Kids for Cash Read online

  The hand and foot restraints were attached to a belt, forcing the juvenile to shuffle. Some of the handcuffs and leg cuffs used in Luzerne County were manufactured by the Hiatt-Thompson Corp. of Oak Park, Illinois, which has roots going back to a British firm, Hiatt & Company. This company started making handcuffs, manacles, leg irons, and other devices to shackle humans in 1780. Among their earliest customers were slave traders.

  George D. Mosee said that in Philadelphia, juvenile offenders are not restrained unless they are a serious safety risk, and that in nearly all cases only handcuffs are used. And he said that the sheriff, not the judge, determined the issue of restraints on a case-by-case basis.

  After sentencing seventeen-year-old Kevin to three months at Camp Adams for getting into a fight after a concert, he ordered the boy shackled. His mother said later, “Kevin has since told me that the most traumatic thing for him was the experience of being handcuffed and shackled in the courtroom, escorted out a side door, and shoved in a van. He was so ashamed to be treated like a serious criminal in front of people he knew in the courtroom. He was also worried about the emotional distress his grandfather experienced watching it all happen.”

  6

  THE CASH FLOWS

  The kind of silence that enabled Conahan and Ciavarella to milk their kids-for-cash scheme over six years often needs to be enforced.

  Chester Muroski is a gentleman and a gentle man whose kindly, avuncular manner and pleasant voice made him a valued and admired courtroom figure very soon after he was assigned to the Luzerne County Orphans Court (a.k.a. “kiddie court”) as a new judge in 1982. Most newcomers to the bench can’t wait to be reassigned to other duties, but Muroski made a career of Orphans Court, which is better described as family court, handling both delinquency and dependency cases. He came to the court after spending fourteen years as a prosecutor, including a four-year term as district attorney. In that job, he earned a reputation as a maverick who was not afraid to tangle with the establishment. One notable prosecution was Francis Hannon, who was convicted of killing an elderly woman and burying her body in the basement of a Wilkes-Barre home. Hannon had strong political contacts—his mother worked for the mayor—and community prominence—he was photographed with the local bishop the Sunday before his arrest. Muroski not only pressed the prosecution of Hannon, but after Hannon’s conviction Muroski publicly criticized the city police department for mishandling of the original investigation. After a department inquiry, the chief of police resigned.

  As a juvenile judge, Muroski emphasized rehabilitation over punishment. He once told a symposium that institutional placement often resulted in making young people worse rather than better and ought to be avoided at all costs. This attitude ran afoul of the rising tide of zero tolerance, and pressures for tougher sentencing led to his removal from delinquency court in 1996. However Muroski remained as dependency court judge and oversaw abused and neglected children, handling cases involving divorce, custody, child support, and parental rights. As dependency judge, Muroski shared a budget with his new colleague, Mark Ciavarella.

  There was harmony for about seven years, but as Ciavarella drastically increased the placement of juveniles in out-of-home facilities, the spending grew correspondingly. In fact, the court kept coming back to the county commissioners for additional money as the bills rolled in from PA Child Care, Camp Adams, Wind Gap, and other centers. (Only PA Child Care was paying kickbacks to the judges.) While $8 million was budgeted in 2003, spending totaled $10.5 million. The following year the county allocated $12.75 million, but actual spending was $15.8 million. This profligacy had a direct impact on Muroski, who often wanted to offer treatment programs to parents whose children were in foster care because the parents had abused or neglected them. Muroski’s goal in most cases was to reunite the young people with their families after providing corrective services to parents. But because so many resources were being spent on the placements of kids Ciavarella had adjudicated delinquent, no money was available for these other programs. To his dismay, Muroski realized in 2005 that kids were being forced to stay in foster care for extended periods because their parents weren’t getting treated.

  “Once PA Child Care opened, slowly but surely the social services to these dependent children and their families became difficult to obtain,” Muroski said. “There were waiting lists for parenting classes, family assessments, drug and alcohol evaluations and treatment, as well as other specialized services. Parents had to wait sometimes months to be given these services. This resulted in a child being in placement longer than necessary when the child hadn’t done anything wrong, while the parents waited to complete services and the County had to pay to keep the children in placement.”

  Exasperated, Muroski finally wrote a remarkable letter to the county commissioners on June 15, 2005. It quickly got to Conahan, who must have felt the first tendrils of fear that the conspiracy was unraveling. Muroski noted in the letter that “a tremendous amount of money” was being spent on juvenile placements. He said he was frustrated because children were stuck in placements because their parents couldn’t get treatment: “I really do not know why I cannot have the services I order made available. I just know it is not happening. Something has to be done.” Then he threw in a zinger: “A reasonable mind might conclude this county places a higher priority on youth who are delinquent because of criminal conduct while the welfare and needs of dependent children who have been neglected, mistreated or abused are less important.”

  Next he challenged Ciavarella’s claim that Ciavarella’s strict policies had reduced recidivism. “Many argue the low rate of recidivism is misleading because a large number of juveniles remain in placement until they reach majority and sometimes longer. Unfortunately there are not statistics on how many enter the adult criminal system, after their release, as adults.” And finally Muroski threatened to ignore the budget restrictions and order treatment services—and hold the commissioners in contempt if they refused to pay for them: “I believe a contempt finding would be affirmed on appeal especially considering the enormous over budget expenses of delinquency court.”

  Muroski requested a meeting with the three commissioners on Monday, June 20. But on Friday, three days after his letter, Conahan, acting as president judge, transferred him out of the dependency court and reassigned him to preside over criminal cases. Not since his days as district attorney some twenty-five years earlier had Muroski been involved in a criminal jury trial. The notification came in the form of a written order sent through the mail. There was no personal communication from Conahan. It was a demotion, and it was demeaning to a widely respected judge. Muroski believes Conahan thought he’d quit rather than go back to criminal work. “He must have forgotten that I was DA here, and I knew my way around any courtroom. I had handled major murder cases.”

  Conahan characterized the change as part of a routine court organizational revision. In fact it was a slap in the face to Muroski and a message to the entire courthouse: do not challenge my authority or you will lose your job. If he can do this to an esteemed sitting judge like Chester Muroski, he can do it to anyone. If there were any lingering doubts about it, everyone who worked in the Luzerne County Court knew that they did so at the pleasure of Michael Conahan. The keys to staying on the payroll were blind eyes and deaf ears.

  There was only one tiny voice of protest. Mary Pat Melvin, a veteran social worker who had appeared before Muroski dozens of times in custody, adoption, and addiction cases, said what everyone else was thinking: “Because he tries to do something to help the kids, he was slapped,” she told Jennifer Learn-Andes of the Times-Leader. “I’m furious, absolutely furious. I don’t care about what’s going on in politics. What’s right is right, and one thing I know for sure is that Judge Muroski should stay in family court.” She said she knew that, as an independent contractor who depended on court-related assignments for much of her livelihood, she was taking a chance by criticizing Conahan. “Everybody’s afraid of retribution
. Everybody’s afraid of losing their jobs. Everybody’s so afraid. I think it’s time someone in Luzerne County spoke up about this. Everybody can play ostrich and stick their heads in the sand, but I couldn’t rest with myself if I didn’t say something, because this is a very, very wrong move. The man is a very astute judge, and he genuinely cares about the kids in Luzerne County.” But no other voices rose in protest, and Melvin stopped getting cases.

  Muroski quietly took over his new duties, but he also began sifting through rumors and whispers that were circulating throughout the courthouse. He knew that large numbers of juveniles were being sent to institutions for relatively insignificant offenses. Alissa, thirteen years old, ended up in PA Child Care for getting into a fight with her grandmother. Thirteen-year-old David was picked up at school by police and taken to PA Child Care because police said he failed to appear as a witness to a school fight. David spent the weekend in custody before being released without being charged. Muroski knew that many kids were appearing without lawyers, but his big concern was the high rate of incarcerations. He knew that the courthouse was populated by the relatives and friends of Conahan and Ciavarella. He knew that Conahan’s brother-in-law, Dr. Frank Vita, was being paid huge amounts of money for evaluations. He knew something was not right. He knew that Robert Powell had a private jet and a fifty-six-foot yacht named the Reel Justice.

  Not long afterward Muroski went on a vacation trip to Florida with several friends, including two retired Pennsylvania State Police troopers and a lawyer he had served with in the district attorney’s office. Just out of curiosity, they drove over to Jupiter to see the Conahan-Ciavarella condominium. They were staggered by the opulence of the place. Uniformed sentries waved Mercedes and BMWs past security checkpoints. Spacious landscaped grounds sported majestic palm trees and gurgling fountains. The condos overlooked the Intracoastal Waterway and a marina prickling with masts. The sweet smell of excess was everywhere. Properties similar to the judges’ Unit 303 were for sale with asking prices of $1 million. Muroski knew he could not come close to affording such luxury on his judicial salary. He knew that Conahan had a variety of outside business interests and that his wife was from a very wealthy Hazleton family. But just as surely he knew that Ciavarella’s means were far more modest. He returned to Wilkes-Barre convinced that Conahan and Ciavarella had access to huge amounts of money, and it probably had something to do with PA Child Care.

  During most of Muroski’s years on the dependency court, he heard cases in an annex across the street from the main courthouse. This, coupled with the fact that as president judge Conahan did not encourage meetings among the eight county judges, isolated Muroski from his colleagues. As a result, when he returned to the main courthouse in September 2005 to begin his new assignment, Muroski did not know many of the other judges very well. Nevertheless, he went to several of them individually, including Judge Ann H. Lokuta, and confided that he thought Conahan and Ciavarella were taking kickbacks in exchange for sending children to PA Child Care. They thought that such a scenario was beyond belief. “They told me to keep my mouth shut. One said, ‘You’re going to get a reputation as a nut.’”

  Next Muroski went to the FBI and learned that the agency was already investigating Conahan—not for bribery involving the juvenile court, but for his ties to organized crime. “When I suggested that Conahan and Ciavarella were taking bribes from PA Child Care, they were astounded and couldn’t believe it. One of the agents said to me, ‘Are you trying to tell me that these guys are making money by sending kids away? That’s preposterous.’” At this point, the bureau was focused on Conahan’s organized crime ties.

  Muroski did not take his conclusions to the state Judicial Conduct Board, which is charged under the state constitution with investigating charges of unethical activities by judges. Surely, this was the place Muroski should take his concerns. But he didn’t trust the JCB. Besides, the board was already investigating a Luzerne County judge. However, it wasn’t Michael Conahan or Mark Ciavarella.

  One of Pennsylvania state government’s most secretive agencies is housed near the end of a hallway on the third floor of the Pennsylvania Judicial Center just across Commonwealth Avenue from the Capitol in Harrisburg. A piece of ordinary white bond paper, tucked into a protective plastic sleeve and taped to a window at the entrance says “Judicial Conduct Board” in half-inch letters. There is a small waiting room in suite 3500, but the door leading to the inner offices is marked with two signs: “Confidential Area. Do Not Enter Beyond this Point” and “The Procedures of the JCB Are Confidential. The Use of Cameras and All Recording Devices Is Prohibited.” The Judicial Conduct Board was created in 1993 to oversee Pennsylvania’s 1,200 judges and protect its citizens from judges who abuse their power, either ethically or criminally. The twelve members of the board—three judges, three lawyers and six non-lawyers—are unpaid, part-time appointees. They consider about four hundred complaints a year—though much of the actual work is handled by its staff.

  On September 28, 2006, the board received an anonymous eight-page, single-spaced complaint about Judge Michael Conahan that alleged links to organized crime, case-fixing, and an unusually high rate of placements in PA Child Care. In considerable detail, the complaint said Conahan met regularly with Billy D’Elia, the local mob leader; placed relatives and friends in jobs throughout the courthouse; decided cases involving personal friends and manipulated the assignment of other similar cases; and that there was a personal relationship among Conahan, Ciavarella, and Robert J. Powell. This was heavy material, well beyond the usual complaints about judges being too rough on lawyers or having poor courtroom manners. The complaint was organized under three headings:

  •“Judge Conahan has used his judicial authority and power of appointment to benefit his family and friends and to contain and destroy his detractors.”

  •“Judge Conahan also falsely creates new titles for Courthouse employees in order to appear to comply with Supreme Court Directives, even though the Employee’s functions remain the same. He also engages in political activities.”

  •“He routinely hears matters presented by Attorneys with whom he has close personal and long-standing business and friendships and refuses to recuse himself. In fact, it is his practice to direct William Sharkey [then the Luzerne County court administrator, and Conahan’s cousin] to switch cases, which are assigned to other Judges when the litigants or the Attorneys are his friends.”

  Each of these headings was followed by examples listing names, dates, the caption and docket numbers of cases, the names of the litigants and attorneys, and other identifying information. Lawyers who worked as law clerks for Conahan and Ciavarella also practiced before them—a violation of Supreme Court rules. Conahan ruled on appeals from decisions made by his sister, who was a court master—an appointed officer who made recommendations in civil cases. The complaint listed seven cases involving Powell that Conahan assigned to Ciavarella. In all, there were thirty-three specific examples of illegal and unethical conduct by Conahan. Ciavarella was mentioned several times.

  It was an extraordinary document, a detailed road map for investigators. Nevertheless, the board did nothing with it for eight months. Then, acting on the recommendation of Joseph A. Massa Jr., its chief counsel, the board voted to table the complaint. The board was supposed to look at the complaint again at its October 2007 meeting, but the complaint never got on the agenda. Indeed, the board never took any action on the complaint.

  Instead, the board staff spent much of its time and resources investigating a complaint against Luzerne County Judge Ann H. Lokuta, which alleged numerous violations of the Code of Judicial Conduct in her courtroom demeanor and performance. She was charged with being rude and intemperate to lawyers, witnesses, and the courthouse staff. It was also charged that she used court personnel to perform personal services, and that she often arrived late for court. These were serious charges, but when weighed against the criminal allegations against Conahan, they were reduced t
o trifles. As a result of the complaint, Lokuta eventually was removed from the bench. The campaign for her ouster was orchestrated in part by Conahan. It is widely believed that the complaint against Conahan came from Lokuta or someone close to her.

  Throughout much of the board’s long period of inaction, its chairman was Patrick Judge Sr., a Luzerne County businessman and political operative who had previously been involved with Conahan in several business ventures. At the time of the vote to table the complaint against Conahan, Judge informed the board members of his relationship with Conahan and did not vote on the question.

  The board’s refusal to investigate the complaints against Conahan was noteworthy, but it becomes phenomenal in light of the fact that in 1994 the same board already had received and dismissed serious charges against the same judge when he was a district magistrate. In that allegation, which the board never acted upon, Conahan allegedly leaked information about a criminal case and helped two would-be drug dealers hook up for a deal. In addition, the Citizens’ Voice learned later, the board had received an unusual number of complaints against the two judges—twenty-four against Conahan during his sixteen years on the bench, and sixteen against Ciavarella during his thirteen-year career. These numbers were well above the average for all Pennsylvania judges. Despite later claiming that its resources were too limited to look into the allegations against Conahan, the board spent nearly $50,000 pursuing Lokuta.