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There are experiences in life
for which no one can prepare- a fire raging out of control in one's home;
a child struck down in a crosswalk by a speeding car...or being falsely
arrested, especially by being set up by those who took an oath to protect
and to serve.
For over eight years now I have been the
victim of one of the most malicious acts based upon utter falsehoods, malfeasance
and criminal intent ever conceived in the city of Steubenville, Ohio.
I feel compelled to respond to these unconscionable
acts not only because I am unjustly incarcerated, but also because of the
emotional stress and financial difficulties imposed upon my family and
friends. To allow these falsehoods to go unanswered would be a betrayal
to myself, my family, and the people of the community of Steubenville.
On Oct. 6, 1989, I was accused by officer
Robert Mamula of the Steubenville Police Dept. of stabbing him in the hand
with a 4 inch screwdriver. I swear by everything that I hold dear
that Mamula inflicted those wounds himself.
Aside from Mamula's accusation, there was
not one iota of physical evidence or a single witness to verify his accusation,
in fact, all of the evidence and every witness that testified at my trial
totally contradicted his story. This includes his fellow officers
and his chief, Jerry McCartney.
The following allegations that I am about
to list are not only true, they can be substantiated by either my trial
transcript, credible witnesses, physical proof upon request, or tape recordings
that are in my attorney's possession.
To begin with, I will make no attempt to
conceal my checkered past. About forty years ago, while still a teenager,
I stole a car for joy riding and was involved in rolling a drunk for $24.
I both instances I got caught, pleaded
guilty, and was sent to a reformatory for 2½ years. While
in that reformatory I made a vow to myself and God that I would never steal
again. I have kept that vow.
In the early 70's I became involved in
illegal gambling in Steubenville. The reasons I became involved are
many. To begin with, Steubenville was a Mecca for illegal gambling.
Anyone who grew up in this town can readily recall the numerous cigar stores
in the downtown area. There was the Rex Cigar, Olympic Cigar, Penn
Lounge Cigar, Dixie Cigar, Capital Cigar, Corner Cigar, Hy Hat Cigar, Smokestack
Cigar, Freddie's Cigar, and several others, to numerous to mention, but
enough to make an outsider believe that Steubenville was the smoking capital
of Ohio. But the residents knew that these cigar stores were merely
a front for bookie parlors. The majority of these bookie parlors
were within a stone's throw from the Steubenville Police Department.
Being involved in illegal gambling was
neither embarrassing or hazardous. The local mill workers and coal
miners and the general working class fully supported these establishments,
otherwise there wouldn't be so many bookie joints in such a small community.
Being a bookie was not only acceptable, it was somewhat fashionable and
no bookie who was ever unfortunate enough to get busted ever did any prison
time if he was ever convicted. It was a slap on the wrist and business
as usual.
And last, but not least, being a bookie
was a lucrative business. A bookie not only made money but was protected
under the aegis of the local law enforcement agencies. The reason
he was protected is because he paid off the cops. Bribery; kickbacks;
graft; protection, or any other moniker used to describe the monthly envelopes
that the police received, the final word is POLICE CORRUPTION!
Nobody is more aware of how illegal gambling
was conducted in Steubenville than myself, because in the early and mid
seventies, I controlled the gambling in Steubenville. I did it with
the full knowledge and protection of the Steubenville Police because I
paid for their protection.
Because it has been nearly a quarter of
a century since my involvement in said activities, I wish to refrain from
mentioning the names of officers who are now retired or deceased, but I
will name two officers who never hesitated to pick up their graft money
as Capt. Leon Stinson and Police Chief Jerry McCartney. At the time
these two were patrolmen and not ranking officers.
In the last half century, the Steubenville
Police Dept. has never made a serious bust on illegal gambling in the city.
It is not because the problem didn't exist, but because of the graft they
accepted. The only serious busts came from the FBI, and I have a
list of names available, of the individuals involved in those busts if
need be, but suffice it to say that I was eventually one of those busted.
I pleaded guilty and was put on federal probation just like every other
bookie before me. As I mentioned previously, nobody ever went to
prison for being a bookie in Steubenville, and through the years, the FBI
raids caused the number of bookie joints in Steubenville to dwindle, but
not to dissipate entirely. There is still illegal gambling being
conducted in town and I can personally name several establishments that
have been doing business in the same location for the past 25 years or
longer.
These places were in action when I was
running the numbers, and they are still in business, because as recently
as Nov. of '96 I had friends go to these establishments and play illegal
numbers; to bet on football games and to bet on high school games.
I will repeat that- High School Games. Steubenville is the only known
community in this entire country where it is known that you can wager on
high school sports. I have parley slips that will verify that allegation
and with that allegation you must bear in mind an excerpt I read from an
article in Reader's Digest. A quote from that article states that:
"The Massachusetts Commission on Crime in it's annual report stated that:
'No illegal gambling can exist in a community without the full knowledge
and cooperation of the local law enforcement agencies.' ".
After my gambling bust by the Feds, I made
several attempts at legitimate businesses to support my family, but like
most small businesses, they failed. Then I made the worst mistake
of my life. I got involved in drugs.
In retrospect, it is easy to see why drugs
may be the downfall of this wonderful country of ours, but until I was
personally involved, I was not too concerned or even aware of it's consequences.
Prior to my involvement with drugs I owned a house with an in-ground swimming
pool, dressed in the best clothes, owned a new Lincoln, had 2 boats, and
a new truck to pull them around. Then I was approached by a friend
to finance a drug deal. At that time I was past forty years of age
and had never smoked a joint or did a line of cocaine in my life.
Little did I know how easily addicted and entrapped a person can become
by these evil vices.
At first I was amazed at the quick return
I had made on the loan, and even more surprised at the profit I was given,
and to top it off, there was a party. The party consisted of weed,
cocaine, and women. Needless to say, I became entangled in the web,
and before long, gone was my house with the swimming pool, the cars, the
boats, and soon to be gone was my family and my freedom.
In no way do I wish to downplay my involvement
in drugs, but I feel I need to vent my disappointment and displeasure in
the sentencing. To begin with, there were six of us indicted in the
drug conspiracy; each of us life long residents of the community, all middle
aged family men with decent jobs.
When the FBI busted down the door to my
house in a surprise raid, and totally ransacked the premises, they found
no drugs. Not a single trace of cocaine or even one joint of marijuana.
When the Feds turned over the tapes of my phone, which was tapped, there
was not a single deal or even a mention of drugs by me. Neither was
I arrested after the Feds ransacked my house, yet they still managed to
make their case, and the six of us pled guilty.
My five co-defendants received a total
of 18 months prison time. Not 18 months each, but a cumulative total
of 18 months, or to be more specific, less than 4 months each. I
received a total of 5 years.
This disparity of sentencing was carried
out even though my 5 co-conspirators had been doing and dealing in drugs
up to 20 years before I even saw a joint; even though they initiated me
into drugs; even though they approached me to finance the deals, and to
top it off, even though this was one of my co-conspirators 3rd drug conviction.
He received the longest sentence of the 5, which was 6 months. Because
I was the financier, I was considered the kingpin of the operation and
I was sentenced to 5 years in prison.
It is at this point that my odyssey becomes
interesting.
As I previously mentioned, when the Feds
raided my house they found no drugs and my phone taps were also clean,
and the reason for this is because I had already quit dealing in drugs.
There were several reasons why I quit: First, I was losing more money
than I was making because more people were on the books, or owed me more
than I was collecting, and so it became a losing proposition. Secondly,
I finally admitted to myself that I had become addicted to drugs and was
totally abusing my body; I had alienated myself from my family and I was
slowly losing my mind. Finally, because at some time previous to
all of this, a man came to my house and revealed some startling information
to my wife and me.
At this time this man informed me that
both he and his wife were members of the District Attorney's Task Force.
The DA at this time was Stephen Stern. He also informed me that I
was being set up for a robbery and that my life was in jeopardy, and henceforth,
so were the lives of my two young daughters.
Naturally I assumed that this man was just
blowing smoke and was either trying to shake me down or set me up, and
so I told him I didn't believe it, and how could he prove it? The
next night, this same man again showed up at my home, this time accompanied
by his wife, and several cassette tape recordings that they proceeded to
play for me and my wife. On these tapes were the undeniable voices
of Stephen Stern and members of his task force, conspiring to set people
up, rob people, and even murder. This is not a misprint, I said MURDER!
Here are just a few of the discussions
on the tapes: 1) Discussing the layout of "Birdie" Pinciaro's house, whom
Stern suspected of receiving stolen property, and how his goon squad could
burglarize the house. 2) Discussion about James "Buckeye" DeSabia,
whom Stern suspected of illegal bookmaking, and how to rob him. 3)
Discussion of one Ed Cunningham, whom Stern suspected of dealing drugs,
and of instructing his goon squad to plant some drugs in Cunningham's house,
and then raiding it. 4) The discussion of "Ratsy" Koniski, whom Stern
suspected of dealing drugs and illegal bookmaking, and ordering his goons
to tail me until they learned my routine, and then they could strong-arm
me, and then the distinct voice of Stephen Stern saying: "...and after
you rob Ratsy, you're going to take him out, right?", and a voice replying,
"Right."
To those unfamiliar with the street terminology
of "take him out", it means to kill him. Once again I reiterate,
MURDER. Cold-blooded, premeditated, MURDER.
I will reveal who these two members
of the DA's goon squad were, and why they came to me with this information,
when the time is appropriate, or to anyone who is willing, and in a position
to assist in my quest for justice.
My wife and I were both amazed and shocked
at what we had heard, and after the couple left, I racked my brain wondering
what to do with this information. Although I was familiar with the
people the DA was discussing, I had no dealings with them, nor was our
relationship of a nature to discuss such topics. In the meantime,
my wife informed me that she had read in the Herald Star, that someone
by the name of Cunningham was arrested for drugs a couple of weeks earlier.
I decided to give Cunningham a call and hear his side of the story.
When I called Cunningham on the phone and
inquired about the incident, he swore to me on his children's lives that
he never dealt drugs and that there were no drugs in his house. He
further related that a man whom he was barely aquatinted with, had just
stopped by his house inquiring about a mutual acquaintance. The man
then asked to use the bathroom, and Cunningham politely acquiesced, and
after the man relived himself, he left. Less than a minute after
the stranger left, the DA's goon squad busted in the door, went directly
to the bathroom and found a quantity of drugs behind the toilet.
I use the term stranger because Cunningham
couldn't even remember the man's name. I asked Cunningham what his
status was, and he told me that he couldn't even convince his attorneys
of his story, and that in all likelihood he was probably going to prison.
He was represented by the law firm of Leonard Alpert of Weirton, WV.
I told Mr. Cunningham that I might be able to help him.
Now that I believed the information to
be genuine, I made it my business to procure the tapes. Not only
was I able to gain possession of the tapes, I was able to obtain a notarized
affidavit from one of the DA's goons, stating that at the behest of DA
Stern himself, this member of the squad did indeed finagle his way into
the Cunningham house and plant the drugs in the bathroom while Ray Terry
and other members of the team waited outside, ready to pounce upon the
innocent and unsuspecting subjects.
I then decided that I needed someone I
could trust to be aware of the information that I possessed in case I should
become the victim of foul play from Stern and his goon squad. My
personal attorney, Jim Abrams, was out of town at the time and I felt the
situation to be urgent, so I went to another prominent young attorney by
the name of Joe Corabi. Mr. Corabi and I sat in his office and listened
to the tapes together. Needless to say, Corabi was quite stunned
by what he heard and said he had no doubt that it was Stephen Stern on
the tapes. He then asked what I wanted him to do. I informed
him that I wanted him to hold the tapes in case I should become the victim
of foul play, and if I did, that I wanted retribution and compensation
for my family.
Before Corabi would agree to hold the tapes,
he made me take an oath that I would not reveal to anyone who had possession
of the tapes because he was concerned for the welfare of himself and his
family, if certain people learned that he possessed the tapes. I
did swear myself to secrecy, and Mr. Corabi kept the tapes in his personal
safety deposit box for a considerable length of time. At this time,
no one knew the contents of the tapes except for myself, my wife, Joe Corabi,
and Jim Abrams.
It was then that I decided to play my wild
card. I wanted Stern to know that I had some very incriminating evidence
about him and that I was no longer involved in illegal activities and that
it would be in his best interest not to mess with my family. With
that in mind, I decided to give Ed Cunningham a copy of the aforementioned
affidavit.
Two days before Cunningham was to go on
trial, I called him and asked what the prognosis was in regards to his
case. He said that his attorney tried to get him to plea bargain,
but he was innocent, and so he was taking it to trial. His attorney
the told him that in all likelihood, he was going to prison. As he
spoke I could visualize the tears in his voice.
Then I told him about the affidavit and
offered to give him a copy. For a long moment the phone was silent,
and then I heard Ed Cunningham sob. I couldn't quite understand why
at the time, but now I imagine that I will do the same thing once I am
vindicated of this travesty of justice.
I attended Cunningham's trial and when
one of Stern's goons was on the stand his credibility was being questioned,
and I remember him testifying that he had been working undercover for several
years and that he was working in three states, Ohio, West Virginia, and
Kentucky, and that his testimony had sent literally hundreds of convicted
drug dealers to prison...and then Cunningham's lawyer presented the affidavit.
To make a long story short, the witness
then recanted his story and admitted the the drugs were planted, and it
was done so at the behest of the prosecutor, Stephen Stern. Judge
Olivito immediately threw the case out of court.
This story may be hard to swallow coming
from a man claiming to be innocent of stabbing a cop and sitting in a Nevada
jail, fighting extradition back to Ohio. It also cannot be verified
by Cunningham because he was smart enough to move far away from the corrupt
city of Steubenville after his exoneration. I'm not sure if Ed's
lawyer would discuss the case or not. I do believe that Joe Corabi
(who is now a judge) is honest enough and man enough to back up my story
about the tapes and their contents, but if for some reason there is still
doubt about my story, there is one thing that nobody can refute, and that
is the trial transcript of the Cunningham case that will always remain
at the Jefferson County Courthouse.
The tapes are also still in my possession
and they are currently being played for the judge of the Nevada Supreme
Court as I am fighting my extradition.
I wish the preceding story were the end
of my odyssey, but unfortunately, it is just the beginning. I was
told to give you readers some insight as to the reason Stern so zealously
cooperated with the Steubenville Police Department when they framed me.
When you hear the facts about my case you will have no doubt that I was
framed and how it was done. Just as I told you that the story about
the tapes was not only true, but could be verified, the same goes for the
story you are about to hear in regards to the frame up. Everything
that you read here can be substantiated by either my trail transcripts,
credible witnesses, or the evidence that is currently in the possession
of my attorneys.
Somehow, word leaked out that I was the
one who supplied Ed Cunningham with the material that vindicated him, and
that I even had more material in regards to Stern's illegal activities,
but I would have been satisfied to let sleeping dogs lie, but instead,
I was arrested and indicted for my past dealings in drugs. I pleaded
guilty to the charges and served 4 years of my 5 year sentence before being
paroled.
Immediately upon being paroled I was accosted
by an old friend named Pete Demos, and a new man in town by the name of
George Fisher. Demos was a former captain with the Sheriff's department
and the two of them had been involved in deals together, some legal, some
not so legal. I knew Demos from the many hours we shared together
at various poker games played throughout the Steubenville area. A
poker game in Steubenville is never hard to find, and I must say here that
Demos is an exceptionally good poker player.
Demos introduced me to Fisher, who claimed
to be a self-made millionaire who still participated in gambling, because
he enjoyed the action, and also because he was good at it. There
are many of us who can relate to that. The three of us went out to
dinner and during the course of our conversation, the two of them told
me that they were thinking about buying a building, renovating it, and
then putting in some gambling. They then asked me if I were interested
in becoming a full partner. I told them that I was on parole.
It was then that Fisher explained that everything that we did would be
on the up and up, or at least, it would not be illegal to the point where
we had to worry about being arrested, and so we were to meet the next day
at Fisher's attorney's office, and there the three of them would explain
to me what the deal was.
It was more out of curiosity than wanting
to get involved that drew me to the meeting. For the moment, the
attorney will remain anonymous, but he knows who he is, and he knows that
I speak the truth, and that I am fighting for my life, and try as I may,
not to involve him. If push comes to shove, I will not hesitate to
reveal the source. This is not being a snitch or a rat, this is a
cry for justice.
The next day, the three of us met in Fisher's
attorney's office, and there I was given an education on Ohio's statutes
in regards to gambling. 99% of the people reading this gamble.
If you play penny ante poker with your next door neighbor and his son-in-law,
you are gambling. If you're a golfer and you indulge in a half-dollar
skin game, you are gambling. If you belong to a bowling league, and
a portion of your expenses goes into a prize fund to be shared at the end
of the year in accordance to how your team finishes, you are gambling.
I doesn't matter if you are playing pinochle for a penny a point, or a
thousand dollars for a game, you are gambling. But guess what?
You are not breaking the law. According to Ohio Statutes on Gambling,
you are not doing anything illegal, and therefore you cannot be arrested.
I cannot quote verbatim how the statute reads, but in a nut shell, it says
that for gambling to be considered illegal, somebody must be making a commission,
or receiving a percentage, or garnering a wage from the money being wagered,
to justify it as being illegal. We had no intentions of breaking
the law, we were merely going to circumvent it. Their plan was then
revealed to me. We were going to buy a run-down building, renovate
it, and invite people to participate in games. if they wanted to
wager on the games, we would gladly accommodate them.
It turns out that Demos got us a remarkable
deal on the old Icarian Hall, just a block from downtown Steubenville.
The building was terribly run-down from months of being unoccupied, and
vandalism, but it was structurally sound. All of the windows were
broken, it needed a new roof, there was water damage inside, and there
were several loads of debris that needed to be removed, but the building
was salvageable. Fisher was to put up the money for the down payment
and also pay for all of the material to renovate the place. I was
to do all of the labor remodeling the building. To assure me that
I couldn't go wrong, the building was to be purchased in my name, and if
our plan failed, the worse I could do would be to end up with a totally
remodeled building, that contained 2 apartments, a huge hall with kitchen
facilities, and a parking lot big enough to accommodate about 30 cars.
I couldn't see where I could go wrong, and so the deal was consummated,
and I went to work. We spent about $10,000 on material for renovations,
not counting my labor, and in about two months, I turned a city eyesore
into a good looking and workable building with two beautiful upstairs apartments.
But before I had completed my work, trouble
began to brew. I had the downstairs all done, and would let the guys
play pinochle or knock rum while I was working on the upstairs. Then
one day, one of the guys downstairs came upstairs to get me, and said that
a cop wanted to see me. This was around July '89. I went down
and met a Steubenville policeman whom I didn't know, but I had been gone
from town for over 4 years, so I no longer knew all of the cops.
The cop called me over to the side and informed me that the Chief wanted
something. I asked him what, and he said, "You know, an envelope."
I knew that at this particular time that Steubenville had no Chief of Police.
Rumor around town was that there was no one on the force smart enough to
pass the test. I figured that this cop was like the majority of the
Steubenville cops, and was just trying to shake me down, so I politely
informed him that my place was on the up and up, and so there would be
no envelopes. And so the police harassment began.
For the next several weeks, the city police
would visit my place 2 and 3 times a day, every day. They would walk
right in, and stroll about the place for about a minute, and then walk
back out. I was not overly concerned at the time because I was still
working on the upstairs apartments, and the boys downstairs weren't doing
anything illegal, but after a few weeks of this, I thought I'd put a stop
to it by putting a sign on the door that said "Private Residence."
This did not deter the cops at all. They still came to my place 2
or 3 times every day, walked right in without knocking, unannounced, and
with no search warrant, and they began to increase the hassle. First
they sent up the building inspector to inspect my place. Next, they
sent up the City Health Inspector to inspect my place. Next, they
sent up the City Plumbing Inspector to check out the place. Each
time that one of the inspectors arrived, he was accompanied by two city
policemen.
I finally grew tired of this and so I gave
Mr. Costlow, the City Plumbing Inspector, a call, and asked him what compelled
him to inspect my place. He replied that he had received a complaint.
I asked him who filed the complaint, and he told me that it was confidential.
I then asked him if he checked out every complaint that he received, and
he assured me that he did. I then asked him if it was standard procedure
to take along two city cops every time he checked out a complaint.
Mr. Costlow must have been momentarily dumb-struck, for he made no reply,
so then I asked him, "Tell me Mr. Costlow, did you go and ask for a police
escort to come and check out my place, or did they volunteer their services?"
Mr. Costlow then replied, "Mr. Koniski, I'm sorry and I really don't want
to get involved.", and then hung up. I did manage to tape this phone
conversation.
The following day, my place was visited
by an entourage of city cops. There was Jerry McCartney, Capt. Burchfield,
Capt. Stinson, and two city patrolmen. First they walked in and just
looked around, and then they invited me outside. I realized afterwards
that they wanted me outside because they didn't want any witnesses to the
threats that they made.
A very heated exchange took place on the
sidewalk that afternoon. It was loud enough to draw patrons out of
the Spot Bar, Joe's Sausage Shop, and the deli across the street.
The heated debate ended with Capt. Stinson probing his finger into my chest
and threatening to rip my head off.
It was then that I decided to retaliate.
I'm not referring to retaliation with violence or malice, I simply decided
to see the proper authorities and persons who would protect my civil rights.
Up to this time, the city police had made
over 200 visits to may place, and guess how many arrests they made.
None! Zip- Zero- Zilch- Nada! And the reason they never made
any arrests is because there was never anything illegal going on.
So, the following day, I went to the Herald
Star, the city newspaper, and talked to Paul Giannimore, and gave him my
story. Then I went to the City Manager, Gary DeFore, and told him
what was happening. Then I went to the mayor. Next I went to
Gary Repella, the Service Director and also supposedly the boss of the
city police, and finally, I went to the FBI.
When I went to see the Service Director,
I took with me a copy of the State of Ohio's Statutes on Gambling.
I explained to him exactly what I was doing, and told him about the police
harassment I was getting. Repella then called McCartney on the phone,
and when I asked him what the acting chief said, Gary just shook his head
and said, "Ratsy, you really don't want to know."
The Service Director is supposed to oversee
the police department, but I could see that Repella was intimidated by
McCartney. Repella also testified at my trial in regards to this
meeting, but he managed to be evasive in his answers. I'm hoping
now that Gary will stand up for his convictions and show a little more
intestinal fortitude, should he be called upon again to discuss those issues.
I knew that my retaliation had found a
sore spot because the next day McCartney came up to my place accompanied
by two city cops, and screamed at me, "What the hell do you think you're
doing?" Just trying to get by, I told him. "Not in my town,"
he screamed, "you're never going to operate here. I'm either going
to run you out of town or send you back to prison." Then he stormed
out...only this time there were witnesses.
Now I was being admonished by my partners,
Demos and Fisher. They said that I should have been more patient,
and they called for another meeting at Fisher's attorney's office.
At this meeting, the attorney informed us that if we didn't pay, we just
wouldn't be able to operate.
I was 100% against paying. I stated
that if we weren't doing anything wrong or illegal, then we shouldn't
have to pay protection, and furthermore, it had become a personal issue
with me. I tried to remain adamant about this but Fisher claimed
that he had too much time and money invested in the project to have it
go down the drain. Fisher then took a thousand dollars out of his
pocket, put it in an envelope, and handed it to the attorney. The
lawyer simply said that he would take the money down and see what he could
do, and called for another meeting the following day.
The next day, the four of us met again
in the attorney's office, and Fisher asked him if the chief got the envelope.
The attorney replied that the chief wasn't in, so he gave the envelope
to Capt. Burchfield, and the captain said that he would see that the chief
got it, and that it was now OK to operate.
I still remained skeptical about the situation,
and I spent the following day watching TV while the boys played cards and
pinochle. It was the first day in over 2 months that no cops paid
a visit to my place.
The following day was Oct. 6th, and because
no police had come to my place by 4pm, I assumed that the harassment was
over, and so I finally indulged in a little card playing, won a considerable
amount of money, and around 8pm decided to call it a night. This
was the night that I was stopped by Mamula.
Now I know the question arises as to why
Mamula would frame me after the bribe was paid and accepted, and it's a
question that I, myself, have pondered. Maybe the attorney didn't
give the money to Burchfield like he said he did. Maybe Burchfield
didn't give the money to McCartney. Maybe McCartney got the money,
but was still hostile over my actions and decided to frame me anyway.
Maybe Mamula had not gotten the word to lay off me and was still following
instructions formerly issued by the chief. All of these are only
conjectures on my part, but there are too many weak links in the chain
for the truth not to emerge eventually. But this is what transpired
on the evening of October 6th, 1989.
My first thoughts as I stepped into the
crisp autumn air were, "What a perfect night for football," and Steubenville
Big Red was playing Weir High at Harding Stadium, which was right on my
way home. I was contemplating on whether to stop and see the game
of not because as much as I love football, I had just completed putting
in about 24 straight hours of poker, and I could use some sleep.
On the other hand, I had also just won over a thousand bucks in the game
and that kind of keeps the adrenaline flowing.
As I unlocked the door to my Datsun 280Z,
I decided to tune the game in on the radio, and if it was close I would
stop at the stadium and watch the rest of it. As I slid behind the
wheel of my car I paused for just a moment and admired the job that Tyrone
had done on it. Ty was a young black man that I would let do odd
jobs for me. I liked Ty and he also did excellent work.
As I eased out of my lot and headed north
on 4th Street, I caught a red light at 4th and Adams Streets. A police
cruiser was heading south, and caught the same light. I had my turn
signal on for a left turn, and when the light turned green, the officer
motioned for me to proceed. I made the turn and noticed in my rear-view
mirror that the cruiser had turned, and was directly behind me. I
had had enough experience with the police, especially the Steubenville
Police, to know when to mind my Ps and Qs, so I proceeded west on Adams
Street staying within the speed limit, made a green light at 5th, and caught
a red light at 7th.
Once again I glanced into the mirror and
noticed that the cruiser was still behind me, so when the light turned
from red to green, I counted one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, and the
continued to proceed west. As I hit the on ramp to Washington Street
I again glanced into the mirror and being as the cruiser was still there,
I wanted to make sure I maintained a legal speed limit because there were
no more lights or stop signs for a considerable distance, and the "Z" has
a tendency to get up and go.
After traveling the better part of a mile,
the blue flashing lights of the cruiser came on. I immediately felt
an erie sensation because this was an area where there were no buildings,
no houses, no people, and unfortunately, no witnesses.
I noticed through my side mirror that the
officer was approaching me with a lit flashlight and so I rolled down my
window and tacitly awaited his instructions.
"Driver's license and registration," he
bellowed, and so I reached above my visor where I kept my registration,
and handed it to him, but I had forgotten my driver's license at home,
so I told him that he could verify its validity by my Social Security number.
The officer was standing immediately outside of my car, and through the
open windows I heard him repeat the number into his hand-held radio.
In about 15 seconds I heard the reply come back from the police dispatcher,
"Yes, valid driver's license to Joe Koniski, 221 Cunningham Lane."
This transmission becomes very important in my case as you will see, when
I get to the trial portion.
The officer then asked me to exit the car
and to go to the rear of the cruiser which was parked directly behind my
car. I did so and once back there I was instructed to put my hands
on the trunk of the cruiser and to spread eagle my legs. After doing
so I was thoroughly frisked by the officer. After being searched,
he ordered me into the back of the cruiser and slammed the door.
He then entered my car, and I could see through the windows that he was
thoroughly searching it too. Up to this point I was completely unconcerned
because I knew that I had broken no laws and my car was as clean as a whistle.
That's how much faith I had in the work that Tyrone did.
After the officer was satisfied (or probably
dissatisfied) that my car was clean, he came back and removed me from the
cruiser and once again ordered me to the back of the cruiser with the same
instructions to once again lean spread eagle on the trunk of the cruiser
while he again searched me, only this time after he was through, he ordered
me to put my hands behind me and began to cuff me. At this point
I asked him what the problem was, but he neglected to answer me, and then
put me back into the cruiser.
While in the back seat of the cruiser the
officer went to the back of the car and then I heard a loud grunt.
I had no idea what it was, but I turned around and I saw the officer make
two more thrusting motions and let out two more groans, but still had no
inkling what it was all about.
About this time another cruiser pulled
onto the scene with it's lights flashing and in less than 15 seconds there
were 4 or 5 cruisers surrounding us, all with their lights flashing.
I could see that one of the cops was the Chief of Police, Jerry McCartney.
It was at this time that I saw the officer who had stopped me, running
up to the chief gesturing and screaming, "You can't believe what he did.
He was choking me, he stabbed me, he tried to kill me."
Just for a moment I thought to myself "Wow!
I wonder when all of that happened," and just as suddenly, it occurred
to me, hey, he's talking about me. Then I heard the chief say "Take
him downtown and book him." Now I know Jerry (the chief) fairly well.
We not only went to school together, we also thieved together and when
I was in the bookie business, he never failed to pick up his share of envelopes.
(PAYOFFS)
I didn't think the chief knew who was
in the back seat of the cruiser so I started screaming "Jerry, Jerry...",
but to no avail as I heard him once again say to take me downtown.
I found out later that they were taking
the officer who had stopped me to the hospital, and the officer assigned
to take me downtown was Andy the Greek. I knew Andy fairly well,
and he was considered a decent guy, and so I begin to plead with him, but
all he would say was, "Joe, I'm just following orders."
Once at the police station I could see
that neither common sense, pleading, nor begging was going to do any good,
so I tacitly went through the booking procedure and then the two officers
took me over to the county jail because the city jail was condemned and
was uninhabitable.
Once we got to the county jail the two
city policemen uncuffed me and went on their way. It was then that
one of the two sheriff's deputies remarked, "So you're the infamous police
slasher." This deputy's name was Ron Moro and I asked him what he
meant by that remark as I was still really unaware of what was going on.
Deputy Moro then stated, "We just got a call that they were bringing in
a guy who just slashed up a cop. Man, we thought that you would have
bumps and bruises all over your head. We thought they would really
f--- you up."
Realizing now what was going on, I asked
the two deputies, "Would you two guys take a good look at me? I'm
not drunk, I'm not stoned, I am perfectly calm and totally rational.
What's more is, I don't have any bumps. I don't have any bruises
and I'm not all f---ed up, and all of us know what the Steubenville Police
SOP is, especially if a cop gets hurt." The two of them looked at
each other and one of them remarked, "Man, I really believe that you didn't
do it but you know we gotta do what we gotta do." And so they fingerprinted
me and took my mug shot. hopefully this mug shot is still available
because you will see no bumps, no bruises, not even a hair out of place.
But then I was off to jail.
This is the first of three episodes that
I am writing in regards to this travesty of justice. In my next episode
I will discuss my trial and the distinct possibility of jury rigging and
the many lies and inconsistencies told by Mamula that can be substantiated
by my trial transcript. In fact, my trial transcript will show that
aside from Mamula's accusation, there is not one iota of physical evidence
that can connect me to his accusation. Fact is, all of the evidence
is directly contradictory to Mamula's accusation.
As for the jury rigging, everyone in the
Steubenville community is well aware of Chief McCartney's and one of his
cohorts being indicted by a grand jury for jury rigging and/or jury tampering.
Of course nothing came of it but then again, nothing has ever come of the
numerous times any of the Steubenville Police were involved in or suspected
of being involved in any criminal activities, and lest we forget, I have
and intend to publish that list.
In my final episode, I will show to what
extremes and financial cost that McCartney and Stern have gone through
to keep me incarcerated. They did so not to keep a dangerous criminal
locked up, or because they feared for their lives, but because they realize
what I know and can prove will not only jeopardize their careers, but will
undoubtedly lead to criminal charges. |
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