After two and a half years of exile in these crowded conditions, the divorce was at last final. Now, mother and children could return to their home in Madison and reconstruct their lives. Sam was not around much, but when he stopped for a visit, he belittled his children non-stop, calling Dean fat, insolent, effeminate, vain and unmotivated, despite the fact that Dean had the best grade point average in his class. Sam never offered a word of praise for Dean’s achievements.
He did not spare Debra either. He told Debra, a star athlete in high school, that she was fat, lazy, unappreciative, impolite and spoiled. Looking back on the accomplishments of these children, the way their father described them was preposterous. But, for these teenagers, each jab poked through their veneer of self-confidence. The emotional impact was devastating.
Still, Dean continued to work hard on his studies and to be active in extracurricular activities. He was president of the National Honor Society, the literary magazine editor, president of the student ad-hoc committee, president of the annual arts festival and a member of the ski club. Dean’s classmates voted him “most likely to succeed.” According to the yearbook, he liked “skiing, tennis, Dylan, snow and carpeted lockers.” “Over-dramatic poetry and locked doors” annoyed him. He promised himself and his classmates that he would become an engineer.
His charming ways and good looks drew other students into his orbit. His friends called him Dino. Every year, a new bevy of girls developed crushes on the dark-haired, olive-skinned hunk of a boy in their midst.
He learned at a young age that certain privileges beyond popularity accompanied his remarkable good looks. He found that he often got a free pass on issues that would have sunk a homelier person, in the social set of his peers. At times, that bothered Dean; but, for the most part, he allowed the preferential treatment to enhance his enjoyment of life. He seemed to believe that his good looks could get him out of any tricky situation.
Dean graduated from Madison High School in 1977. He then attended Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, a school established in 1824 in Troy, New York. The purpose in its creation was “instructing persons, who may choose to apply themselves, in the application of science to the common purposes of life.” When Dean matriculated at Rensselaer, it comprised five schools: Architecture, Engineering, Humanities and Social Science, Management and Science. Noted alumni of the institution included Washington Roebling, engineer of the Brooklyn Bridge; Raymond Tomlinson, who put the @ in email addresses; Sheldon Roberts of the “Traitorous Eight” who created Silicon Valley; and Bobby Farrelly, director, writer and producer of There’s Something About Mary.
Dean, however, was not destined for their glory. His commitment to change the world through engineering hit the wall of hard work and died on impact. Living away from home, he didn’t have the benefit of his mother’s encouragement and discipline to keep him on track. He possessed enough ability and intelligence to succeed, but without Carmel’s constant input, he did not have the motivation to excel. He dropped out after five semesters and drifted around from job to job after leaving the school. His father’s prophecy seemed to be fulfilling itself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BY THE MID-EIGHTIES, DEAN WAS OUT OF THE CLOSET AND openly gay. He was also HIV positive. When Christopher Buczek first saw Dean, lust hit him with chaotic intensity. He pursued Dean with single-minded desire, and a torrid romance began.
Christopher told Bryan Burrough, who interviewed him for Vanity Fair: “I was one of a long line of people who were obsessed with Dean.” He added, “The real thing that drew people to Dean was that soft-spoken manner. He knew just what to say and what not to say. You know, he was like an expert at creating infatuation. For years, he just kept circulating around in my bloodstream, like a virus.”
Despite his obsession, Christopher also thought Dean was very shallow. At the time, though, Dean was only 23 years old. Finding any male in that late adolescent age range with any real depth would be a confounding challenge.
Dean’s engineering dreams were dead and he floundered around for an alternative way to make a living. He danced a few gigs at New York go-go bars. He spent a short while as a real estate broker for Hartz Mountain in Secaucus, New Jersey, and as the manager of a Greenwich Village auto body shop. He worked in various construction jobs and, then, on the strength of that experience, developed as an independent carpenter, going on to run his own small contracting firm.
He managed to save enough money through these enterprises to purchase a three-story frame house in the Forest Hill neighborhood of Newark—a quiet, elegant, old community of historic homes a mile north of downtown, and just a twenty-minute train ride from Manhattan. His new home bore the moniker “Madame Jeritza’s Mansion.”
DR. WELLS EAGLETON MARRIED FLORENCE PESHINE RIGGS ON May 27, 1913. For Wells, a man in his fifties, this was his first marriage. Florence was a widow with two sons from her previous marriage. She was a leader in the women’s suffrage movement and an advocate for women’s higher education. She was one of the first women to serve as a Trustee for Rutgers University. Dr. Eagleton was a prominent physician in New Jersey. He was the first doctor to complete an internship at the Newark Charitable Eye and Ear Infirmary. He continued to provide his professional services at the clinic until his death. He was chief of head surgery at Camp Dix during World War I and served as trustee for the State Commission for the Blind, the Newark Museum and the Newark Council of Social Agencies. He also supported his wife’s passions—the pursuit of women’s suffrage and world peace.
Florence owned a piece of land at 212 Elwood in the Forest Hill section of Newark. The development of this fifty-six-block community began in the 1870s and continued into the 1920s. The prime section of the neighborhood, on the Ballantine Parkway overlooking the New York skyline, housed the wealthiest families of the time in grand estates of brick and stone, complete with elaborate stained glass, embossed ceilings and embellished masonry. The creation before the turn of the century of Branch Brook Park—the first county park in the nation—enhanced the area’s natural beauty and established its separate identity. Frederick Law Olmsted, who laid out New York’s Central Park, designed this oasis and filled it with cherry trees. The springtime display of blossoms rivaled that of Washington, D.C., in its profusion and fragrance.
In the year of their marriage, the Eagletons built a two-and-a-half-story Colonial Revival home on the plot. Doric columns supported the portico and side porch of the clapboard-clad house. A hipped roof with dormers and leaded windows added to the home’s gracious exterior. Their dwelling sat in majestic splendor with its one-story carriage house on a small hill, looking down on its neighbors. It was one of the showcases of the less prestigious area of Forest Hill. In addition to Wells and Florence, Florence’s son Stafford and two live-in servants resided in the house.
Dr. Eagleton passed away in 1946. Florence remained at the home until her death in 1954. She donated more than one million dollars to establish the Wells Phillips Eagleton and Florence Peshine Eagleton Foundation—now known as the Institute of Politics—at Rutgers University.
On September 21, 1954, the estate sold the property—consisting of a main house, a guest house and a carriage house—to New Jersey umbrella manufacturer Irving Seery, the third husband of the much-lauded Madame Maria Jeritza, for $12,700. They had married six years earlier in Manhattan when Maria was 60 and Irving was 57 years old.
Madame Jeritza, also known as Baroness von Popper, a legacy from her first marriage to Baron Leopold von Popper, earned her fame as an internationally renowned soprano—the golden girl of opera’s golden age. Born in Brunn, Austria, in 1887, she debuted on stage with the Vienna Royal Opera in 1912 by special invitation of Emperor Franz Josef. She exploded into stardom in the States in 1921 as a prima donna with the Metropolitan Opera.
Tall, blonde and with a commanding presence and powerful voice, she added fire and color to every role. Madame Jeritza’s reputation soared after her performance as Floria Tosca, her stately bu
t sinister characterization of Violetta and her slightly over-the-top portrayal of Minnie in the 1929 revival of Puccini’s The Girl of the Golden West. She was credited with receiving the largest ovation ever in the Metropolitan’s history after singing the second-act aria of Tosca while prostrate on the floor. She performed with the Metropolitan Opera for the last time in 1932. Many of the tenors and other sopranos were relieved to see her go. The tempestuous diva had feuded with them constantly.
She continued to tour Europe and the United States for years. In 1935, she returned to Vienna for a performance. Normally, a visit from Jeritza was a time of national celebration, crowds mobbing the stage door whenever she sang in her home country. This time, however, she was greeted by public chastisement in the Catholic press. They disapproved of her Arkansas divorce from von Popper and her second marriage to Hollywood producer Winfield Richard Sheehan.
In the face of this criticism, Jeritza refused to sing. The Austrian government, seeing Jeritza as a national treasure, stepped in to broker a peace between the diva and her public. In an elaborate ceremony, they awarded her the Order of the Knighthood. Mollified, Jeritza sang for her countrymen.
In addition to the scandal of divorce and rumors of multiple torrid romances with composers and others, Jeritza had an additional claim to fame. In 1937, she and her second husband transported the first Lipizzaner horses—two stallions and two mares—from Austria to America for a movie based on Felix Salten’s book, Florian. The couple later divorced—making room for husband number three.
To fill that role, Maria chose umbrella man Irving Seery, who purchased the Newark mansion for his bride. Irving and Maria undertook immediate changes to the property. Inside the home, they added a theater, creating a stage where Madame Jeritza could entertain her friends with her glorious voice. A more dramatic alteration came to the home with the erection of a fence to encircle the property. A five-foot-high concrete barrier topped with a ten-foot wrought-iron fence robbed the elegant structure of its openness and gave it a forbidding, almost ominous, look.
At Christmas time, though, it was the brightest spot in Forest Hill. The couple filled the property with lights and Christmas decorations. On foot and by car, families made the pilgrimage to Madame Jeritza’s home, filling children with delight. Many homes had holiday pictures of their families posed in front of the elaborate mansion’s display.
In 1967, they built a clumsy second-story addition on the carriage house, giving it the gawky look of a teenager in the midst of a growth spurt. Jeritza, wrapped in mink coats and adorned with her trademark diamond-studded sunglasses, filled the mansion with opera music until she passed away in July 1982 at the age of 94. She was laid to rest in the Seery family plot at Holy Cross Cemetery in North Arlington, New Jersey. As she lay in peace, her well-loved Newark mansion lay dormant for a few months—begging for the attention and maintenance that Jeritza, in her advanced age, had neglected for years.
John Caprio had no plans to return to Newark after his graduation from Arts High School years earlier. Nonetheless, when the director of music for the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of New York heard that Madame Jeritza’s mansion was on the market, he had to see it.
The asking price was $250,000. The gloomy ambiance and shabby exterior put off many prospective buyers. John, on the other hand, saw beneath the run-down condition to the splendid, sound bones of the structure. The disinterest of others was a godsend for John. He and Robert Tornquist purchased the home in March of 1983 for a song. They paid less than half the listed price.
They made a tidy profit on September 29, 1986, when Dean purchased the home for $170,000. His mother and grandmother helped with the down payment, and his mother co-signed the loan. At that time, the gentrification of the neighborhood was still more a concept than a reality. Many of the homes begged for rejuvenation—or a simple demolition to put them out of their misery.
But Dean saw beyond the dreary façade of some of the homes around his. He envisioned a community graced by tall old trees, mature landscaping and stately homes. He knew Forest Hill was on the verge of reclaiming its lost glory, and he wanted to play a role in the neighborhood’s beautification.
When he bought the house, he gained the services of Elizabeth, a Hungarian housekeeper in her sixties. Elizabeth began cleaning the home when Madame Jeritza established residence there three decades ago. She quickly grew fond—and very protective—of Dean, whom she treated like a son.
By day, Dean labored hard in the construction business, but on nights and weekends, he donned the persona of Lord of the manor. He was an instant magnet for the young teenaged girls in the neighborhood. They gathered in each others’ second-story bedrooms, following his every move from the windows. He epitomized glamour in their eyes.
On New Year’s Eve, 1987, a bevy of 15- and 16-year-old girls gathered in Tara Franks’ second-floor bedroom. They were at that awkward age—too young to celebrate the night at parties where champagne ruled over the festivities, and too old to go to bed and pretend it was just any old night of the year.
They sat on the bed and on the floor with bowls of popcorn, plates of cookies and all the soda they could drink, talking about boys, school and hopes about what the new year would bring. One girl served as look-out, eyes trained on Dean’s house as she reported the arrival of each new person to the mansion.
“A limousine—a limousine just pulled up,” the lookout squealed.
All the girls rushed to the windows. Noses pressed to the glass as they sighed into each other’s ears. In moments their vigilance was rewarded with the sight they’d anticipated—Dean emerged from the house and headed down the sidewalk. He was surrounded by an entourage of men, but the girls only had eyes for him. In a tuxedo with a formal overcoat and a flash of white scarf around his neck, he was the stuff of dreams.
They watched in paralyzed delight as each man slid into the luxurious car. They did not move their eyes from the sight until the vehicle glided away from the curb, down the street and out of sight.
The girls had no idea that Dean was gay, but even if they had, it might not have mattered. He was exquisite eye candy. They loved to look at him and fantasize about the future.
When Halloween rolled around, Dean enchanted younger children in the neighborhood, too. Groups of Forest Hill’s kids, bedecked in costumes ranging from the scary to the sublime, gathered by the wrought-iron gate at 212 Elwood. They gazed up at the spooky old house and set their imaginations free. They peered into the shadows, conjuring up visions of ghosts, witches and monsters. They crept up the steps to the sidewalk, relishing the terror they felt as only children could—with the safety of knowing there was really nothing to fear.
They walked up to the porch and clustered near the door. After whispered exhortations and exchanged elbow jabs, one brave soul reached up, pressed the doorbell and jumped back into the comfort of the pack.
They gasped as the large front door flung open, and squealed at the first sight of the stuff of nightmares—Count Dracula. In a flowing black velvet cape, with piercing fangs, bloody lips and a sinister laugh, Dean Faiello acted the role to perfection, thrilling the neighborhood kids as he dropped treats into each sack. The giggles of the fleeing trick-or-treaters echoed in the trees as they bolted down the sidewalk and back to the street, heading out to claim their plunder from the next house in their path.
Dean charmed his adult neighbors as well. He was polite, pleasant, and always knew the right thing to say. He participated in block yard sales and community social events.
One afternoon, Dean sat on the front porch of his neighbor Leticia Franks’ house sipping tea, chatting and watching the world go by. On the side of her house opposite Dean’s place was one of the rattiest homes in the neighborhood—an affront to others whose work on their historic homes revitalized block after block.
Someone emerged from the home and stared at the two as they sat on the porch. Leticia’s nose crinkled in distaste and disapproval. “They drive me crazy,” she said.
“They stare over at me whenever I sit on the porch like I was a storefront display set up for their enjoyment, or a caged animal performing for their amusement. And I hate having a view of that ramshackle place day after day.”
“They are rude and that place is an eyesore,” Dean sympathized.
“I wish I had something to block that side of the porch without blocking the breeze so I could sit on my porch in peace.”
“No problem. I’ll take care of that for you,” Dean said, patting the back of her hand.
“You will?”
“Sure. Don’t worry about it anymore.”
Leticia eyed him as he finished his tea. When he excused himself, he went down her walk and through his back gate. She watched him, hopeful that he was serious, but fearful that he was only making polite conversation with no intention of following through on his promise. People can be so phony, she thought.
She was delighted a couple of days later to discover that her skepticism was totally unfounded. Two guys arrived on the scene with a sheet of lattice. They installed it on the far end of her porch, blocking the full view of the dreary structure next door and returning to her a measure of privacy. Dean had a new friend for life—or so it seemed at the time.
IF DEAN’S LIFE HAD REVOLVED AROUND HIS NEIGHBORLY INteractions, it would have been a lot brighter for him. But the dark side of his lifestyle—the frenetic social swirl of a hyper-attractive gay man in Manhattan—overtook him. Dean fell under the seductive spell of excessive alcohol consumption, cocaine use and parties with no end. Then, he stepped onto the path that led to his destruction. Pretty boy Dean abandoned construction work to make the world of beauty his occupation of choice.
Under the Knife Page 4