No, Daddy, Don't! (13 page)

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Authors: Irene Pence

BOOK: No, Daddy, Don't!
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T
WENTY-FOUR
In December 1999, Mary Jean Pearle and her daughters were spending their first Christmas without John Battaglia. Decorating her home for Christmas, Mary Jean vowed to make it the most festive year ever. Selecting from her large inventory of decorations, she trailed garlands, lights, and ornaments up the elaborate wrought-iron staircase. The Christmas tree touched the ceiling, laden with one-of-a-kind hand-blown ornaments that were decades old. Every fireplace mantel and mirror was draped in fresh pine boughs and decorated with balls and ribbons. Three embroidered Christmas stockings hung from the fireplace mantel, and poinsettia-crowded baskets added additional color. The entire house sparkled like a jeweled Christmas wonderland.
The little girls were growing up fast. Christmas came shortly before their January birthdays when Faith would turn eight and Liberty five. Although they mainly wore play clothes, Mary Jean loved dressing them in elegant outfits from Neiman Marcus.
In this year’s Christmas photo, Liberty wore a red velvet dress with a white organdy scalloped collar. Even though Faith was missing a front tooth, she was beginning to show signs of becoming a beautiful young woman. She looked quite grown-up in a forest-green velvet dress with its massive velvet bow at the waist, especially with her long blond hair cascading over her shoulders.
On Christmas morning, Mary Jean and her daughters sat in their pajamas around the tree, opening what looked like the entire inventory of a toy store. The girls hugged their mother and thanked her for all the toys, books, and clothes. Mary Jean hugged them back, thanking God that they were in her life.
The girls were eager to see their father today because he was bringing his daughter, Laurie, who was visiting for the Christmas holidays. The little ones adored their big sister. John Battaglia wouldn’t arrive until 9:20
A.M.
to take them to church, so they took their time eating breakfast and getting ready.
At 8:45, the doorbell rang. Mary Jean went to the door and was shocked to see John and Laurie standing there. They were more than a half hour early. It was an awkward situation, but Mary Jean reached out and hugged Laurie while John stood back, looking like a child who hadn’t been invited to the party.
Faith and Liberty came running. “Come see what we got for Christmas,” Faith said. Then she looked apprehensively at her mother. “Okay if Daddy comes in?” she asked. According to the protective order Mary Jean had received after evicting John, he was not allowed in her home under any circumstances.
Faith’s question presented another awkward moment, then Mary Jean said, “Oh, okay. Come on in.”
Battaglia entered, and strolled over to the tree. He stood admiring his daughters’ gifts, which were all beautiful and expensive—everything that he could not afford. His anger began to grow.
Mary Jean watched Laurie laugh and talk with her two daughters. They really were three sisters, and Mary Jean had come to love Laurie as well. She gave Laurie a hug and asked, “Would you like to stay for dinner after church today?”
Laurie looked hopefully at her father, who obviously had not been included in the invitation. “Can I, Dad?” she asked.
“If I’m not welcome, you’re not staying,” he said curtly.
Mary Jean rolled her eyes, realizing that nothing had changed between them. “Well, you were early, but now I better get the girls ready.” She turned to go upstairs, and as soon as she placed her foot on the Oriental runner covering the steps, she was shocked to see that her ex-husband was following her. Upstairs, she walked past her bedroom and automatically reached for the knob to pull the door shut.
“What are you trying to hide in there?” he asked.
“I don’t trust you.”
“You’ve already taken everything from me,” Battaglia accused.
“John, let’s not go there.”
Her tone was firm and it angered him. In fact, her firmness was what he disliked most about her. He said, “I can say anything I want.”
“And so can I,” Mary Jean said as she entered her daughters’ room. But she began feeling shaky and apprehensive. From the tone of his voice, she could feel his anger building. She knew the signs.
Battaglia lunged at her and screamed, “No you can’t!”
Mary Jean saw him coming and pressed her face down on Liberty’s mattress to protect herself. He balled his fist and hit her head. Then she felt his fist pound the flesh on the back of her head and she pushed her face deeper into the mattress. But the blows kept coming—five, ten, fifteen—each with a sickening thud. He was hitting her as hard as a man could hit a woman.
“Call 911!” she screamed to her daughters.
She lost her grasp on the mattress and fell to the floor. He reached down and pulled her up by her hair to make her a more convenient target. He began kicking her with the toe of his leather dress shoe; she screamed with each blow. He didn’t seem to care where he kicked: her head, shoulders, legs; he just kept kicking. Her silk pajamas were no protection against his aggression.
She was losing strength and afraid to look up for fear of exposing her face to his brutal attacks.
All three girls were in the room witnessing his assault and screaming, “Stop it, Daddy! Daddy, you’re hurting her, stop it!” They were all crying. Laurie, the oldest, was screaming the loudest and kept tugging on her father’s shirt in a fruitless effort to pull him away. Faith was also trying to separate them. Liberty ran into the bathroom to hide.
Mary Jean tucked herself into a fetal position and shook from pain and fear. Her entire body was under siege.
Suddenly, the pounding stopped. After a few moments, she timidly raised her head and saw that John was no longer in the room.
“Mommy, are you all right?” Faith asked, running to her, crying. “I locked the door as soon as Daddy left.”
Laurie stood paralyzed and angry. Her father had abandoned her, and her suitcase was still in his car. She ran to the window to check and saw that his car no longer sat in front of the house.
By now Mary Jean had picked herself up from the floor and was examining the damage. In addition to swollen bruises and cuts, there was a gash in her heel and her shin throbbed. Clumps of her dark hair lay on the floor. She was relieved to hear the sound of sirens drawing closer to her house.
 
 
Sixty-six-year-old John Battaglia Sr. had retired to Florida. After he left Dallas, he had worked in New York as a hospital administrator before his retirement.
In June of 1999 he and his second wife, Kathy, established “Children of Chaos,” a nonprofit charity for children whose lives had been tragically affected by the Balkan war.
Two days before their son attacked Mary Jean, the charity’s website announced that their first truckload of warm clothes, blankets, and medical supplies had left on a plane for Kosovo.
The children of Kosovo and Albania had touched John Battaglia Sr., but he had no idea of his granddaughters’ private hell in Dallas. He had again cut off contact with his son.
 
 
Officer J. Greer of the Highland Park Police Department arrived at Mary Jean’s house within eight minutes. Two paramedics closely followed in an ambulance.
Greer looked at the deepening color of Mary Jean’s bruises and said, “Let’s get you to the emergency room for a CAT scan and the doctors can examine your bruises. I’ll go along and fill out this form there.”
“But it’s Christmas,” she said, almost apologetically.
“Ma’am, you look seriously hurt.”
Mary Jean glanced over her sore body. She touched her right cheek. “Ouch. He really got me here.” Then her hand found her swollen jawbone and ear.
The officer grimaced. “I can see from here that your wrist and arm are bruised, and it looks like you’ve got a puncture wound to your right heel. Ma’am, you need more than paramedics; you need a doctor.”
“Can’t I bring charges against him anyway?”
“Sure, but you need medical attention.”
“I know,” Mary Jean said, dejectedly. She glanced at her watch. “I’m having twelve people here for dinner at two. I have almost everything ready and there will be lots of people to help. Just let me file charges.”
The officer shook his head. “Okay, okay,” he said with resignation. The paramedics pulled out rolls of bandages and peroxide and other disinfectants to treat Mary Jean’s abrasions. They couldn’t detect any broken bones, and she promised she’d see a doctor the next day.
Officer Greer glanced at the three girls who were hovering near Mary Jean. “Are these your kids?”
She pulled Faith and Liberty toward her. “These two are mine, and Laurie here is a very dear family friend,” she said, patting her arm. “They all saw the attack.”
The officer began writing a report, and included the girls’ names as witnesses. “This is a Class A misdemeanor,” he said.
“A
misdemeanor?”
Mary Jean asked. She was shocked. “He did all this and it’s only a misdemeanor?”
“It comes under the category of ‘assault/family violence. ’ They handle that a little differently.”
“A little less seriously, it sounds to me. Even if it’s a misdemeanor, can’t a warrant be issued for his arrest?”
“Absolutely,” the officer answered. Then, for the record, he pulled out a camera and took photographs of Mary Jean’s bruises.
 
 
Laurie slumped down on an eighteenth-century brocade chair in Mary Jean’s living room. Tears glistened in her eyes. “I’ve got no place to go. Mom’s visiting my brother in Colorado Springs. What should I do? I don’t think I have her phone number.”
Mary Jean hobbled over to her and placed her arm around Laurie’s shoulders. “One good thing,” Mary Jean said. “You get to stay for dinner.”
Everyone smiled and that momentarily broke the tension.
By the time Mary Jean’s family started arriving for what was to be a festive dinner, all of her wounds had been cleaned and bandaged.
Mary Jean was forced to tell her family about John’s attack. They were all appalled. They told her to sit on the sofa and they would take care of dinner. Everyone busily pitched in, trying to make the best of the situation.
Laurie rummaged in her purse and finally found the name of her mother’s hotel. Mary Jean called Michelle and explained what had happened. By now it was 5:00
P.M.
and there was no way to get a plane to Colorado Springs on Christmas night.
 
 
The next morning, instead of seeing a doctor, Mary Jean drove Laurie to the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport and bought her a ticket to fly to Colorado Springs to be with her mother and brother. Laurie had tears in her eyes when she hugged Mary Jean good-bye, but she was looking forward to spending the remainder of the holidays with her family.
However, Christmas 1999 would forever live in Laurie’s memory and change her relationship with her father. She wanted nothing more to do with John Battaglia.
T
WENTY-FIVE
There was no question that Mary Jean would immediately file for divorce. A judge who thought John needed a cooling-off period prevented him from seeing his daughters for thirty days.
Mary Jean would soon learn that divorcing John would not be easy. He became a master at obstruction, complaining about every proposed property settlement and visitation schedule that Mary Jean’s lawyer suggested. Battaglia didn’t want to be told when he could see his daughters; in fact, he didn’t want to be told anything by Mary Jean. At one time, he offered to go away for $250,000. Later, he told people Mary Jean said she wouldn’t even give him $10,000. In his mind, he was only being jerked around.
 
 
John Battaglia began a pattern of vicious phone calls, another direct violation of Mary Jean’s protective order. In May of 2000, he left a message on his children’s phone: “Mary Jean, you better quit interfering.” Then, addressing his daughters, he said, “I’m sorry for whatever may be coming down the road for you. It may be very bad.”
Mary Jean’s hands shook as she made a copy of John’s latest call to give to the Highland Park Police.
 
 
Mary Jean received a subpoena to appear in County Criminal Court No. 10, on July 12, 2000 at 9:00
A.M.
Thirty-six-year-old Judge David Finn would preside over the hearing on John Battaglia’s misdemeanor assault charge for beating Mary Jean on Christmas Day. She relished the idea of confronting John about the attack. Finally, John would get what he had coming. However, shortly before their court date, the phone rang.
“Mary Jean?”
She recognized John’s voice and it set every nerve on edge. “You’re not supposed to be calling on this line,” she told him.
“I know, but you’ll be glad to hear this. I’ve been thinking about the divorce. That last visitation schedule is one I could live with. The money settlement, too. Although I don’t like it, I’ll go ahead and sign our final divorce papers. My attorney has it all set up. Meet me in the family court at eight-thirty Wednesday morning.”
“But that’s the day we have the hearing for your assault charge.”
“I know. This will only take a few minutes; then we’ll both head over to the hearing.”
“I’m concerned there won’t be enough time,” she said.
“How long does it take to sign your name? You already have the papers. You know what they say. I thought you’d be happy to get this behind you.”
“Well, I will be glad when it’s over.” She thought another moment and said, “Okay, I’ll meet you in court at eight-thirty.”
 
 
The temperature had already reached ninety degrees by 8:30
A.M.
that Wednesday when Mary Jean promptly entered the 330th Family District Court. She gave her name to the clerk and told him why she was there. The man appeared confused.
The clerk checked over the docket and said, “We don’t have anything for a Battaglia today.”
“Didn’t my husband’s lawyer, Mr. Yturri, arrange a final divorce hearing for this morning?” she asked.
The clerk checked the docket again. “No, ma’am. Don’t have his name down here either.”
Mary Jean flashed hot with anger. John had fooled her. She asked to use the phone to call Judge David Finn’s court. By the time she got the number and found the person she needed to speak with, it was ten minutes to nine. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” she screamed into the phone. Then she ran to the parking garage.
 
 
John Battaglia looked crisp and professional in his summer suit as he sat beside his lawyer in Judge Finn’s courtroom. He waited patiently, but complained in a voice just loud enough for the judge to hear that he was concerned that Mary Jean wasn’t in court yet, for he had business appointments waiting.
The hands on the courtroom clock reached nine and Judge Finn called the court to order. “Is the defendant ready?” he asked David Yturri.
“Yes, we are, Your Honor.”
“Is the prosecution ready?”
The prosecutor, Assistant District Attorney Megan Miller told the judge that they needed a few more minutes. “Mary Jean Pearle has called and is on her way,” she explained.
“Well, if this was important enough to her,” Finn stated, “she would have been here on time.”
“It’s extremely important,” Miller said. “She was directed to a different court. She’ll be here momentarily.”
Judge Finn waited ten minutes, then raised his gavel to dismiss the assault charges against John Battaglia.
“No, no, wait!” Miller jumped up and pleaded. “The state can’t prove this offense without the testimony of the complaining witness.”
“So?” the judge said.
Assistant DA Megan Miller looked around to make sure Mary Jean wasn’t rushing down the hall; then she said, “We’re forced to announce ‘Not ready, sir.’”
A broad grin spread across Battaglia’s face. He and his attorney dashed out of the courtroom before Mary Jean could arrive.
Only a few minutes later, a tearful Mary Jean Pearle hurried into the courtroom. “John told me to meet him at another court to sign our divorce papers,” she complained to Miller.
The assistant DA turned to her. “I am so sorry. The judge was going to dismiss all charges against John if we didn’t declare that the state wasn’t ready. John would have gotten off scot-free.”
Mary Jean rushed to the judge, crying, “You can’t dismiss this! John Battaglia beat me up in front of the children. I’m scared to death of the man!”
Prosecutor Miller was by her side. “John Battaglia is too dangerous for us to wait the mandatory six months to refile,” she told Finn. “We need some break on this.”
“Okay,” Finn said. “I’ll let you refile in six weeks.” Then he slammed his gavel and asked for the next case.
 
 
Judge David Finn may not have been aware that he had an audience that day. Representatives from a court watch group sponsored by The Family Place had witnessed the drama play out.
Megan Miller went back to the volunteers to answer their questions. “We cannot believe what just happened,” one woman said.
“I know. That was awful,” Miller responded. “Judge Finn should have given Mary Jean an opportunity to be heard. She wasn’t late on purpose. The only thing the judge is allowing is for us to refile in six weeks, and believe me, we’re going to refile.”

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