Posted: Wednesday, 18 February 2009 11:39AM
Say Goodbye To The New Kids On The Block
Steve Corbett Reporting
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Alone and looking small in the Scranton federal courthouse, William Sharkey sat quietly in a comfortable chair in the hallway outside the U.S. Attorney’s Office.
The former Luzerne County court administrator awaited the pack of prosecutors that would accompany him and his attorney to a courtroom where he would officially enter his guilty plea to embezzlement of public funds.
I had one question for Sharkey but figured it could wait until I had asked law enforcement officials for mug shots of the two gangster judges from Luzerne County who last week had also pleaded guilty to public corruption charges.
As it turns out, other than rare exceptions, the U.S. Marshals Service does not provide defendants’ photos.
But when I came back to the hallway, Sharkey was talking with another member of the press and I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt.
So I waited until the plea proceedings ended and Sharkey put on his coat and headed for the door.
My question was the same one I had asked disgraced former president judges Mark Ciavarella and Michael Conahan. After they pleaded guilty, I approached and asked them a simple question: “Can I tell my listeners that you guys said you’re sorry?”
Conahan looked like his head might explode. His jowls reddened and he spit his words of response.
“You can tell them that I have no comment,” he said, adding that he might have something to say on sentencing day.
Turning to Conahan’s partner in crime, I motioned and asked Ciavarella, “You, sir?”
Like his degenerate pal, he, too, spurned any admission of sorrow. Smirking, he shook his head “no.”
How hard would it have been for both admitted criminals to offer a simple one-word apology? How hard would it have been to have said, “Yes?” How hard is it for these men to take full responsibility for their crimes against the people and the public trust?
Now Sharkey had his turn.
After stealing more than $70,000, Sharkey was also likely headed to prison.
And now he had a chance to at least make small amends for his behavior.
After serving the public for decades as a courthouse employee, he had a chance to say he was sorry.
Approaching politely, I stood by his side. Sharkey looked up. He seemed anxious.
“Can I tell my listeners that you said you’re sorry?” I asked.
Sharkey hesitated and looked for his lawyer, motioning his way with his hand. Then he looked at me.
“Yes, absolutely” he said.
Even if he was lying, at least he apologized. Even if he believes that every cent he stole was worth it, at least he acknowledged the evil of his ways. Even if he was his bluffing, he atoned for his breech of the public trust.
Sharkey’s attitude made Ciavarella and Conahan look all the worse.
Pathetic as he is, Sharkey seems to sense his own guilt.
Conahan and Ciavarella seem unwilling to accept the depth of their transgressions.
They were more powerful, of course, than this courthouse lackey who, nonetheless, received more than $96,000 per year for his services. They were more polished and sophisticated. They were more dangerous, too.
But now they’re going away.
So is Sharkey.
But even the cons on the cellblock will see the difference between Sharkey and his guilty buddies.
The hard men on the block will see Sharkey for what he is – simple and servile.
But let Conahan and Ciavarella try to throw their weight around the prison yard the way they threw their weight around the courthouse and they’ll soon understand the true meaning of sorrow.
Before it’s over, I expect these new kids on the block to apologize time and time again.
Saying they’re sorry might become more a part of their daily lives than they can possibly imagine.
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Corbett
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