The Madness of Joe Francis: "I thought we were all just having fun. I was wrong." (33 page)

“You don’t remember.”

“Mr. Francis, you will ask questions. You will not make comments as you go along,” Smoak said.

“Did you lie about your age?”

“I don’t remember.”

What did you know about Girls Gone Wild before the taping?

“I don’t remember even knowing about Girls Gone Wild. You heard my story.”

“Ha,” Francis laughed. “And now I’m asking you questions about your story.”

Had she heard about Girls Gone Wild?

“Mr. Francis,” Smoak said from the bench.

“What?” Francis asked, looking up at the judge. “Do you want me to approach? All I’m asking is whether she’d heard or not heard about GGW. It goes to the credibility, the credibility of this witness.”

“Stop and move on to another question.”

Did you lie to the cameraman about your age?

“Mr. Francis, this is your last warning. Move on to your next question.”

“How did I harm you?” he asked Plaintiff B. “You’re suing me. How did I harm you?”

“You know what,” she said. “You had your ticket to the top of the world, but you know where you went wrong? When you took video of underage women.”

“How much money are you seeking here? Give me a number.”

“How much would I like? I’d like to be compensated for lost time. I’d like to go back to college.”

“How much money do you think you deserve?”

Pontikes objected.

“She’s the plaintiff. She’s suing me.”

Smoak allowed the question.

“How much do you want?”

“It’s up to the jury to decide what would be fair.”

“How much do you want?”

“Mr. Francis,” Smoak interrupted, but B went on answering it.

“It’s not up to me.”

Smoak was running out of patience. “Your time is about up,” he told Francis.

“What would be a fair amount?” Francis persisted. “You’re suing me.”

Objection. Asked and answered. Francis hunched his shoulders over the podium and flipped through his notes.

“What is a right triangle?”

“Pardon?”

“What is the definition of a right triangle?”

Objection, beyond the scope.

“No it’s not. She said her favorite subject was geometry. Who doesn’t know the definition of a right triangle if your favorite subject is geometry? It goes to credibility, your honor.”

It was close to 5 p.m. and Smoak called a break for the night and sent the jury home.

“Mr. Francis, you are just about to be held in contempt and taken into custody. No more warnings.”

“She said she was an A student in geometry, but she doesn’t know what the definition of a right triangle is. Now who the heck is an A student in geometry that doesn’t understand what a right triangle is?”

“It’s meaningless,” Smoak said, his voice rising.

With the jury gone, they took a few minutes to go over Francis’ witness list. The judge had allowed him to submit a list of people he wanted to call, even though the deadline for that had long passed. But if Francis wanted to call witnesses who the plaintiffs’ lawyers had already spoken to, and knew what they were going to testify about, then the judge would be more likely to allow it.

Steph Watts had handwritten the names on a sheet of paper. Pontikes said she recognized a few, but objected to several others including private investigator Jack Palladino.

Francis had hired Palladino shortly after the original 2003 lawsuit was filed. Years later, he called it the greatest private infiltration ever undertaken.

Francis said Palladino planted three young women in the Panama City Beach community where the original plaintiffs, and Plaintiff B, lived. They got jobs with the plaintiffs, made friends with them, and in many cases they attended the wild parties that were going on before and after the settlement.

But they were spies and they were all ready to testify as to the things they’d seen.

Pontikes said Palladino’s investigation was what Francis had threatened them with during his deposition. Smoak had already ruled that anything not already entered into evidence was not coming in as an ambush on the plaintiffs.

All that dirt would never see the light of day.

Francis also wanted to enter into evidence the releases the plaintiffs had signed after their episodes with GGW. Pontikes argued that the releases were irrelevant. The releases weren’t valid because the girls weren’t old enough to legally sign them. In addition, it didn’t matter if they signed them or not. Legally, the only issue was whether underage girls had been filmed for pornographic uses; it meant nothing if they’d lied about their ages.

It was the first of numerous arguments on this subject throughout the trial. It was a clash between the common sense argument of personal accountability of minors versus the law.

Francis’ argument was that lying about their ages to get on “Girls Gone Wild” went to their credibility as witnesses.

“Had they not lied they never would have been on GGW. This is the most important issue, your honor, because it goes to the core of the case. They created this situation, then they sued me for an intentional tort. When you see these videos, you’ll be on my side. It will be over.”

Smoak said the releases were immaterial, but if they had evidence that the girls had produced fake IDs, then that might be something he’d consider allowing into evidence.

But the issue of whether they lied about their age, without producing a fake ID, was immaterial.

“Whether they were truthful does not absolve the defendant of liability. There will be no further inquiry into it.”

“That kills my entire case,” Francis interrupted.

“Stop talking!” Smoak snapped.

Francis apologized and said he was very tired. He asked that Smoak not make any rulings until the next day, so everyone could “sleep on it.”

“We’re not going to sleep on it,” Smoak said.

He would allow Francis to make his argument the next morning, with case law to support it, as to why evidence of fake IDs should be allowed in.

Francis continued to repeat his argument, his voice rising the whole time until Smoak told him to stop yelling.

“If I’m yelling, it’s only because I’m tired. Can we do this tomorrow?”

Francis then went way back to an earlier argument and began asking Smoak to change his ruling about keeping out Plaintiff B’s video.

“She lied in this courtroom, your honor, and that should piss you off. I wouldn’t be standing here today if she didn’t lie about her age. That’s the most material thing ever.”

Smoak stood by all his rulings. Lying about age would not be an issue and Francis would not be allowed to use Plaintiff B’s video tape to impeach her.

“You might as well default me, your honor. You might as well default me. You might as well default me.”

“Unless I have clear proof that false identifications were produced, no one says another word about age. Just because children fibbed is not a significant issue.”

“It’s not a significant issue to lie in a federal courtroom? And that happened today. Not when they were minors.”

Pontikes said there was no evidence that fake IDs were produced.

Francis said that wasn’t true and could prove it. Smoak said, again, that he would have until the next morning to produce his evidence and the caselaw supporting his argument.

He then cautioned Francis, again, to calm down.

“We’re not going to have a repeat of the day. You’re on the verge of being out of control.”

“How have I been on the verge of being out of control?”

Smoak paused. Francis had certainly been manic at times, but it was hard to identify specific instances.

“I told you not to get into certain areas. You’ve interrupted opposing counsel. You’ve badgered witnesses.”

“If you want to default me, if that’s your endgame, then default me,”

“You need to calm down and quit flying off the walls. You’re doing more harm to your own case in the eyes of the jury.”

“I think I was effective.”

“You did yourself so much harm.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

Steph Watts, standing behind Francis, tried to distract him from his argument with the judge. He kept repeating, “Joe. Joe.” But it had no effect.

“I think I did an OK job.”

“I’m going to take a real serious look at entering the default against you. That motion was just held, I didn’t deny it. One of the things I have to look at is whether you have a meritorious defense.”

He said he’d already ruled that there was no merit to the defense that the girls lied about their age.

“I’m growing increasingly convinced that you do not have a meritorious defense.”

“Basically, you’ve already defaulted me by taking away all my witnesses, my ability to produce the videos, the releases and my ability to talk about age. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.” Francis slumped forward onto his arms, which where crossed on the table in front of him, and put his head down as if he was going to nap.

“You talk real good,” Smoak said, “but you don’t listen too well and that’s going to get you …”

“I do,” Francis interrupted. “I do listen.”

.

Chapter 37

“Joe Calm Down”

T
he storm that had been threatening finally blew in Wednesday morning, both inside and outside the courtroom.

A steady drumming could be heard as the rain pummeled the courthouse roof. Francis was supposed to be at his table by 8:15, ready with caselaw to prove why he should be allowed to use at least one of the girls’ fake ID in his case, but he was late. He didn’t arrive until 8:35, which would have been late even for the start of the trial.

“Did you get my message?” he asked the court clerk as he unpacked his satchel onto his table. “No? OK.”

He waved around a handful of documents, his precedent, that he would like the judge to review. He handed them to Elizabeth, but said he didn’t make copies for the plaintiffs’ attorneys.

He strolled over to the plaintiffs’ table, smiling, and said he’d found what he needed to get in Plaintiff B’s fake ID.

“How many times has he said you’re wrong?” Selander asked, referring to Smoak’s rulings on this issue.

“I don’t care what he says, I read the law,” Francis said, smiling and hitching up his pants. “I mean, I care what he says.”

“No you don’t,” Selander said.

“The law is the law and I know this is Good Ol’ Town, but it’s still the United States of America and the
law
is the
law
,” he said, adopting an exaggerated Southern accent for the last few words.

“Here, I’ll just read you the case numbers and you can look them up yourself.”

“No,” Selander said, smiling. “Why don’t you just let us look at them for a few minutes.”

“Well,” Francis hesitated, “I could just read you the case numbers.”

“Why don’t you just let us look at what you’ve got.”

Francis hesitantly handed the bundle to Pontikes and walked slowly to his table, not comfortable with leaving his documents in the attorneys’ possession. His anxiety propelled him out of his chair before Selander and Pontikes had made a dent in the stack.

“I’d like my papers back,” Francis said, holding out his hand.

“No,” Selander said, staying in his seat but looking steadily at Francis. Pontikes continued to study the paperwork and ignored Francis.

“I want my papers back. Give me my papers.” Francis tried to snatch the documents away from Selander, who jerked them out of Francis’ reach.

“Do not grab my papers,” Francis said, his voice rising into a strained, childlike plea. “Can I get a marshal. Sir, hand me my papers back. They won’t give me my papers back. Marshal.”

Two bailiffs walked over from different ends of the room.

“Enough Mr. Francis,” George Dobos said.

“He won’t give me my papers back. I want my papers back.”

“Just hold on. We’ll take care of this,” Dobos said.

Dobos led Francis to his seat then talked to the bailiff who had been sitting at the front of the room closest to the altercation. After being briefed, Dobos turned to Francis and said, “We’ll just wait for a few minutes. Let them have a look and then we’ll get your papers back.”

“Oh. My. God,” Francis said, standing. “I’ll be back.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Dobos said, letting him pass by and through the knee-high swinging gates. Francis shoved open the door and stepped through into the hallway

Before the door closed, Francis could be heard saying, in a loud voice, “Oh my fucking God.”

“That did it,” Dobos said, moving quickly to the door.

George Dobos was a retired Panama City police officer who took his position with the federal courthouse very seriously. He believed that people in court, including lawyers, should not wear anything on their heads, including their glasses and sunglasses, when inside the courtroom. He did not allow people to open candy, or cough suppressant wrappers, while they were in court and would always tell reporters to take pens out from behind their ears because it was disrespectful to the court.

Francis, who wouldn’t wear a tie, could never get to court on time, routinely argued with the judge, raised his voice and was just a general ass in court, had gotten on Dobos’ last nerve.

The reporters sat for a second until they heard what sounded like Francis squealing from the hallway. We all filed out to find Francis pressed up against the wall near the open elevator doors.

Dobos was gripping Francis’ left arm and had his face inches from Francis’s, who refused to look at him.

“This is a place of business,” Dobos said. “You will not go around yelling like that.”

“I’m going downstairs. I’m going downstairs,” was all Francis could say, and he repeated it over and over.

“Joe, calm down,” Steph Watts said. “Calm down.”

The hallway was now filled with press, two marshals, another bailiff and Francis’ people. Dobos stared at Francis for another second, but then let go of his arm.

Francis darted into the elevator. When he got to the first floor he fled outside and sought some shelter from the rain and the bailiffs.

Within fifteen minutes, he came back into the courtroom, looking composed.