May 30, 2013
By MARYCLAIRE DALE | Associated Press
HILADELPHIA (AP) — The wife of a rogue abortion doctor told a judge Wednesday that her husband deserves his life sentence for killing babies born alive, but complained that she and her children are left to deal with the public scorn.
Pearl Gosnell must spend at least another four months in prison for helping perform illegal, third-trimester abortions at the seedy clinic, including one on a 14-year-old girl who was 31 weeks pregnant. Her husband, Kermit Gosnell, 72, was sentenced this month to life without parole in a case that became a flashpoint in the nation's polarized abortion debate.
"I am the wife of Kermit Gosnell. I'm not happy about that now, and I haven't been for a long time," Pearl Gosnell, 51, said at her sentencing Wednesday, when a judge gave her seven to 23 months in prison, minus nearly three months for time served after her 2011 arrest.
Gosnell lashed out at her husband, saying he refused to take a plea deal that would have spared her prison and saved the family home, and called him cowardly for refusing to speak at his sentencing.
"By choosing to take the cowardly course that he did, my husband has left me to make the apologies," Gosnell told a judge. "My husband is in jail forever, which is where he should be."
A trained cosmetologist, she reaped the financial rewards of her husband's busy abortion and pain clinic, and lied about the $250,000 in cash found stashed in their teen daughter's bedroom, a prosecutor said. She told the FBI it came from rental properties.
"You chose to be his partner in life. And you chose to be his partner in this operation masquerading as a medical facility," Common Pleas Judge Benjamin Lerner said.
Earlier in the day, Lerner freed a former employee who had pleaded guilty to third-degree murder and testified against Gosnell, though she admits killing a baby born alive in a toilet. Adrienne Moton had spent 28 months in prison, but Lerner credited her with both remorse and redemption.
"I don't feel I got arrested. I feel I got rescued," the 36-year-old Moton said in emotionally raw remarks to the judge that mirrored a gospel sermon.
Moton, a friend of Gosnell's daughter, had moved in with the Gosnells as a teen amid family problems. She later went to work in the clinic, moving from the front desk to the procedure room, where she and other unlicensed workers monitored heavily sedated patients as they endured labor and cut the necks of babies born alive.
She did that at least 10 times before she quit the $10 an hour job and entered a welfare-to-work program.
"I wasn't thinking about the fetuses or the babies. I was thinking about those women. I was thinking about those stories," Moton said, describing how she wanted to help the female patients, some of whom she saw beaten or coerced outside the West Philadelphia clinic.
Moton had taken a cellphone picture of an aborted baby that was about 30 weeks old that became a key piece of evidence at Gosnell's trial. The photo was shown repeatedly to jurors.
Lerner called Gosnell a manipulator and "charismatic sociopath," while defense lawyer Stephen Patrizio, who represents former worker Lynda Williams, called him "a depraved, parasitic hustler."
Williams was Exhibit A of the way Gosnell preyed on his workers and patients alike, Assistant District Attorney Joanne Pescatore said Wednesday.
Williams, 44, was raising four children after she saw her husband murdered in nearby Chester. She had long been bipolar, and had left school after sixth grade to raise her siblings. Yet Gosnell put her in charge of anesthesia, leading to the 2009 death of a new immigrant who died after repeated doses of sedatives and painkillers. Gosnell was also convicted of contributing to the woman's death.
Gosnell played Williams from the start, Patrizio said.
"He gave her something nobody in her life has ever done. He gave her a little bit of self-esteem," the lawyer said.
Pescatore asked for at least 10 years for Williams, who pleaded guilty to third-degree murder in the deaths of both the patient, 41-year-old Karnamaya Mongar of Woodbridge, Va., and a baby that moved after being born. But her sentencing was postponed until federal drug charges can be resolved. They stem from Williams' role at Gosnell's front desk, where she allegedly sold painkiller prescriptions for him to addicts and drug dealers.
The scheduled sentencings of two other co-workers — 53-year-old Sherry West and 47-year-old Tina Baldwin — are likewise on hold amid the federal charges. Gosnell is also charged in the federal court case, but plans to plead guilty at a June 6 hearing. Several other co-defendants, including an unlicensed doctor who admits cutting 100 babies for Gosnell, also await sentencing.
Before his capital murder trial got underway in March, Gosnell rejected an offer to serve a life term on both the drug and murder charges. In exchange, his wife would have been spared prison time and avoided the likely forfeiture of their home, where she lives with their 15-year-old daughter and 21-year-old son, who is in college. Gosnell also has four older children from two previous marriages.
"Being the selfish, inconsiderate person that he is ... he decided to go to trial," said defense lawyer Michael Medway, representing Pearl Gosnell. "He left his family essentially hanging out to dry."
What's worse, he said, his client and her children have to live with a name that "will go down in infamy."
May 30, 2013
By George E. Curry
WASHINGTON (NNPA) – With some embarrassing internal issues addressed and its sights set firmly on expanding its global impact, the National Conference of Black Mayors (NCBM) kicks off its 39th annual convention in Atlanta this Thursday.
The theme of this year’s conference is “Restore, Rebuild, Renew.” And perhaps no one can appreciate the need for those three Rs more than Vanessa R. Williams, the association’s executive director and CEO.
Williams, who supervises NCBM’s day-to-day operations, received a telephone call three years ago that caught her by surprise. On the other end of the telephone was an FBI agent. And more surprising than his call was what he was calling about.
“The FBI agent was very pleasant,” Williams recounted in an interview. “He identified himself as being with the FBI and asked if the organization had any accounts in the state of Louisiana. I told him ‘No,’ He said, ‘Are you certain of that?’ I said, ‘I am absolutely positive of that.’ As the CEO of the organization, there’s no way the board would allow that happen. We secured all accounts out of the national office [in Atlanta].
“He re-stated who he was and said there was an ongoing investigation against Mayor Grace and that this was an investigation that had gone on for over two or three years.”
Grace was mayor of St. Gabriel, La., a town of 6,777 people about 12 miles south of Baton Rouge. He was also president of the National Conference of Black Mayors. He was such a beloved and respected member of the organization that instead of being called Mayor Grace, he was known as Daddy Grace. But the FBI discovered that Daddy Grace had become a total disgrace – to his city, to the NCBM and to himself.
The FBI discovered that unknown to his fellow mayors, Grace had secretly registered the organization as a Louisiana non-profit corporation in 2005 and renewed the application on Nov. 25, 2009, listing himself as the sole officer. He also opened an unauthorized bank account in the organization’s name.
According to those familiar with the investigation, Grace would contact sponsors, tell them that Williams was about to lose her job in the national office and they should send money directly to him in Louisiana. Because Grace was so trusted and held three keys position – president, treasurer and chairman of the fianance committee – he was able to dupe NCBM for a decade.
Grace was also siphoning off money from his city. He and four other small town mayors in Louisiana were ensnarled in an FBI sting operation. Grace, 69, was sentenced last year to 22 years in prison, fined $50,000 and forfeited $22, 000 after being convicted of violating the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations ACT (RICO), bribery, obstruction of justice, mail fraud, wire fraud, making false statements, and use of an interstate facility in the aid of racketeering. In addition to illegally diverting money from NCBM, he was found guilty of extorting businessmen seeking to do business with the city and required kickbacks from operators setting up temporary housing in his city for victims of Hurricane Katrina.
The most remarkable thing about the organization is how a key group of leaders, placing their personal reputation on the line, rallied to stabilize and then revive the National Conference of Black Mayors.
Leading the charge was Mayor Robert Bowser of East Orange, N.J., its former – and soon to be future – president.
“Mayor Bowser was the president before, he got the organization in the black and then had to come back and rescue it again,” CEO Vanessa Williams said. “When everything happened with Mayor Grace, we needed someone who knew the organization. He was the one who preceded Mayor Grace.”
Also in the forefront to reclaim the NCBM was Kevin Johnson, mayor of Sacramento, Calif. and first vice president. Johnson, who is expected to be elected president of the group in Atlanta, told Williams, “I am here and I am going to be here for you.” And he was.
Surprisingly, about a half dozen long-time corporate sponsors – including Coca Cola, John Deere, Comcast, AT&T and United Water – did not abandon the Black mayors in their time of need. Some reduced their funding, waiting to see how the organization would rebound, but at least one increased its sponsorship dollars.
In a statement issued last week, the mayors said: “The Board of Directors of the NCBM realizes that these unfortunate events have not only unfairly harmed the organization, they have also created financial hardships for some of our valued friends and vendors. Like many Fortune 500 companies have done, we could have sought the protection of U.S. bankruptcy laws, thus drastically limiting our financial obligations. However, that is not the path we have chosen to take. All vendors who have done properly authorized work with or for us will be paid in full. We deeply apologize for the inconvenience and thank you for your forbearance thus far.
“We are on target to repay at least 80 percent of all outstanding debts within the next 30 days and the remainder by the end of this year. Because the diverted money went to Mayor Grace and not to the NCBM, our legal counsel is working closely with the IRS to determine the extent of our financial liability under the U.S. tax code. Once that issue has been resolved, we anticipate entering an agreement with the IRS to make sure that every cent owed by NCBM is paid.”
After failing to hold a national convention for three years, the Black mayors resumed having national conventions last year. In those struggling three years, the group expanded its international presence, which may hold the key to its future success. Williams has seen the organization grow from 682 Black mayors in the U.S. to more than 26,0000 worldwide. At least 300 mayors are expected to attend the convention from abroad, most of them from Nigeria, Senegal, Uganda, Columbia and throughout the Caribbean.
For the first time in months, Williams, who agreed to work pro bono during the toughest financial stretch, is upbeat and smiling.
“You can’t prove the folks who left right,” she said. “We’re going to fight through this and say, ‘With God’s help, this, too, shall pass.’”
May 30, 2013
By CHRISTOPHER TORCHIA
Nelson Mandela, in the twilight of life, doesn’t talk much anymore, his eldest daughter says. But the former South African president, who wrote of his regret at being unable to devote himself to his family during the fight against apartheid and afterward, reaches out in another way.
“It’s the hand that he stretches out. It is the touching of the hand that speaks volumes for me. And for me, if you ask me what I would treasure, it is this moment that I treasure with my father,” said Makaziwe Mandela, the oldest of Mandela’s three surviving children, all daughters. “It means, ‘My child, I’m here.’ It means to me that, ‘I’m here. I love you. I care.’”
It could be the story of any family, this intimate encounter between an elderly parent beset by illness and a child with whom relations have, over many decades, been challenging or negligible. That the couple’s communication has become so elemental also sheds light on the fragile state of a larger-than-life figure, revered for his sacrifice during 27 years as a prisoner of apartheid and his peacemaking role in South Africa’s shift to a democracy inclusive of all races.
“My Dad has not been in good, perfect health over the past month. And he has good days and he has bad days,” Makaziwe Mandela said earlier this month in an exclusive interview with The Associated Press in her home, where a bust of her father, made from bronze and the wood of a railway tie, sits on a piano in the foyer.
One of those bad days was April 29, when state television broadcast footage of a visit by President Jacob Zuma and other leaders of the ruling African National Congress to Mandela, who had helmed the ANC, at his Johannesburg home. Zuma said Mandela was in good shape, but the footage — the first public images of Mandela in nearly a year — showed him silent and unresponsive, even when Zuma tried to hold his hand.
Makaziwe Mandela said her family is grateful that the “movement,” as she refers to the ANC leadership, still visits her father. The broadcasting of the video, however, was unfortunate, she said. Critics allege the ANC was trying to score political points by its association with Mandela. The party fiercely denies it.
“In previous visits, there was no need to take a picture. What happened this time, I don’t know,” said Makaziwe, a 59-year-old founder of a South African winemaking company that highlights two centuries of the family’s distinguished lineage in its branding. She is one of four children from her father’s first marriage to Evelyn Mase, which ended in divorce. The other three died — one in infancy, one in a car crash and one from an AIDS-related illness.
Makaziwe said the “dignity and privacy” of her father, also a father to the nation, is sometimes under threat, complaining that 20 journalists one day in May converged on her father’s home, where he receives medical treatment, after an ambulance left to fetch medicine from a hospital.
“This is really utter madness,” she said. “This thing that everybody has got to be the first one to hear when Nelson Mandela goes, it's not right. All of you will have your opportunity. You will get the news from the presidency at the right time.”
During Mandela’s recent hospitalization for pneumonia, which ended April 6, Zuma's office issued brief, regular updates on his health. On some past occasions, conflicting reports from the government contributed to mistrust between authorities and the media.
Fascination with Mandela stems from the sense that he is on a par with others whose human shortcomings were overshadowed by their contributions to humanity, including Indian independence hero Mohandas Gandhi and American civil rights leader Martin Luther King.
South Africa has held peaceful elections and is a major economic force in Africa, but struggles with high unemployment, crime and corruption. Nelson Mandela embodies a morality and unity of purpose that makes South Africans nostalgic for an earlier era of promise.
“He has something that people gravitate to, that they can hold to, that gives them hope,” said Makaziwe Mandela, comparing him to Mother Teresa. “That’s what Nelson Mandela has done, is to give people a better hope that, ‘I can be somebody. Life today can be better than yesterday.’”
Makaziwe’s home is in a comfortable suburb of Johannesburg that, as she pointed out, was barred to blacks in the apartheid era. Sculptures — a gift from Gabon, presents brought by a son returning from Sweden — lined a mantelpiece in the carpeted living room where she sat for the interview. Her daughter, Tukwini, worked in a nearby room on the “House of Mandela” wine business, which launched this year in the United States.
The Mandela name has lost some shine because of a legal dispute over control of two companies that pits Makaziwe and Zenani Dlamini, a daughter from Mandela’s second marriage to Winnie Mandela, against old associates of the Nobel Peace prize laureate, who has withdrawn from public life. The firms, directed by associates who say they were appointed at Mandela’s request, hold funds from the sale of handprint artwork by Mandela that is earmarked for eventual distribution to his family.
In the AP interview, Makaziwe Mandela would not discuss the court case.
She talked about the strain and stress of losing her siblings and having a charismatic father whose devotion to justice and equality came at the expense of his children.
“I’m sure now, in his twilight years, that he looks back and says, ‘You know, I could have done that differently,’” Makaziwe said. “He has regrets in life, mostly about his family. He was not there as a father. He tried the best way that he could when he came out of jail. But you understand that my father came out of jail and was swallowed up even before he became president. He never really had the time to truly be a father.”
In his autobiography “Long Walk to Freedom,” Nelson Mandela wrote wistfully of his inability to fulfill his role as a husband to Winnie Mandela during his incarceration, which ended in 1990. The couple divorced in 1996. He is now married to Graca Machel, the former first lady of Mozambique.
“When your life is the struggle, as mine was, there is little room left for family. That has always been my greatest regret, and the most painful aspect of the choice I made,” Mandela wrote.
Makaziwe Mandela said she relates to actress Jane Fonda, who wrote in a memoir about her troubled relationship with her father, actor Henry Fonda. “On Golden Pond,” the 1981 movie that starred both Fondas, also offered a bittersweet lesson in how a child can reach out to an elderly parent, even one who didn’t, or couldn’t, do enough.
“It is me who has to make an effort, to bridge the gap,” Makaziwe said. “To be there.”
May 30, 2013
(AP) — A Chicago man has been charged with killing a 6-month-old girl whose death earlier this year brought attention to gang violence on the city's South Side, prosecutors announced Monday.
Koman Willis, 34, is accused of killing the baby, who was shot on March 11 while sitting in her father’s lap in a minivan. Police say the baby’s father, Jonathan Watkins, was the intended target of the attack.
Willis is charged with first-degree murder and aggravated battery with a firearm, said Sally Daly, a spokeswoman for the Cook County State’s Attorney's Office. A bond hearing is scheduled for Tuesday.
Watkins, who has a lengthy criminal record, was seriously wounded in the shooting.
Chicago police devoted large numbers of resources to finding a suspect in the shooting, which happened in the middle of the day in the city’s Woodlawn neighborhood.
In March, police Superintendent Garry McCarthy had said Watkins was cooperating with the investigation but that there was “a lot more” help he could provide.
At the girl’s funeral, several people lamented the “code of silence” that keeps some residents from reporting crimes, cooperating with authorities or even fingering members of rival gangs who have targeted them.
Religious leaders speaking at the funeral service implored those in attendance to transform gang-riven neighborhoods.
The shooting came just weeks after a 15-year-old honors student was gunned down on a South Side street in an apparent case of mistaken identity.