The Madness of Joe Francis: "I thought we were all just having fun. I was wrong." (6 page)

After the ruling, defense attorney Walter Smith – who spent more than a decade specializing in defending accused murderers – said he’d experienced two firsts that day: He’d never had a local judge grant him a new trial and he’d never before been struck speechless by a ruling.

Costello was also a smart judge, but many Panama City defense attorneys thought of Costello as a “second prosecutor” in the courtroom. For many years, she was also the judge in the circuit that was most often overturned by the appeals court.

Costello was the first woman to practice law in Bay County. She came to the area in 1962 from Miami and took the bench in 1981 – becoming the first woman judge in the circuit.

Costello’s behavior in trial was legendary. She would roll her eyes and cough in her fist if she thought the defense attorney’s opening argument was ridiculous. She’d glare pointedly at the prosecutor if he didn’t object to a defense line of questioning and was known to make her own objections if the prosecutor was reluctant.

Costello was known for issuing the maximum sentence to defendants who took their cases to trial – especially if their defense was weak. If they wasted her time, she’d make them pay at sentencing.

Costello once sentenced a man to five years in prison for stealing a monkey from a zoo. At his sentencing, Costello heard from the monkey’s owner that the animal was now afraid of the dark and had suffered emotional trauma from the incident. Costello gave the maximum sentence for stealing a monkey, saying in her ruling that she was doing it, in part, because of the monkey’s distressed state.

Costello was not afraid of controversy and could make tough rulings when properly convinced. She was one of the most prepared judges in the circuit when she came into a hearing and up to date on changes in the law.

Joe Francis was facing a judge who would throw the book at him – possibly sentencing him to every one of the 300-some years he was facing.

On July 30, 2004, the Federal Trade Commission sent out a press release saying Francis and Girls Gone Wild paid $1,089,627 in fines and reparation to consumers. The FTC said beginning in 2000, some customers had been put on a continuity program without their knowledge after they’d purchased a DVD. It meant that they’d receive a new GGW video every month and the cost was automatically charged to their credit or debit card.

The FTC said many of these customers didn’t agree to a continuity program and GGW didn’t clearly explain the program before signing them up. The settlement required GGW to pay $548,392 to these consumers. It also resolved the case without anyone admitting they did anything wrong.

2004 was State Attorney Jim Appleman’s last year in office after holding the position for 24 years. He announced his retirement in 2002, well before the GGW case began, but he’d hoped to make Joe Francis’ trial the exclamation point on his career. He took an active role in the case late in 2003 and early 2004, but when it became clear that the trial wouldn’t happen in ’04, he backed out.

“They came to me and said they’d go ahead and plea him out,” Appleman said of Francis’ defense attorneys. “But it would be for a misdemeanor and no jail time. I told them, ‘Bullshit.’ So they told me they didn’t care because they wouldn’t take the case to trial while I was in office anyway.”

Assistant State Attorney Steve Meadows was running against defense attorney Martha “Sister” Blackmon-Milligan in a nasty race to take Appleman’s office.

Meadows was a good trial attorney and for some years had been responsible for prosecuting high-profile cases.

Many of the prosecutors were intimidated by Milligan and vowed not to work for her.

I called Aaron Dyer. He said, on the record, that the defense had been busy with the discovery and wasn’t purposely stalling to await the result of the election.

“Now, off the record, how did that sound to you?”

“Well,” I said, “it was politically well spoken and makes perfect sense, but I think it’s a load of horseshit.”

Dyer was laughing before I finished.

“Yeah,” was as close as he came to confirming my assertion. “We can’t control what goes on with the election and how it will affect this case. I don’t know if it will make any difference who gets elected, whether it’s Steve or Sister.”

Milligan was getting a lot of money from out of the state, even California, but none of it suggested ties to GGW.

She’d also been on Meadows’ case from the beginning about his record as a prosecutor – that he made too many deals, especially for the right people. It was politics, but it put Meadows in an interesting position when it came to how he would be able to resolve GGW if he got elected.

Lawyers both in and out of the prosecutors’ office were talking about how weak the case was. They thought Meadows, if elected, wouldn’t hesitate to drop it.

But the case was one of the most notable and expensive in county history. Just dropping it could be food for Milligan if she wanted another try in 2008.

The race didn’t turn publicly dirty until the News Herald interviewed both candidates in October. The editors made a decision to do a series of articles, letting the candidates say what they wanted and getting out as cleanly as possible. Behind the scenes, both candidates had been saying some pretty nasty stuff about each other.

Meadows came first, meeting with me and two editors in a small meeting room off the newsroom floor. Meadows is about 6-foot-1 and his weight fluctuates wildly from around 220 to 260, depending on how many lunch meetings he’s having.

When giving interviews, Meadows would sometimes adopt a soft tone of voice as if he was explaining everything to an easily spooked 6-year-old.

The 90-minute interview was little more than rhetoric.

Milligan insisted on being called “Sister” and asked the paper to just call her Sister, instead of Milligan, when they did stories on her.

About 5-foot-7 and sturdily-built, with short blonde hair, Milligan owned and rode horses regularly. She was a formidable woman: fierce, intelligent, direct and persistent. People regularly gave her what she wanted because they knew they would have to eventually.

The interviews produced two fairly interesting topics, both dealing with spouse abuse. Sister accused Meadows of hitting his first wife. Meadows said Sister had choked down her ex-husband in his office.

The incident with Meadows’ first wife was documented in his 1977 divorce papers. He apparently hit her in the chest with a pager during an argument. Meadows denied that he ever “hit” a woman.

“Are we gonna let the race denigrate to this level?” Meadows asked in response to the question about the domestic violence. “Am I going to bring in an affidavit from somebody who says they had to call the police because Sister was choking her ex-husband down in the law office? I could do that, but I don’t want to do that because this race is more important than denigrating it with that kind of mud that has nothing to do with our professional record.”

That was typical Steve Meadows, throwing out obvious accusations, while at the same time trying to claim the moral high ground.

Milligan denied choking her ex-husband, former State Attorney Leo Jones.

“Whoever was saying I choked my husband is lying,” she declared. She threatened lawsuits.

Jones, however, was more amused than intimidated by Milligan’s threats.

“It did happen. The story is legendary,” he said. The interview with him was by phone and Jones was in his home, which was apparently filled with exotic birds. They squawked, chirped and talked constantly in the background.

He said she didn’t exactly choke him, but grabbed him around the neck and bent him backwards over his desk. It happened while they were discussing the dissolution of their marriage.

“She’s a strong woman,” Jones said. “I wasn’t concerned about her getting hurt and me getting blamed for it, I was concerned about getting hurt.”

Jones then asked about Milligan’s wealth. She’d placed her worth in the millions in tax documents.

“How’d she get all that money?” he asked.

“I figured she got it from you,” I said.

“Not me. That’s why she was so mad. We had an ironclad prenuptial agreement.”

In November, Meadows won by roughly 3,500 votes out of about 70,000 cast. There were also 3,500 people who declined to vote for either candidate. In interviews outside polling stations, many people said the race was just too dirty.

In 2005, Joe Francis turned 32. His attorneys in Los Angeles and Tallahassee were working his state criminal and federal civil cases without much interference from him.

In Northwest Florida, 2005 was all about hurricanes. Four hit the northern Gulf coast, including Katrina which flooded New Orleans and sent thousands of refugees into Panama City.

December ended with a small group of residents calling the News Herald to make sure we would be adhering to a strictly Christian observation of the holidays – namely that we would have the words “Merry Christmas” across the front page on December 25.

Executive Editor Phil Lucas found the calls amusing at first, until they showed an organized effort on somebody’s part. Lucas assured the callers that the paper had no policy on the banner, which had been Merry Christmas for a few consecutive years.

He told callers that a decision on the wording would be made at the appropriate time.

On the big day, the newspaper ran “Peace on Earth” in Arabic script, something the copy desk found hilarious.

The Girls Gone Wild case was showing no movement in court, but things were happening behind the scenes. The lawyers were busy scheduling, then canceling depositions.

On January 19, 2006, an assembly of judges, lawyers and dignitaries gathered at the Martin Theater in downtown Panama City. Federal judges in black robes sat on the theater’s secondary stage, called the Backdoor Theater, while several hundred spectators filled the rows of seats towering over the stage. Richard Smoak, a longtime civil lawyer, former Green Beret and Vietnam War veteran, was scheduled to be sworn in as Panama City’s first sitting federal judge. Judge M. Casey Rodgers, whose office was in Pensacola, about 100 miles to the west, sat in the front row of the judges. This should have been a joyous day for Rodgers, who would certainly see her trips to Panama City cut down significantly, but Rodgers looked bored and annoyed throughout the process.

An investiture is like a judicial roast, followed by a ceremonial robing and oath of office.

“I set out to find something humorous about Dick. I called lawyers and even secretaries and there was nothing. Absolutely nothing,” Ross McCloy told the gathering. “Dick, some of them wouldn’t even return the call. Most lawyers would tell you that Dick is as naturally funny as a colonoscopy.”

McCloy read the letter he wrote to President George W. Bush recommending Smoak’s appointment as federal judge, but then spent the rest of the ceremony trying to find something funny to say about a man who, by almost all accounts, did and said nothing funny.

McCloy said that Smoak’s cleanliness and posture made him an ideal candidate for federal judge.

“He was born standing at attention,” McCloy said.

Smoak smiled, laughed and seemed fairly comfortable.