Kick Ass (23 page)

Which leads to a disturbing aspect of the Lawrence-for-governor story: the untenable and queasy position in which it has put this newspaper, and the reporters, columnists and editors who produce it.

The fact our publisher openly is considering a political candidacy contaminates our credibility in the eyes of some readers. No matter what we do, many will choose to believe (and the other candidates will aver) that the Herald is Lawrence’s personal campaign machine, and all of us his conscripted flacks.

There’s no way to deflate such suspicions, even if we give Lawrence the same tough scrutinyeven tougher scrutinythan we do his opponents. Which is exactly what should happen if he resigns to run for governor. Some days he won’t be very pleased by what he reads in these pages.

When the announcement of a possible Lawrence candidacy was posted in our newsroom Tuesday, the first reaction was incredulity. Lots of folks thought it was a practical joke. Later, two reportersinspired by Miami’s recent election scandalfacetiously volunteered to collect absentee ballots on Dave’s behalf.

Newsrooms are cynical, wary, irreverent places. But to those unfamiliar with the culture of journalism, it’s inconceivable that an ex-publisher won’t be coddled in print by his former staff. That’s the rap we’re facing today, and every day until Lawrence makes up his mind.

In his defense, being asked by serious people to run for governor would flatter anybody’s ego. No one who knows Lawrence questions his guts or his sincerity; it’s his common sense that has deserted him.

No campaign experience. No money. No statewide visibility. And almost no time left to get things rolling.

Meanwhile, the paper to which he has devoted so much of his heart and energy is left to defend itself, fruitlessly, against charges of being used as a partisan rag. What can Dave be thinking?

I saw him in the newsroom Tuesday. He was alert and cogent. His pupils looked normal. His speech wasn’t slurred. He seemed in all respects a completely healthy, rational, well-grounded person.

Then again, I’m no doctor. The true test comes this weekend when he chats with the Democrats.[“#chapter_08”]

Cops, Courts, and Lawyers

Latest arrests close out bad year for police

January I, 1986

I watched them on TV the other night, the beefcake cops charged with murder. As they capered and grinned and blew kisses at the courtroom cameras, I couldn’t help but wonder if steroids destroy brain tissue.

Imagine: You’re a young policeman.

You are hauled out of your home in the wee hours, handcuffed, fingerprinted and hustled bleary-eyed into the Dade County Jail like a bum.

You are accused of a triple homicide, of racketeering, of stealing cocaine and selling it on the street, of using your badge and oath as instruments of crime. You are accused of being the worst thing that a cop can becrooked.

Yet when you and your weightlifter pals go to court the next morning, what emotion do you display while the whole city is watching?

Arrogance.You mug for the cameras, laughing and joking while every good and decent cop on the streets feels a hot knot tightening in the gut. The feeling is shame.

But you don’t have any.

So you and your buddies cling to the macho routine. Hire a big-shot lawyer and wait for bail. Act like it’s no sweat. Act like you’re not afraid. Disco all the way to the slammer.

What a way for 1985 to end. It really was a rotten year for integrity.

Don’t let anyone try to say South Florida’s police corruption is no worse than any other metropolis, because they’re wrong. No place else comes close.

Consider the local cavalcade of stars this past 12 months:

A DBA agent goes to jail for peddling computer secrets to dopers; three Customs agents are indicted in a pot smuggling ring; an FBI man pleads guilty to accepting cocaine kickbacks; a Metro-Dade officer is charged as a home-invasion robber; a Hialeah cop plea-bargains a seven-year term for his role in a cold-blooded drug execution; a Miami officer awaits trial for allegedly offering to sell badges and guns to drug dealers.

Now this latest milestone: Eight current or former Miami policemen busted in the past week for a smorgasbord of drug crimes, including the ever-popular trafficking of cocaine. One of them, his pockets stuffed with $ i, 180 cash, fled from fellow officers in a red Porsche, thus ratifying every cheap Miami cliche.

Police Chief Clarence Dickson called the arrests “a total positive,” and city leaders were quick to praise the department’s housecleaning.

“Housecleaning” seems a polite term for what’s going on.

This is not some teensy boo-boo, but a scandal of monstrous dimensions. Arrests were overdue and welcome, but they were not the result of Miami police simply washing their own dirty laundry. The pressure was external and intense: Investigators from Metro-Dade homicide, the Florida Department of Law Enforcement and DEA have been swarming all over the place for weeks. Something was bound to break.

Still, Dickson’s cooperation and determination to help solve the Miami River murders are encouraging. I know some cities where it never would have happened, where outside investigators would have hit a wall of hostility. The Key West police force, once a rat’s nest of corruption, was famous for this kind of obstruction.

So now a few Miami cops are in jail, but a celebration is premature. Much more is yet to unravel. The full story of what happened last July 27 at the dock of the Mary C is bound to be chilling. No one there was a Boy Scout. Three of them wound up floaters, snagged on a gaff.

Unfortunately, the criminal charges go beyond this one midnight episode. They portray a violent network of cocaine thuggery, a mob in blue. The upcoming testimony will not likely calm the nerves next time you see a flashing light in the rearview mirror.

The trial process will be tedious, and feature some of Miami’s top defense lawyers. We’ll be hearing a lot about how the three dead guys in the river were nothing but lowlife drug dealers, how the witnesses against the police are nothing but liars and scoundrels, how Messrs. Estrada, Garcia, Rodriguez and Co. are nothing but innocent scapegoats.

In dope cases such strategy is predictable, and sometimes effective. It can also be justified. In any event, you can bet that the Merry Weightlifters will be the picture of restraint in the jury’s presence.

Convicting a policeman of any crime is difficult, and there are precious few prosecutors who can’t be eaten alive by defense attorneys of Roy Black’s caliber. Don’t be surprised if some of the cops are acquitted.

River cops tell unique tales of acquiring cash

January 12, 1987

As the jury resumes deliberations today in the Miami River Cops case, it’s a good time to review some of the most amazing testimony from the last few months.

I’m referring to the various accounts of how some of the seven defendants suddenly came up with so much cash. As U.S. prosecutors have pointed out, it’s somewhat peculiar for a young fellow on a city patrolman’s salary to all at once start buying new cars, houses, bedroom suites, Caribbean vacations, all kinds of goodies.

To explain the officers’ timely good fortune, defense lawyers summoned friends and relatives to present an intriguing look at the family finances. Give credit to the jurors for not falling out of their chairs.

Great Moments in Money Management, Miami-style:

” Officer Armando “Scarface” Garcia testified he removed his family’s jewelry from a safe-deposit box because going to the bank was too inconvenient. Instead, Garcia said, he put the jewelry inside a pouch along with $7,000 cash, and cleverly concealed it in a crawl space beneath his parents’ home.

” The uncle of indicted patrolman Armando Estrada claimed that over 23 years he scrimped and saved $19,000 in cash, which he stashed in a box in his house. He testified that he used the nest egg to buy a 1985 Trans Am (without even test-driving it), and then decided to give the car to his nephew the policeman to use around town.

” Officer Garcia’s girlfriend said she bought a spiffy Datsun 300 ZX with $ 13,000 cash from a metal box on her dresser. She testified that she earned part of the money as a seamstress, while $8,000 was a gift from her father, who kept it hidden in the family piano.

” The mother of accused officer Arturo De La Vega testified that her dying father had given her $25,000 cash, most of which she later gave to her son the policemanwho supposedly used the inheritance to buy furniture and stocks.

” Admitted drug dirtbag Armando Un Roque said that he sometimes stuffed $40,000 to $50,000 cash into his socks.Then, just to be extra safe, he would hide the socks inside a wall.

Whatever happened to banks? Or savings bonds? Or how about wall safeswith real locks and everything?

See, the U.S. government tends to get curious when it discovers that you’ve got sacks of loose cash stuffed under your waterbed.The government tends to wonder if the money is profit from some questionable enterprise of the type that goes down on a semi-hourly basis on the streets of South Florida.

True, stacks of cash are pleasant to count, fondle and gaze uponbut they can also bring heartache and remorse. The second worst thing that can happen is that some lucky burglar will discover your secret cubbyhole and make off with your entire life’s fortune.

The first worst thing that can happen is that you’ll be hauled into court and questioned relentlessly about where all the dough came from.

When that dreadful day comes, this is what you do:

1. Don’t say a word about stashing the cash in shoe boxes. Shoe boxes are out. Same goes for cookie jars, suitcases, socks, sofas and pianos. Be creative. Tell the jury you hid the money in a tuba.

2. Be careful when identifying which beloved relative gave you all that cash. For example, don’t get up on the witness stand and say you got $50,000 from your great-uncle Louie, who makes $3.75 an hour scraping chewing gum off the Metrorail stations.

3. When asked what you planned to do with the cash (besides blowing it on giant-screen TVs and gaudy sports cars), tell them you intended to donate half to the Oliver North Legal Defense Fund and half to the Rev. Oral Roberts, so he won’t keel over dead in March like he promised.

A Miami jury just might buy this. What happens to you is up to them. What happens to the remainder of your precious nest egg is obvious.

No matter how large, it will still fit nicely into your lawyer’s briefcase.

Here’s a quiz for potential federal jurors

January 23, 1987

Snide jokes overheard in the wake of the big mistrial: “What’s the difference between the Miami River Cops jury and a sack of rocks?”

“Rocks don’t snore.”

Or: “How many Miami River jurors does it take to change a light bulb?”

“All of them, plus a bailiff to read the directions.” To avoid this sort of embarrassment, all potential jurors in Miami federal court should henceforth be required to take the following quiz. To pass, a score of 100 percent is required.

In other words, no wrong answers are allowed.

In other words, every question must be answered correctly.

In other words, NO MISTAKES ARE PERMITTED. GOT IT??? Sure you do.

1. Billy has 12 apples. He gives four apples to Susan. How many apples does Billy have now?

a) Eight.

b) None.

c) Fourno, seven! Did we say seven? No

wait

OK, you said apples, right? So

what was the question?

2. In a courtroom, the person wearing the long black robe is called:

a) The judge.

b) Zorro.

c) Overdressed.

3. When the person in the black robe asks for a well-reasoned verdict, he is:

a) Talking to the bailiff.

b) Talking to the jury.

c) Wasting his time.

4. All citizens should consider their jury duty as:

a) An integral part of the judicial system.

b) A paid vacation from work.

c) A chance to get your portrait sketched free by a courtroom artist.

5. While sequestered during a long trial, jurors are often cautioned:

a) Not to read the newspapers.

b) Not to discuss the case among themselves.

c) Not to communicate with the psychic spirit of Shirley MacLaine.

6. The word “unanimous” means:

a) All in agreement.

b) All in the same language.

c) All in the same time zone.

7. During the trial, jurors should never:

a) Speak directly to the witnesses.

b) Speak rudely to the judge.

c) Take bets as to which of them can spit the farthest.

8. Which of the following is considered a legitimate excuse to be dismissed from a jury:

a) “My mother has the flu.”

b) “My Rottweiler has the mange.”

c) “I’m missing all my soaps.”

9. The best way to break a jury deadlock is:

a) By a careful and thoughtful review of the evidence.

b) By listening to the tapes over and over.

c) By doing one-potato, two-potato.

10. If a jury wishes to communicate with the judge, the proper method is:

a) Writing a brief and simple note.

b) Raising your hand and asking permission to speak.

c) Slapping yourself in the face and shouting “whoop-whoop-whoop!” like Curly of the Three Stooges.

11. When writing a note to the judge, it is advisable to:

a) Print neatly.

b) Try to use at least one verb in each sentence.

c) Try not to refer to the defendants as “slithering vermin.”

12. As the trial progresses, most jurors are:

a) Absorbed with the seriousness of their responsibilities.

b) Impressed that lawyers for both sides can be so persuasive.

c) Surprised that they don’t really get to meet Judge Wapner in person.

13. When selecting a foreman, the jury should always pick the member who:

a) Is the most reasonable and articulate.

b) Has the keenest grasp of both arguments in the case.

c) Can spit the farthest.

Mob desire backfires on longtime cop

August 30, 1989

Today’s Episode: Ralph Joins The Mob.

Not Ralph Kramden, but Ralph Finno. He’s the former Fort Lauderdale police captain who last year ran for Broward sheriff, and lost. This year, authorities say, Ralph chose a different line of work.

The scene: a typically tacky office on Commercial Boulevard. Hidden TV cameras are rolling (Ralph doesn’t know it).Two other guys in the room aren’t real mobsters, they’re police informants (Ralph doesn’t know this, either).

Bogus Mob Guy # 1: “To swear an oath to us, that your allegiance is with our family, I ask you to bite this bullet. With this bullet, you are now a part of us.”

Bogus Mob Guy #2: “That’s the bullet that’s got your name on it.”

Bogus Mob Guy # 1: “Right, that’s your bullet. Capisce?”

Ralph Finno: “Capisce.” (Uneasily.) “Want me to bite the bullet?”

Bogus Mob Guy # 1: “Just bite it. That’s good.”

Ralph bites. Gingerly he hands the bullet back to the phony mob guy, who then kisses Ralph on both cheeks.

Unfortunately for Ralph, the bullet later reappeared in an evidence bag after Ralph was arrested for loan sharking, racketeering and running a house of prostitution. Today Ralph says he did nothing wrong.

Over months he’d been videotaped discussing alleged crimes with the phony mob guys. His “initiation” into the Family was to be the climax of these friendships. As silly as it looked, Ralph’s ceremony went smoother than his brother Tony’s.

In a blood oath, Tony and the phony mobster tried to nick each other with a dagger. The dagger was too dull. “Why don’t you get me something, for Chrissake’s, that can cut!” complained the phony mobster.

Tony took out his own knife. This time the two men sliced themselves so deeply that they wouldn’t stop bleeding. The hidden camera recorded them sitting on the sofa, trying to discuss alleged Mafia business while sucking their own fingers.

When Ralph is on camera, the favorite topic is his old rival, Nick Navarro. The phony mob guys say they can arrange for Ralph to be named acting sheriff, if only something happens to Navarro. Ralph loves the idea of being sheriff (“When the time is right, I’ve got to get my suit pressed!”) but appears nervous at the suggestion of foul play: “If anything happens to this guy [Navarro]

this town’ll be turned upside down by all these young investigative reporters.”

At one point Ralph asks if the mob is influential enough to get the governor to remove Nick from office. The phony mob guy makes a noise like a gun, and says that’s the only way to get rid of Navarro. Ralph looks queasy. “It’s a very touchy, touchy, touchy situation,” he says.

The phony mobster, doing a swell Luca Brazi: “You want him gone with the fishes? Fine.”

Ralph doesn’t look thrilled with the idea of knocking off Navarro, but notes, “He did have threats by Colombians.”

The phony mobster asks if Ralph has any ethical qualms about jumping to the other side of the law. No, Ralph says, “I always respected a guy who had talent, could make money and not get caught.”

There will be criminal activity, the bad guy warns. “It’s a business,” Ralph replies. “It’s like anything else

Even when I was on the job, I had no problem with prostitution, I really don’t. Open up 20,000 places, go ahead

You want to run some traffic in gambling? Fine. You want to have some loan sharking? Fine. These things never bothered me.”

The phony mobster says there might be times when knees must be broken. Says Ralph: “It’s very easy to go out and smack somebody around. At the same time

can we use this person? Why burn bridges?”

In a prelude to the bullet-biting ritual, Ralph expresses one reservation about his pending career change. He wonders if joining the Mafia might tarnish his 27-year record in law enforcement: “I have extensive, extensiveand I’m not trying to blow my own hornextensive credentials

I don’t want this decision to hurt that.”

Today Ralph is in jail, no bond. His credentials are in serious jeopardy.

Spotlight on Nick Navarro becoming hot

July 1, 1991

It was many months ago that 60 Minutes arrived to do a segment on Broward Sheriff Nick Navarro.

The sheriff reacted as he always does at the prospect of seeing himself on TVwith joyous gusto. Navarro is a publicity junkie, and the idea of appearing on America’s most popular (and serious) news show must’ve sent him into ecstasy.

Sure, he’s bosom buddies with Geraldo Rivera, but nobody takes Geraldo seriously. 60 Minutes is the big leagues. A prime-time puff piece would guarantee Navarro’s reelection.

But now the picture’s gone bad. The Broward Sheriffs Office is the target of a federal investigation into corruption and influence-peddling. The press, which has given Slick Nick such a sweet ride for so long, now snarls at his throat.

Even worse for Navarro, the 60 Minutes producers are reshaping, if not reconsidering, their profile of the dapper sheriff. By the time it’s over, the 2 Live Crew fiasco will look like comic relief. Ironically, Navarro’s own pathological itch for self-promotion is what caused some of his problems. Back in 1986, the sheriff was too eager to help Geraldo Rivera find a target for a prime-time drug bust. BSO chose a coke dealer named Nelson Scott.

After complaining for years about Scott’s activities, neighbors were glad to see him finally arrested. Why it took so long was something of a mystery, until Scott started talking. He testified that he’d been paying off deputies with cash, dope and hookers. A BSO investigation discounted Scott’s charges, but the feds are listening to him now.

The scandal has other dimensions. Agents are exploring the lifestyles of some of the sheriffs top guys. One, Ron Cacciatore, managed to build a $69,000 home on a captain’s salary. Cacciatore has said his family inherited some money and invested wisely. He was seen socializing with a fugitive smuggler in the Bahamas, but has insisted he didn’t know the man’s true identity.

Another focal point is Navarro’s friendship with auto dealer Jim Moran, the sheriffs most generous campaign contributor. Recently Moran sold BSO a fleet of used cars at new-car prices. Once Navarro hired one of Moran’s security men as a BSO commander, even though the man, James Burkett, had failed a polygraph when asked about drug crimes.

Burkett recently was convicted of lying to U.S. agents about a marijuana operation. He was sentenced to 21 months.

The rain of subpoenas is enough to make Navarro’s hair turn from white to black. All involved have denied any wrongdoing, while the sheriff clings to the Nixon defense: Bad things might’ve happened, but I sure didn’t know about ‘em.

No, Mr. Tough Guy Sheriff was too busy busting rap musicians to pay attention to what was going on inside his own department. Now he’s got a mess that will not stop stinking before the ‘92 election. The media, which had been Navarro’s pliant co-conspirators for so long, are now lambasted for their “feeding frenzy.”

To scoff at Navarro’s past grandstanding is to underestimate his shrewdness. Over the years he has hyped himself into a national personality; he is far more widely known and recognized than his low-key Dade counterpart, Police Director Fred Taylor.

Even Broward commissioners have been intimidated by Navarro’s silky celebritythey’ve inflated the BSO budget to an outlandish $197 million a year. For reasons still unclear to taxpayers, the sheriff now employs about 3,200 people.

As much as he’d love to duck responsibility for the BSO scandal, Navarro can’t. It’s his own top, hand-picked men who are in troublenot the rank-and-file deputies.

These days, the sheriffs moth-like frenzy for the kleig lights has abated. The true test will come if 60 Minutes calls again. Can Nick resist the urge to face the cameras, to beam his suave visage into 2.0 million American homes?

Probably not. He who lives by the tube, dies by the tube.

Personal-injury lawyers back in chaseby mail

May 12, 1994

A U.S. appeals court says Florida lawyers don’t have to wait 30 days to send advertising material to accident victims. Now solicitations can begin almost as quickly as CPR.

That’s great news for starving personal-injury attorneys, since ambulance-chasing by direct mail is more fuel efficient and less hectic than the old way.

Your secretary simply drives to the police station and copies the day’s accident reports, which conveniently include the names and addresses of all parties. Soon you’ve got yourself a lengthy (and potentially lucrative) mailing list.

Disapproval of such tactics caused the Florida Bar to impose the 30-day rule in 1991. Softhearted regulators decided that accident victims should be given a few weeks to collect their wits before being peppered with brochures from lawyers.

The problem was, some accident victims actually got better during that time, and thus had no interest in suing anyone.

It was a sad period for personal-injury attorneys. Some turned to probate law, or even real estate. Others simply went broke. Before long, they were living under the interstate and collecting aluminum.

Fortunately, one brave fellow fought back. His name was G. Stewart McHenry, a disbarred Tampa lawyer with justice on his mind and time on his hands. He hired a non-disbarred lawyer and sued.

McHenry argued it was unconstitutional for the Bar to curb a lawyer’s use of the postal system. On Tuesday the nth U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals agreed, tossing out the 30-day waiting rule.

Once again, lawyers may write to crash victims immediately after the mishap. In composing those letters, the tricky part is to avoid coming off as a cold-blooded mercenary. Veracity should always be glossed with compassion:

Dear Mr. Doe,

It has come to our professional attention that you were recently involved in an unfortunate (plane, bus, train, boat, moped or automobile) accident. We sincerely hope that you and your (wife, children or co-workers) were unharmed and have no cause to take legal action, despite the many millions of dollars you might be able to collect.

However, in the tragic event that you now find yourself (maimed, dismembered, bruised, stiff, achy, queasy, sneezy, dizzy or sexually lethargic), we advise you to visit our office for a free legal consultation.

We apologize for contacting you so soon after your accident. Seeing our postal carrier at the hospital must have been quite a surprise! We sincerely hope his presence did not interfere with any emergency medical procedures.

But experience has taught us that the sooner we can reach victims and inform them of their rights, the more assistance we can give. That’s why our firm communicates only by registered mail.

We understand that, under the circumstances, it might be impossible for you to personally sign for our important correspondenceyour writing arm might be fractured, sprained or attached to an intravenous tube.

In that case, any licensed (paramedic, nurse, doctor or physical therapist) may accept our mail on your behalf.

We also realize that you might be unable to read this letter and make a timely decision regarding your legal representation. Don’t worry. Some of our most loyal clients were heavily sedated at the time we contacted them. Some were even in deep comas.

If that’s your situation, a member of our staff will gladly visit you in Intensive Care to explain your options. We’re specially trained to interpret your feeblest sigh, moan or tremor.