Part 21 (1/2)
Your pain is our pain, Mr. Doe. Only a (five-, six-, seven-) figure settlement will truly ease it. Please let us help.
Judicial race is an exercise in extortion February 28, 1990 The billboards and bus benches shout the news: Soon it will be time to go to the polls and elect our judges.
What a joke.
All around Florida, circuit and county judges already are out pressing the flesh, leeching campaign contributions from the very attorneys who bring cases before them. It's as close to naked extortion as you can get, but don't blame the judges.
It takes loads of money to run a political race. If you're a candidate for a judges.h.i.+p, the logical place to solicit is law firms because (a) lawyers have the dough and (b) they're the only ones who have the remotest idea who you are.
The public, in most instances, hasn't got a clue.
The average voter walks into the booth and picks a name that looks distinguished or vaguely familiar. He hasn't the vaguest notion of whether or not the candidate is qualified to sit on the bench. Without reading the small print, he couldn't even tell you whether the vacancy is in criminal or civil court, county or circuit.
Unless a judge recently has been involved in a steamy scandal or a high-profile criminal trial, he or she remains largely anonymous to everyone but courthouse regulars. By the time the primary rolls around in September, most people will be taxed even to recall the name of the man who sentenced Miami policeman William Lozano.
You can't blame the voters for not knowing who's who. In Dade County alone, 97 county and circuit judges must run for office. Broward has 62 judges; Palm Beach County, a mere 39. Says Florida Bar President Steve Zack: ”Walk up to your favorite lawyer and ask him to name all the judges. It's an impossibility.”
The election process is not only shallow but tainted. It rewards the candidates who can afford the best billboards-in other words, those able to squeeze the most money out of lawyers. When the same lawyers later appear in that judge's courtroom, we are supposed to believe that the judge's actions will not be swayed by the memory of political generosities, or lack thereof.
The concept of ”selling” judges is tricky because they don't campaign like county commissioners or congressmen; the nuances of someone's judicial record can't be compressed into a snappy to-second sound bite. Judges can't even take a public stand on issues; they are forbidden by a code of ethics.
So what can they talk about on the political trail? Absolutely nothing of substance. Name recognition is everything; billboards, balloons, blarney. Typically we are better informed about our choice of stick deodorant than our choice of judges.
The Florida Bar and many in the judiciary want reform. Several bills have been filed in Tallaha.s.see that could lead to a change in the way we pick circuit and county judges. Merit selection is the most logical option.
Under this method-currently used in 34 states and our own appellate courts-panels composed of lawyers, appointees and lay people submit lists of qualified candidates to the governor, who then chooses the judge. Every few years, voters get a chance to decide whether to keep or remove that judge.
Those who support the present charade wave the flag and beat their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They warn that merit appointments could be spoiled by politics-yet what's more political than the current spectacle of judges out hustling support from law firms?
Critics also wail that merit selection robs the public of the right to choose. It's nonsense. By voting yes-no on retention, the public will hold the ultimate power to replace any judge.
To argue patriotically in favor of judicial elections is fatuous, because the vast majority of inc.u.mbent judges run unopposed. It is no accident. Many of them find campaigning so distasteful that they hire ”consultants” to steer potential opponents into other races, or discourage them altogether from running.
It is a loathsome and smelly enterprise, but the hacks who manage these campaigns want to keep things just the way they are.
Judges think fast to explain needles, money June 17, 1991 Wouldn't you love to have the Maalox concession at the Metro Justice Building?
”Operation Court Broom” already has ensnared four judges and one well-known defense lawyer. The mood at the courthouse is one of acute gastric distress. Everybody's wondering who's next.
Federal raids have turned up wads of $ 100 bills, as well as other suspicious items. Attorneys are talking openly of shakedowns and kickback schemes. A grand jury is following the trail of slime, and indictments certainly will come.
When the going gets tough, the tough get lawyers. And the lawyers get creative.
So far, my favorite line comes from Ron Guralnick, who represents Circuit Judge Phillip Davis. Agents found a metal box of syringes and aluminum foil in Davis' chambers. Many defense lawyers would've been stumped for an explanation, but Guralnick gave it a shot (so to speak). He claimed the material was ”evidence” left over from a long-ago case when Davis was a private defense attorney.
It seems like a prudent man moving to a prestigious judges.h.i.+p wouldn't bring any syringes, regardless of their origin. Maybe these items held some sentimental value for Davis-a reminder of some memorable courtroom battle. Or maybe he collects old drug paraphernalia, the way other guys collect baseball cards (”Here, I'll trade you three needles for a bong!”). A few other Dade judges would gladly trade Davis' metal box for what was found in their own homes and offices, namely cash.
The FBI loves to spread it around, and Operation Court Broom was a windfall. Doc.u.ments show that undercover agents paid out $266,000 in $100 bills between August 1989 and May 1991. It was a simple but time-tested scam: Bribes allegedly were funneled to judges in exchange for reducing criminal bonds, suppressing evidence and divulging confidential police information.
Later the feds went looking for their money. Agents found $1,800 in the home of Circuit Judge Roy Gelber. They discovered $5,100 in a dresser drawer at the home of Circuit Judge Al Sepe. Another $14,000 turned up in County Judge Harvey Shenberg's bedroom. And at the law office of ex-judge David Goodhart, agents grabbed an envelope containing $3,500.
OK, imagine you're one of the lawyers for these guys. The first thing you say, with rigid indignation, is, ”Hey, it's not against the law to carry cas.h.!.+”
No, but here's the problem. Every printed currency has a unique serial number. No two are alike. Consequently, it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to trace a certain $100 bill from the hands of an FBI man to the paws of a judge. Numbers don't lie. On April 2, the feds allegedly handed out a cash payoff to Judge Shenberg. At least $1,200 of those bills allegedly turned up in the raid on Judge Gelber's home. In legal vernacular, this is known as being in deep doo-doo.
If it wasn't marked money, he'd have a dozen pa.s.sable alibis. The judge cashed some traveler's checks. Or he won the money in the lottery. Or better yet, he was on his way over to Camillus House to make a generous cash donation to the needy!
Not with marked money, he wasn't. Judge Gelber's attorney will be doing some fancy dancing on this one. Perhaps he could argue that Judge Shenberg secretly broke into Judge Gelber's house in the middle of the night and planted the cash. Or maybe Judge Gelber was conducting his own top-secret investigation of courthouse corruption, and had seized the Shenberg money as ”evidence.”
There's more out there, too-as much as $241,600 in payoffs, still unaccounted for. That's 2,416 $100 bills hidden in s...o...b..xes, sugar bowls, mattresses, kitty litters, you name it.
If you're one of the shmucks sitting on that dirty money, waiting for the FBI to crash down your door, you've got to be wondering two things. One, how could I have been so greedy? And two, when's the next flight to Na.s.sau?
Court Broom menu includes well-fed judge February 16, 1992 The most disheartening revelation of Operation Court Broom is how cheaply some of our judges were bought.
Bribery usually means cash packed in a briefcase, wire transfers to a secret Na.s.sau bank account, or a hidden interest in some juicy real estate deal. Those are the types of payoffs that crooked public officials customarily accept.
The last thing that comes to mind is squid. In this case, fried squid-which is served in fancy Italian restaurants under the deceptively lyrical alias of ”calamari.”
I know what you're thinking: How much corruption can you buy with a plate of squid? The answer: a whole judge, allegedly.
A federal grand jury has heard evidence that Dade Circuit Judge Al Sepe regularly feasted on calamari and other delicacies at a fancy restaurant called Buccione, in Coconut Grove. According to testimony the judge's lunch tabs were paid by a local lawyer named Arthur Ma.s.sey, who was seldom in attendance to enjoy the squidfest.
However, Ma.s.sey frequently appeared in Judge Sepe's courtroom because Sepe frequently gave him court-appointed cases. In fact, the judge a.s.signed Ma.s.sey to 42 criminal cases that brought the lawyer more than $57,000 in fees. Interestingly, during that same 18-month period, Ma.s.sey allegedly picked up about $10,000 worth of lunch and dinner tabs for the judge.
Now indicted and suspended on other matters, the well-fed Sepe vehemently denies any wrongdoing at the Buccione bistro. He insists there was no squid pro quo.
Ma.s.sey, who is under investigation, remains silent. Perhaps his lunch-time largess was heartfelt, and in no way meant as a kickback for receiving those 42 cases. Perhaps he bought fried squid for all his favorite judges, so they wouldn't have to order from the courthouse cafeteria.
Feeding Sepe might have been an act of pure charity. After all, poor Al was barely sc.r.a.ping by on his $90,399 judge's salary. A man's gotta eat, right?
Still, prosecutors suspect a bribe. If so, it's an ingenious scheme-slimy and pathetic, but ingenious. What better way to get rid of incriminating evidence than to eat it!
I'm not sure how Ma.s.sey and Sepe would've worked out the specifics. Say the judge got a free meal for every armed-robbery case that he steered to Ma.s.sey. What were the precise terms of the arrangement-did Sepe order only a la carte? Was wine included? And, most importantly, who left the tip?
The other Operation Court Broom crimes aren't nearly so complex, and the bribes not nearly so tasty. For instance, when Judge Roy Gelber a.s.signed cases to a sleazoid lawyer buddy, the judge's kickback was a flat percentage of the fee-either one-fourth or one-third of the total, depending on how greedy Gelber was feeling that morning.
Taking cash is worse than taking calamari, but it's still graft and taxpayers still pay for it. Besides, $10,090 is a heap of squid. If it was an outright bribe, Sepe has set a cheesy precedent for future corrupt judges and those who seek to enlist them.
Even the dumbest criminal understands the concept of bribing with cash. Bribing with food is much harder. It requires a certain minimum level of savvy and sophistication. Not every case is worthy of Buccione cuisine, but pity the poor shlub who tries to fix a traffic ticket by offering the judge a Big Mac, a large c.o.ke and a side of McNuggets.
Now that the Sepe-squid allegations are public, some defendants will a.s.sume the worst about the justice system. Their lawyers will creep into court with brown bags full of menus instead of money. Those facing serious felonies will rely on the Michelin restaurant guide for five-star selections, and hope that their judge is hungry.
The good ones aren't. After a long day on the bench, they don't have much of an appet.i.te. Neither would you.