Vince Macchiavelli: Bring Me The Piss Boy!
AS TOLD BY OUR LEGAL CORRESPONDENT, J. CONOR CORCORAN, ESQ.: The observation of Philadelphian politics is conducive to strange similes, metaphors and empathies. Circumstances and facts may differ, but visceral concurrencies abound. As the Fumo trial trots out its defensive durge, standard operating procedure concerning the character of Philadelphia politicians is exposed to the light of day.
And so I found myself, with repulsed reaction, reviewing reports of yesterday’s initial testimony in the defense of Vince Fumo. The star witness was Bruce Castor -– the Montgomery County District Attorney, current Montco Commish, and a perennial Santorum-esque candidate for governor (conservatively inflammatory, frothy, and full of, well, paging Mr. Savage!). Reading it left me with feelings of kinship for certain chanteuses of the 1980s, happily swirling in a dervish of deviance, only to find themselves chained to a radiator in Rick James’ basement. “Apollonia must have felt this way,” I thought to myself, “Sweet Prince! Please make it stop!”
After the jump, Counselor Corcoran finally penetrates the psyche of the Fumo gang. His conclusion? They’re not so much with the straight shooting. These days, anyway.
Rare home movies of the Fumo gang have recently surfaced.
The merry band of mental midgets marches on. First, opening remarks — by a defense attorney — harkened comparisons to one of most infamous crime duos in history, with a wee referential dusting of cocaine and murder to boot. Then, it is subsequently revealed by Christian Marrone that the Senator and Ruth Arnao abused Marrone for the most demeaning of tasks -– and abuse is truly the mot juste here. S & M, the Senator and Marrone, like Mel Brooks in History of the World, summoning his chamber pot. “Hasten thee to Hyannisport, young seed, and bring my girlfriend’s luggage while you’re at it.” Marrone’s contempt for his tasks sizzled across the courtroom like a flash of lightning.
Then there was Lucky Luchko, the techie for Machiavelli, who turned state’s witness and still corresponded with the Senator and his tribe about the progress of the prosecution.
And then, yesterday, Bruce Castor, who for the first time in his entire life, might have gained some legitimate perspective of the view from the defense table. But not likely.
I sat in front of Castor, as he expounded upon the dubious “merits” of the death penalty, during a lecture at Temple Law School. In 2001 or 2002, the head prosecutor for Montgomery County –- with its obscenely wealthy zip codes anxiously sweating the more stricken ones — stated in front of one or two hundred spectators that he was entirely unaware of DNA evidence ever exonerating a criminal defendant in the history of the United States. In 2001 or 2002. I asked him at that time if he was sure (I was working in a Death Penalty Clinic with the ACLU at the time), and he conveniently had no answer. Because at the same time, Bruce Godschalk was being freed, by virtue of DNA testing, from 14 years of incarceration in Montgomery County. And you know who was keeping him in there? Bruce Castor. It was this kind of intentionally ignorant tutelage, in my experience, that encouraged prosecutors in the Montgomery County DA’s office to act like a macho band of cowboys during his tenure. This kind of ham-fisted bravado in his office was pervasive.
Can’t the Fumo defense marshal the services of an individual with more than a tenuous apprehension of integrity, truth and justice? Castor’s testimony was employed solely to discredit that of Marrone; instead, what came forth was that Castor himself is guilty of the same petty, avaricious conduct emblematic of the Fumo tribe. It appears that Castor, too, used county resources for his own political endeavors, and fired Marrone for political reasons, too (see today’s Legal Intelligencer).
It’s like the Bad News Bears at 6th and Market, and this case is going down like a nun’s knickers. Only this time, vulgar charms won’t get anybody to Tokyo. Reporting live from the cauldron of catastrophe, this is J. Conor Corcoran, for Philebrity.com.
Here at Philebrity, we are no strangers to reaching for the telephone in a cold sweat, fingers trembling in fear, punching in a few numbers and asking as soon as someone answers, asking “Fuck! Are we gonna get sued for this?” Always, on the end of the other line is one Conor Corcoran, Esq., our resident go-to guy for all things scary and legal. Read more of his missives to Philebrity here.
