Tyrannosaurus Sue-- The Extraordinary Saga of the Largest, Most Fought Over T. Rex Ever Found

by Steve Fiffer

  cited for violating the Antiquities Act, which at

  that time had been found to not include fossils.

  Zuercher also questions Larson about the Triceratops from the

  Standing Rock Sioux Reservation.

  Zuercher: You certainly don't disagree with Mr. M o n n e n s

  when he indicated he never told you that was his

  land do you?

  Larson: He never—he indicated that was his land. He told

  us that was his land. He never told us otherwise.

  T H E Y ' R E N O T C R I M E S 1 7 9

  Larson says he paid M o n n e n s $500 for the fossil.

  Zuercher: Did you ever tell the Standing Rock Sioux tribe

  that you sold this Triceratops for $80,000?

  Larson: No, I did not.

  This is not relevant to whether the specimen had been illegally col-

  lected. Rather it is intended to suggest that the self-effacing scientists

  from the institute are in reality profiteers. T h e sale of other items, like

  the duck-bills from the Mason Quarry, is, says the prosecution, further

  proof that institute personnel talked their way o n t o land and took fos-

  sils under false pretenses; they gained access by playing up their scien-

  tific interest in exploration and then, after paying the landowner little or

  nothing, sold their finds for large s u m s of money.

  The institute's response is that they always indicated they were com-

  mercial collectors, and, further, that thousands of h o u r s of preparation

  were required to turn the Triceratops bones and other finds into costly

  m u s e u m specimens. This response does not t r u m p e t the Larsons' pride

  in being capitalists. Outside observers might congratulate the brothers

  for making a profit in what H e n r y Fairfield O s b o r n called "a profession

  [that] is seldom if ever, remunerative." But the defense strategy here and

  throughout the trial is to present the brothers to the jury as self-made

  scientists, not self-made m e n .

  Zuercher questions Larson about another Triceratops—the o n e

  removed from Sharkey Williams's ranch. Larson acknowledges that he

  never checked with the BIA or government to verify that the land was

  private. "The efforts had already been made," he explains. "We had asked

  for and received permission from Mr. Sharkey Williams. We believed it

  to be his property."

  Zuercher shows Larson a m a p that shows that the land where the

  Triceratops was found was owned by the Cheyenne River Sioux (and

  leased by Williams). The m a p is from the institute. Larson says he never

  saw it. (To this day, the Larsons maintain that "this m a p was false evi-

  dence, a m a p we never owned." They add that "the government did not

  even give it to us with the evidence they r e t u r n e d " after the trial.)

  Ellison conducts redirect examination after Zuercher finishes.

  Moments before Larson leaves the stand after three days of testimony,

  1 8 0 TYRANNOSAURUS S U E

  his attorney tries to clear up confusion about whether Marion Zenker

  checked with the Ziebach C o u n t y Register of Deeds to determine the

  ownership of Maurice Williams's or Sharkey Williams's ranch. For the

  first time in the trial, Sue, the T. rex, is the subject of questioning. The

  exchange that follows seems a fitting climax to the proceedings.

  Ellison: That was the first complete Tyrannosaurus rex

  in the world, was it not?

  Zuercher: Objected to as irrelevant.

  Judge Battey: Sustained.

  To the surprise of many in the courtroom—including Judge Battey,

  w h o said he had not finished compiling jury instructions—Duffy

  announced that Peter Larson would not testify. "I wanted to testify for the

  same reason as Neal—to tell my story," Larson later said. "And I expected

  to up until the last minute. Unfortunately, there was a problem."

  That problem was a h o m e m a d e video shot late one night in Peru.

  Larson says that a small portion of the tape, which had been seized by

  the government, featured offhand remarks about certain individuals.

  He acknowledges that those remarks were in questionable taste and

  might have offended the jury. He insists, however, that the tape had

  nothing to do with any of the charges against him.

  The prosecution wanted to show the jury the tape. "Judge Battey

  refused b u t said he would revisit his decision if I ended up testifying,"

  Larson explains. Confident that Neal's appearance had saved the day,

  a n d unsure if Judge Battey would keep the embarrassing piece of video

  out of evidence, Larson decided not to take the stand.

  The following day, February 23, the government and all five defense

  lawyers presented their closing arguments. Each side had three hours to

  make its last appeal to the jury. Mandel used all of his time. Speaking

  without any notes, he reviewed each charge and the corresponding evi-

  dence that, he argued, demonstrated the defendants' guilt. He returned

  to the t h e m e he had struck in his opening statement—that the defen-

  dants knew it was illegal to collect on public lands and that they knew

  they were on public lands when they collected most of the fossils. If they

  T H E Y ' R E N O T C R I M E S 1 8 1

  didn't know, he said, they should have known. "They had the ability to

  read maps, make records, and k n o w where they were These guys were

  professional fossil hunters." He added that Judge Battey would instruct

  the jury that the defendants "can't turn a blind eye to everything and not

  look. They can't remain intentionally ignorant and avoid intent."

  Mandel would later say, "I felt the evidence had been presented to

  convict the defendants on every count." Still, he knew he had an uphill

  battle convincing the jury. For almost three years Duffy had argued the

  case in the newspapers. "He spun it as big government picking on the

  little guy." But as modestly dressed and self-effacing as they appeared in

  court, the defendants were not "little guys," according to the prosecutor.

  They sold many fossils for h u n d r e d s of thousands of dollars. Yes, t h o u -

  sands of hours went into the preparation of these specimens, but most

  of the preparators employed at the institute worked for near the mini-

  m u m wage, said Mandel. Even if it cost $5000 to $10,000 to prepare a

  specimen that sold for over $100,000, that was quite a m a r k u p . "It

  makes cocaine look sad," Mandel said later. (The Larsons dispute

  Mandel's figures. A duck-bill that sells for a m a x i m u m of $350,000 takes

  15,000 h o u r s of work and requires tens of thousands of dollars in glue

  and other preparation materials, they say.)

  In his closing argument, Duffy echoed words uttered by Mayor

  Vitter over a year earlier. "Either Peter Larson is a criminal m a s t e r m i n d

  the likes of which this state has never seen or there has been a terrible,

  terrible travesty."

  Ellison asked the jury to consider the depth of the evidence, not the

  weight. "They wanted to overwhelm you," he said, referring to the pros-

  ecution's lengthy parade of witnesses and exhibits. But despite this

  parade the government had failed to demonstrate a conspiracy, said

  Neal
Larson's attorney. Mandel's a r g u m e n t notwithstanding, the prose-

  cution had never shown that the defendants possessed criminal intent,

  he continued. "They're not crimes, they're mistakes." He concluded by

  noting that the institute was the best preparator of fossils in the world.

  "Only the government could take something so wonderful and make it

  sound so bad."

  A criminal mastermind or a terrible travesty? Crimes or mistakes?

  Wonderful or bad? After the longest, costliest criminal trial in South

  1 8 2 TYRANNOSAURUS S U E

  Dakota history, the fate of the Larsons, their fellow defendants, and the

  institute finally rested with a jury of their peers.

  The defendants went h o m e to Hill City to wait for the verdict. O n e week

  passed. In the middle of the second week, the jury informed the judge it

  was having difficulty reaching a decision on some of the charges. Keep

  trying, said Battey. The second week passed. "It was incredibly nerve-

  wracking," recalls Larson. T h e institute was in the middle of m o u n t i n g

  a huge dinosaur display for a special exhibit in Japan for the Tokyo

  Broadcasting System, which, along with the H o u s t o n Museum of

  National History, was one of the few clients that had retained its services

  since the indictments. "We were trying to work, but as you can imagine

  we weren't very efficient," Larson says. "I couldn't sleep."

  Larson had hoped that the jury would see that the government had

  no case and render a swift verdict for the defendants. Now he worried

  that the lengthy deliberations signaled that the jury was probably going

  to find h i m guilty. Mandel thought just the opposite; the longer the jury

  took, the less optimistic he became.

  On March 14, in the middle of the third week, Duffy called Larson.

  "The jury's reached a verdict," he said. The Larsons, Farrar, Wentz, and

  their friends and families nervously h o p p e d into their trucks and head-

  ed to Rapid City.

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  I K E P T W A I T I N G FOR

  S O M E T H I N G T O H A P P E N

  "Five million one hundred thousand. Five million two hundred

  thousand."

  And then another pause. This one even longer than the one

  at five million dollars.

  Redden scanned the horizon for signs of life. The paddles

  had suddenly become as extinct as the T. rex.

  Judge Battey had given the j u r y a sheet listing each c o u n t of the

  i n d i c t m e n t a n d the particular defendants accused of the crimes

  alleged within each c o u n t . T h e r e were e m p t y boxes by each defen-

  dant's n a m e u n d e r each count. T h e j u r y was to fill in the a p p r o p r i a t e

  boxes to indicate whether it had found a defendant guilty or n o t

  guilty or h a d been unable to reach a u n a n i m o u s verdict. Foreperson

  Cecelia Green n o w h a n d e d the sheet to the bailiff, w h o presented it to

  the judge, w h o proceeded to read each a n d every o n e of the 154 sep-

  arate verdicts. T h e defendants followed along, keeping score on their

  own verdict sheets.

  C o u n t 1: No guilty verdicts. C o u n t 2: No guilty verdicts. C o u n t 3

  brought the first convictions: Peter Larson and the institute were found

  guilty of retaining (buying) fossils valued at less than $100 taken by a

  third party from Gallatin National Forest.

  Although this was only a misdemeanor, Larson felt the air go out of

  him. He began to slump in his chair. "Keep smiling," Duffy whispered.

  1 8 3

  1 8 4

  TYRANNOSAURUS S U E

  "This could be a lot worse." Larson took a deep breath, sat up, and

  allowed himself a thin grin.

  By the time the judge was midway through his reading, the defen-

  dants had some reason to smile. The jury had not found any of them

  guilty of any felony with respect to their fossil-collecting activities—the

  activities that had triggered and fueled the government's three-year

  investigation. Indeed, only two additional misdemeanor convictions

  had been returned; Peter and Neal Larson were each found guilty of

  stealing fossils valued at less t h a n $100 from the Buffalo Gap

  Grasslands—the land Neal said he had thought belonged to a grazing

  association.

  Duffy was "euphoric." "The government spent millions and millions

  of dollars for a few m i s d e m e a n o r convictions on the fossil counts," he

  would soon tell the press. He was right. The Larson brothers, Farrar, and

  Wentz were virtually vindicated of all charges that they were involved in

  a multistate conspiracy to steal, buy, or sell fossils from public lands. The

  j u r y had obviously failed to accept the government's argument that the

  institute was a criminal enterprise.

  Judge Battey continued reading the verdicts, moving to the "white

  collar" counts related to customs violations, wire fraud, and money

  laundering. W h e n all was said and done, Terry Wentz had not been con-

  victed of a single crime. Neal Larson had been found guilty of the sin-

  gle fossil-collecting misdemeanor. T h e institute itself had been found

  guilty of four felonies—three customs violations and "retention" of the

  Badlands National Park catfish fossil it secured from the collector Fred

  Ferguson. Bob Farrar had been convicted of two felonies, each related to

  undervaluing fossils on customs declarations. And Peter Larson had

  been convicted of only two of the 33 felony charges he faced, each of

  t h e m customs violations: failing to declare on a customs form $31,700

  in traveler's checks he brought into the United States from Japan and

  failing to report $15,000 in cash taken to Peru.

  T h e final tally: Of 154 charges, the defendants, including the insti-

  tute, were convicted of eight felonies and five misdemeanors. The jury

  voted to acquit on 73 of the remaining charges and was unable to reach

  a verdict on the other 68 offenses. Jurors would later report that the vote

  was 11-1 in favor of the defendants on these unresolved charges; the

  lone holdout was foreperson Green. "Many of the jurors were crying as

  I K E P T W A I T I N G F O R S O M E T H I N G T O H A P P E N 1 8 5

  the verdict was read," Larson recalls. "It seemed clear they were u n h a p -

  py with finding us guilty of anything."

  Before leaving the courthouse, Duffy checked the sentencing guide-

  lines for the customs violations convictions and concluded, "Peter was

  facing zero to six m o n t h s in prison." Probation and perhaps a fine

  seemed the logical p u n i s h m e n t . " N o o n e ever goes to jail for this, I told

  myself," Duffy remembers. "It was a no-brainer. These were two incred-

  ibly Byzantine customs violations. If you'd have given me four counts

  (two felonies a n d two misdemeanors) to pick, I would have picked these

  four. They had no moral stigmata."

  Despite Duffy's continued euphoria, Larson was shaken. Prison

  remained a possibility, as did the chance of a potentially business-crip-

  pling fine. As they left the federal building and the press approached,

  Larson told Duffy that he didn't think the institute could afford o n e

  guilty conviction. Many
clients had been waiting for the verdict before

  deciding whether to continue doing business with the Larsons. H o w

  would they react now? And h o w would existing clients like those in

  Tokyo respond?

  Duffy paused just outside the courthouse. "I've got something that will

  change this thing forever," he told his client. He pulled a long, thin cigar

  from his pocket and lit it. Then he moved towards the waiting reporters.

  What do you think of the verdicts? he was asked.

  "I'm so pleased I can't even begin to describe it," he said.

  "Is that a victory cigar?"

  "You got that right," said Duffy.

  In the coming m o n t h s , some w h o had followed the case would crit-

  icize Duffy for making such a bold gesture. After all, these critics noted,

  the client had been convicted of two felonies and still faced sentencing.

  Says Zuercher: "The last time I checked, when a client is convicted of a

  felony, that isn't a victory."

  The prosecution—offended by the cigar—would play an i m p o r t a n t

  role in recommending a sentence. T h e j u d g e — w h o it was clear had

  never appreciated Duffy's public proclamations—would have the final

  say. Why risk antagonizing these parties w h o held Larson's future in

  their hands?

  Duffy has always defended the action and continues to do so. "I

  knew there would be resentment and jealousy and I'd be accused of

  1 8 6 TYRANNOSAURUS S U E

  histrionics," he said years after the trial. "But I'd do it again. I needed to

  leave t h e m something to remember." He explains that the institute's

  financial future was in danger if existing and potential clients sensed the

  government had prevailed. Contracts were on the line, including the

  o n e with the Tokyo Broadcasting System. For m o n t h s , it had seemed,

  said Duffy, that the institute was "in the indictment business instead of

  the fossil business." To keep the institute afloat, that negative image had

  to be erased. " T h a n k god for the tobacco leaf," he says.

  Chicoinne has a different take: "My m e m o r y is of a lawyer with a

  cigar calling attention to himself—challenging the government before

  sentencing in essence to prove that he didn't have a victory while his

  sheepish client is standing next to h i m with no control over the situation."