The Jersey City Independent"

It should be said that the most pivotal, least interesting people in this entire trial (perhaps any trial) have been its jurors. They are a broken scoreboard. They don’t ‘Ooh’ or ‘Aah,’ and they barely show any emotion. That might be because they’re good bluffers and they don’t want to give anything away. It might be because they’re not paying attention or they’re thinking about something else.

Jeez — even speculating about them is boring.

Today, the jurors file in, uniformly broad-smiled and casual. Somebody must’ve cracked a joke. They are a stark contrast to the serious courtroom demeanor, where a heavy air has descended. The gallery is packed with people waiting to hear the closing arguments, the final say on the government’s case against Leona Beldini.

But first, Judge Jose Linares steps down from the bench to stand in front of the jury box. He has a long list of instructions for the jurors on their responsibilities, what the law is, what the charges are — and he doesn’t want anybody falling asleep…. Judge Linares is a hulking man with large arms and thick mitts for hands. His powerful frame pushes up instead of down, in the way a bodybuilder’s seems to defy gravity. For most of the trial he’s been atop a mountain of dark-stained wood and black marble, expressing his displeasure, puzzlement or passivity through his brow. He smushes it to the center when he’s skeptical, curls it when an attorney goes out on a limb, or just plain relaxes it. You can read it like a rain cloud. The Thunderbrow.

Now that he’s down with the rest of the mortals, Thunderbrow doesn’t look as big. In fact, he’s just like any other lawyer, except for the long black robe. He tells the jury how they should treat evidence, the law and so on. One juror yawns, but they all sit rapt. Even ‘The Sleeper’ — the guy who slumped over in the box during juror selection — is sitting up and forward.

Judge Thunderbrow goes on about them having to make their decision without bias or sympathy. Meanwhile, Beldini’s right thumb and index finger are tapping together. It’s hard to tell at first. She’s usually cradling a tissue, but soon you can see she’s rubbing rosary beads. They’re wrapped around her wrist, spilling out of the cuff of her blouse. She appears to be squeezing the metal crucifix, and as her fingers tap, her gaze goes from the Judge to the jurors, the jurors to the Judge.

Thunderbrow tells the jury not to be influenced by his rulings on objections, and The Bow Tie is writing on a neon green Post-it note in a thick three-ring binder brimming with various colors. He folds his hands, then fiddles with a cup, unable to sit still. Assistant U.S. Attorney Sandra Moser looks at a much thinner binder. She will spend the lunch break making sure her PowerPoint presentation is set and ready to go.

The Judge talks about the presumption of innocence and proof beyond a reasonable doubt — “a fair doubt,” not absolute certainty nor an outlandish excuse. Thunderbrow starts listing the six counts. He explains what a conspiracy is and that it is still a crime even if the agreement is never fulfilled. Keeping bad company is not a crime, but a meeting of the minds is.

A younger person, maybe a law student, tries to leave. The bailiff, who looks like a jowlier Mike Ditka, informs him he can’t — they lock da doors during the charges. Every now and again, you hear someone pull on the door, trying to get in. It’s a muffled tapping bwumbumbum but far less distracting than new entrants.

You may consider statements made by any members of the conspiracy. Beldini shakes her head from side to side. Her eyes widen and she uses a finger to wipe their inner corners. The Judge’s voice is far less expressive than his forehead, and yet he is bringing Beldini to tears. It’s more what he’s saying not how he’s saying it. Anyone who witnessed the evidence in this trial can tell how damning these charges and instructions sound.

Not that any of the jurors would notice. None of them look Leona’s way. They’ll glance down at their notes or stare at the Judge, but never at her. She, of all people, has to know … this can’t be a good sign….

One juror fiddles his fingers, while three sit with hands to their faces. The bald man with a mustache leans forward and then back. Another is scoping out the arm hair emerging from his T-shirt. A woman bounces her pen. Another juror is hunched over her notebook, writing quickly.

Thunderbrow: You can’t take into account that other people were not charged. This is about the defendant in this case and this case alone…. You may find this person guilty, even if you think there are other people who are guilty but unindicted.

The inference is clear, but the name he does not say.

The Judge gets into describing Solomon Dwek’s character, reminding that they don’t have to believe his testimony. Only two jurors write. One is an alternate. And the other one seems to be writing everything down. The arm-hair juror yawns. Beldini draws in an audible breath.

The prosecution is up first after lunch. The defense girds itself. Beldini leans over the rail to shake hands with each of her family members in the front row, like the captain of a ship sailing into storm. This is it, lads.

The prosecutor stands up. Moser’s hair is a long and pure blond that stands out, and yet everything else about her courtroom demeanor is muted. She has a set of cool blue eyes that she locks on jurors, one by one by one. It’s a sweeping meticulousness that she employs in the courtroom. All methodical. All to a T.

Every movement Moser makes seems deliberate. She is as planned out as her PowerPoint, which beams white words on a black background to screens around the courtroom. The text is from the tapes, purporting to show Beldini was wise to what David Esenbach was up to. They are the first in a series of slides.

Moser runs over all the familiar arguments. She points and flexes her fingers, like she’s air-quoting at her sides. She steps around the podium slowly, meting out her carefully measured words in an even fashion. It’s like watching a kindergarten teacher read a picture book to her class. Make sure everybody sees the picture and read it slowly. Mi-ss Mose-r wants yo-u t-o kno-w how im-por-tan-t your dic-t-ion is.

She employs some arithmetic, using a whiteboard to calculate how much Beldini stood to gain from even the most modest real estate deal with Solomon Dwek. “The fact is,” she proclaims as she finishes the equation, “she stood to gain in the millions.”

This is a truly multimedia presentation. There are tapes, flow charts, images. She plays clips of Mayor Healy and Beldini laughing about ‘flipping’ the proverbial pile so the crooked developer ended up on top. Moser asks the children to think about the other, honest people in that pile…. And as every kindergartener knows, cutting the line is a crime akin to first-degree murder.

What’s more important, Moser says, is that Beldini never chided Jack Shaw for bringing this corrupt developer into her life. In fact, she seemed absolutely pleased to have him around. She kept going to meetings and even procured the Mayor for him — twice.

The courtroom is packed to the gills, and it leads to distraction at times. The pews are squeezed tight and there are no empty seats. No one is allowed to stand, and Ditka has given away his bailiff’s chair so two women can sit in it. He argues with a television reporter in a bright red coat, trying in vain to find a seat. He eventually kicks her out and the reporter spends the rest of Moser’s argument peaking through a crack in the door.

The jury sits motionless. The body language on the defense side shows it has been a hard few hours. The charges sounded brutal, and Miss Moser’s Romper Room of Bribes and Concealment hasn’t been any easier. By the time she wraps up, every member of the Beldini entourage is sitting with their shoulders forward and chins buried in their necks, bracing for impact.

The Bow Tie looks distracted. It is a powerful presentation he’s up against, a bevy of evidence. ‘Beyond a reasonable doubt’ is looking pretty darn reasonable at this moment.

BT asks that skylight be opened. He tells the jury he has no PowerPoint to show them because this isn’t the time for such things. You don’t have the TV or radio on when you sit down to discuss an important family matter…. A few sentences in, and his closing argument so far is essentially, ‘No toys at the dinner table.’ This cannot be good.

Leona’s eyes look wet. She is completely turned toward the jury now. You can see the red creeping out from under her eyelids from several yards away.

The Bow Tie is talking about Solomon Dwek, “the ultimate conman.” One without friends or rules or trust to govern his life. That’s not like Leona, who would do anything to help a friend. In this case, one Jerry Healy.

“It is this young lady,” and The Bow Tie quickly walks toward the defense table, “I call her young, but she’s 74 years old….” A mother. A grandmother.

None of the jurors look at her. None can bear looking at her.

Neary is back at the character of Dwek, a LIFE of bad acts, a LIFE of crime…. He can’t even wrap his arms around the hundred of millions Dwek stole from friends and family, the commandments he’s broken, and yet he still takes the witness stand in “religious garb.”

One of the spectators, an FBI agent, exhales and leans forward.

This time, The Bow Tie comes out and says it: “Bernie Madoff.” Dwek orchestrated a “Ponzi-Madoff scheme” to swindle his community, and yet he doesn’t get a “Bernie Madoff-type sentence.” He’s free to walk the streets. Hell, he doesn’t even go on unemployment insurance — like the rest of us — but is paid from a bankruptcy trust.

Dwek is not to be trusted. Never. Ever. (Which presumably includes when the tapes back him up.)

It’s the familiar arguments all over again. Leona is a good friend; Shaw and Cheatam were double agents; Dwek chased after Leona; nothing wrong with the Medical Center Luncheonette; it was a busy campaign and it was hard for her to keep track of what money came from where.

But soon, he’s back to Dwek treading on the untrustworthiness of one man. He seems to be going along lightly enough when Thunderbrow, whose face has been rippling, interrupts and asks to see the attorneys at sidebar.

Wow. It happened…. Neary flew too close to the nullification sun and his wings just came off. At sidebar, the Judge’s head is bouncing as he talks. Neary leans in with his eyebrows raised. He looks angry.

The Bow Tie returns to the jury box, asks the court reporter if she’s ready, and starts again. He talks more about Dwek’s Ponzi-Madoff scheme: first of people’s money, and then people’s liberty. He will keep on scamming, keep on trading while he takes the stand…. No one has put a stop to it, he says. No one, until now. For now, he faces 12 citizens…. 12 citizens who will not be fooled….

The Bow Tie concludes with, “Don’t lie. Don’t steal. Don’t cheat…. I hope that Mr. Dwek learns that when he goes to jail.”

Neary walks away from the jury box, slightly deflated. He’s been at this long enough to know when a fix is in.

To make matters worse, Thomas R. Calcagni — The Jaw — springs from his chair, declining a break so he can tear right into the prosecution’s rebuttal.

Now, if Moser was reading the kids picture books, The Jaw has broken out the Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots.

“Don’t lie. Don’t Cheat. Don’t Steal.”

There’s no ducking and weaving here. The Jaw is standing toe-to-toe with the defense in a contest of who can punch the hardest. He tells the jury that the government has proved every paragraph of the charges. But there is also something he wishes to disprove.

He’s talking about some of the defense’s arguments and exclaiming, “That’s a LIE.” More of what the defense said. “More lies.” It starts seeming a bit harsh until The Jaw lets everybody else in on what he’s doing.

“Don’t lie.”

He nods, as if to say, ‘Uh-huh. Here I go.’

“Don’t cheat.” The Jaw explains how Beldini cheated the other people trying to do business honestly in Jersey City. He talks about how she stole — stole the honest services and government that people deserve. It all comes down to honesty, and The Jaw is emphatic today — emphatic in his demand that the people deserve justice. Because Beldini can watch Mayor Healy’s back all she wants, but we must expect more of our public officials.

“The honest people. WHO’S LOOKING OUT FOR THEM?”

At this, there are murmurs from spectators on the defense side. The Jaw is clobbering them so bad, they’re compelled to react audibly. He goes on.

So what if Solomon Dwek is a bad person? Beldini was in a fine position to give him the slip. To not play his game. She could have told him to go to hell, like other public officials did.

“Objection,” calls The Bow Tie, without rising from his chair. He is reclined, resigned, with his posture limp.

Thunderbrow rumbles an overruled. The entire Beldini front row is leaning forward, as The Jaw grabs his opponent by the collar and offers some advice before punching his lights out one last time.

“‘Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t steal.’ That’s a fine credo. Did she follow it? Not even close…. I propose a new credo: ‘Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t steal. AND DON’T GET CAUGHT ON VIDEO DOING IT.’”

He drops his opponent to the floor, without even needing to take the last swing.

Just like that it’s over. Everyone stands up and the jury files out. The courtroom is buzzing with conversation and amidst it all, The Bow Tie steps forward from the defense table and starts talking at the Judge. He is a quiet kind of angry, drowned out by three dozen conversations.

The Judge asks for quiet and all of a sudden, it’s like a fight in the cafeteria, where everybody gets up on their chairs for a better view. All eyes are on The Bow Tie and Thunderbrow.

The Bow Tie says that in summation, The Jaw argued that the government could rely on Dwek’s testimony, but that when the defense made the opposite case, he was pulled to sidebar and told to cut it out. Furthermore, it was beyond what the prosecutor could address in his rebuttal, and he demands that the comments about Dwek be stricken from the record. “The alternative is a mistrial.”

‘Ooooooooooh,’ the crowd does not say…. But holy shit: the ‘M’ word.

Thunderbrow overrules. The prosecution made a legally correct statement while the defense made an incorrect one. That was the difference.

The defense retreats, for now. The tension of the morning is gone. It was gone long before the jury left the courtroom.

Tags: corruption, Jerramiah Healy, Leona Beldini, Solomon Dwek

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