Features
The River – an excerpt from a new novel by former Winnipegger Zev Coehn
Introduction: The following story is an excerpt from a longer story in Zev Cohen’s new novel titled “Are You Still Alive?”
As Zev wrote to us recently, “this is Chapter One of my novel, “Are You Still Alive?” It is partially based on events recounted to me by my late father Moshe. The story, beyond being one of the countless tales of Jewish survival against all odds during the Holocaust, is also an allegory for the indomitable human spirit intertwined with Rabbi Akiva’s maxim ‘V’havta l’raecha kamocha’. I hope to have the complete novel published soon.
Zev’s writing has appeared several times in the past in this paper. His collection of short stories, titled “Twilight in Saigon,” was published in 2021.
Born in Israel, Zev lived in Winnipeg until he was 17, when he returned to Israel with his parents. He now spends half the year in Israel and half the year in Calgary, where his two sons live.
Chumak leads the way towards the river in the dark. I had walked the route from his hut to the riverbank in daylight a few times and am confident I know the path down to the water and back. This time, though, I intend to cross to the other side under cover of darkness. Chumak, who came up with the idea, eagerly insists on guiding me so, he says, I don’t get lost. He claims he can find his way blindfolded. I think he believes that if this works, he might soon be rid of us, although he hasn’t said anything openly about it. To be fair, my suspicion just might be a projection of my own pressing desire to escape on to Chumak, whom I trust implicitly.
This summer has been uncommonly wet, and tonight the clouds are scudding low, hiding the moon and stars and making it difficult for others to spot us. At first, the only sounds are those of our movement through the brush and the occasional whoosh of passing nightbirds. The path is not overly challenging, and my labored breathing and rapidly beating heart stem more from fear than physical effort. Though I’m soaked to the skin by the constant drizzle, it is a minor irritation in the face of what I expect lies ahead. The sudden rattle of machine-gun fire causes us to instinctively fall flat on the ground, but luckily it isn’t close by, and we move forward a moment later. Distant flickers of lightning and muffled thunder are the backdrops as I blunder through the undergrowth and futilely attempt to avoid trees. Banging my knee against a tree trunk while trying to keep up with Chumak, I stifle a cry of pain, and then suddenly, I slip and slide down the muddy embankment, unable to get any traction. He grabs me before I plunge headfirst into the river.
“Quiet, you’ll get us caught,” he whispers as he holds my arm in his vicelike grip. “There are German and Romanian patrols on both sides of the river. Be more careful, or you will end up dead before you begin.”
The slope ends at the lapping water’s edge, but the river is barely visible in the blackness. A dog begins to bark incessantly on the other side. Has it picked up our scent even before I start to swim? I have no choice but to take my chances. Along the opposite bank downriver, dim points of light seem to be moving—smugglers perhaps or night fishermen. It’s hard to estimate how far away they are. I hope the current doesn’t drag me to them, but there is no going back. At least, for now, no searchlights are combing this particular area. Chumak seems to have picked the right spot.
Lightning flashes again, stronger this time, and in that instant, I realize how far it is to the other side across the rippling current. My swimming experience is limited to a small, calm pond near home, where my brother taught me some strokes. The wide, flowing river looks ominous, but I’ve made it this far, and I can’t give up now. And Chumak urges me on. I’m already knee-deep in the water, shivering, but not because the water is especially frigid.
“You can do it,” he encourages me. “The current isn’t so strong at this time of year. You must do it. It’s your only hope. Go!”
I stop for a moment and turn to him. “If anything happens…if I don’t make it back, help Ella and Sophie, please. They have no one else.” I don’t want to sound as if I’m pleading, but I am.
“Go, nothing will happen. You’re going to save them and yourself,” he says. “It’s the only way. I will wait here till you reach the other side and when you get there, clap some stones together three times to let me know you are safely there. The sound carries far at night. I’ll hear it, and I’ll tell Pani Ella that you made it.” Amid everything, I notice that this is the first time he calls Ella by her name.
I move slowly into the deeper water. At first, it’s easy; the water is up to my chest, but my feet still touch the soft muddy bottom. Then, without warning, it drops away, and I’m flailing and swallowing water. Finally, I calm down, gain control, and begin to swim. The current takes hold and starts pushing me downriver. Sputtering, I force myself to fight the rising panic and use my arms and kick with my legs in a crawl that will hopefully propel me towards the unseen shoreline. It’s working, and I’m not drowning, but I’m weakening rapidly. The combination of sickness I haven’t completely recovered from since the camp and general malnutrition has sapped me of strength. My clothes are waterlogged and drag me down. This can’t continue much longer. How idiotic would it be, I think, if I drowned now before beginning my mission? Rolling over on my back, I take the pig’s bladder that Chumak wrapped the note in from my pocket, and holding it tight, I squirm out of my pants to lighten the load. I let the current carry me and turn on my back to stroke and move gradually in the riverbank direction. It is less exhausting this way.
I’ve lost any notion of time as I float on my back and see nothing but the overcast sky. Has it been minutes? An hour? I fear trying to stand. If it’s still deep, I might sink and not be able to come back up. At least the rain has stopped. Some clouds have dispersed, and I can see stars in the black sky. Then I hear it. A baying sound getting closer. Maybe a dog? Then barking. Yes, a dog. Thankfully I must be near the shore. My feet hit bottom. I totter through the shallow water and, in the faint moonlight, survey a pebbly beach fronting the tree line. There is no sign of the huts nor of the large two-story house Chumak had pointed out some days earlier opposite my point of departure.
The house, he told me, belonged to a certain Nicolescu, a wealthy Romanian and well-known smuggler before the war. Chumak suggested that my woman, as he called Ella, write a letter to Nicolescu in Romanian asking for his help crossing the river. I imagined that he would get the letter to the Romanian or at least knew someone who could do it, so it took me by surprise when he said, “You will bring the letter to him, and he will make the arrangements.”
It seemed like a far-fetched idea. Beyond the problem of my crossing the river, in itself seemingly suicidal, why, I asked, would any Romanian, not to mention a wealthy smuggler, have anything to do with helping Jews? This is probably a punishable offense in Romania and meant certain death in German-occupied Poland. Only gypsies were desperate enough to offer their services. Even if Nicolescu was willing to help me, I had no money to pay him.
Moreover, those who did pay were often betrayed and delivered to the authorities on one or the other side. There was no guarantee of success, and many lost their lives in the attempt. A few days earlier, I saw a clump of corpses roped to each other floating down the river. I didn’t consider my death an issue anymore, but I was afraid of exposing Ella and the child to the risks involved. I told Chumak to forget it. I couldn’t do it.
“What choice do you have?” Chumak pressed. “Don’t be a fool. You, the woman, and the child definitely won’t survive on this side of the river, and you will stand a better chance over there, as far away as you can get from the Germans.”
His understanding of the situation is correct. The local peasants were handing Jews over for some butter or sugar and an opportunity to steal their belongings. They say a drowning man will grasp at a razor blade to save himself, so I agree.
“Even if I manage to make it across, how will I convince him? I have no money.”
Chumak was skeptical about my claim of penury. This wasn’t out of spite that he had thought through but rather an inherited bias. He was of the age-old school that believed Jews always had hidden treasure somewhere. He was convinced that if I couldn’t offer cash immediately, Nicolescu would accept a promise of future payment from a “high-class” Jew like me. To me, this appeared to be just wishful thinking since Chumak admitted never having actually done business with this Romanian smuggler, who was out of his league.
Chumak remained adamant, and his confident tone was hard to resist. “Tell your woman to write that she comes from an important, prosperous family in Romania that will pay him generously for his efforts. Give him a written guarantee.”
Before I could change my mind, he produced a slightly greasy lined sheet of paper from a child’s copybook and a blunt pencil stub. I took it to our hideout in the nearby forest, where I cajoled Ella, who also thought the plan was absurd and not doable, into writing the requisite supplication and promise of reward.
Standing on the flat terrain on this side of the river, I realize that the current took me downstream, and I need to walk back to the Nicolescu house. I’m not sure how far it is, but at least I can see where I’m going in the moonlight. I find some stones and strike them together three times, as I promised Chumak, hoping that he hears me, and goes back to report to Ella. Not expecting a response, I walk close to the tree line, off the riverbank pathway used by locals and military patrols. When a searchlight sweeps the river from the Polish side, I scamper into the trees, waiting, breathing hard, and picking up a dead branch for self-defense. Going forward, I detour through the woods to avoid a small group of men sitting by the embers of a fire smoking and passing around a bottle. Hunters or fishermen, I believe.
The house lies ahead through the gate of a stone-walled enclosure. No light escapes from the windows. Nearby in the compound, there are two thatched-roof peasant huts, weak light emanating from one of the windows, and a barn where a horse nickers. I stop to consider which building would be best to approach, and then, as I take a step closer, the dogs come at me, snarling. I fend them off with the branch, hitting one of them in the head. It runs off whimpering while the others keep their distance, growling, and barking. I’m done for. They are going to wake everyone. I retreat into the adjacent cornfield, crouching there cold, miserable, and afraid, as a woman appears holding a lantern outside one of the huts. She calls off the dogs and shoos them into the barn. As she locks the barn door, she stares into the darkness in my direction before going to draw water from a well in the yard and returning to the hut.
I can’t stay here much longer as indecision eats away at my remaining determination. It’s time to make a move, either forward to Nicolescu, whatever the risk and chances of success, or back across the river in abject failure. I run to the hut showing light and knock hesitantly. The dogs continue barking hysterically in the barn. Nothing happens, and I try again more decisively.
“Who’s there,” asks a muffled woman’s voice in Ukrainian.
“It’s me,” I reply. What else could I say?
She opens the door a crack. People must be accustomed to seeing strange sights around here because she doesn’t slam the door in the face of the wet, disheveled, half-naked specter that stands before her.
“What do you want? Who are you looking for?” the woman asks as if I was routinely passing by.
“I have an important letter for Mr. Nicolescu. He needs to see it,” I say, also in Ukrainian.
She invites me into the hut. Alone in the single, earthen floor room, she wears widow’s black. Wrinkeled but unbent, her age is indeterminate. Most of the space in the room is taken up by a traditional wooden loom, while a large blackened icon of the Savior hangs above a stove. I rarely devoted attention to Christian symbols, having never, so far, entered a church and always hurrying by the ubiquitous roadside shrines in our vicinity with eyes averted. The narrative of Christianity and Christians as moral and physical threats was, since time immemorial part of our Jewish psyche, but I have no direct personal experience of it. Even the murder of my father by Jew-hating thugs, which undoubtedly weighed heavily on my perception of the people who surrounded us, didn’t feel like a religious issue. Now though, as I stand here shivering, Jesus on the cross seems to be observing me ominously. But, immediately, my attention is drawn away to a piece of bread on a side table, and without invitation, I grab it and chew hungrily. The woman sees that I am exhausted and soaked and tells me to sit and rest. She brings me a blanket and pours a cup of water, watching silently as I continue chewing the bread thoroughly.
When I finish, she says, “You are from over there. You’re a Jew.” It’s not posed as a question, and she clearly knows why I have come. I’m not the first desperate Jew who has shown up on her doorstep. To my relief, she doesn’t take long to make her decision. “I will take you to Mr. Nicolescu’s mother. She lives in the other hut. Maybe she will help you.”
“Thank you.” I’m wary of digging too deeply into the subject for fear of treading on sensitive toes, but I’m also anxious to find out what has happened on this side of the river and know what to expect if Ella and Sophie are to cross with me later. “Are there any Jews left around here?” I ask warily. “What about the Jews in the city?”
“They got rid of all our Jews,” she replies in a matter-of-fact tone. “They say the devil came for them. You need to watch out.”
“Come,” she beckons. “We should go to Nicolescu’s mother before anyone else sees you here. People won’t hesitate to give you up.” I follow her to the neighboring hut, where a tall, old woman approaches us. “Who is that with you, Bohuslava?” she calls out in Romanian. “Beware of robbers. I’ll get a stick and run him off.”
Bohuslava walks over to her. “Shh, be quiet,” she says in Ukrainian. “Stop fussing. He means no harm and just wants to show you something. “Come here quickly,” she gestures to me.
Grey-haired, slightly stooped, with one eye clouded by a cataract, she must be in her seventies but looks far from frail. She takes my hand with a firm grip. “Let’s go inside,” she says.
She lights a kerosene lamp. This is a much bigger and well-appointed abode with an ornate porcelain stove dominating the room and a dining table covered in a hand-embroidered red and white tablecloth. Adjacent to the stove stands a single bed occupied by a young woman sleeping, oblivious to us.
“Bohuslava, you may go,” the Romanian says. “Just keep your mouth shut, or it won’t be long before everybody is aware that you take in Jewish strays. We don’t need that kind of trouble.”
“What will I say?” answers the other woman on her way out. “That you have a new lover and a Jewish one at that,” she cackles.
“Sit,” the tall woman says, pointing to a chair beside the table. Like most Romanians living on the border, she is fluent in Ukrainian, while my Romanian is rudimentary at best. “Show me what you brought,” she asks. I remove it from the pig’s bladder and hand the grotty piece of paper to her. She dons reading glasses and concentrates on the message.
“Good Romanian,” is her first reaction. “Who wrote it? It couldn’t be you.”
“My wife,” I say tersely.
“Is she from around here?”
“She is from the city,” I reply. “Actually, we’re together but not officially married. She has a small child, her daughter, with her. They were forced across the river with others a few months ago, and we are trying to get back to the city to join relatives who might still be there. The situation on the other side of the river is deadly.”
“Yes, I know. It’s not really safe here, either. If you’re caught, they will send you back there without a second thought. Don’t expect much pity here because nobody wants to get in trouble for hiding Jews from the authorities.”
Not wanting to get into a discussion on motivations. I prefer to get to the point. “I was told that your son, Domnul Nicolescu, has experience getting people across the river. If your son could help us, we will take our chances. It’s preferable to certain death over there.”
“I can’t speak for him,” she says. “He is a good man, but I doubt, though, that he would be willing to take such a great risk. He was never involved in the smuggling of people across the border. It’s a bad business. For him, it has always been cigarettes and other contraband.”
I am surprised, honestly, that she speaks so openly of her son’s activities to a stranger… especially to one with a price on his head. Though she doesn’t hold out hope, her demeanor and attitude give me a sliver of confidence. “You should get some rest,” she suggests, “and I will take you to him in the morning.”
“What is your name?” I ask.
“Margareta. And yours?”
“I am Emil. Thank you, Doamna Margareta, for your kindness. I hope your son takes after you.”
She wakes the girl rudely and pushes her into the other room. “Here, take this bed. The servant girl can sleep in my room. I will leave some dry clothes for you and wake you when we need to go.”
“Thank you again. Good night.” I kiss her hand.
“Good night, Domnule Emil. Sleep well.”
I feel exhausted and drained, and my shriveled muscles ache from the unaccustomed effort of swimming across the water, but sleep remains elusive. It’s not the discomfort of the thin, lumpy mattress and the scratchy wool blanket that still hold the sour odor of their previous user, nor is it the constant, sometimes frantic, barking of dogs outside that keep rest at bay. By now, I’m also habituated to grasping moments of sleep in more dire circumstances, whether in the camp barracks or on the cold forest floor. Tonight I’m kept wide awake by the train of thoughts and questions running in a relentless loop through my mind. Are Ella and Sophie safe on the other side, alone with the Chumaks? Will Nicolescu agree to help without payment in advance? Will we be betrayed by the smuggler as so many have been before us? What lies in store for us on this side without any means for survival at our disposal? Should we hide in the countryside here or take the risk of heading for the city? I try to block out the most subversive, monstrous, cowardly, and tempting considerations, but they are there. The palpable fear of swimming back across the river toward the near certainty of death, tries to convince me that I’m now safer and that on my own, I stand a better chance of hiding and surviving. Yes, I would be abandoning Ella and Sophie, but by going back, I would only join them in being captured and killed. They would be safer staying with the Chumaks, who certainly would take pity and continue to conceal and support a defenseless woman and child. Or maybe I could remain here and just send the smuggler for them. I want to scream. I will go back.
The sun is up when Margareta nudges me awake and offers me a mug of hot tea while waiting as I put on the clothes she brought. They belong to a larger man, but they will have to do. I walk with her to the door of the house. A few people, already out and about, are on their way to work in the fields, some leading cattle and a flock of sheep. The men doff their hats and greet her, paying no attention to me.
Margareta instructs me to wait outside and enters without knocking. I hear raised voices inside. “Have you lost your mind? Why did you bring him here? Do you want to get us arrested? Send him away!” A few moments later, Margareta reappears with another woman, a pale ash blonde of about forty, holding a cigarette in her long elegant fingers with a worried look on her face — definitely not of the farming class. The woman scans the yard nervously.
“My mother-in-law told me what you want. I am sorry, but Mr. Nicolescu doesn’t do this business. We cannot do anything for you.” Her voice trembles and she is obviously terrified. “Anyway, he is not here. He is in the city, and I don’t know when he will be back. You must go. It’s dangerous here, and you will get us into trouble. Please go now.” She starts to retreat into the house.
I can’t hold her against her will, and if Nicolescu is indeed away, there is nothing more to be gained here. “Thank you, Doamna Nicolescu,” I say in Romanian and press my luck. “I will go, but could you kindly give me some bread?”
She goes inside and is soon back with half of a large loaf. I once again kiss her well-manicured hand and turn to leave.
“Mr. Emil,” says Margareta, “You should not wander around here in daylight. It’s dangerous to stay out in the open. Why don’t you hide in the barn till dark? It will be safer that way.”
“Again, you are so kind, Madame, but I must return to my family. It has been too long already. They are alone and will worry that something bad has happened to me. I will be as careful as I can.”
“Very well, if you must, but follow me.” She leads me into the forest on a narrow footpath that is a roundabout way down to the water’s edge. “Eat the bread, you need the strength, and it will be ruined in the water,” she says. I need no more encouragement as I almost choke, devouring it. She turns to leave. “Be careful, Emil, and good luck to you. I will talk to Nicolescu when he returns. Maybe he will agree to help. He has more conscience than that frightened ornament he calls his wife. How can he find you?”
“There is a peasant named Chumak. He knows where we are,” I tell her.
“Yes, Chumak. I know him. He also used to smuggle cigarettes before the war.”
“Thank you, Madame. I will remember your generosity.” She is gone.
I sit brooding among the trees looking at the river as the sun glints off the streaming water and listening to cheerful birds chirping. I can’t help but ponder the difference between the elderly women, Bohuslava and Margareta, and the wife of Nicolescu. I’m not surprised by the younger woman’s reaction. It is one version, slightly less brusque, of the general refusal to help Jews. But, all other considerations aside, who can blame people for fearing the fatal punishments meted out by the Germans and their Ukrainian lackeys to so-called Jew-lovers? Would I behave any differently in their shoes? I am more impressed, not to say astonished, by those candles in the darkness, people who have everything to lose, yet whose basic humanity causes them to stretch out their hands to support their fellow men and women. That rough peasant Chumak, whose whole universe is his tiny homestead next to an unknown village on the banks of the river, heads my list of the righteous. Now I add Bohuslava and Margareta to it. The existence of such people, beyond their contribution to our physical safety, keeps alive my essential positivity toward humankind and allows me to still retain some belief in our survival.
What next, I ask myself? I achieved nothing and have no other plan in reserve. Swimming back in broad daylight now seems suicidal. Maybe drowning is a good option? But that means abandoning Ella and the child, and I have already decided this is not an option. Bring back yesterday’s rain, I pray. I pray, though my belief in the idea of an Almighty, never cast-iron, has been dramatically undermined by the past year’s events. Then the wind picks up, and the miracle unfolds. Dark clouds scud across the sky, and the first drops wet my face, replacing the tears. In moments the downpour becomes torrential. I tie the new clothes around my neck and dive into the river, feeling more energetic on my way back. The current is slow enough for me to gradually dog-paddle most of the way across and finish with a few crawl strokes.
I’m carried only about a half-kilometer downstream, and elation replaces caution as I drag myself onto the riverbank and start walking. Climbing up the steep slope, Chumak’s hut is soon ahead, but when I approach and enter it, nobody is there. I look for Ella and Sophie, but the barn is empty too, and figuring that Chumak is probably out working in the field, I continue upwards into the forest towards our erstwhile hiding place. Ella and Sophie are supposed to wait there for me in case of trouble. I call out not to surprise them but there is no reply. I run to the hideout. They are gone.
Features
I’m 15. Here’s why Kinew’s social media ban needs work
By NOAH STRAUSS I’m 15 years old, and last Saturday night at an NDP fundraising gala, Premier Wab Kinew announced his intentions to ban social media and AI chatbots for kids. His brief announcement made no clear ruling on the age of his ban. As someone who uses social media daily to communicate with friends, I have some thoughts on whether this is actually a good idea— and how it could work.
If Kinew wants his ban on social media to be effective, he should target kids born in 2014 and younger, placing the ban on kids who have not yet had the time to build their lives around it.
Looking at what other countries have done is a useful starting point. Australia banned social media last year to users under the age of 16. France, also, is currently in the process of passing laws through its National Assembly to ban it for kids under 15. Closer to home, the Liberal Party of Canada recently passed a motion at its convention that would seek to adopt legislation that would ban social media for kids under 16, signalling how controlling social media is becoming a mainstream idea.
Social media isn’t all bad. Yes, it causes developmental issues in teens, and it causes anxiety, but so many of us rely on it every day to communicate, share ideas and spread messages. For someone like me, losing it overnight would cause a massive disruption to my daily life. That is exactly why a blanket ban on all social media for minors would miss the point.
At the age of 12, most kids have not spent too much of their lives on social media before their lives are built around it. Britain has implemented a similar year-based ban, banning those born in 2009 and younger from ever purchasing cigarettes. Banning people before they have a chance to be exposed ensures they cannot get addicted. The same logic applies to social media: If kids never get a chance to become dependent on it, the ban won’t uproot their lives. Implementing a ban for kids born in 2014 and younger will ensure they cannot use social media during their developmental stages, just as Kinew intends.
Beyond the social impacts, there is also a political problem behind the ban. In time, kids who have had social media banned by Wab Kinew will head to the polls. How does this look for the man who took it away from them? It will be hard for Kinew to win over a generation of voters whose first political memory is him restricting their online lives.
Kinew succeeded in at least one category, and that is the blame game. He rightfully made sure that the people of Manitoba should know that this is not the fault of our parents, but it is the fault of the technology companies, whose one goal is to make their products successful through making them addictive to the user.
Good intentions are a start, but if Kinew is serious about protecting kids, the details of his ban matter just as much as the principle behind it.
Features
Part 10 of the story of the delusional Winnipeg con man: The con man asks to meet with me and ends up being thoroughly grilled about the cons he’s pulled
By BERNIE BELLAN This is the tenth -and final part of a story about a delusional Winnipegger who believes he is someone of great wealth and has spent the better part of 30 years contacting people all over the world telling them that he wants to invest in their businesses or projects. The first nine parts of this story are all available to read under the FEATURES category on this website.
Here is the final part of my story:
On April 9, 2026 I finally had a chance to meet with Fred Devlin again. The day before, I was totally surprised when I saw a message from him saying he wanted to talk to me – and gave his phone number (which is the same phone number I had for him from years ago).
I called him – and he was quite pleasant, although he said he was suffering from pneumonia. After just a couple of minutes, however, he said his wife had just walked in and he couldn’t talk.
The next day he messaged me and asked whether we could meet. I said “yes” and we agreed to meet at either the Fairmont Hotel or Hy’s. He said he would let me know. It ended up being Hy’s.
When I walked in Fred was standing beside the bar. He looked remarkably the same from the last time I had seen him, although a little dissheveled. There were no apparent signs of his having had pneumonia.
He asked the server if we could have a private table somewhere and she told us that we could go upstairs to the dining room, which was empty. We sat down and I placed my iPhone on the table, as did Fred. I told him that I wanted to record our conversation so that everything he might say would be on the record. He agreed and also said he was going to record it himself – presumably to make sure that I wouldn’t alter anything.
In every instance where he refers to the name of his company or supposed group of companies, I’ve omitted the actual name – even though in the rest of my story I refer to his group of companies as the Xanadu group. In a couple of instances he referred to real people during our conversation, but since they are not mentioned anywhere else in this story and play no part in the story I’ve told, I decided to retain their real names.
I want to explain what follows is not easy reading. Fred Devlin clearly suffers from a psychotic delusion and my intent is not to make light of his illness. There are many people who suffer from various psychoses and many of them are capable of committing great harm to others if their psychoses aren’t treated – or, even if they are treated, the treatments fail.
What makes Fred Devlin’s story so unusual, however, is the harm he was able to inflict and is apparently still inflicting on so many others by his believing the story he had somehow developed to explain his life. Even as I was talking to him I could see that his calm, measured tone could seem quite convincing to most people with whom he would connect. I deliberately went after him as hard as I could though, to see whether I could break his composure by asking him questions quickly and not giving him the opportunity to start rambling on about his group of companies, his charitable endeavours and, most important, his vast wealth.
By the end of our conversation he was shaking and kept saying the was tired. I honestly felt sorry for him, but I wanted to get him on the record contradicting his story fully in so many ways so that no one reading this would doubt for a moment that Fred Devlin is fully psychotic and can be quite dangerous when he tries to envelop trusting individuals in his web of deceit, regardless whether he himself is unaware just how deceitful he really is.
One more note: As is the case with most conversations, speakers often interrupt one another, thoughts don’t get fully expressed – and even though the transcription program I used is quite accurate, a lot of what Fred Devlin said was indecipherable. I’ve tried to do justice to what was said, but I’ve left out a lot of the pauses and words that made no sense.
Here is how the conversation went:
Devlin: Now do you want me to just talk or you ask questions – or do you have questions?
Me: Well, of course I have questions, but if you want to start off by saying something, go right ahead.
Devlin: It’s gonna take a series of interviews to cover my life, but I’m gonna give you everything. I’m gonna give you evidence. I will show you that everything I always say is true. I started my life at… started in Israel when I was 10. My father went to teach at the Weizmann Institute. We went through Europe and then to Israel. We were in Greece on the way to Israel, and there was the (raid on Entebbe). Okay. We got to Israel, ran into by chance Benjamin Netanyahu, who had lost his brother. And we gave our condolences and that was the first meeting I had with Benjamin Netanyahu. We lived there. I went to school there. I was infatuated with the soldiers and the guns and the bullets and… a soldier, a friend – Michael Perl…. I don’t know if you know Michael Perl – but his brother gave us all these empty shells. I went to a sporting goods store, bought a gun, a starting pistol. I converted it into a gun and I guarded my campus in Israel, and that was what I was meant to be. So my life is about guarding Israel, the … Foundation worldwide, which is just a name, it’s actually a numbered company based outta Luxembourg and the … group of companies Worldwide Holdings are also a numbered company under … Investment Corporation, which you can look up at the Manitoba Companies office on Broadway.
Me: Let, let me stop you there. First of all, I’m not so sure about the whole story about meeting Netanyahu, but regardless, the … group of companies has no presence on the internet. I don’t believe there is any such thing as the ….Group of Companies. Do you have any proof that there is something (by that name)?
Devlin: Of course, I will have lawyers write to you.
Me: Never mind lawyers. What can you show in terms of documentation?
Devlin: I can show you the websites. It’s just a name, okay.
Me: And what are the companies in the … group of companies?
Devlin: There’s 3,360.
Me: Okay. Can you name any of them?
Devlin: Of course, but I’m not going to name…
Me: Name one.
Devlin: I’m not gonna name one. It’s private.
Me: You’re not gonna name one?
Devlin: Not today, no.
Me: Why?
Devlin: ’cause they are secret. They’re secret companies. Okay. I want no one knowing my business. I haven’t been in a publication since May, 1990.
Me: How many companies now is it (in the group of companies)?
Devlin: 3,300… 3,306.
Me: When I spoke to you in 2021, it was 300.
Devlin: I was being honest. Okay.
Me: Alright. So, the … group of companies has 3,300 companies. You won’t name one. You won’t provide any proof that there is (even one company).
Devlin: I’ll provide you with okay. But not today.
Me: Alright. And it’s headquartered in Luxembourg, correct?
Devlin: Okay
Me: And David Simkin is what?
Devlin: My CEO.
Me: Okay. Does he exist?
Devlin: Of course.
Me: Where does he live?
Devlin: Luxembourg. Okay. But he traveled.
Me: No one has ever been able to establish that there is anyone by that name.
Devlin: Because he’s Mossad.
Me: Because he’s Mossad?
Devlin: Correct. And that’s not his real name.
Me: Oh, it’s not his real name. Okay. Alright, let’s go on.
I am sort of curious to know about your business career. I did read that you were in real estate and then you became the executive director of the Winnipeg Airport ….
Devlin: No, I first started Winnport. I founded Winnport.
Me: You founded Winnport?
Devlin; Yes. Yeah. Here, I’ll show you.
Me: Okay. And what year was that?
Devlin: About 1992 to 1994.
Me: And you have some proof for that.
Devlin: Of course.
Me: Of course. (According to Wikipedia, Winnport was established in 1998 by Lynn Bishop. Here is what Wikipedia has to say about Winnport: “Winnport Logistics, a Winnipeg-based air cargo consortium, was established in 1998. The company launched Canada’s first scheduled widebody cargo operations during that year, aiming to connect Winnipeg to Asian markets, before eventually ceasing operations in 2002”.)
Me: And then you became executive director of the Airport Area Business Improvement Zone?
Devlin: No. Of the Winnipeg Development Corporation biz, not the Winnipeg…. Never with the Airport Area Business Improvement Zone. (I found that answer particularly strange because the 1998 article I referenced earlier specifically stated that Devlin had been the recently appointed executive director of the Airport Area Business Improvement Zone. Why he would he have chosen to talk about Winnport, with which he may have had some involvement, but certainly not in the years he said he was involved, and not the Airport Area Business Improvement Zone – raises new questions – both about Devlin’s resumé – and his memory.)
Devlin: Yes, I was. And I had it (Winnport) spun off. I’ll tell you the story, but easy for you to look at. (And at that point he pulled out what I immediately recognized as his album of photos that he had first shown me in 2021.)
Me: Are you gonna show me more pictures?
Devlin: Yep. I’m show you.
Me: Okay. I don’t care. I’ve seen your pictures Fred, and you know what? I don’t care about your pictures.
Devlin: You know what, then don’t be rude…
Me; Alright. When was that? You say that was 1992.
Devlin: It’s ’94 or so.
Me: Okay. Alright. Look, I don’t doubt that you had some sort of business career. I wrote that (in my original story that I posted to the internet in February 2026), so the question is: ‘What happened?’ (At that point a waiter came over with our soups and the conversation paused.)
Me: Okay, let’s go on. So how long were you with Winnport then?
Devlin: About a year, and then that was…there’s a story behind that. There’s a lot more to the story. Alright, so can I tell you the story?
Me: The Winnport story? Yeah. Tell me the story.
Devlin: When I was running my company, … Investment Corporation, which I founded in 1987 and still operating, which owns all the … Foundation worldwide. In a … group of companies. It’s in the Companies office. It’s current and operating.
Me: Go on.
Devlin: In May of 1990 I was featured in Manitoba Business Magazine.
Me: Yes, I have that article.
(At this point the man I’ve been calling Devlin launched into a very descriptive, but often incoherent account of part of his earlier business career. As I’ve noted previously, I have no doubt that Devlin was very bright – and successful – until something happened. So, when he weaves names of real people into his stories, there might be more than a semblance of the truth in what he’s saying. The problem is he seems to get key dates wrong – as when he talks about Winnport – and when he claims to have been the person to have started that company.
Still, it’s somewhat sad to think how much potential he had – as he explains in the following account. If only he had never veered completely off the rails and started insinuating himself into so many people’s lives, causing so mach damage along the way.)
Devlin: Yeah, (but) you don’t have the full magazine, which has much more information. (It) talks about me becoming an up and coming… and Izzy Asper saw the article and summoned me…it was a billionaire summoning a millionaire and it was the only time in my life I was intimidated a little bit. We became partners, friends, mentor, and he financed me for the acquisition of land where Centerport is. I still control land at the airport and I started Winnport. I founded it. It was my business plan, my concept, although it was talked about by others. I mapped it out on a plane coming back from Amsterdam, Holland ’cause I mapped out a logistics plan that is now Centerport. So, I was sitting on a Saturday going through the career section at our place on Wellington. I saw a career commercial development officer wanted by the Winnipeg International Airport and Izzy Asper and I had already bought the land, so I figured I’d go as an insider. I got the job the next day ’cause I had a presentation, which included every element of what they were trying to do. I worked technically for someone named Warren Thompson, but I really worked with Lynn Bishop, who was the general manager of the airport and eventually president of the Bombers. I talked to Lynn yesterday, I believe so. I still keep in touch with a great guy. Okay. I realized that I had a conflict of interest owning land and being the insider in the airport. So I realized I had to spin off a company. So we spun off Winnport, which I named. I actually spelled it W-I-N-P-O-R-T. Lynn Bishop on a flight back from, I believe, Chattanooga, Tennessee. No, uh, Huntsville, Alabama, where we were looking at CargoX airplanes from Luxembourg, which I own now in control. Go look it up and you’ll see nothing about me. Every company I own does not come back to me. My business is silent.
(A few days after meeting Fred Devlin, I did manage to get a hold of Lynn Bishop, who was the original founder of Winnport – in 1998, when Fred would have been around 32. Lynn told me that Fred Devlin did work for the company for a very brief time, but they had to let him go because his behaviour was so erratic. That jives with my thinking that it was sometime when Fred was in his early thirties that he became quite delusional.)
Me: Why? Why is that?
Devlin: Two reasons. I don’t want anyone knowing my business. If I’m to buy land or buy something, the price goes up if they comes from …. So we use shell companies to buy and make offers with legal. That’s one. The other is reputation. God forbid Air Canada has a crash. And it connects to …, then my reputation is real.
Me: So Air Canada is one of the companies you own?
Devlin: I’m not gonna say.
Me: you’re not gonna say?
Devlin: I will tell you next meeting. I will give you a paper with some holdings. I know Michael Rousseau very well, who was vice president of Finance for Air Canada.(He was actually its CEO until recently. when he resigned over his not knowing how to speak French.) I deal with him. He’s been fired. We’re bringing in a new CEO and president. I own part of Boeing, okay.
Me: Let’s move on. What did you do after Winnport?
Devlin: After I left Winnport, I was not happy. I sold it to Cargojet or behind the scenes, and we have shares in Cargo, which is the largest Canadian cargo companies, so Winnport became very successful domestically. I’m doing the project again to introduce runs by CargoX currently, which will be Winnport again and Cargojet. (As has been noted, Winnport ceased operations after 2002.) And I will make Winnport as I expected it to be. Then I left Winnport and I became executive director…(of what, Devlin didn’t say). Didn’t take a salary or I gave my salary to charity to stay involved with the airport area and Winnport.
Me. And what did you do then?
Devlin: I did nothing. I was executive director of the Airport Area Business Development Corporation. (The chronology is so confusing. Devlin just claimed he left Winnport and became executive director of the Airport Area Business Development Corporation, but Winnport wasn’t established until 1998 and that 1998 magazine article said Devlin was the recently appointed executive director of the Airport Area Business Development Corporation, which would have preceded his becoming involved with Winnport but, In the final analysis, it doesn’t really matter what the sequence of his various positions he hleld was – if he, in fact, actually held the positions he said he held. Still, it seems evident that Fred had an upward career trajectory until he developed his psychosis. I haven’t been able to establish what he was doing when he apparently developed that psychosis when he must have been in his thirties.)
Me: And you didn’t take a salary?
Devlin: I took a salary, but I gave it to charity.
Me: Is there a record – of your having been with Winnport?
Devlin: I can get that for you.
Me: Okay. So you were already in your thirties by then, I’m guessing?
Devlin: Yeah.
Me: Okay. Alright. I wanna move forward though because as you know, I’ve been writing about you. I wanna talk about your relationship….
Devlin: You are slandering me.
Me: I want to talk about your relationship with Jonathan Soloway.
Devlin: Alright.
Me: I have copies of written agreements between you and Jonathan Soloway.
Devlin: You don’t have everything.
Me: I have signed agreements between you and Jonathan Soloway.
Devlin: No, I never signed an agreement with him.
Me: I have your signature on those documents.
Devlin: Never signed it.
Me: Are they forged?
Devlin: Were they forged? I don’t know what Jonathan did with them.
Me: Okay, so you are saying that those agreements are invalid.
Devlin: They’re invalid and I can tell you what I offered Jonathan and I helped save his life, and was the only person who reached out to him after I hadn’t talked to him in 45 years. He flew to Winnipeg to meet with me at 529 (Wellington). I befriended him. I tried my best to help him. He had lost his life savings in a bitcoin scam or some type of scam on the internet. He had nothing. He had no car. He was living at his brother’s place. He lost his marriage. And the custody of his daughter, I believe, and his life was in ruins and I was the only one to step up to offer to help him. I offered him, I’m setting up a real estate investment trust in the fall with Nikki Bello (who, I was able to learn, is a Winnipeg Chartered Professional Accountant), if she’s interested still. And probably Lauren. (I have no idea who that is and I didn’t ask Devlin who Lauren is.)
Me: Did you tell him to stop making payments on all his debts?
Devlin: No.
Me: You deny that?
Devlin: No, I said to him, “Don’t pay if they’re not gonna come after you.”
Me: And you didn’t offer him a salary of $250,000 a year?
Devlin: I, no…. being paid on the first 50. (In talking to Jonathan, he explained that 50 would have meant 50% of the Real Estate Investment Trust he was supposed to be setting up with Devlin.) Would you like to know what it is?
Me: Sure.
Devlin: I offered him 49% of the company outta my goodwill of the shares. Jonathan was confused. He thought he was getting a job. I said, “No, you’re getting a partnership.”
Me: So if I were to show you the agreement (promising to pay Jonathan $250,000 a year) with your signature on it, would you say that is a false document?
Devlin: I’d have to see it.
Me: Well, I can open it up for you if you want.
Devlin: Jonathan turned on me because I was in the hospital. I disappeared for five weeks with a brain injury and I couldn’t help him pay off his debt. I talked to his creditors. I got his debt reduced. I did my very best for Jonathan.
Me: Alright, so you say that you didn’t offer him a salary of $250,000.
Devlin: Yes, I did.
Me: You did?
Devlin: But once we were operational and there was cash flow from the REIT. I wouldn’t take a salary. Nikki wouldn’t take a salary. She took shares and then I promised him a $250,000 salary as long as we had cash flow.
Me: But these agreements are quite recently signed and don’t say anything about having to wait for a cash flow before he would get paid.
Devlin: Nothing happened. There was no money there.
Me: It’s all part of a pattern Fred of you stringing people along with promises of a big payday and then, when they start asking “Where’s the money?”, you say there is no money there – right?
Devlin: That’s your belief. It’s not true.
Me: Have you ever put up money for a project?
Devlin: Many times. All the time.
Me: And can you substantiate that?
Devlin: Yeah. I can show you an airline project where I’m doing in Nigeria.
Me: Did you not offer Rick financial help with his publication?
Devlin: Never. No. Okay. I offered him a million dollars potentially to buy him out from 420 magazine and to have him run as CEO or in some position once we started 420 was a deadline (again – totally incoherent). I’m still willing to meet my commitments to him, but he slandered me and set up a group of people because he’s mentally ill. Has Asperger’s, I believe, or autism and rage management and A-D-H-D-.I disappeared in the hospital the next day without being able to tell anyone. I was in for five weeks. I couldn’t communicate. I had blinding brain injury, headaches, and vertigo. Couldn’t use my phone.
Me: How many times have you been in the hospital… committed for psychiatric reasons?
Devlin: Never. Never.
Me: Did you send a cease and desist letter to a psychiatrist?
Devlin: No.
Me: You didn’t’?
Devlin: Not that I recall.
Me: You didn’t have Bob Anderson send a cease and desist letter?
Devlin: Yes, I did.
Me: To a psychiatrist?
Devlin: Yes, I did. Okay.
Me; Why was that?
Devlin: I’m not gonna talk about it right now. Okay. Next time.
Me: So you were in the hospital for psychiatric visits.
Devlin: No. Okay.
Me: Did you meet a fellow named Jack in a psychiatric wing of a hospital?
Devlin: I went in to be undercover and I met him and he was my roommate.
Me: Did you tell him that you owned the hospital?
Devlin: Yes.
Me: Why?
Devlin: Because I do.
Me: That would be the Health Sciences Center?
Devlin: No, the Victoria Hospital.
Me: You own Victoria Hospital?
Devlin: . Through Internet means I control the hospital.
Me: Okay. This is all very interesting. You are actually confirming everything that has been told to me. Okay. I wanna talk about Charlie.
Did you offer to finance a charitable foundation for him in the Democratic Republic of the Congo?
Devlin: No.
Me: You never did?
Devlin: No.
Me: Even though he’s got letters, texts, and emails to show that you did.
Devlin: If he says so I’ve got the texts, I’ll have to read ’em.
Me: Have you been threatening Charlie?
Devlin: No.
Me: Have you not been telling him that you’re gonna ruin his life?
Devlin: Legally? Yes. For slandering me on Facebook, I’m gonna sue him to the grave.
Me: Did you tell him that you would take his farm? (I asked Charlie whether he ever had a farm. He said he didn’t.)
Devlin: Yeah.
Me: His pharmacy? (Again, Charlie was bewildered over the suggestion he had either a farm or a pharmacy which, he says, he’s never had. He said he did own a piece of land in his community – which he sold to finance the charitable foundation Devlin told him his …group of companies would finance.)
Devlin: I paid for his books, his computers, everything and the value that he has. And I said I would take it all.
Me: Why?
Devlin: Because he slandered me on Facebook after I put him through school partially, and I was a mentor to him. I spent hundreds of hours, which are documented. You can see. I’ll be happy to turn over all my emails and texts to you. Okay. He has not told you the truth.
Me; Alright, there are a whole slew of other people who I’ve talked to who told me that you would make promises to them. One of them was Dan Winthrop.
Devlin: I made no promises to Dan. I’m helping with a project with Israeli aircraft. Okay.
Me: And this has been going on for over 18 years?
Devlin: Correct.
Me: And you had a fellow in Las Vegas – Avi… I can’t remember his last name – who was going to facilitate your bringing over jets from Israel and convert them to some sort of use? Did Avi not try and set up a meeting between you and various officials, including Prime Minister Netanyahu?
Devlin: Our deal was once I hired him and pay him a million dollars a year. Plus 3.33% of the funds he raises. He’s earning about 120, I believe, as the director of…(Avi actually works in an area that is too sensitive to Israel’s security to reveal.)
He was not happy. He expressed an interest in working for me, so I did my best to get him a position. I became ill and was unable to fulfill it. But I am planning on fulfilling it.
Me: Okay, one more story of promises unfulfilled.
Devlin: Not my fault. I was in the hospital, very ill.
Me: Alright. I wanna get back to Jonathan Solaway though, because since you deny that you have had any written agreements with him, I wanna show you the written agreements and then have you comment on them.
Devlin: I don’t want to do this. Getting tired. I’m sick. I do next session.
Me: You’re getting tired now?
Devlin: Yes. Very tired. But I will talk to you next interview about that.
At that point someone walked by our table and Devlin turned to him, saying: “Hi, how are you?… I’m good. How are you?… Good… Oh, you’re the delivery boy today. You do everything. A jack of all trades. . Things are going well. Yeah. How about you? I haven’t seen you in a while. Been away and it’s been a while… I’ve been here. You been here? Was able to sneak in. You enjoy it? I am. Yeah. It’s good. Yeah. Good. Brock Wright. Brock Wright. Can you get me his number? ’cause we’re fixing the healthcare system.” (From 2000 to 2017, Brock Wright served as Vice President and Chief Medical Officer for what was then the new Winnipeg Regional Health Authority and, for five years during that period, also served as the Chief Operating Officer at Health Sciences Centre.) The person Devlin was talking to said : “I will try to, yeah. . Next time I see him, I’ll, I’ll grab it for you.” (I chose to include this little snippet to illustrate how good Fred could be at posing as someone important – and turning on the charm.)
I resumed my questioning: “Okay. Alright. If you don’t want to see the material that I have…
Devlin: Not, not this time, I’m too tired to look it up.
Me: Okay. Well let’s go back to asking some some more questions about other people who I’ve spoken to. One of them was a lawyer by the name of Bob Anderson.
Devlin: He’s not a lawyer. He lost his license for, well he was a lawyer in Virginia. Go look him up on the internet. I hired him after he was slandered and I tried to take down the information on him. We’ve been friends for 20 years. They came to me and approached me in Bolivia to buy banks and he came to the Forks area hotel. We became best friends and he did free work for me for many years for my foundation. And that’s it.
Me: How did you get in touch with Rick? Was it through Jack?
Devlin: Okay.
Me: And you met Jack in a psychiatric ward?
Devlin: I met him in the hospital – okay.
Me: Well, he says it was a psychiatric ward.
Devlin: Whatever he says. I won’t argue.
Me: So you deny that you were a patient in the psychiatric ward.
Devlin: No, I was not a patient.
Me: No, you were checking out the system ’cause you were the owner of the hospital. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?
Devlin: You can do what you want with it. I’m telling you.
Me: You say you own Victoria Hospital?
Devlin: No, through options on the hospital with the Manitoba government.
Me: Oh really? Okay. You think that if I were to print this conversation now that this is going to make you look somehow as a bonafide, legitimate businessman?
Devlin: Not the way you are putting it. I’m just going to answer.
Me: I’m just asking you the questions and you’re giving me the answers… and I’m doing it on the record.
Devlin: I’m giving you a courtesy before I sue your ass for a hundred million dollars.
Me: Is that right? On what grounds?
Devlin: Defamation. You didn’t approach me to ever get my side of the story. You went with a group of people – Rick, who’s a crazy man, and he stirred up all these people, dug up every single person I knew because I was too open with them and slandered me and made up stories and approached you. I don’t know the total chain of events, but I will shortly.
Me: Okay, but you say that even though there are documents with your signature on them, especially the ones signed between you and and Jonathan Soloway, they’re not legitimate documents. Is that what you’re saying?
Devlin: They’re not. Jonathan knew very well that he was getting no salary till it was operational.
Me: Even though your signature’s on your document and promises…
Devlin: We tried to put together a document. It was null and void. Jonathan knew that – when was it made null and void immediately, within 10 minutes of it being signed.
Me: Why was that?
Devlin: Because Jonathan put in fake clauses saying that I owe him $250,000. But the other clause says he’s not gonna get paid till there’s generation of revenue. I have witnesses. Nikki Bello.
Me: Is that in the document?
Devlln: I believe so. I’d have to review it if.
Me: Jonathan is in big (financial) trouble and you deny that you told him to stop making payments on his debt?
Devlin: I said to him, these were my words: ‘If they’re not gonna come after you, it’s better to conserve your cash and not pay creditors.” I’ve had much experience with people who have worked for me with creditors.
Me: Did you not tell him that you were gonna take care of his debts?
Devlin: I did.
Me: You did?
Devlin: Yeah.
Me: Did you?
Devlin: Not yet. I got ill and I was unable to work, and now I’m happy to take care of his debts, but after he slandered me, I’m no longer willing to do it.
Me: Isn’t that a breach of contract then?
Devlin: There was no contract. It was friendly. It was a friendly promise to do my best to help him. Okay?
Me: But when I say there is a contract with your signature on it…
Devlin: I, I’d have to see it.
Me; Well, if I showed it to you, is it gonna make any difference?
Devlin: Could. It depends on what it says. I have to go through my documents and I’ll tell you next interview. (At that point Devlin said something incomprehensible, but then suggested that Jonathan doesn’t have a case that any lawyer would take on, saying “No one will take the case.”)
Me: There was a lawyer who was quite willing to take the case, but the problem is – you’re penniless – so there’s no point in suing you.
Let’s talk about your finances. How much money do you have?
Devlin: Look, that’s not your business, but I have a lot of money.
Me: Okay, you don’t think there’s a lawyer who’s quite willing to take the case (of a lawsuit against Devlin)?
Devlin: Go for it.
Me: But I asked the lawyer: Can Fred’s parents and his wife be included in a lawsuit?
Devlin: Yeah. And what did they say?
Me: He said, “no,” unless we can prove that somehow they were materially involved in all your affairs. By the way, how do you pay for all these meals at Hy’s and at the Fairmont?
Devlin: With my Interac card. Why?
Me: I’m just wondering who is supporting you? Is it your parents?
Devlin: Nobody supports me. No, no.
Me: It’s income from where? From the … group of companies, right?
Devlin: Correct.
Me: The …group of companies? And David Simkin is the CEO, right?
Devlin: Okay. I get my money from him.
Me: Would I ever be able to talk to David Simkin?
Devlin: No.
Me: Because he’s Mossad, correct?
Devlin: Right. And that’s not his real name. Ari Duran, my chief of Global Intelligence and Security based in Tel Aviv, who’s worked for me for over 20 years – he’s also Mossad. Everyone who works in my senior executives are Mossad or IDF.
Me: Are you accompanied by Mossad agents?
Devlin: Most of the time. I won’t answer that.
Me: Are you ever accompanied by Mossad agents?
Devlin: Correct.
Me: What does that mean?
Devlin: They guard my family in Winnipeg, in Cleveland – for 20 years.
Me: Do you live at …? (At that point I recited the address where Fred and his wife are presumed to live)?
Devlin: That’s our safe house. We have 1909 Wellington Crescent, and we’re moving to Number One Wellington in September.
Me: Did you live at 277 Wellington Crescent ever?
Devlin: Yes.
Me: All right. Who paid for the apartment?
Devlin: I did.
Me: You did? You paid how?
Devlin: My company paid for it.
Me: Okay. To be accurate, your house is owned by someone else entirely, with a mortgage on it, right?
Devlin: We have the option to buy it. His name is Michael (name omitted). Yeah. And his number is 3 3 3 3 3 3. (Of all the baffling things Devlin said during this conversation, that number was the weirdest. I have no idea what he meant by saying that.)
Me: We did a search for the title on that house. It’s only valued at $439,000. But you say that’s a safe house?
Devlin: Correct.
Me: So, where is your primary residence?
Devlin: I won’t answer that – for security reasons.
Me: Oh, for security reasons. Do you know how ludicrous this all sounds?
Devlin: I don’t care. I’m sure it does, but it’s true.
Me: And do you think that if you sued me for defamation and I were to have this played in court that you wouldn’t be laughed out of court? Fred, are you under psychiatric care right now?
Devlin: No.
Me; Have you ever been under psychiatric care?
Devlin: I was once under psychiatric care, but for a fact that I have a sleep disorder and I couldn’t sleep, and they had to give me medication through psychiatry to make me sleep. I don’t sleep 24 hours a day. I have a rare sleep disorder. I never sleep and without the aid of medication, so that was the only time.
Me: Okay. So when I approached your mother years ago after I had met you and asked her: “What’s the story with …?” And she said, “… is not well, please go easy on him.,” what do you think she meant, Fred?
Devlin: I wasn’t well physically and she wanted you to leave me alone.
Me: Well, was it because you weren’t well physically or weren’t well psychologically?
Devlin: No, it was physically.
Me: Have you ever been hospitalized for a psychiatric disorder?
Devlin: I’m not gonna answer that. Alright. My health is out of court.
Me: Well, you just said that you don’t have any psychiatric disorder.
Devlin: I have letters from the Cleveland Clinic. Each year for my corporation, I have to get a healthcare letter. I have no… besides pneumonia. Now I’m in perfect physical and mental health. Okay. And I have letters from doctors in Cleveland and in Winnipeg. Okay.
Me: Who do you have working for you in Winnipeg?
Devlin: I won’t answer that…many people.
Me: Is (name omitted) one of the people?
Devlin: She did some free work for me, but I’m planning on hiring her as CEO of … Foundation, Winnipeg office.
Me: Did you ever pay her anything?
Devlin: Not yet.
Me: Why not?
Devlin: ’cause we had no agreements in place for me to pay her. She was volunteering for the foundation.
Me: Or is it not the case that you have no money and it’s all a delusion, Fred?
Devlin: Okay, Bernie, whatever you say, keep up with slander. You know what? This interview is over if you continue this line.
Me: Well, since you denied that you’ve had any agreement with Jonathan Soloway, that you had any agreement with Rick, that you had a plan to to bring jets from Israel over to Canada to convert them for some sort of…
Devlin: We are, uh, proceeding with that project.
Me: And this project has been ongoing for almost 18 or 20 years?
Devlin: No, no, three years. Just three years with Dan. Three or four years with Dan – who I offered a company. I offered him, I sent, he went to Israel on his own money. Yeah. And he didn’t expect anything to be offered. I wasn’t gonna go to Israel because I thought his ideas that he had for 20 years may not be solid. He went on his own way to meet Gli, who’s a tremendous person, director of … I believe I have her name.
Me: There’s a whole slew of people you’ve contacted over the years. According to what I was told by (name omitted), you’ve recently contacted the head of the Winnipeg, Airport Authority and the head of Centerport.
Devlin: Not recently, although I phoned Carly (Edmundson, the President and CEO of CentrePort) yesterday.
Me: The CEO of CenterPort? Okay, what was the nature of your communication with her and the head of the Winnipeg Airport Authority (Nick Hays)? You have plans, right? You have projects. What kind of project is it you want to develop?
Devlin: Next interview. I’ll be happy. Okay.
Me: They don’t know about your past history. Because when I told Carly in an email that you’re totally delusional, she responded that came as a surprise, but she said all that she did is introduce you to some other people.
That’s your style, isn’t it Fred? You network with people. You find people, you use them to contact other people.
Devlin: Correct.
Me: So, you admit that’s what you do?
Devlin: Oh, that works. Yes. Yeah.
Me: Okay, so you network with people and then you find what their particular area of expertise is. You have some background in aviation, so that gives you…
Devlin: And real estate… and financial markets.
Me: Yeah. Okay. So that gives you the semblance of having some experience.
Devlin: I have deep experience.
Me: Then you lull people into thinking that you’re actually credible – right?
Devlin: Oh my god, that’s slander.
Me: But isn’t that how you operate?
Devlin: No, I don’t.
Me: No? What do you do?
Devlin: Not at all.
Me: What do you do then? How do you network with people?
Devlin: I try to find people I can help and do Tikkun Olam with, at every level. Tikkun Global. Yeah. And every person I touch, I try to help.
Me: Okay. What charitable foundations have you ever financed?
Devlin: In Africa, we financed USAID, Save the Children, World Vision… many.
Me: And you have proof for all that? That’s what Charlie told me that you told him when you suckered him into believing you.
Devlin: I suckered him? Yes. What a joke.
Me: Do you know the guy is suicidal? Do you know that I sent him money?
Devlin: How much money did you send him?
Me: I sent him 600 Canadian dollars,but he still owes a lot more. (I later sent Charlie another $800. I still keep in regular touch with him. Charlie still finds it difficult to believe that Fred Devlin was a total fraudster.)
Devlin: Good for you. I paid him more.
Me: You haven’t paid him a cent.
Devlin: I put him through school for $650.
Me: Oh you did, did you?
Devlin: Yes.
Me: And what kind of school was that?
Devlin: His certificate’s in business. (After I had this conversation with Fred I contacted Charlie to ask him whether Fred had ever given him money for anything. He sent me a screenshot of a text from Fred that was sent in 2023 in which Fred asks the director of a school Charlie was attending to give him an extension on paying his tuition, saying that he will “receive the necessary funds to pay for his school after I return from Israel on my peace mission in early December. I need to be in Winnipeg to direct these funds to him.” Of course, there never way any payment of any sort, according to Charlie.)
Me: But you’ve been sending him threatening messages.
Devlin: Because he threatened me on Facebook.
Me: What did he say on Facebook?
Devlin: He started writing all about me and saying I was a liar and I was… he slandered me. (I’m sure that Devlin was referring to the article I had posted on my website in February which contained that very detailed email outlining the litany of Fred’s broken promises. Somehow he had it confused with Facebook.)
Me: But that wasn’t Charlie who wrote that email.
Devlin: Who wrote it?
Me: You don’t know?
Devlin: I’ll find out.
Me: You think Charlie was capable of having written that email? (Charlie’s native tongue is French, and although his English is quite good, it didn’t take me long to realize that he couldn’t have written that January 16 email. I quicky deduced that it was Rick, who is capable of writing very well.)
Devlin: No. Was it Rick?
Me: That’s right. So why don’t you sue Rick?
Devlin: I am.
Me: You are? Where?
Devlin: I have a lawyer in Florida. I have lawyers in Toronto who can operate in Florida.
(And then I asked him about a lawyer in Winnipeg who’s his cousin – and is the lawyer who threatened to sue me for defamation. I asked Fred whether that person has ever acted for him? He said he has – for many of his over 3,300 companies.)
Me: Can you name one of those companies?
Devlin: Yes. Worldview Capital.
Me: Which is what?
Devlin: Which is what the airport is. Worldview Capital owns the world’s only financial model that works, generates between 250003300000.0% for annum. Yeah. It’s worth $1.15 trillion. I’m going to be making a deal with their candidate. (Again, totally incoherent)
Me: And (Fred’s cousin) acted for you in this, correct?
Devlin: Right.
Me: So if I ask (cousin’s name – omitted here) that, do you think he’ll substantiate that?
Devlin: He’ll tell you what I asked him. He won’t talk to you, he’s not talking to you.
Me: Oh, is that right?
Devlin: I’ve done this on my own – against my lawyer’s advice.
Me: Does (your cousin) know that you’re here, that you’re meeting with me?
Devlin: No.
Me: What would he say if he knew you were meeting with me?
Devline: He’d be pissed off.
Me: Yeah. What about your wife? Does she know? Pissed off, right? She knows that I’ve contacted you though – right?
Devlin: Yeah.
Me: Has she taken the phone away from you when various people have called you?
Devlin: No. No.
Me: Okay. What’s your wife’s role in all this?
Devlin: My wife has no role in all this. She facilitates, she works for another company.
Me: Has she sat in on meetings?
Devlin: No, she did not.
Me: Well, according to someone who asked me not to name them, she has.
Devlin: I’d have to look it up.
Me: Yeah, please do. I’ve spoken to…(and then, Devlin interrupted me.)
Devlin: I don’t care who you’ve spoken to, you’re not getting good information.
Me: Okay, do you want the real truth? I’d love for this to go to court. I’d want it to go to court because maybe that could put a stop to you. That’s why, when people ask me why I got so involved in this story, I say to them it’s because I’m trying to stop you from hurting other people – because you’ve hurt a lot of people, okay?
Devlin: If you say so and you’re not aware of what you’re doing…You make an excellent argument based on the fallacy of your assumptions, Bernie.
Me: I don’t know where to take this. You’re substantiating everything that’s been told me about you so far.
Devlin: I need more interviews. I’ll be happy to talk to you about everything but this, this should not go into an article.
Me: Would you be surprised to know that I’m writing a story about you?
Devlin: No, but we’re gonna co-publish that story with the truth.
Me: Oh, really? Do you think I’m gonna give you final edit on the story?
Devlin: No, I don’t expect it.
Me: I’m not even gonna let you see it. I’m gonna let the people who are mentioned in it see it before I try to publish it.
Devlin: Try it and see what happens to you.
Me: Well, I’ve already got one publisher who’s quite interested.
Devlin: I’m sure It’s a very interesting story.
Me: It’s been fascinating trying to flesh it out.
Devlin: How about if it’s true, Bernie? Did you ever contemplate everything I told you is true? Has that ever gone through your mind? And then think about what you’ve done.
Me: You mean the story that you’re telling? Is the story true in whole or in part?
Devlin: No, it’s true in whole.
Me: Every part of the story, every single part? Every part about you owning over 3,300 companies? Are you a trillionaire or a billionaire?
Devlin: I’m a trillionaire.
Me: You’re a trillionaire.
Devlin: Over and over.
Me: Are you richer than Elon Musk?
Devlin: Much richer than Elon.
Me: Okay. Then why do you dress like this?
Devlin: Like what?
Me: I mean you’re presentable, but it’s not what I’d expect from a trillionaire.
Devlin: I care about my parents. I…
Me: If you’re a trillionaire, where are the bodyguards? I can’t imagine a trillionaire not being surrounded by bodyguards
Devlin: They’re here. You don’t see them, but they’re here.
Me: I don’t see them. Are they Mossad?
Devlin: Yeah, they’re Mossad. We don’t want to have (his wife), for instance worry about bodyguards for my family. So it’s invisible. I don’t even know where they are.
Me: You don’t even know where they are?
Devlin: I can find out quickly by just tapping a button on my phone. That’s the truth. Okay. Now if I tell you what I’m worth, would that be helpful?
Me: Yeah, sure. Go ahead.
Devlin: $9.33 trillion.
Me: 9.33 trillion? How do you think that sounds?
Devlin: Do you think that when I have world…., but I know every up and down in stocks, commodities, currencies, commodities. I just trade. Automatically outta Luxembourg and I trade on my desk in my office and make millions of dollars.
Me: Fred, how do you think your parents would react if I were to send them a transcript of this conversation?
Devlin: They’d be very upset.
Me: Why?
Devlin: Because they don’t know everything about my business.
Me: Do they know that you have $9.33 trillion?
Devlin: No. You know, I’m very wealthy.
(I then asked Devlin about a cottage that he’s told people he owns, but I don’t want to get too specific about the name of the lake for the same reason I didn’t give Devlin’s actual address. Even though anyone who knows the real person I’ve been calling Fred Devlin in this story would recognize him from everything I’ve written about him, I highly doubt that anyone who doesn’t know his family would know whom I’ve been writing about – but if I were to reveal his actual address and where the family cottage is, it would be much easier to establish what Devlin’s real name is.)
Me: What kind of car do you drive?
Devlin: I drive a Porsche GT, three BMW convertibles. They’re not in Winnipeg right now because of the potholes. I store them in Florida and Cleveland. I have 17 cars that I collect for investments.
Me: I see. And where did you tell me you’re flying to this weekend?
Devlin: I expected I’m to fly to Toronto to meet with Irvin Shane, one of my lawyers. Then I’m flying to Cleveland to spend about a month with my family going over our legal strategy to undo everybody. And then, we’re suing, unless you convince me that you’re an honest reporter.
Me: Oh. Do you think I’m afraid of a threat of a lawsuit from you, Fred? If I were to play this in court…
Devlin: Um, you know what, Bernie…
Me: I’m surprised that you haven’t been committed to an institution.
Devlin: Um, I don’t know. I don’t know exactly the legalities of that anymore. Bernie. Bernie, be careful. Why you, you’re walking on thin ice…slandering me… try to go after my mental health.
Me: We’ll see what happens. But you go after Rick’s mental health.
Devlin: He’s self-admittedly mentally ill.
Me: No, Rick admits that he’s got some problems.
Devlin: Mm-hmm. how about anger?
Me: Yeah, he admits that.
Devlin: Why didn’t he call me when I was in the hospital to see where I am instead of gathering up all these people against me?
Me: What were you doing in the hospital?
Devlin: I had a concussion from a brain injury.
Me: And when was this?
Devlin: Uh, seven weeks ago maybe. Yeah.
Me: You were just in the hospital? You had a concussion from a brain injury?
Devlin: Correct. Do you wanna see the picture of my head?
Me: Where did you fall?
Devlin: I was in the bathroom. It was dark. We normally have lights that light up. Motion detectors. I lost my orientation. Lost my balance and fell on my head. On the bed board. (But he had just stated that he fell in the bathroom.) Yeah. Cussed myself. Knocked myself out.
Me: Alright. But even while you were in a hospital – with a brain injury, you maintained contact with various people, right?
Devlin: No. No.
Me: You didn’t phone people from the hospital?
Devlin: Not many. My phone was taken away.
Me: Who took it away?
Devlin: The doctor.
Me: Why?
Devlin: He didn’t want me making calls. He wanted me to rest.
Me: Which hospital were you in most recently?
Devlin: Victoria.
Me: And which ward were you in?
Devlin: I’m not gonna talk to you about my hospitalization ’cause you’re gonna twist it and write he’s got psychiatric problems.
Me: Isn’t it the case that were in the psychiatric ward of Victoria Hospital recently?
Devlin: I, I’m not gonna answer that. Do you have evidence that I was?
Me: I don’t, I’m just asking.
Devlin: Okay. Do I sound crazy, Bernie?
Me: Oh, you want me to answer that? Sure. You sound totally crazy, Fred. And I feel sorry for you, I feel deeply sorry for you, but what happened is just that you harm so many people.
Devlin: I never harmed anybody. No.
Me: What about Charlie?
Devlin: Never harmed.
Me: He’s suicidal.
Devlin: That’s not my fault. No, no, no.
Me: So you didn’t promise to fund his charitable foundation and he went out and spent money on his own?
Devlin: No. Never to start feeding (children). That’s not true.
Me: Poor African children, based on your promises to him?
Devlin: No, no, no. He asked me if I would send some money. ’cause he wants to feed the hungry. He brings porridge to them. Okay. To the hungry people.
Me: So did you send him money?
Devlin: No. No. Okay.
Me: Why not?
Devlin: Because I wasn’t involved at the time. I was planning on sending money…
Me: But you funded USAID and… which other charities? But you couldn’t send him a couple of thousand dollars. Why not?
Devlin: Was planning on it, but I, I got sick
Me: Did you ever pay Bob Anderson for any of the work he did?
Devlin: He never – I don’t owe him.
Me: Isn’t it true that either your father or your wife paid him?
Devlin: No.
Me: Or maybe one of your brothers?
Devlin: No.
Me: Gave him a thousand dollars. That’s what he says.
Devlin: Could be.
Me: Because he said you kept refusing to pay him.
Devlin: Bullshit. He’s in the deepest of troubles.
Me: The confidentiality agreement thats you had him prepare, you had loads of people sign confidentiality agreements that Bob Anderson prepared, didn’t you?
Devlin: He didn’t.
Me: He prepared almost 15 non-disclosure agreements for people to sign. Why would you have people sign non-disclosure agreements? ‘
Devlin: Cause I don’t want to be gossiped about.
Me: Or is it the case you didn’t want other people to know about what you were doing?
Devlin: No.
Me: Because if other people knew about the nonsense you were spouting, absolutely they would’ve cut you off at the knees.
Devlin: Absolutely not. No. That was not my motive. No.
Me: So, when you approached Jonathan Soloway because he was an old childhood friend and you told him that you could help him by setting up this real estate investment trust and you sent him contracts, what was your motivation?
Devlin: I didn’t send Jonathan contracts. No, I believe he sent them to me. (On that point Devlin was correct. I checked with Jonathan and he did say that he had the contracts prepared and sent to Devlin, adding that Devlin was incapable of producing the type of sophisticated agreements that Jonathan sent to him, but which show Devlin’s signature on them nonetheless.)
Me: Regardless, you signed the contract, but you say you didn’t sign the contract.
Devlin: Bernie. I didn’t say I didn’t sign it. I said, Jeff’s agreement that he sent me was bullshit.
Me: Okay, well, do I sound like I’m cross-examining you – because that’s what would happen if you went into court, Fred.
Devlin: I have zero problem. I’ve been in court many times.
Me: Would you be surprised to hear that different people are trying to initiate a police investigation of you now?
Devlin: There’s a police investigation of Rick…for threatening our lives, my mother’s and my life.
Me: Is that right? Where is that police investigation?
Devlin: Rick twisted it to say I threatened him. What a joke.
Me: Would you be surprised to know that there was a file opened on you by York Regional Police in Ontario and it was sent to Winnipeg ?
Devlin: No. I don’t care. No.
Me: Do you care that there might be a police investigation of you?
Devlin: Doesn’t bother me.
Me: Doesn’t bother you at at all?
Devlin: No, I’ll be happy to speak to the police… and give them evidence.
Me: I’m not sure where it’s at. I just know that there was a file opened on you.
Devlin: I’m not going nowhere, but if it does go further, I’ll be happy to talk to the police.
Me: Okay, I think this is enough, Fred.
Devlin: Um, are, are we gonna have another session? If you want,, I’d like the full truth to come out and then you can decide what to publish. I don’t feel you’ve given me justice.
April 26, 2026 This concludes my writing about Fred Devlin and his delusional cons. I was still receiving phone calls from Fred, however, asking when we could meet again – until I blocked him. And then I received a phone call from the man I’ve called Jack, who met Fred in the psych ward at Victoria Hospital. He was also totally incoherent, so I’ve blocked him too. I expect though that this story will still be ongoing. The man I’ve called Fred Devlin will likely continue to make contact with many more unsuspecting people and try to persuade them that he has a huge amount of money which he is willing to use to invest in various projects.
Further, I rather doubt any police force will proceed with an investigation. I’m sure whatever file ended up at Winnipeg Police Service has long been buried. But, since I decided to post these stories to my website – and I can reopen the story at any time, there may be more chapters to write.
If you’ve been reading these stories – either in whole or in part, you might like to know that I will compile them into one large pdf and make it accessible on this website at some point.
Features
BOOK REVIEW: “Fighting the Hate: A Handbook for Jews Under Siege”
Reviewed by MURRAY BENDER “Thinking on your feet”—quickly defending a position in a coherent, persuasive manner—is a situation that many people find challenging and stressful. “If only I had said this.” or “Why didn’t I say that?” Hindsight is always 20-20.
Following the Hamas atrocities of October 7, 2023, it has become increasingly necessary for diaspora Jews to “think on their feet” as they unwittingly face a barrage of tough, sometimes hateful, questions about Jews and their Israeli homeland.
Why is Israel committing genocide in Gaza? Why doesn’t Israel return the land it has stolen from Palestinians? Why are Israeli settlers attacking Palestinian farmers? How is Israel different from apartheid South Africa? Why can’t I criticize Israel without being called antisemitic? Is it true that Jews control the world? The list of potential questions is nearly endless.
Engage or hide? This is the difficult choice that confronts Jews as they look to deal with anti-Jewish and anti-Israeli behaviour. Fortunately, author and journalist Melanie Phillips comes to the rescue with her practical and insightful book, Fighting the Hate: A Handbook for Jews Under Siege.
According to Phillips, the dilemma has no single answer. “People need to decide how to behave in accordance not just with the specific circumstances but also with their own attributes and limitations.”
Some regard engagement with their opponents as a sacred duty. “They believe it is a betrayal of the Jewish people not to uphold Israel’s case.” Ohers may be uncomfortable with such a direct approach, but “those who decide to keep their heads down and avoid any altercation may well find that this leaves them with a permanent sense of regret and even failure,” she says.
As a result, it’s probably a good idea to adopt some sort of balance. And that’s where Phillips’ 150-page handbook comes in.
She starts by providing context around the “crisis of legitimacy and acceptance” from which Jews are reeling post-October 7. On the basis of extensive conversations with Jews from across the U.S., Britain and Australia, the author found that many “were near stupefied by the terrifying hatred and irrationality that was unfolding around them.” Again and again, they asked: “What should we do? What can we do?”
In response, Phillips offers a pragmatic approach to help prepare for the inevitable conversations, including a number of key principles:
- Get smart rather than emotional
- Stop playing defence
- Find common ground
- Be positive and confident
- Keep physically safe
Based on these overarching criteria, she provides an extensive list of quick and clever retorts to a range of different situations, emphasizing that “it’s our duty to our children and grandchildren to fight for truth and justice.”
So, the next time it is necessary to “think on their feet,” diaspora Jews will be able to respond quickly and confidently to those difficult questions about themselves and Israel. And they can thank Melanie Phillips for coming to the rescue.
Fighting the Hate: A Handbook for Jews Under Siege by Melanie Phillips is available online from Amazon and Indigo.