Fred Rosen - Gang Mom. The Evil Mother Whose Gang Secretly Preyed on a City

Gang Mom

The Evil Mother Whose Gang Secretly Preyed on a City

Fred Rosen

For my Uncle Izzie and summer

afternoons together in the

bleachers at Yankee Stadium

A WORD ABOUT SOURCES

The story began as an article in the June 1997 issue of Readers Digest. But as with any article, there is never enough space. I didnt get to explore the gang phenomenon as in-depth as I wanted to. Thus the book you hold in your hand.

The story you are about to read is true. Some names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved who were on the periphery of the case. Also, whenever possible, the names of underage gang members have been changed. All name changes appear initially in italics.

Interviews, official documents, including wiretaps, warrants, statements to police, as well as excerpts of official trial transcripts and indigenous news accounts, have all been used in the writing of this book.

A few scenes have been presented out of chronological order not for dramatic effect, but to simplify the narrative. Likewise, the investigation involved many police officers and for the sake of clarity, the story is presented principally through the eyes of the two lead cops.

And thus I clothe my naked villainy with old odd ends and seem a saint when most I play the devil.

William Shakespeare, Richard III

PROLOGUE

CLEVELAND, OHIO, 1976

It had been a gathering of bikers, outlaws who reveled in free sex and violence. Mary Fockler had been there and had a great time and when it was time to go home, she didnt want the party to end. So her roommate drove her to a biker clubhouse. Her goal was to have a good time.

Fockler was a very attractive woman, tall and well-built. She had piercing blue eyes that seemed to go right through you. They gave her a special, almost charismatic air. But all that was irrelevant to the bikers. They wanted sex, pure and simple, and as long as Fockler didnt look like Godzilla, it was going to be a rather pleasant late afternoon.

If Fockler had one particular peccadillo, it was an insane love of animals. You know the type; they think of animals as little human beings, only with a lot more hair. Which was why Fockler took her dog with her wherever she went. Even over to a Hells Angels clubhouse for sex, drugs and rock and roll.

While she was having sex with the bikers, Focklers dog got into a disagreement with a bikers mutt. Fockler happened to glance over and noticed that her dog was losing the fight. In panic lest her snookums should die, she ran out into the street half clad.

Police arrived and Fockler now claimed the bikers raped her. Focklers case was taken up by the media. The image of a half-naked woman running through the streets of Cleveland shouting, I was raped, I was raped, was too good to be true. The burgeoning womens movement, seeing the perfect poster child for the cause of abused women everywhere in the plight of poor Mary Fockler, took her case to its collective bosom. They pressed the police for immediate action.

Police brought in thirty-two of the bikers for questioning. Thirteen were eventually arrested, and Fockler identified five of the thirteen as the men who raped her. A trial was set.

Almost immediately, rumors began swirling through the Cleveland underground that the accused men actually belonged to a rival motorcycle gang, not the one Fockler associated with, and that she was just getting them.

Before the trial, Fockler was drinking in a bar when a uniformed cop happened to enter. His name was Jules Sampson. Joking around, Fockler went up to him and said, Where were you when I needed you?

Because one of the accused was a close friend of Sampsons, he doubted her story. But Sampson was young and inexperienced and apparently would do anything for a friend. He told her that maybe something could be done about the situation. Fockler said all she wanted to do was blow town and start a new life.

Sampson figured the bikers would pay her to drop the charges. There would be nothing wrong with that, Sampson reasoned, because she was lying anyway. But by that time, Fockler was enjoying all the attention she was getting. She was an impressionable woman who, for the first time in her life, was the center of attention. And she craved more.

Ever the honest woman, Fockler told police that Sampson approached her and offered her a bribe. Internal affairs cops put a tap on her phone. When she called Sampson, they discussed a grand and a plane ticket out of town in return for Fockler dropping charges. Sampson was eventually fired.

That was one man Fockler had brought down. One down and five to go. But Fockler wasnt done with her con job. Not just yet.

At the trial, Fockler dressed for the occasion in bright, loose clothes instead of her usual tight leathers. The womens movement had suggested the change so the jury would think of her as younger and more virginal. The prosecution, who sincerely believed Focklers story, did not hesitate to call her to the stand. After recounting the alleged rape, it was defending attorney Rocco Russos turn to question her.

Russo had discovered that Fockler had a very interesting tattoo which he brought to the jurys attention. When he asked Fockler to reveal it, she shyly opened the top of her blouse. There, for the jury to see, was a tattoo of a butterfly above her breast. The jury reasoned that the tattoo didnt go with the image of the cute little girl, a supposition confirmed when Russo produced ten men who had watched as she was tattooed.

When it was the defenses turn, Russos key witness was Focklers married sister Judy who testified that Fockler had, from an early age, been a habitual liar. She explained to the jury that the only reason she agreed to testify for the defense was because she was determined to have her sister get help for her problems.

My sister is excited about her new-found fame, Judy testified. She calls me at noon from the courthouse phone and tells me shes going to be famous, Judy said. Shes going to be on the Johnny Carson show.

Helluva surprise for Johnny.

When the five men were found not guilty of raping Mary Fockler, their fellow bikers rose as one and applauded the jury, while demanding justice be dispensed to the woman who had maligned them all. The judge, disgusted at the whole proceeding, released the defendants and banged down his gavel to close the proceedings.

Mary Fockler had had a rapid rise to fame and an even more rapid fall. It had been heady in that rarefied atmosphere where everyone listened to her and she was the star attraction. So what if shed lied? Shed gotten the attention, hadnt she? Shed almost put the con over. But now that she had been discredited, it was time to leave town.

Fockler felt that her greatest fame still lay in front of her. After all, she hadnt made Johnnys show yet, had she?

ONE

SEPTEMBER 24, 1994

It was the first day of burning season and fires blazed all around Eugene, Oregon.

Jim Michaud stood at the front door of his rustic home on the outskirts of the city. As he sipped a martini, he thought back to the many burning seasons of his youth, when his father would set the barrels up outside their home, fill them with anything that needed burning, and set them on fire. Their neighbors would be doing the same thing, so a ring of controlled fire would encircle their neighborhood.

Burning season was the beginning of fall, a time to burn your detritus. Michaud liked to think that it was also an opportunity to burn from memory any sins committed against others, an opportunity to create a slate that was clean and purified by fire.