Honor Thy Father (52 page)

T
HAT AFTERNOON, THE FOURTH DAY OF TESTIMONY
, after minor procedural matters had been resolved by the judge, the jury heard the final arguments from Krieger, Sandier, and Phillips.

Krieger, who spoke first, reminded the jury that at the start of the trial he had said that the “credibility of Torrillo will mandate your verdict” and now, at the completion of testimony, Krieger said he would not retreat from that position. If anyone had engaged in fraud in this trial, Krieger said, it was not Bonanno—it was Torrillo, whom he characterized as a deceiver, an exaggerator, and finally a tool of the prosecution. After signing an affidavit that he had lost the credit card, he changed his story, Krieger said, when the detectives began to visit him. “In June of 1968 he is interviewed by the detectives, and then,” Krieger said, “I believe we started to see the truth. The light comes out, the candle in the darkness comes out—Torrillo is behind terribly in his bills, he can’t pay the accumulated charges. He is worried. He had a house in his own name which suddenly had gone over into his father’s name, and I think that you can draw an inference there that he was seeking to conceal his assets from creditors such as the various credit card agencies. He knows, because the detectives tell him, ‘You are in trouble in this Diners’ Club thing. We could arrest you right now. You are in trouble. You are in trouble. You are in trouble.’ ”

If Bonanno did not think that it was permissible to use Torrillo’s card, he would surely have behaved in a more surreptitious manner than he did, Krieger reasoned, and he would not have been so open and casual in displaying the card in his hometown, Tucson, where he was so well known. When the card was confiscated in Bloom’s store, Krieger continued, Bonanno had not reacted in a violent manner, he had not run from the store and fled to the hills, which would have been the predictable reaction of a man wishing to conceal what he believed to be a serious crime. Bonanno had paid cash for the merchandise at Bloom’s, Krieger reminded the jury, and later one of his Tucson attorneys, Netherton, had called Bloom’s seeking without success the return of the card.

The government’s perjury charges against Bonanno were also unfounded, Krieger said, being partly based on the issue of whether or not he had discussed the matter of the credit card with his attorneys in Tucson. Quoting from Bonanno’s grand jury testimony of October 24, 1968, which Krieger conceded was not sufficiently clear and precise—Bonanno had said: “I may have mentioned it to a few attorneys.”—Krieger nonetheless recalled that one of the attorneys, Netherton, had admitted on the witness stand that the question of Bonanno’s discussing the card with him “strikes a chord.” While Videen denied that the subject had been discussed, a third attorney, Soble, had said, “Yes, there was a discussion about a credit card,” cautioning Bonanno on that occasion that “there might be a forgery.”

When Sandler stood to deliver his summation, he also focused on the exaggerations, inconsistencies, and the admitted lies in Torrillo’s testimony, adding: “He is a kind of a person who pretends to be a big shot when he is not, who pretends to be more important than he is, to have more affluence, more resources, more credit. Such a person met people who seemed to him important, whether they were or not. And he was trying very hard to impress them with how important he was so that he could use them ultimately for his interests. And a time came when his bluff was called, when they said—when Perrone said, ‘We are short of cash, we need help, can we use a credit card,’ and he says consistent with the image he had presented, ‘Of course, I have twenty credit cards. Don’t worry about it, we will straighten it out.’

“I suggest to you that he is the kind of person who could have done that. You know he is the kind of person who could have lied about doing that and that there is at least at the beginning a substantial possibility that this is what occurred, that he led them to believe that it was all right with him, the bills would be taken care of. I suggest that, at least that, is a reasonable possibility, perhaps more.”

In conclusion, Sandler said: “I have no apologies whatever to offer to Mr. Notaro, none whatever. He’s a man who has worked all of his life, and at the age of fifty-six he has a wife whom he’s had for twenty years and a young daughter who is going to school, to college in Arizona, and his wife is not ashamed to work as a waitress, and when he buys a house in a new area of this country, a $16,000 house and he puts down a down payment by borrowing against an insurance policy and borrowing money from his daughter’s savings account, this is not a man who has to be afraid to look anybody here in the eye. He is a man, he is a decent worthwhile man. He is ten times in decency the man Torrillo is, ten times. I think I am using a very small numeral when I make that kind of comparison.

“We do not ask for sympathy. We do not ask for mercy. We ask for justice. We ask you to do that which you were sworn to do. Apply your experience and your common sense and your feeling for life to what happened in terms of the court’s charge. If you do that you will acquit Peter Notaro. Thank you very much.”

When it came Phillips’s turn to speak he quickly refuted Krieger’s contention that the keystone of the government’s case was Don A. Torrillo; the government’s case rests simply on the crimes that had been committed, Phillips said, specifically the crimes of perjury, conspiracy, and fraudulent use of the mail. Each and every time that Bonanno or Notaro were representing themselves as Torrillo in a restaurant, a motel, or at an airlines counter, they were guilty of fraud, and Phillips refused to accept the notion that Bonanno or Notaro were so naive as to think otherwise. Phillips also dismissed as absurd the defendants’ explanation that Torrillo had given his card willingly to Perrone and had agreed to its use by Bonanno.

“Now, ask yourselves,” Phillips appealed to the jury, “applying your common sense, would Mr. Torrillo have given permission to Mr. Bonanno, or
anybody
for that matter, to take five people into Pancho’s Steak House and treat them to a meal and pay for it on his credit card? Would Mr. Torrillo have given Mr. Bonanno, or anybody, for that matter, permission to go into Bloom’s store, charge up almost two hundred dollars’ worth of clothes on his credit card? Does your common sense tell you that Mr. Torrillo would have given Mr. Bonanno, or anybody, for that matter, permission to purchase airline tickets, two parties, first-class, one way, San Francisco to John F. Kennedy, to New York? Two parties, first-class, Phoenix to New York City? $300. Tucson to New York? $259. And so it goes. Los Angeles, San Francisco-Phoenix, San Francisco-Phoenix? Do you think that Mr. Torrillo would have, in his right mind, given him permission, or anybody permission, to purchase these tickets on his credit card? Does your common sense tell you that Mr. Torrillo would have given Mr. Bonanno, or anybody, permission to charge up almost $2,500 in just over one month on this card?

“But let’s look at what else we have. The bills weren’t paid. Not one single bill that Mr. Bonanno used on this credit card was paid. If Mr. Torrillo had given him permission why wouldn’t he at least have paid a bill or two? But this shows you, that fact alone,…that he didn’t give him permission.”

Recalling Torrillo’s admitted fear of Hank Perrone, Torrillo’s having seen Perrone carrying a gun and also hitting an elderly man in a barbershop, Phillips asked the jury to put itself in Torrillo’s place on the evening in January 1968 when Perrone had come to Torrillo’s home and asserted his need for the card. “What would you have done under those circumstances?” Phillips asked. “Would you have denied him the credit card? I hardly think so. I think your common sense tells you go get the credit card and you give it to him.”

On the following morning, Friday, November 14, a week after the trial had begun, Judge Mansfield greeted the jury and explained that the time had come to perform the final function in the administration of justice in this case.

“We have three kinds of charges here against the defendants,” the judge explained. “The first is in count 1 charging a conspiracy to violate the federal statute that prohibits mail frauds and use of a fictitious name or address in furtherance of a scheme to defraud.

“Counts 2 through 52, inclusive, charge violation of the mail fraud statute. Count 53 charges violation of the statute prohibiting use of a fictitious name in furtherance of a mail fraud scheme. Counts 54 and 55 charge perjury against the defendant Bonanno, and count 56 charges perjury against the defendant Notaro.

“Each of these counts, must be considered by you separately and made the subject of a separate verdict as to each defendant named in the count…”

Bill Bonanno sat next to Krieger listening as the judge continued with his instructions to the jury, which within the hour would begin their deliberation and attempt to reach a verdict. Bill could see that Notaro seemed tense, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, but Bill now felt calm and thought that he was psychologically prepared for the worst. He had talked to Krieger the night before about his chances for an acquittal, and Krieger had said candidly that his chances were slim. The government’s case was strong, and Phillips’s summation yesterday afternoon had seemed effectively presented and damaging to the defense. If convicted, Bill thought he could expect at least a ten-year sentence; and, even with time off for good behavior and other concessions, he would have to serve about seven years, meaning that he would probably be in his midforties when he got out. His children would then be in their teens: Charles nearly twenty, Joseph sixteen, Tory fourteen, Felippa thirteen. Bill doubted that his father would then be alive. What was most sickening about this whole credit card episode to Bill was the amount of money involved—$2,400, which would have seemed a paltry sum to him at one time. On his wedding day in 1956, as he checked out of the Astor Hotel carrying a suitcase with $100,000 in cash gifts, he would never have dreamed that he could be imprisoned for
years
in an alleged fraud totaling $2,400.

Bill continued to listen to Judge Mansfield’s instructions to the jury. “…an act is done willfully if it is done knowingly…an act is done knowingly if it is done voluntarily and purposefully and not because of negligence…” Then Bill’s mind drifted again, and he heard noises coming from Foley Square below. He could hear a crowd of anti-Vietnam War protestors shouting in the square, could hear a policeman with a bullhorn warning the protestors to remain behind the barricades. Bill had seen the group forming when he entered the courtroom earlier, a few of them carrying signs announcing M
ORATORIUM
II and denouncing N
IXON’S
W
AR
. The shouting now became louder, and finally Judge Mansfield turned and asked that the window be closed. After this was done, the judge resumed with his instructions.

The jury retired at 11:30
A.M.
, and it took three hours and twenty-five minutes to conclude the deliberations. At 3:00
P.M.
the jurors returned to the courtroom, and, after a roll call, the clerk asked: “Mr. Foreman, have you arrived at a verdict?”

“Yes, we have.”

Notaro edged up in his chair now, but Bill was lounging with his left arm draped over the back of Krieger’s chair.

“As to the defendant Bonanno, what is your verdict as to count 1?” asked the clerk, meaning the conspiracy charge.

“Count 1,” the foreman announced, “we find the defendant guilty.”

“As to counts 2 through 53, what is your verdict?” asked the clerk, referring to the violations of the mail fraud statute.

“Guilty.”

Bill removed his arm from the back of Krieger’s chair and rested his left hand under his chin. He still seemed calm, relaxed, but within him he felt a sinking sensation and perspiration along his back and neck.

“Counts 54 and 55, what is your verdict?”

“Guilty.”

“As to the defendant Notaro,” the clerk continued, “what is your verdict as to count 1?”

“Guilty.”

“Counts 2 through 53?”

“Guilty.”

Bill was stunned and further depressed on hearing Notaro’s verdict, and he did not look at Notaro, who had been rubbing his hand back and forth across his mouth.

“And count 56?” the clerk asked, meaning the perjury charge against Notaro.

“Not guilty.”

Well, Bill thought, at least they gave him one small break. Notaro remained still, his face glistened with perspiration.

“Members of the jury,” the clerk said, “listen to your verdict as it stands recorded. You say you find the defendant Bonanno guilty on count 1, guilty on counts 2 through 53, and guilty on counts 54 and 55. You also say you find the defendant Notaro guilty on count 1, guilty on counts 2 through 53, and not guilty on count 56, so say you all.”

Krieger spoke up. “Could we have the jury polled, Your Honor?”

“Yes,” said the judge. “Will you poll the jury?”

The clerk, facing each of the eight women and four men, asked them individually: “Is that your verdict?” Each answered affirmatively.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the judge said, “this has been a fairly long week for all of you and I know you paid most careful attention to the evidence and have given it conscientious, thoughtful consideration. It is never a pleasant duty to render a verdict finding anyone guilty of anything. On the other hand, under our system of justice it is a most important and, I think I said earlier, probably the most important singular function of citizenship besides voting, and that is to serve on a jury and to make the decision fearlessly and objectively on the basis of the evidence…”

After thanking the jury, Judge Mansfield excused them, and they filed out of the jury box and walked in tandem past the table where Bill and Notaro sat quietly with their attorneys.

Bill watched them, looked each one in the face. He noticed that ten of the jurors looked away as they passed; but two women momentarily returned his glance, and, seeming as self-conscious and embarrassed as the others, quickly walked on.