Posted: Monday, 09 February 2009 11:24AM
Nobody Fools Everybody
Steve Corbett Reporting
Monday, February 09, 2009
In more than 20 years, I’ve only had a couple of conversations with disgraced Luzerne County Judge Mark Ciavarella. I remember two short talks. Our relationship got off to a bad start.
Ciavarella represented Glen Wolsieffer after the killer dentist murdered his wife, Betty, in 1986. After I wrote a few columns about the dentist, Ciavarella called me at the Times Leader and told me not to contact his client again.
I told Ciavarella that his client could tell me that, but until he did I’d call him and maybe even stop by his house or his office looking for him. I told Ciavarella that he didn’t matter, that he didn’t count, and that nobody cared what he thought.
I was out of line.
But the Wilkes-Barre lawyer struck me as an egomaniac and a serious impediment to an investigation into a horrible crime that needed all the public attention it could get. At the time Ciavarella was a well-known local lawyer who was representing a well-known local dentist.
I figured that I couldn’t trust either one of them.
And I was right on target.
After three years, police finally arrested Wolsieffer. A jury convicted him and he spent 13 years in prison before being released a few years ago.
Now it looks like Ciavarella’s going to prison.
If he follows through on his promise to plead guilty Thursday to participating in a $2.6 million kickback scheme, he’ll spend at least seven years behind bars.
Maybe he should call Wolisieffer for advice on how to get by inside. Maybe the killer can counsel the shamed jurist. Maybe Wolsieffer can call me and tell me not to bother his ex-lawyer the way I bothered him.
I have the same advice for Wolsieffer and Ciavarella.
Stick it.
Both men seem cut from the same pathological cloth.
Wolsieffer lied constantly during the many years police and others worked to bring him to justice. And if what prosecutors say about Ciavarella is true, he, too, spent years lying and covering up the truth.
Self-absorbed and egomaniacal to the point of posing a serious danger to society, both men once thought they had everybody fooled.
But nobody fools everybody. Most people don’t even fool themselves. When it comes to self-delusion, criminals are the worst fools.
Wolsieffer finally “took responsibility” for his crime and officials paroled him from prison. I’m still not exactly sure what his taking responsibility means. Most people interpret this to mean that he confessed to the crime that for more than a decade he swore he didn’t commit.
To the best of my knowledge, though, Wolsieffer has still not offered a detailed and meaningful confession and apology to Betty’s family – an act of mercy I probably should not expect from a man with such a severely flawed personality.
I don’t expect a detailed confession or heartfelt apology from Ciavarella, either.
He has already sent a letter to his former colleagues on the bench taking issue with the way he is being portrayed by the new president judge and the press.
Talk about gall. Ciavarella’s arrogance is building, not diminishing. Even while preparing to leave his family alone and head to jail, Ciavarella’s self-importance has no bounds. His ego cannot be contained. Like many criminals Ciavarella still believes he’s in control.
That should all change on Thursday.
If Ciavarella pleads guilty, a judge will sentence him to many years behind bars. And once the cell door closes, he might finally get it that he doesn’t matter anymore and that few people care about what he has to say.
My second and last conversation with Ciavarella took place after I returned to Northeastern Pennsylvania two years ago after living in California for five years. I called Ciavarella and invited him to appear on “Corbett” to explain how the court would choose a replacement for a vacant county commissioner position.
He agreed and did just that.
But before we hung up, Ciavarella laughed and said that after listening to the show, he and his wife agreed that I didn’t seem as angry as I used to be. I laughed and said that I had returned home more mature and more willing to listen to other perspectives.
But now I’m angry again.
Still, I’m willing to listen.
Maybe Ciavarella will talk to us before he goes to jail. Maybe he’ll tell us he’s sorry. Maybe he’ll own up to his criminal behavior.
But maybe he’ll blame us.
“You created me,” he might scream as guards drag him from the room. “I’m not out of order. You’re out of order. I’m not guilty. You’re guilty. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s something wrong with you.”
And in a way, he’d be right.
It takes a village to raise a criminal.
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