Lawyer Stretches The Ethics Envelope
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[title] Lawyer Stretches The Ethics Envelope [title]
[image – Michael Mello] VLS Professor Knows Time Is Running Out For Death Row Client [subtitle]
By BRYAN K. MARQUARD Valley News Staff Writer Michael Mello believes that one of his clients – a convicted murderer – is innocent.
Such a belief is hardly surprising coming from an appellate attorney who has spent a dozen years keeping this client away from Old Sparky, the nickname for Florida’s electric chair. But Mello, a professor at Vermont Law School, has taken it one step further.
Innocence he said, is an attribute Joseph Robert Spaziano does not share with any other condemned man with whom Mello has worked – and he has been closely involved in about 70 death row cases.
“I’m saying he’s innocent the old fashioned way, as my mother would put it,” Mello has written. “Joe Spaziano didn’t do the crime, period. This fact makes him unique among my death row clients.”
That final phrase, which has appeared in opinion articles he wrote for the Miami Herald, the Valley News and the Vermont Law Review, is a bold statement – one that some legal experts say would never be allowed in a courtroom argument.
The decision to publish it presented Mello with a moral dilemma: toe the line of legal ethics, or go all out in an attempt to prevent the execution of a man that he believed “in the marrow of my bones” was innocent.
There are many things that make this case unusual. If he were beginning his trip through the court system today, Spaziano would not end up on death row, and in all likelihood would not be convicted.
Spaziano was sentenced to be electrocuted for murdering a woman in 1973. According to Florida newspaper accounts, no physical evidence connected him to the crime. He was convicted on the basis of testimony by a teenage boy who only remembered hearing Spaziano talk about the killing after two sessions of hypnosis – and the teen said their conversation took place on a day when they took LSD, smoked marijuana and got drunk. In 976, a jury recommended life in prison, but a judge imposed a death sentence instead.
Years later, the Florida Supreme Court decided that so-called hypnotically refreshed testimony is not admissible in trails, but the ruling was applied retroactively and was of no help to [end page]
Lawyer Pushes Envelope As Client’s Time Runs Down [title]
unable to determine the cause of Harbert’s death.
Spaziano has alibi for the day Harbert’s disappeared, and Mello said there are reasons. To begin with, he wasn’t a suspect for two years and its difficult for all but those who keep journals to recall a single day two years later, Mello said. Also, Spaziano was run over by a truck in 1966, and the severe head injury still limits his memory. Brain damage from the accident led to behavior that earned him the nickname Crazy Joe, Mello said.
In Florida, death warrants signed by governor are pieces of paper with thick black borders, the better to distinguish them from run-of-the mill government paperwork. During the more than 19 years Spaziano has been on death row, three governors have signed a total of five warrants.
When the Florida Supreme Court issued its most recent indefinite stay of execution last month, Spaziano’s head had already been shaved in anticipation of the trip to Old Sparky, Mello called Sept. 12 with the news. It was Spaziano’s 50th birthday – the 20th he has celebrated on death row.
The Last Death Row Case [subtitle]
But for the book-lined surroundings in the living room of his Wilder home, Mello looked like he could be on death row as he discussed the Spaziano case. He smoked on Camel filtered cigarette after another in an interview punctuated by coughs – a reminder of a battle with pneumonia that Mello waged earlier this year.
A carved cigarette holder provided another filter for the nicotine, and is a reminder of another threat to his health. Mello, who is 38, underwent surgery a few months ago for possible cancer of the tongue. The prognosis is good: no cancer was found.
The prognosis is not so good for Spaziano. The Florida Supreme Court set an early November date for an evidence hearing, and Mello – along with a capital punishment class he teaches at Vermont Law School – is preparing a certiorari petition for the U.S. Supreme Court. But Spaziano’s case has gone before both courts on various occasions during the past 19 years.
After the key witness, Tony Dilisio, recanted his testimony in June, public outcry prompted Florida Gov. Lawton Chiles to issue an indefinite stay of execution until a review of the case could be completed by the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. Based on that agency’s report, the governor signed another death warrant even though he ordered the report sealed, which is permissible in clemency proceedings.
The state supreme court first rejected an appeal for an indefinite stay and set a hearing shortly before the Sept. 21 execution date. But Mello refused to participate, saying he had too little time to prepare and no resources. The gamble paid off: the court instituted an indefinite stay and ordered the November hearing, but it also ordered Mello of the case.
That order appears to have had little effect on Mello, whose life and home are consumed with the case; he estimated he has spent about $12,000 of his own money this year on phone bills, materials and court charges while working to save Spaziano. It all may be for naught. Mello’s efforts have resulted in the sentences of many condemned men being commuted to life sentences, but he is icily realistic about his chances this time. Only one other person on Florida’s death row has survived five death warrants, and he was executed on the seventh.
“The likely outcome I think is that the evidentiary hearing will happen … and we’ll lose,” Mello said. “Gov. Chiles will sign a new death warrant the day we lose the hearing … So I think he’s got two months.” “Joe’s had two miracles already with the last four months,” he added. “I don’t know if he’s got enough karma left for another one.” Lawyer and client have already discussed one detail: Mello will be present to witness the execution. If it occurs, it will be the first execution Mellow has attended. And Spaziano, he said, is his last capital punishment case.
Absolute Opposition [subtitle]
Mello said he decision to flout ethics rules in a last-ditch attempt to save Spaziano could be seen as civil disobedience. Although he agonized over the decision to single out Spaziano as an innocent client, Mello has no regrets.
He has worked on other death row cases involving better-know clients, among them serial killer Ted Bundy, who was sentenced in December to the electric chair for killing an abortion doctor and his escort in Pensacola Fla.
“I absolutely oppose the legal system of capital punishment that operates in the U.S. today,” Mello said. There currently are no circumstances under which his opposition would waver “because any capital punishment that will execute Ted Bundy … will also have the power to execute Joe Spaziano.”
“The question everyone ought to be asking themselves about capital punishment isn’t whether you support in the abstract, because that’s irrelevant,” he added. “The question is whether you think the criminal justice system as it exists today is competent and reliable enough to make the right choices in deciding who among us has lost their moral entitlement to live, who among us deserves to die.
“And I don’t see how anyone followed the O.J. trial, and certainly no one who has read with anything remotely like an open mind the trial transcripts in Joe Spaziano’s case can support capital punishment.” [end page]
Spaziano. Today, a jury’s call for a life sentence is binding, but Mello said Spaziano’s appeal passed through the courts during a brief time when judges were not overruled if they ignored jury recommendations and meted out death sentences.
And then there’s the prosecution’s key witness, Tony Dilisio. “if you don’t believe Tony Dilisio, find this defendant not guilty in five minutes,” a newspaper account quoted the prosecutor as telling the jury in 1976. Earlier this summer, Dilisio forcefully recanted his testimony.
“Joe has been an incredible victim of bad timing and bad luck,” Mello said in an interview last week.
Mello, formerly a public defender in Florida, said proclaiming Spaziano’s innocence at the beginning of an opinion piece for the Miami Herald was necessary to convince the newspaper to report on the case. He sought the involvement of the paper because its reporting had led to the pardons of two death row inmates in the 1970s. Since the opinion piece appeared, stories reported by the Herald, including the witness’s recantation, led some Florida newspapers to call for a reexamination of Spaziano’s conviction and death sentence. First the governor and then Florida Supreme Court ordered temporary delays in his execution.
By singling out Spaziano’s innocence in his opinion piece, Mello helped spare a life – at least until next month, when a hearing is scheduled. But by his own admission, he also flouted established rules of legal ethics, and some experts say he potentially cast aspersions on his 69 other death row inmates – about a dozen of whom have already been executed.
“It certainly could potentially have legal ramifications for me and professional ramifications for me since me saying that, I think is a fairly clear violation of Florida’s ethics rules governing the behavior of lawyers.” said Mello, who became involved in Spaziano’s case while handling capital appeals in Florida during the 1980s.
Several legal ethics experts interviewed by the Valley News said that a published statement such as Mello’s could raise a host of issues, such as potential breach of confidentiality by suggesting that he had personal knowledge of the guilt or innocence of his clients and was publicly revealing the information. Others cited a potential for conflict of interest in playing the needs of one client against dozens of others, or the possibility that by going to the media, Mello skirted a rule that prohibits lawyers from personally vouching in court for the guilt or innocence of a client.
The bluntest remarks came from Geoffrey Hazard, a trustee professor at the University of Pennsylvania. The public comment violated “the spirit of the rule that a lawyer may not make a personal affirmation concerning the guilt or innocence of a client,” he said. The second problem, he added, is that such as statement “condemns everybody else that he’s represented in a capital case.”
But some of the experts also said that Mello’s potential lapses may well have been called for in a situation such as Spaziano’s, which has taken several unusual legal twists.
“In my mind, he gets pretty high marks for going to the wall for his client,” said Jim Duggan, the chief appellate defender for the state of New Hampshire, who teaches at Franklin Pierce Law Center.
“In my book, it’s a minor peccadillo if at all,” said the Rev. Rebert Drinan, founder of the Georgetown University Journal of Legal Ethics. “I’m prepared to give him absolution from whatever sin he might have committed.”
And David E. Kendall, who spent five years in the 1970s working for the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, said of Mello: “He’s a resourceful, dedicated and creative anti-capital punishment lawyer.” Kendall, who currently is counsel to President Bill Clinton on the Whitewater matter, said Mello is “held in the highest regard by his colleagues.”
Mello said that, to date, none of this former death row clients has expressed anger or concern over his published statement. There has been some adverse reaction from colleagues and former colleagues, however, which he characterized as: “How can you sell your other 69 clients down the road?’ … That’s a good question. It’s a damm good question that I don’t have a real good answer for.” The only explanation, he said, is that the statement is true, and that publishing it was the only way to get the necessary media attention.
As of Friday, no complaints had been filed with Florida Bar association, a spokes-women said; Mello remains a member in good standing.
A 50th Birthday Present [subtitle]
In many newspaper accounts of this case, Spaziano is referred to in headlines as “Crazy Joe” – a nickname he picked up during his days a local chapter leader of the Outlaws motorcycle gang.
A police mug shot from the early 1970s shows him with the thick flowing hair and beard of a biker – a stark contrast to the file photograph Florida newspapers run of the victim, Laura Lynn Harberts, and attractive, 18-year-old hospital clerk from Orlando.
Police did not focus on Spaziano as a murder suspect for two years. By that time, he had been charged and convicted of brutally raping and assaulting a 16-year-old girl – a crime he also says he did not commit, and one that Mello also hopes to overturn. Authorities said that crime bore similarities to the Harberts murder, but newspaper accounts note that a medical examiner was [end page]
By Bryan K. Marquard Valley News Staff Writer
The play Inherit the Wind suggested a pair of potential career pats to Michael Mello when he was a high school student in Virginia. He was impressed by the Clarence Darrow and H.L. Mencken characters and weighed the options of whether to pursue law or journalism.
“I ultimately decided that I wasn’t a good enough writer to be a journalist,” he said, “so I ended up going to law school.” Before leaving high school, however, the teenager came across a passage in his readings that planted the seeds for what has become a career-long opposition to capital punishment as it is practiced in this country.
“For as long as I remember, I’ve had a visceral opposition to capital punishment,” Mello said. “it’s interesting, I can trace that back to a moment in high school when I read somewhere that the chemical compound that California uses in its gas chamber is the same chemical with the same trade name – Zyklon B – that the Nazis used at Auschwitz.”
“I wanted to be real clear about this – that’s a totally irrational connection to make particularly in light of the Johnnie Cochran atrocities over the last week or so,” he added, referring to the lawyer for O.J. Simpson who compared Los Angeles Police Detective Mark Fuhrman to Adolph Hitler. “Any parallel to the Holocaust, but especially those sort of facile ones, I find just revolting and deeply, deeply offensive.”
Nevertheless, as a teenager in the 1970s, reading that simple fact about a deadly chemical had a significant impact. Mello is Jewish, and the Holocaust was a subject of discussion when he was growing up.
“A good part of the reason why I read as much about the Holocaust as I did starting in high school and continuing up as recently as last night was that part of my mother’s family was killed, most likely in Warsaw ghetto or Auschwitz,” he said.
“It’s something that is very much a part of my own sort of emotional and psychic landscape,” he added.“It’s something I’ve never written about – and I’m not sure that I ever will write about it – but it’s never far from my consciousness.”
Mello was born in Washington and grew up in northern Virginia. His parents worked for the government, although his memory – a precise tool when applied to his clients’ cases – is somewhat vague on this point. “My mother was a secretary and father was something in government,” he said. “I’ve never really been clear on what that was.”
After graduating from Mary Washing College in Fredericksburg, Va., with a degree in history and philosophy, and from the University of Virginia law school, his first job provided the experience that sparked his interest in capital punishment cases and cemented his opposition. In 1982, Mello became the so-called “death clerk” for Judge Robert S. Vance of the U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals for the 11th Circuit. “Which meant that all of the death cases that came into his chambers came through me,” Mello said.
A year later, he joined the capital appeals division of the Florida Defender’s office in West Palm Beach, Fla. Mello felt that, coming from a working class background, he had “an obligation to give something back” through public service. He also harbored a measure of guilt because of a certain case from his year as a clerk. Mello was told to draft an opinion for Vance upholding the constitutionality of a particular death sentence. The prisoner, Ivon Ray Stanley, “clearly was retarded, clearly was a follower in a bad crime – but a fairly run of the mill felony murder case,” Mello said.
“Ivon Ray Stanley probably will be count one of the indictment against me that’s going to end me up in hell,” he said. “I agonized over the opinion.” He briefly considered not writing the opinion or resigning, but friends said “if you quit and walk away, someone else will come in and do it, and won’t have you sensibilities, won’t even realize that this case is a problem.”
His first assignment during his first week as a public defender was an appeal for Joseph Spaziano, a convicted murderer on death row. More than a dozen years after Mello encountered the case, he draws a narrative thread from the Ivon Ray Stanley decision to his work on behalf of Joseph Spaziano to a decision to walk away from his work as a lawyer in death row appeals. Spaziano, Mello said, in his final battle.
“It’s the old liberal’s dilemma: To what extent should you buy into a system that’s not fair? And I knew that I was unfair then,” Mello said. “I concluded more recently because of Joe Spaziano’s case … that the system’s not just unfair, but it’s evil. And the way Joe Spaziano’s case was treated by the courts really was the final push that led me to a personal decision not to participate in any other (capital punishment) cases.” [end page]
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