The Madness of Joe Francis: "I thought we were all just having fun. I was wrong." (27 page)
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Authors: David Angier
Arpaio was dragged into one of the hottest news stories of 2008 – that of call-girl Ashley Dupre and New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer. Spitzer had to resign after his associations with, as Pisano put it, “the infamous prostitute” Dupre came to light.
When the scandal hit, Francis offered Dupre $1 million to do a film and work in promoting Girls Gone Wild. He withdrew the offer after his employees found that they already had footage of her from years before. Dupre sued him, saying she was 17 when she was filmed by GGW. Francis responded to the lawsuit by releasing on the internet footage of her smiling and giggling for the camera, claiming to be 18 and displaying Arpaio’s driver’s license. Francis didn’t attempt to conceal the license or Arpaio’s name, which quickly gained its own infamy. An expert at her trial said he found 130,000 hits on a search of her name, most of them leading to porn sites.
On July 11, 2008, Arpaio sued for invasion of privacy, injury to her reputation and misappropriation of her identity.
She immediately ran into problems even serving papers on both Francis and Dupre. GGW simply waived their right to respond to the lawsuit and was defaulted on in April 2010.
Dupre was apparently never served. On March 9, 2009, Arpaio’s process server saw a woman leaving from Dupre’s last known address in Wall, New Jersey. When the woman got into her Mercedes Benz, the process server followed her to a gym, but couldn’t tell if it was Dupre or her mother, “who looks extremely youthful and similar to Ashley,” Pisano wrote in his order. So the process server waited until the following day and went back to the residence where loud music was playing.
“Upon the process server’s knocking on the front door, the music ceased,” Pisano wrote. “After twenty seconds, the process server began to knock again, and the music restarted. Now the process server knocks on the door using a large brass knocker fastened to the door. It is an extremely loud and effective knocker, but the music continues and no one comes to the door.”
The process server left, but also left a copy of the summons in the mailbox. Apparently, the summons went unclaimed.
The day after the hearing, as expected, Judge Smoak issued the order finding Mantra Films, Aero Falcon and MRA Holdings in default. He also ordered Joe Francis to tell him why he, too, shouldn’t be stripped of his defenses. Smoak had said during the hearing that he expected that Francis wouldn’t even respond and both he and the plaintiffs’ attorneys just assumed that Francis wouldn’t be represented, or wouldn’t be present at all for the trial.
But Francis surprised everyone by actually responding to the order. He wrote to the judge saying he’d gotten late notice that his prior counsel had been allowed to withdraw from the case and had been scrambling ever since to hire a lawyer. He said one of the things complicating his efforts to defend himself was that Rick Bateman was refusing to turn over the case files.
Francis assured Smoak that even if he couldn’t line up a lawyer, he’d be there himself. Francis would act as his own lawyer.
Selander pointed out that Francis never explained why he didn’t make the hearing and a default judgment should be issued just because he wasn’t there.
Smoak ordered a hearing to be held the morning of jury selection and said Francis and Bateman both had to be there. He wanted Bateman to explain why he wasn’t releasing the files.
Bateman wrote his explanation to the judge a day later. He said he’d sent Francis an email offering whatever Francis needed to make a smooth transition.
Francis responded, and CC’d Dennis : “Dennis, please sue Rick for my money back.” And nothing more.
Bateman said case files were legal property of the attorney and would be released when the former client paid for them to be copied. Francis still owed him money and had made no efforts to pay the cost of having the files copied.
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T
he day started off with a haze over the water that blended with the white and gray sky. The lawn and palm trees at the front of the federal courthouse were a startling green by comparison.
Mary Scott Speigner, a reporter for local Channel 13, was sitting on a garden border eating a banana, her camera on the sidewalk at her feet. She told me she’d gotten up 20 minutes before and hadn’t had time to eat or put on makeup.
“I know absolutely nothing about this case. I tried to read last night but …”
She’d worked until 11 and couldn’t do much research. I tried to give her an overview, until her eyes glazed over and her chin hit her palm.
“I’m listening. A 13-year-old and a 15-year-old flashed. A 17-year-old had a sex scene. And Joe paid a 16-year-old to jerk him off, even though he claims he likes to jerk himself off. That’s my favorite part,” she said, laughing.
She halfheartedly lifted her camera and filmed Rick Bateman, Larry Selander, Rachael Pontikes and Bubsey entering the courthouse.
“I got video,” she said, her chin back in her palm. “I got one lawyer, two lawyers, one lawyer. Exciting stuff.”
Local television reporters hate federal court because cameras aren’t allowed in the courtroom. Getting usable footage is usually a challenge.
A taxi pulled up and Speigner looked up, showing her first signs of interest.
“Is that him?”
It wasn’t. A skinny young man with a stubble of hair on his head stepped out, paid the driver and approached the reporters. He introduced himself as Steph Watts, a blogger from New York.
He was supposed to have flown in with Francis that morning so he could interview him on the flight.
“I’m in contact with Mr. Francis, so I’ll keep you informed.”
Joe Francis was late. His 9 a.m. hearing was rescheduled to 10 to allow him time to fly in from Atlanta. He’d missed his early flight out of Los Angeles and had to wait until Monday morning to fly out.
“How can you be late for your own federal trial?” News Herald photographer Robert Cooper asked no one in particular as he waited with the local reporters for Francis to arrive.
Uptstairs in the courtroom, Selander, Pontikes, Ross McCloy and Tom Dent were patiently waiting for the day, the hearing and the trial to begin. Selander had a look on his face like he was in a doctor’s office waiting room: trying to be patient as the minutes ticked away but not exactly excited about what was to come.
Bateman lounged in one of the chairs at the defendant’s table.
Judge Smoak, however, decided to go ahead with the hearing in chambers. The issue was a simple one: was Bateman withholding the case file and confounding Francis’ attempts to get a new lawyer?
Bateman answered that succinctly in chambers. He told the judge he was legally allowed to keep the files until someone paid for the cost of copying them. So far, he said, no one had offered to pay for copies.
The hearing ended soon after. Bateman loped out of the courtroom with his satchel in hand. I asked him what happened as he was waiting for the elevator. As usual, it was a succinct answer.
“I did everything right. OK, you can go.”
Tallahassee attorney William Bubsey was talking to the court reporter inside the courtroom when I pushed through the door. He was Bateman’s former law partner, which is how his name got mentioned to Francis. He’d never met Joe Francis and knew nothing about the case, but he’d agreed to help out as much as he could.
Bubsey hadn’t been retained for the trial either, and there was little chance that he’d be able to take on the case. His father had just died of cancer. The viewing was Tuesday and the funeral was Wednesday. Smoak had made it clear again that day that he wouldn’t grant a continuance.
Bubsey was conflicted though. He was excited by the competition and the challenge of going into a trial blind and maybe pulling it out. He was also looking at a potentially large payoff, but it was all happening at the wrong time.
Bubsey, a former marine, wasn’t too concerned about keeping Francis in check during the trial.
He went outside to wait for Francis, who, by this time, had landed and was driving in from the airport.
Bubsey was talking with the bailiffs in the black-top parking lot when a taxi van pulled in. Francis stepped out of the van wearing a black suit, white shirt and no tie. His hair was cut short and he looked skinny to the verge of being gaunt. He jogged up the lot on his way to the door, nearly running right past Bubsey, who caught his arm as he passed. They walked over to the trunk of Bubsey’s Cadillac and talked in person for the first time.
They walked inside together, and came out a together a few minutes later, but Bubsey stayed on the top step as Francis trotted over to the reporters. Bubsey disappeared quietly back into the building as Francis talked.
“I’m here to answer your questions,” Francis said as he walked up.
“How does it feel to be back in Panama City?”
“Ah, any other questions?” Francis answered, immediately charming the small crowd of reporters.
“I guess the big news is, I’ve just informed the judge of my intention to proceed pro se, meaning I’ll be representing myself at trial.”
He grinned and looked down, stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled again. He talked about Smoak’s decision to let Bateman out of the case “right before trial,” even though Francis paid him a flat fee of $288,000. Francis thought the appeals court would look unfavorably upon that decision if the verdict was to go against him.
“Joe Francis is gonna represent himself in court,” he said, trying out the sound of it.
“What do you think about this case?”
“This case is 100 percent bullshit,” Francis said, warming up to the interview. “I can’t wait to get these girls on the stand and let them have it. I’m not going to be accused of something I did not do. This will be a slaughter.”
Mary Scott asked him about the fact that he’s already admitted to doing everything they’d accused him of.
“That’s absolutely untrue. Read the case file. Go to
meetjoefrancis.com
and read the legal history of this case. They’re liars. The only victim here is me.”
He thought that even if he lost he’d win on appeal.
“In the meantime, we can have some fun. This is gonna be fun.”
He was asked why he hadn’t tried to hire a Panama City lawyer.
“I don’t trust a lot of lawyers down here. I think I’m pretty qualified to represent myself.”
He said he’d already spent $20-25 million defending himself in Panama City cases.
“Is that a blip on your radar? How much money do you have?” the reporters asked.
“Everything’s a blip on my radar. Being here is a blip on my radar, that’s why I’m willing to defend myself in court as an American citizen. And with that, I have to go prepare for a trial.”
He left the reporters buzzing.
Mary Scott was finally and completely out of her funk.
“That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. ‘This is 100-percent bullshit’! I love that. I love this guy.”
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F
rancis got to work almost immediately. The judge called him, and Bubsey, into the courtroom to address some pretrial issues. These would be his first arguments as his own lawyer.
One issue was to define what a journalist was, so there would be no confusion when the plaintiffs asked to have the courtroom cleared. I’d expected this to come up. It wasn’t a secret that I was no longer covering this case for the News Herald. I knew someone would want to know what my credentials were and why I should be allowed to remain.
I tried to head off problems the week before the trial. I was out walking my girlfriend’s dog, Boudreaux, and granddaughter, Vivi, and we passed the judge’s driveway. Twenty-three-month-old Vivi was riding on my shoulders, and Boudreaux was straining his leash as we came up on Smoak’s house.
It was his usual exercise time. He’d been riding a mountain bike through the Cove recently, bent over the handlebars and pumping the pedals like he was crushing grapes.
He was in his driveway, fingerless gloves on his hands, preparing for his ride. I asked if I could talk to him and approached with child on shoulders and dog on leash. As expected, Vivi charmed him into a mushy grandfatherly mess.
“I expect that there’s going to be some question as to whether I should be allowed to stay. I don’t want there to be any confusion with you. You know I’m no longer writing for the News Herald.”
“Someone told me that.”
“Well, I’m freelancing now. I can tell you that I’m not going to be attending the trial as a spectator. I’m going to be there to work.”
Smoak remembered that conversation when Pontikes brought me up by name and asked that I be treated as a spectator. He told her about the meeting and denied her request.
Francis told me he’d argued for 15 minutes to let me stay in the courtroom and that’s what saved me.
The second item had to do with the plaintiffs’ sexual history. Francis wanted to be allowed to get into other experiences, call witnesses to testify about their sexual encounters.
“This is a sex case,” Francis said. “All we’re gonna be talking about is sex.”