The Jersey City Independent"

Editor’s note: There are plenty of news outlets covering the first corruption trial to come out of July’s massive federal sweep; that’s why we are aiming to bring you something a little different with correspondent Jack Bohrer’s reporting. Enjoy.

It took the better part of three days to pick twelve jurors and three alternates in the federal corruption trial of suspended Jersey City deputy mayor Leona Beldini.

Beldini opted to be judged by an impartial jury of her peers. But she should’ve requested a change of venue.

Because New Jerseyans are more likely to acquit the arsonist of a children’s hospital than an indicted politician. Give a taxpayer the chance to soak a pol, and I’ll show you somebody who’s about to get wet.

Still, Leona Beldini wouldn’t take a plea. And in the face of secret audio tapes, secret video tapes and the not-so-secret disgust of the citizenry, she goes to trial. Now it depends on how good her lawyer is.

Oh, and what a show, what a show.

Beldini’s lawyer is Brian J. Neary, a man proud to carry the moniker: “the lawyer with the bow tie.” His reputation precedes him. No sooner has The Bow Tie bopped into the courtroom that morning than some editorial writer-type with Graydon Carter hair and The Arts section tucked under his arm stops him to say hello.

A pleasant enough fellow, The Bow Tie is dressed like he’s stuck in prep school, forever repeating the tenth form. A black charcoal-striped suit with his trademark neckwear, green today, peeking out of a black sweater. He fidgets, removes his jacket and stretches his hands. He seems to have mental spasms through his wrists, his fingers, perhaps in thinking out his remarks or maybe expending that schoolboy energy. His gray hair is short but not shorn, and his thick brown eyebrows and spectacles give him the look of an aging college professor. Though that face is like a trap: harmless and inviting, until he springs it … the tongue of an expensive defense attorney.

In the government’s corner is Thomas R. Calcagni. He’s a young guy with a flat face and Milo-Goes-To-College rectangles for glasses. His suit is a good cut. Compared to The Bow Tie, his courtroom attire is more business than pleasure. These clothes make the man.

Because the suit isn’t the only thing that’s tightly wound around The Jaw. There’s a tension in his step, in his face, all setting in his mouth. He’s to deliver the government’s opening argument, and it’s clearly weighing on him. While his co-counsel is breezy and confident, he’s caught somewhere in thought. Christ, he’s convicted enough politicians already. But while others leave the court room for lunch, he will pace the jury box, sit in their chairs, and imagine himself speaking.

The Bow Tie steps over to The Jaw and shows him a packet of papers and whispers something. They both laugh. “I’ve seen yours, too,” says The Jaw, touching The Bow Tie’s arm. “A leopard doesn’t change his spots.” HA HA HA.

Beldini is standing slightly bent over the defense table and freezes her eyes for a moment. The look on her face might be considered icy if it wasn’t so obviously pained.

The Jaw goes back to his pace. Crossing his arms hard, pulling his jacket even tighter. He’s shadowboxing with an empty jury box. Practicing how he’ll hold his hands, how he’ll look up, how he’ll tilt his head. His lips move but no sound comes out.

The jury is almost selected. It’s hard given how much the story was in the news last summer, not to mention this week again. Beldini has never hidden her past as an exotic dancer, a burlesque star of the 1960s, but on Monday, some major news outlets published the pictures anew. HOPE DIAMOND, GEM OF THE EXOTICS … the stories came complete with comments from an archivist of the retro skin scene.

The Judge screens potential jurors for knowledge of the, um, recent stories you might have seen on the internet. If you understood his meaning, it probably meant that you weren’t going to be a juror.

Between the Hope Diamond oglers and the jurors who claimed to have FBI agents for fathers, it’s pretty damn hard to put together an impartial jury of New Jerseyans who will undoubtedly convict a politician.

The final ones were selected around 3 o’clock. They filed out for a quick orientation while the courtroom prepared for the openings.

The Jaw is in his mental recitations, but looking less tense. The Bow Tie removes the sweater underneath his suit jacket, revealing green suspenders to match his bow tie, natch. He’s doing calisthenics with his arms, much more frequently now, patting his head as if trying to mask the movements as something natural.

It’s anybody’s game.

The jury is sworn in. The Judge explains the rules. The Jaw is up first.

As he rises, the nerves take over. His voice squeaks.

“Thank YU-ou, your honor.”

He collects himself at the podium, opening a thick binder. Curtains up, he performs the show he’s rehearsed in his head all morning.

He cuts right to the chase.

This is a case about a Jersey City public official who took bribes, plain and simple…

He lays out the government’s side, as it has been hashed over by newspapers some dozen times since July. A government witness posing as a developer paid $20,000 cash (converted into illicit campaign contributions) and promised hundreds of thousands in real estate commissions to buy Beldini’s official help with a zoning issue.

It sounds damning even with The Jaw’s subpar delivery. He offers the case with muted emotion, as if he were brought to the courtroom not by righteous indignation but by some analytical duty. Perhaps he feels he doesn’t need to be persuasive to be right. Because the case is sealed, he says, by the tapes.

And this is when he puts some OOMPH into it.

“From her mouth” — and his arm shoots toward the defendant — “to your ears.”

Beldini doesn’t react. The Jaw goes on.

There’ll be no need for guessing. You’ll know who’s saying what, who is getting what, and who wants what.

Listen to the prosecutor talk some more, and you might think that Mayor Healy had been charged with a crime. The Jaw is describing two people — “these two seasoned politicians” — who gamed the system, who knew better than to blatantly stuff cash in their pockets. And it was his campaign account that was getting fat from this, after all. Yet Mayor Healy wasn’t charged, something The Jaw leaves to the jury’s imagination.

But if you think Beldini is going to throw Jerry under the bus, then you’ve got something coming. She doesn’t need to do that (yet). She’s got The Bow Tie.

Whereas The Jaw carried a thick binder, The Bow Tie speaks from a few notes scribbled on a green folder (syncing with the bow tie and the suspenders). His message is simple.

“Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t steal.” The credo of Jerry Healy — Regular Guy, USA.

He argues that Leona Beldini should not be acquitted because she is as honest as her old friend and ally, the mayor. It’s not because she lacks real power. (She only performs “a ceremonial role” for the city! With a small $66,000 “fee.”) It’s not because campaign contributions are illegal and the mayor was running a “million dollah campaign.” No.

She and the mayor are honest people, being taken advantage of by the government.

The Bow Tie makes his case brilliantly. He is animated. Raising his voice to a shout, shooting the prosecution shaming looks, and warming up to this jury of peers, even getting a few of them to crack a smile. He needs to find a scapegoat. Someone these jurors hate more than politicians. The best he can come up with is Bernie Madoff.

Though he never says “Bernie Madoff,” The Bow Tie peppers his assualt on the government’s star witness, Solomon Dwek, with a description of the fallen financier. A ponzi schemer who writes bad checks, who tosses his family and community to the wolves to save his own skin. A man who always traded off other people’s money and now he’s trading off other people’s freedoms.

An all-around no-goodnick.

The Bow Tie describes the lengths the government went to to satisfy Dwek, to keep him fat and happy and to destroy anyone who was running for office in Jersey City last May. You’re not going to see Dwek’s face on the videotapes. Yuh’ll see awl of them, except Dwek.

Just watching his movements are something else. The Bow Tie swings his arms. His head darts back and forward, his eyes go wide. He leans hard on the podium and whispers, or shouts as he marches in front of the jury box. He is exasperated describing how desperate the government is.

When it’s over, it’s clear that The Bow Tie has demolished The Jaw. The editorial-type from earlier walks over to another journo.

“You ever seen him before?” says the Graydon Carter.

His reserved peer nods toward the prosecution, “They were not great.”

Maybe he doesn’t understand that they don’t need to be great. They have the evidence. They have the tapes. Great is no good, especially not in a case like this.

Because who needs great when convincing a group of New Jerseyans that politicians are corrupt?

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