by Irene Pence
Battaglia ignored the man and tried to walk into the living room. Gesturing, he said, “Everything here belongs to me. I don’t want you people to touch a thing.”
A fellow worker joined the mover, and both men stood their ground, telling John he couldn’t enter. One man unfolded the court documents that had been stuffed in with their moving instructions. He showed them to John. “Guess you’ll have to leave, buddy,” the mover said.
John smiled. “I can’t believe she’s doing this to me. You guys know how divorce works. You buy these things for the woman and she takes them all with her.”
The men smiled and nodded like they knew what he meant.
“Tell you what, fellas, just for old times’ sake, let me take one last look at the home I shared with my wife and kids. Just for sentimental reasons. It’ll mean a lot to me.”
He was capable of looking sympathetic, and apparently did at that moment. “Oh okay, we understand,” they told him, and stepped aside so he could enter.
He waited until the men were loading a large chest of drawers into the van, then sneaked into the master bedroom. He knew that one of Michelle’s most prized possessions was the antique four-poster bed that she had inherited from her grandmother. Rushing to the bed, he knelt down on the area rug under the footboard and took out his car keys. Working quickly, he carved “CUNT” into the wood in two-inch high letters, then hurried out before the men returned.
Michelle LaBorde had been strong throughout her recovery from the attack, through her move, and through all the adjustments of getting settled in Baton Rouge. However, once she heard what Battaglia had done to her grandmother’s bed, she fell apart.
The following month, John Battaglia was still angry about Michelle’s sudden departure. Feeling revengeful, he decided to take her to court. He recruited his father to write Judge Carolyn Wright to tell her of the family’s concern about the welfare and well-being of Laura Julia.
In his letter, the senior Battaglia lamented that when he was in Dallas, Michelle had thwarted his efforts to see his granddaughter. Now that Laura was no longer in Dallas, he felt forced to turn to the Wards, Michelle’s parents, to learn of Laurie’s whereabouts. He moaned to the judge that when he had phoned the other grandparents, he received a frosty reception, describing Mrs. Ward as “barely coherent.”
The Wards were equally shocked that he had called. Didn’t the man know that his son had beaten their daughter to a pulp only two months before?
Michelle received a distinguished honor in November 1987 when she was inducted into the Louisiana State University Law School’s Hall of Fame for her performance in law school and her legal service to the community. She was presented with an impressive plaque that still hangs on her office wall today.
In the kitchen of her new home, Michelle sat at her desk, sorting mail. She stopped when she came to an envelope with the return address of the 256th Family District Court in Dallas.
Michelle ripped it open and read a subpoena demanding that she return to Dallas for a custody hearing. It contained John Battaglia’s accusation that she took his child out of state, thus limiting his access to her—and he even wanted increased visitation rights.
She typed a note to Judge Carolyn Wright, reminding her of the original custody ruling and outlining John Battaglia’s history of abuse. If court records were any consideration, a blind man could see that John didn’t need increased time with his daughter.
However, the judge replied there was nothing she could do, for regardless of what Battaglia had done in the past, Michelle had taken their daughter to another state. The fact that Michelle left Texas to save her life and keep her children from harm was not an adequate excuse.
Michelle flew back to Dallas for a tension-filled visit.
During the proceedings, Judge Wright asked Michelle’s new lawyer, Leota Alexander, to meet with her in chambers to review the documents. During their discussion, the judge exclaimed to Leota, “That John Battaglia is the best-looking man I’ve ever seen in my life!”
Michelle’s attorney was startled that the judge would make such a complimentary statement about someone with John Battaglia’s shameful assault record.
In court, the judge decided that Battaglia would be allowed to see his daughter as per his original custody agreement, but because Michelle had moved, the amount of time per visit had to be increased in order to get the child back to Texas. Therefore, Michelle would be forced to turn over two-year-old Laurie to John for three days a month, every month—in Dallas. That horrified Michelle.
John Battaglia turned around and gave Michelle a smug “You deserve this” glance.
Michelle’s lawyer brought the court’s attention to records that showed Battaglia still had a felony assault tagged to his rap sheet. This was the man who had knocked Michelle down as she held Laurie, injuring both of them. What would he do to Laurie if he had her for three days all to himself? Michelle knew in her heart that he was dangerous and capable of anything. She’d tried to tell so many people, but to no avail. Would she see Laurie again? Would he abduct her, or for God’s sake, would he do something even worse? Was the legal world insane?
FOURTEEN
The Court’s decision was much to John Battaglia’s liking. But there was no denying that he still had two dark legal clouds hanging over his head, which meant visitation was out of the question until those issues were resolved.
Those protective order violations of pushing and beating Michelle both occurred in August 1987. With postponements and rescheduling, the hearing was pushed forward to July 1, 1988, almost a year after the attacks. In the court documents, the hearing had been postponed twenty-six times. That meant that Michelle had been notified twenty-six times to appear in a Dallas court. Sometimes she found herself flying to Texas twice a month.
Michelle had endured a year of subpoenas ordering her to attend hearings, only to see each hearing canceled and rescheduled. The entire process left her exhausted and upset. Battaglia had managed to weasel his way out of all of his other offenses, and now his lawyer contacted Michelle, urging her to drop the beating charge from a third degree felony, aggravated assault to a Class A misdemeanor. If she would do that, Battaglia agreed to waive a jury trial and plead guilty to the lesser offense. The lawyer said that Battaglia’s punishment would be set at 364 days of confinement in the Dallas County jail.
That was hard for Michelle to believe, so she asked for a copy of the judgment. When it arrived, she studied it thoroughly. True, the judgment mentioned 364 days of confinement, but reading further, Michelle saw that the court, “In the best interests of society and of the defendant,” would withhold execution of the sentence and grant probation instead of jail time. Also, an additional provision of the agreement would dismiss Battaglia of the charge of shoving Michelle down the steps at her home.
How many times had Michelle been faced with these dilemmas? She didn’t want to cave in to her ex-husband yet again, but it would mean no more flying back to Dallas for court appearances, no more testifying in front of the man she had grown to hate. Battaglia would have to attend monthly probation meetings at forty dollars a session. That meant that the county would be keeping track of his attendance. He’d be restrained from further contact, either in person or by phone or mail with Michelle without the approval of the court. Michelle shook her head. She had heard that one before. But now she lived in Louisiana, so the next item in the judgment caught her eye. “John Battaglia cannot leave Dallas without the written consent of the Court.” That phrase would make it much more difficult for John Battaglia to visit his daughter.
Michelle agreed to Battaglia’s plea bargain, but his next harassing phone call made her realize that she would never be rid of the man. He called to carp about not having seen Laurie for almost a year. Michelle then realized that he would always be there, that figure slinking in the shadows, ready to pounce when he didn’t get his way.
Only months after Michelle had moved back to Baton Rouge, she was devastated to learn that her
father, whom she adored and had modeled her career after, had been diagnosed with cancer and given only six months to live.
Many pictures of little blond Laurie crowded John Battaglia’s accounting office, and numerous others lined his North Dallas apartment. Some were of John holding Laurie as a brand-new baby. Others were of Laurie grinning while she took her first steps. Those taken in the last year were rare, for he had not seen Laurie in that amount of time and he was dependent on Michelle to send him photos. He found that irritating. Everyone at his accounting office was well aware of his daughter, for he talked about her constantly and told everyone how much he loved her.
Now that his sentence for the assault had been reduced to mere probation, he began pressuring the Dallas County family courts to help him arrange visits with his daughter. The court ordered an evaluation to decide if it was safe for Battaglia to have visitation rights. A well-known Dallas psychologist, Linda M. Ingraham, Ph.D., was assigned to interview and test both warring parties.
Battaglia and LaBorde were evaluated separately by Dr. Ingraham at her Oak Lawn office. Battaglia, dressed in a freshly pressed double-breasted suit, sat down on the counselor’s cushioned sofa. He was at his schmoozing best. Dr. Ingraham characterized John as “outgoing and talkative during the interviews.” He described his attack on Michelle as merely an “incident where he blackened her eyes,” because he had been “frustrated.” The doctor saw John as a nonaggressive, nonassertive person whose “overt hostility measured well below average.” The doctor described his attacks as “generally directed at the person provoking them rather than expressed as random outbursts.”
Michelle flew back to Dallas for her interview. Dr. Ingraham reported that she had a sincere concern for her daughter’s safety, but determined that Michelle had “passive-aggressive tendencies” in addition to being “impulsive.” She also found that Michelle tended to minimize her role in the problem relationship for she “provoked others to rage and then complained about the resulting mistreatment.” In other words, the doctor blamed Michelle for being assaulted.
The psychologist had given John and Michelle the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MPPI). She may not have known that John had already taken the test on four different occasions. The test scans for personality disorders, and includes 567 questions that are answered in two hours. The built-in validity of the test rests on the same question being asked in four different ways to help guarantee consistency of answers. Anyone as bright as John Battaglia could figure out how to manipulate the test by the fifth time he took it. How else could he have gotten his “overt hostility” to register well below average?
Based on her personal interview and John’s test results, the psychologist decided that he was basically an “insecure person who needed assertiveness training.” She found that “the danger to Laura appears minimal because John’s outbursts are not likely to be directed at her.” Then, arriving at a solution that could have prevented future problems, the psychologist suggested that the initial visits be supervised, as John’s outbursts “can be unpredictable.”
Finally, she concluded, “There does not seem to be a compelling reason why John should be denied access to his daughter.”
Michelle knew that John was capable of being two different people. He could be fun and caring, and at other times hateful and violent. There was no question which person showed up for the interview with Dr. Ingraham.
Michelle’s father died only five months after his cancer had been detected. It was a double blow for Michelle. Not only had she lost her father, but she lost his legal advice and emotional support, as well.
For once, the slow turn of the judicial wheels worked in Michelle’s favor. After Dr. Ingraham’s psychological test tilted in John’s favor, it wasn’t until August 11, 1989, that the family court finally completed the visitation agreement.
The courts forced Michelle to relinquish her daughter for three days every month, plus additional holiday visits. On top of that, she had to fly Laurie to Dallas each month, and then John would fly her back. All this for the man who had beaten her so savagely.
How she wished she were in a position to write abuse laws. The courts just didn’t understand what a woman had to go through. She would love to tell them.
FIFTEEN
When President Reagan deregulated banking in the 1980s, John Battaglia was working as an accountant for the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC). Reagan’s decision opened the gates for anyone to jump on the trolley and start a bank. All new banks received the protection of the FDIC. Having been granted charters indiscriminately, many banks and savings and loans lost their conservative moorings and, without due diligence, granted loans to inexperienced clients who were undertaking high-risk ventures. Bank executives lavishly decorated their offices and added corporate jets and other luxuries worthy of oil sheiks.
The financial debacle that followed clobbered the federal government with $300 billion in debt, and left no way to pick up the pieces. Finally, in 1989, Congress created the Resolution Trust Corporation (RTC) to plow through the fiasco and, it was hoped, to salvage some of the banks’ assets. In addition, Congress earmarked a large chunk of accounting contracts for minority companies.
Dallas, and Texas in general, had more than its fair share of failed thrifts. Banks were sold and resold, and names of financial houses that had been solidly etched in granite now fluttered on painted canvas banners draped over the fronts of their buildings.
In 1990, John Battaglia enthusiastically vaulted from his FDIC job to the new organization charged with the task of retrieving assets of failed financial institutions. He had no way of knowing how much this decision would alter his life.
Battaglia took on the job with patriotic zeal; he wanted to impress people with his determination. He voiced concern that the RTC had no structure. After all, it had been hurriedly created out of smoke and mirrors. The Dallas office alone oversaw a hefty $10 billion in assets.
Furthermore, RTC employees were given no quotas, so they were under no pressure to complete their assignments. If they closed all of their ailing financial houses with dispatch and liquidated assets promptly, their job would be finished, the RTC dissolved, and they’d be tossed out on the street. Therefore, efficiency was of little concern. Battaglia claimed to be infuriated by this lackadaisical attitude, and decided to apply his Marine discipline to his job, which proved to be an unpopular move. He began taking notes so he could alert his supervisors to the poor internal business practices.
SIXTEEN
In October 1990, Mary Jean Pearle was twenty-eight and had dated many young, eligible men. Still, she had not found that one person with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Many of her friends had already married, but although the idea of getting married appealed to her, she felt no panic to rush to the altar.
The tall brunette was blessed with a head of thick chestnut brown hair, which she casually brushed off her face and let fall down her back. Her large expressive brown eyes were accented by conservative makeup, and a warm red polish covered her long, tapered nails. She had outgrown all of the teenage fads, and her taste leaned toward fashionable tailored pants and cashmere sweater sets.
Looking for a husband to support her was not a goal. Her parents were wealthy and generous and, in addition, she supported herself by working in the family antique business. Not yet an antique expert herself, she could at times differentiate between fine antiques and well-made imitations.
The crowded, noisy atmosphere of The Mucky Duck in the Oak Lawn area was one of many favorite hangouts for Mary Jean Pearle’s crowd. The English pub ambiance was inviting, and drinking beer and meeting new people was a good way to spend a Saturday night.
This cool fall evening, as she laughed with friends, Mary Jean noticed a handsome man watching her from two tables away. When she made eye contact with him, he came over and introduced himself. John Battaglia was seven years older than Mary Jean and very suave. The age difference made him
seem worldly and sophisticated. Just being around the good-looking man flattered her and made her feel glamorous. Her friends told her how cute and fun he was. His energy and humor dazzled them.
All evening, he hovered over her, complimenting her and making her feel like a princess being swept off her feet. After they had spent most of the evening talking, he handed her his business card. Hmmm, she thought, a CPA. The card read “Resolution Trust Corporation.”
“So you work for the government?” Mary Jean asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I supervise eleven employees and I’ve got billions of dollars in assets to liquidate. Gotta get back some money for the taxpayers.”
Mary Jean was impressed. Here he was a college graduate with additional certification, and she hadn’t even finished high school. With all of her pretty girlfriends around her, this very desirable man was most interested in her.
Later that night, he asked for Mary Jean’s phone number. She smiled coyly and wrote it on the back of a cocktail napkin.
Mary Jean Pearle was the only child of Gene Harrison Pearle. Her father was born on March 6, 1923, when Dallas was only the forty-second largest city in the country.
Even as a young man, Pearle was smart and ambitious. He graduated from Southern Methodist University, but in his early life he struggled financially ; one summer, he drove an ice cream truck. When he turned thirty-five, his life changed dramatically. His widowed mother, Ida May, died at sixty-three and left him a quarter million dollars—a vast sum in 1958. His only brother, who was two years older, had died during the Second World War and his father, Claude, passed away three years after that. Gene was the sole heir.