The Madness of Joe Francis: "I thought we were all just having fun. I was wrong." (9 page)

“At the young age of 17” the statement from a girl identified only as B.S. started, “I was manipulated and deceived and ultimately exposed sexually. To this day I am tormented by the event and have suffered from feelings of shame, guilt and even social anxiety.

“Since the release of the video I have endured a tremendous amount of humiliation because of the way friends and family saw me portrayed. It was difficult for them to look at me the same way and it has taken years to restore those relationships – relationships that are special and dear to my heart.

“Years have gone by, but the memories of being sexually exploited still surface and traumatize me.”

Francis rocked from foot to foot and rolled his head from side to side as he stood behind his lawyers. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he put them in his pockets, took them out, clasped them behind his back and put them back in his pockets.

Smoak asked who ran Mantra Films. Dyer said Francis was the CEO, Scott Barbour was the president, Eric Deutsch was vice president.

Smoak then turned his attention to Francis.

“Mr. Francis, did you read the victim impact statements?”

“Yeah, I did. I read some of them.”

“Mr. Francis, I want you to step up to the podium. I want to make sure you’ve read this,” Smoak said, holding B.S.’s statement. “I want you to read it out loud.”

Francis hesitated.

“I just want you to know that my policy has always been, and will always be, not to use girls under the age of 18 in any of our videos,” he told Smoak. “Because these girls lied about their age, they were able to get in our videos and that’s what happened here.”

“You know that might happen, don’t you?” Smoak asked.

“I never would have dreamed this would have happened with all the things we had in place to prevent this from happening.”

Smoak asked him if he’d read a study that was released within the last year that indicated the human brain isn’t fully developed until a person’s mid-twenties.

“Doesn’t take a real brave man to go out and corner some young female who has had four or five beers in the middle of Spring Break and convince them to do something dumb,” Smoak growled. “Now read the statement, please, so we make sure that you have read it and presumably understand it.”

“We go to war at 18 years old, your honor,” Francis said in a quiet, unconvincing voice.

“Mr. Francis read the statement,” Smoak said, his voice remaining even.

“I don’t think those kids are dumb,” Francis mumbled.

“Read the statement,” Smoak roared.

Francis read it.

Smoak then set out the details of the sentence. He went through every aspect meticulously.

He questioned the size of the fine, saying $1.6 million represented just 3.5-percent of the company’s profit since 2002.

“Now, I am concerned whether the fine alone as provided in the plea agreement adequately carries out the stated requirements of sentencing,” Smoak said.

Dyer asked him to defer to the wisdom of the government in coming to that amount.

“They have conducted an intensive investigation and came to the conclusion that this is the fair result in this case,” he said.

Dyer asked the judge to take into account that Girls Gone Wild was in its “fledgling” stage when the offenses occurred.

“Three of them were actually filmed at a time when they were just developing their filming techniques, their policies,” Dyer said. Since then, he said, the company had ramped up its efforts to comply with the law.

Smoak imposed the fine, but then went a step farther. He ordered Francis and the three highest officers in his corporations to do eight hours a month of community service work in Bay County for the next 30 months.

The AP reporter was holding her breath at the thought of Joe Francis picking up garbage along Panama City’s highways.

Smoak said Francis could step up and do 16 hours a month and that would let the others off the hook.

“Or, if he decides otherwise to essentially dump on them, then it will be his challenge to maintain their morale,” Smoak said. “It makes no sense for this service to be performed in California. The offenses occurred in this community and these offenses have had a profound effect on this community.

“It is going to be a challenge for Mantra Films to possibly persuade some deserving organization, or needy organization, that it can somehow help them and help their community goals. And it’s going to be a challenge for them to demonstrate that they can give back to this community in some positive fashion.”

The reporters were the first ones out of the courtroom door when Smoak was finished. We walked out of the courthouse and indicated to the waiting photographers and cameramen that Francis would be out soon.

A few minutes passed and Francis came out with Dyer. They walked to a waiting SUV and Francis got in the front passenger side. Dyer went to close the door, but noticed Francis’ hand sticking out waiting for a shake. They shook hands and Francis left.

Dyer turned to the waiting reporters.

He said they wouldn’t appeal, that probation and community service were customary parts of a sentence like this.

He joked around with the reporters for a few minutes, gave the TV reporter a soundbite, then he was off to the golf course for a quick 18.

I called him as we were both driving away.

“Hey, didn’t you want to set me up with that exclusive interview with Francis since he’s in town?”

“He’s gone. He’s already been to the airport and left,” Dyer said.

.

Chapter 10

Dirty feet

J
oe Francis was four hours late to a scheduled three-day mediation beginning March 21, 2007, but finally arrived at the Bay Point Marriott in Panama City Beach. He was there to meet with the lawyers in the civil lawsuit for settlement negotiations.

When the lawyers were brought to him, they found Francis seated at the table in shorts and baseball cap playing a handheld video game.

When Larry Selander started his pitch, Francis leaned back in this chair and crossed his bare, dirty feet on the table top.

“Don’t expect to get a fucking dime,” Francis told Selander in a quiet, relaxed, conversational tone. “Not one fucking dime. I will not settle this case. I am only here because the court is making me be here.”

Francis called this “strategy,” establishing his position clearly and strongly. Selander, Tom Dent, Ross McCloy and Rachael Pontikes called it intractable and got up to leave.

Francis jerked his chair forward until all four feet were on the ground, shot out of the chair and intercepted them at the door. He put his face dangerously close to Selander’s beard.

“We will bury you and your clients,” Francis said, his voice tinged with the rage he’d always felt in this case. “I’m going to ruin you, your clients and all of your ambulance chasing partners.”

Pontikes said Francis did make one offer before the lawyers left the room: “Suck my dick,” Francis shouted to their backs and they filed out past him.

Two days later, Pontikes filed a motion asking Federal Judge Richard Smoak to hold Francis in contempt for not mediating in good faith as the judge had ordered.

Smoak set the issue for a hearing a week later.

On March 23, he told Francis’ attorney, Mike Dickey, to send his client to charm school before bringing him back to court.

“Tell him to pack a bag,” the judge said, “sanctions in this case might mean his going to jail.”

Selander asked Smoak in a pre-hearing brief to at least make Francis bathe before resuming mediation.

Dickey wrote his own brief, saying he couldn’t understand how a group of battle-hardened lawyers could act so intimidated during a heated mediation. He said it was more likely that they were just frustrated that they couldn’t reach a settlement.

He said, at worst, Francis displayed “bad manners” and shouldn’t be jailed for contempt of court. Dickey said if anyone had acted improperly it was the plaintiffs’ lawyers, for breaking the rules of confidentiality that are ingrained in the mediation process and going to Smoak with their complaints.

“Taking plaintiffs’ allegations at face value for the purpose of discussion,” Dickey wrote, “one cannot condone the behavior of Francis during his ill-advised three-minute exchange with plaintiffs’ lawyers. That, however, is not the point. His words and behavior may have been vulgar and extreme at times, but they were also protected as a matter of law.”

On March 30, Francis walked into the small courtroom on the courthouse’s second floor to face Smoak.

He stopped inside the door and looked around. He was wearing a dark blue suit and pink tie. His black hair was spiked to give him a casual, just-got-out-of-bed look.

He turned to scan the crowd, looking for someone; when he saw me, he broke away from his company’s lawyer, Michael Burke, to walk over.

“Hey David?” he said, holding his hand out. “I’m Joe Francis.”

I stood, smiled and shook his hand.

“Can we talk for a few minutes after this?” he asked.

“Sure. No problem,” I said, continuing to smile. He turned and walked back to the defense table.

Bailiff George Dobos sidled over to me as I sat back down and whispered: “Media whore.”

He meant me. I’d known Dobos since his days with the Panama City Police Department and he’d always been quick to tell you exactly what he was thinking.

Smoak came out to take the bench and the hearing was underway.

Selander told the judge that he could still remember Francis’ face, his eyes, as Francis sprang from his chair to confront him at the door to a conference room.

“I thought he was gonna haul off and slug me,” Selander said. He said Francis had started shouting soon after the plaintiffs’ lawyers had entered the room. Three minutes later, as the lawyers were leaving, Francis was screaming at them: “Suck my dick.”

Smoak looked at Francis. The expression on the judge’s face was not kind. Smoak told him he’d squandered his best opportunity to settle the lawsuit. He said Francis had also willfully disregarded his order to mediate in a meaningful way.

He told Francis to stand.

“You get up and you tell this court on the record what you said,” Smoak said. “And then I want you to tell me why you think those comments were appropriate. Take your hands out of your pockets!

“My question is: did you say what is quoted in the motion?”

“Most of it, I did. But it’s taken out of context, your honor. I was posturing.”

“What was the first sentence you said?”

“First sentence is, ‘Do you realize what the lying of your clients have put me through?’ Your honor, I said, ‘I am the victim here.’ That’s the first thing I said.”

Francis said there was some additional banter after that.

“We’re going to do it sentence by sentence,” Smoak said. “What was your third sentence?”

Francis repeated that he told them he was the victim and that their clients had lied.

“No,” Smoak said, “that’s not my question. What did you say in your third sentence?”

After a minute more of this exchange, Smoak told him to read what Pontikes had written. “Look at paragraph 9 of the motion. Read the paragraph.”

“Your honor, do I have to read it?”

“Read it.”

“Okay. ‘Don’t expect to get’ – and I did not use that expletive. I said, ‘Don’t expect to get a dime’ and then I said, ‘not one fucking dime.’”

Francis insisted that he did not say that as his second sentence, but it was actually much later in the exchange. Smoak directed him to another paragraph.

“Read it verbatim, Mr. Francis.”

“This right here? ‘Francis then made (the only) offer that he was to make that day, ‘suck my dick,’ Francis shouted repeatedly as plaintiffs’ counsel left the room.’”

“Did you make that statement?”

“One time, yes.”

Francis insisted that his words were part of a heated exchange between the parties. He said Selander was cussing at him and Pontikes called him an “a-hole.”

“The thing is, you’ve read one side of this whole thing, which is like the whole case. And it really frustrates me.”

Smoak ordered a short break, and Joe Francis found me in the hallway outside the courtroom.

“We really need to have a sit down. I want to tell you the whole thing,” Francis said to me. “Do you have a card?”

I didn’t. I never did. But that was opportunity enough for two TV reporters to step up.

“Can we get a few words from you on camera?”

“Sure. Sure. No problem. I’ll give you something.”

Francis grinned, but shifted his feet and put his hands in his pockets. I touched his elbow and told him I’d get him a card from my car.

A few minutes later he trotted down the concrete stairway outside the courthouse. He took the last three steps like Bo Jangles dancing with Shirley Temple, his suit coat billowing open and a grin spreading across his face.

I was standing with photographer Robert Cooper, who was ready with camera in hand and two others slung over his shoulders. He wore a vest that bulged with lenses and pockets.

Cooper had stepped back as soon as Francis came out the front door and was shooting pictures in rapid fire.

I held out a business card and Francis pocketed it without a glance.

“I’d really like to tell you what’s really going on,” he said. “Like I said in there, I am the victim here. If it wasn’t for these girls lying about their age to my cameraman, I wouldn’t be here today. I mean, I was out of the country when they did that, I wasn’t even around.”

“Sure, we’ll talk whenever you want.”

“I mean, I’m the victim here. And all that at the Marriott? That was posturing. I mean, I went in there and they went in there and it was posturing.”

He glanced at Cooper, who was shifting from side to side, his shutter firing continuously. Francis gave him a quick grin and snapped out of his thoughts.

“You want a picture. How about a picture together?”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and Cooper hesitated for a beat before realigning and firing off two more frames.

“You could bottle that grin,” Cooper told me after looking at the pictures. I couldn’t help it. He’d taken me so off guard that I was smiling like a fool.