As I entered the courtroom on May 27, 1999, I looked straight ahead at Judge Susan Bucklew, who seemed dwarfed by her large, black leather chair, and awaited her instructions. “Sir, if you would come forward to be sworn,” she ordered sternly.
I walked up the center aisle past the packed gallery, around the lectern to the witness stand on the left. I entered the stand and adjusted the water pitcher and glass near my right hand as my heart pounded. Charles Lembcke, the attorney for my former manager Bob Whiteside, glared at me. I looked away, refusing the bait. The defendants sat no more than 20 feet from me on the opposite side of the room. Their proximity was jarring. Jay Jarrell, and his attorney, Peter George, were in the front row. Behind them were Whiteside and Lembcke, as well as Michael Neeb and his attorney, David Geneson. Carl Lynn Dick and his counsel, Bill Jung, occupied the third row.
Bob Mosakowski began his direct examination, asking questions regarding my work and educational background. These familiar questions, designed to put me at ease, worked. Feeling more comfortable, I poured myself a glass of water, which soothed my throat and calmed my nerves. I located Stephen Meagher and Al Scudieri among the spectators, two beacons of support in a sea of unknown or hostile faces.
I was sure the defendants wanted to leap across the tables separating us and strangle me. But I knew I could do this. I just needed to ignore