No, Daddy, Don't! (10 page)
Authors: Irene Pence
F
IFTEEN
IFTEEN
When President Reagan deregulated banking in the 1980s, John Battaglia was working as an accountant for the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC). Reagan’s decision opened the gates for anyone to jump on the trolley and start a bank. All new banks received the protection of the FDIC. Having been granted charters indiscriminately, many banks and savings and loans lost their conservative moorings and, without due diligence, granted loans to inexperienced clients who were undertaking high-risk ventures. Bank executives lavishly decorated their offices and added corporate jets and other luxuries worthy of oil sheiks.
The financial debacle that followed clobbered the federal government with $300 billion in debt, and left no way to pick up the pieces. Finally, in 1989, Congress created the Resolution Trust Corporation (RTC) to plow through the fiasco and, it was hoped, to salvage some of the banks’ assets. In addition, Congress earmarked a large chunk of accounting contracts for minority companies.
Dallas, and Texas in general, had more than its fair share of failed thrifts. Banks were sold and resold, and names of financial houses that had been solidly etched in granite now fluttered on painted canvas banners draped over the fronts of their buildings.
In 1990, John Battaglia enthusiastically vaulted from his FDIC job to the new organization charged with the task of retrieving assets of failed financial institutions. He had no way of knowing how much this decision would alter his life.
Battaglia took on the job with patriotic zeal; he wanted to impress people with his determination. He voiced concern that the RTC had no structure. After all, it had been hurriedly created out of smoke and mirrors. The Dallas office alone oversaw a hefty $10 billion in assets.
Furthermore, RTC employees were given no quotas, so they were under no pressure to complete their assignments. If they closed all of their ailing financial houses with dispatch and liquidated assets promptly, their job would be finished, the RTC dissolved, and they’d be tossed out on the street. Therefore, efficiency was of little concern. Battaglia claimed to be infuriated by this lackadaisical attitude, and decided to apply his Marine discipline to his job, which proved to be an unpopular move. He began taking notes so he could alert his supervisors to the poor internal business practices.
S
IXTEEN
IXTEEN
In October 1990, Mary Jean Pearle was twenty-eight and had dated many young, eligible men. Still, she had not found that one person with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Many of her friends had already married, but although the idea of getting married appealed to her, she felt no panic to rush to the altar.
The tall brunette was blessed with a head of thick chestnut brown hair, which she casually brushed off her face and let fall down her back. Her large expressive brown eyes were accented by conservative makeup, and a warm red polish covered her long, tapered nails. She had outgrown all of the teenage fads, and her taste leaned toward fashionable tailored pants and cashmere sweater sets.
Looking for a husband to support her was not a goal. Her parents were wealthy and generous and, in addition, she supported herself by working in the family antique business. Not yet an antique expert herself, she could at times differentiate between fine antiques and well-made imitations.
The crowded, noisy atmosphere of The Mucky Duck in the Oak Lawn area was one of many favorite hangouts for Mary Jean Pearle’s crowd. The English pub ambiance was inviting, and drinking beer and meeting new people was a good way to spend a Saturday night.
This cool fall evening, as she laughed with friends, Mary Jean noticed a handsome man watching her from two tables away. When she made eye contact with him, he came over and introduced himself. John Battaglia was seven years older than Mary Jean and very suave. The age difference made him seem worldly and sophisticated. Just being around the good-looking man flattered her and made her feel glamorous. Her friends told her how cute and fun he was. His energy and humor dazzled them.
All evening, he hovered over her, complimenting her and making her feel like a princess being swept off her feet. After they had spent most of the evening talking, he handed her his business card.
Hmmm,
she thought,
a CPA.
The card read “Resolution Trust Corporation.”
Hmmm,
she thought,
a CPA.
The card read “Resolution Trust Corporation.”
“So you work for the government?” Mary Jean asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I supervise eleven employees and I’ve got billions of dollars in assets to liquidate. Gotta get back some money for the taxpayers.”
Mary Jean was impressed. Here he was a college graduate with additional certification, and she hadn’t even finished high school. With all of her pretty girlfriends around her, this very desirable man was most interested in her.
Later that night, he asked for Mary Jean’s phone number. She smiled coyly and wrote it on the back of a cocktail napkin.
Mary Jean Pearle was the only child of Gene Harrison Pearle. Her father was born on March 6, 1923, when Dallas was only the forty-second largest city in the country.
Even as a young man, Pearle was smart and ambitious. He graduated from Southern Methodist University, but in his early life he struggled financially ; one summer, he drove an ice cream truck. When he turned thirty-five, his life changed dramatically. His widowed mother, Ida May, died at sixty-three and left him a quarter million dollars—a vast sum in 1958. His only brother, who was two years older, had died during the Second World War and his father, Claude, passed away three years after that. Gene was the sole heir.
Although he suddenly became wealthy, Gene managed to stay levelheaded and did nothing foolhardy with the money. At the time, he sold real estate for Ebby Halliday, a woman who would become a Dallas icon in the real estate world. Pearle had seen many people make their fortunes in real estate and he had the drive and charisma to become one of them. After receiving his inheritance, he continued working in Ebby Halliday’s quaint, white, residential-looking structure at Preston and Northwest Highway. All along, he wisely invested his money, purchasing rental properties that provided additional income. Then, he’d use those funds to buy more property. In addition, he invested in the stock market and soon became a very wealthy man.
In 1960, at the age of thirty-seven, he met Dorrace Clark, an attractive, dark-haired divorcee with two teenage sons, Robert and Richard. Pearle was a comfortable-looking man, of average height and stocky build. His olive skin was an interesting contrast to his light brown hair. He had never been married and he was impressed with Dorrace, an ambitious woman who had dreams of opening her own antiques business.
A year and a half after they married, Mary Jean was born, and Gene Pearle, now almost forty, felt blessed to finally have a child, especially a daughter. He was always gracious to women, insisting that they should be treated like princesses, and that’s exactly how he would treat Mary Jean for his entire life. She was Daddy’s girl. At her birth, her half brother Bobby was fifteen, and Rick was fourteen. Quickly, the little brunette became the star of the family; everyone catered to her. Later, when Mary Jean became a teenager, her brother Rick drove for over three hours to take her to Austin, Texas, simply because she wanted to see a Peter Frampton concert. It was a very grown-up experience for a thirteen-year-old.
The family lived in a long, rambling house in North Dallas, where Mary Jean attended Hillcrest High School. She became close to many classmates, and several have remained lifelong friends. After her third year of high school, she wanted to test her wings and try living in New York City. Since her father denied her nothing, he rented her an apartment in the Big Apple for six months; however, Mary Jean was back home in three. The pace of the huge city was not to her liking, and she yearned to be back in Dallas with her friends, family, and everything else that was familiar.
By now, her mother was well established as a dealer in fine antiques, owning Dorrace Pearle Antiques on Routh Street near the Quadrangle. Mary Jean began helping her mother in the store.
In her early twenties, Mary Jean tried out all the latest fashion trends, even wearing black fingernail polish. Her brothers called her a “fashion junkie” as she tinted her hair red and wore heavy mascara and dark, muddy eye shadow. But when fashions changed, so did Mary Jean.
S
EVENTEEN
EVENTEEN
At the same time John Battaglia was becoming involved with Mary Jean Pearle, Michelle LaBorde was making major changes in her life. Ever since law school, Michelle had dreamed of being a law professor. At the time, her professors advised her to practice law first; because actual experience would allow her to bring more realism to her classes. After practicing for nine years, Michelle was more than qualified to teach.
Her dream came true in August 1991, when Southern University Law Center in Baton Rouge hired her as an associate professor to teach criminal trial procedure, trial advocacy, and many other areas of law. The environs of Southern University are true to its name. The campus sits on a wide bend of the Mississippi River where cargo-laden barges cruise lazily up the river. Live oak trees drip with Spanish moss, giving them a hazy appearance. In summer, the campus is dotted with pink-blossomed crape myrtle trees, painting the landscape pink and green.
Each year, the law school holds continuing education seminars and in Michelle’s first year, Southern offered one on family law. The director asked Michelle to speak. She had previously made a conscious decision not to be an advocate on domestic violence issues because she needed to heal herself before she could help heal others. Now she knew her voice had to be heard. She told the director she would speak on “Family Violence.” After the seminar, she was enthusiastically received and word soon spread that the new professor was more than a bright mind and a pretty face. The woman had firsthand experience with domestic violence, and she was willing to talk about it.
A previous client of Michelle’s was an eccentric man whose name had appeared in the Guinness Book of World Records more than once. One entry cited him for flying his private plane solo around the world. He was also known for his annual holiday party, a huge gala to which the most glamorous and fascinating people in Baton Rouge were invited. Michelle was always on the list. Her life had returned to normal, but in late 1991 she had no steady boyfriend. She dressed casually for this year’s party in an understated black dress. Though she tried not to stand out, her dress showed off her trim body and made her hair look all the more blond.
After she had been at the party for thirty minutes, she eyed a tall, very handsome man. He wore a black suit and a black collarless shirt. His black hair was slightly graying at the temples. She asked her friend, an interior designer named Marilyn, about him.
“Oh my God, why didn’t I think of this before!” Marilyn squealed. “You two would be perfect together. His name is John and he’s
so
Italian. Come meet him.”
so
Italian. Come meet him.”
The description sent chills through Michelle. She almost bolted for the door, but her friend continued to tell her about the man.
“He’s a chemical engineer and was just transferred here from California. Worked there for a couple years. He’s been in town only a few weeks and doesn’t know that many people. You two will get along famously,” her friend said, dragging Michelle across the room.
When Marilyn introduced Michelle to John Ghetti, he asked, “Did you just get here?”
Michelle looked at her watch. “No,” she said. “I’ve been here at least a half hour or so.”
“Impossible,” he said, taking Michelle’s hand. “I would have noticed you before now.”
Michelle could feel warmth flow through her body. He locked his eyes on hers and she was instantly charmed. They talked for the next two hours. His huge brown eyes sparkled when he spoke of cooking Italian food for her, and when he smiled she noticed he had the whitest teeth she’d seen outside of a toothpaste commercial.
E
IGHTEEN
IGHTEEN
Flushed with the warm excitement of a new romance, Mary Jean spoke enthusiastically to her parents about John Battaglia. Just a week after meeting him, she took John to her parents’ home to meet them. Her mother liked him well enough. She saw him as an attractive, successful young man to show off to her friends. Her father treated him cordially, but if he had been asked, he would probably have said that no one was good enough for Mary Jean.
After Mary Jean had dated John for only a few months, she shocked her family and friends by announcing marriage plans. As the wedding neared the following year, 1991, Mary Jean’s brother Rick saw little fissures in Battaglia’s personality. Small hints kept popping up that he wasn’t the kind, considerate person Mary Jean thought he was. Rick tried to point these out to his sister, but Mary Jean was in love and she couldn’t believe that John Battaglia had any flaws. Mary Jean felt that magic had just entered her life.
However, Mary Jean was in denial. John had told her about beating Michelle LaBorde and breaking her nose, but he downplayed the fight to such an extent that Mary Jean believed that it had been an isolated incident. John also told Mary Jean how horrible Michelle had been to him, depriving him of seeing his child, as well as having affairs with several lawyers she worked with. He also complained that Michelle had been a dreadful wife and an even worse mother.
Mary Jean felt sorry that John had had to endure such a terrible marriage. She wouldn’t dream of treating him like that. Believing his lies, she let love cloud her mind, and excused whatever he had done. At that point she felt like Cinderella who had just found her Prince.
Having been raised in the Catholic Church, John Battaglia wanted a Catholic wedding. Although Dorrace and Gene Pearle were of a different faith, they consented to his wishes and began planning an elaborate affair, putting deposits on caterers and florists, and buying Mary Jean a beautiful designer gown. As the wedding neared, the Catholic priest who had been counseling the couple refused to marry them. He was convinced that they had issues they had not yet resolved, issues that would cause future problems.
The priest voiced his concerns that John had anger management problems and hadn’t reconciled to the fact that he had been abusive to his first wife. He realized that John refused to take responsibility for his actions. On the other hand, the priest saw Mary Jean as controlling. He determined that she had trouble relinquishing power and wasn’t allowing John to be part of the decision-making process.
Mary Jean’s parents wanted to give their daughter an extraordinary wedding present. For several years, they had lived in a large, two-story red brick home on Dickason, in an area just north of downtown. They surprised their daughter by presenting her with that house as a wedding gift. The four-bedroom, three-bath home had a large formal living room with an adjoining music room that held a baby grand piano. An elegant European chandelier sparkled over a polished fruitwood table in the vast formal dining room, a room big enough for the grandest of dinner parties. The house even had an elevator.
Mary Jean and John were thrilled. Knowing that she and her Prince Charming would live happily ever after, Mary Jean discounted the priest’s misgivings, and the couple decided to marry immediately. They chose April 6, 1991, only six months after they had first met.
Her parents lost all of the deposits they had made on the sumptuous wedding when Mary Jean and John invited a minister from her church to unite them in marriage in the living room of their new home.
On their wedding night, the perfect, considerate man who had always put Mary Jean first and smothered her with compliments suddenly snapped at her over a small disagreement. His language was vulgar and abusive. It was the first tolling of the bell, warning her of danger ahead. As she’d had no experience with abuse of any kind, it was difficult for her to recognize it. Her model of marriage was her parents’ loving relationship. In addition to treating Mary Jean as a princess, her father had always treated her mother like a queen.
Mary Jean took another look at her new husband and she saw a stranger.
After they returned from their honeymoon, Mary Jean rationalized that John’s belligerent slip was only an isolated occurrence. She didn’t know that when a woman first tolerates abuse, her abuser sees it as permission for future violence. Unfortunately, Mary Jean began to follow a pattern, much like Michelle had. She discounted the seriousness of their problems and went about trying to make their marriage happy.
It was a sad revelation for Mary Jean when she discovered that her Prince Charming snored. She found it impossible to sleep as she lay listening to his nocturnal honking. She slept with her head under her pillow, stuffed foam rubber plugs into her ears, and switched on a sound machine that simulated the crashing of ocean waves, but nothing helped.
Two months following their wedding, Mary Jean was excited to learn that she was pregnant. Now her rest was essential, but she still wasn’t getting any sleep. She would nudge John, telling him to turn over. Finally, he picked up his pillow and stomped down the hall to another bedroom. Except on rare occasions, he didn’t come back.
On January 9, 1992, Mary Faith Battaglia was born, and Mary Jean was ecstatic. John was equally thrilled and doted on the little blond baby, calling her “Faithy Mouse.” He was happy to feed the child and care for her, even changing her diapers. As she got older, he would take her for rides in the car. At home he’d hold her in his arms and sing to her as they danced around the room. Mary Jean was delighted that he was such a loving and gentle father.
However, the new baby didn’t deter Battaglia’s increasing anger at Mary Jean. Part of his anger may have been that he had to live in a house owned by his wife. With that burden to his ego, he didn’t physically abuse her as he had Michelle, but he resorted to verbal domination, criticizing and belittling her. When she didn’t immediately lose weight after her pregnancy, he told her she was fat. Knowing she didn’t have the education he had, he felt comfortable calling her stupid. He undermined her confidence and tried to make her doubt her own self-worth, despite the fact that she was a smart lady—adroitly running a successful antiques business and handling rental property that brought in more money than he made.
Being married to John was an emotional endurance test. He called Mary Jean every vulgar name she had ever heard. She begged him to get counseling, thinking that he could learn to manage his explosive temper. He refused to go and treated her more harshly. Some of his insulting tirades lasted as long as twenty minutes. At the same time she didn’t dare tell her friends or family about their troubled relationship. She would be embarrassed to admit that John had such a violent temper and was screaming at her. Abuse just didn’t happen to someone like her.
John and Mary Jean entertained lavishly in their wonderful home. As their friends walked through the front entry, they would never have suspected that John had exploded at Mary Jean only minutes before.
At dinner, twelve guests would sit at the beautiful dining-room table laden with antique china richly decorated with twenty-four carat gold and placed atop matching gold chargers. Sparkling lead crystal goblets and wineglasses, along with hundred-year-old, heavy French silverware adorned with clusters of grapes, completed each setting. A huge bouquet of fresh flowers designed by Mary Jean’s favorite florist lent a soft fragrance to the room.
During cocktails and at dinner John would tell funny, animated stories, sometimes about their daughter’s cute antics, many times about other subjects. He always kept their friends entertained. Everyone loved John.
The guests would dine on beef Wellington, lobster Newberg, or whatever delicious gourmet dish Mary Jean had prepared. They dabbed at the corners of their mouths with starched, smoothly ironed linen napkins, and thought what a perfectly wonderful life the Battaglias had.
At Christmas, the Battaglias mailed cards to their many friends with a beautiful professional photograph of their family tucked inside. For Faith’s first Christmas, John and Mary Jean were photographed sitting in front of their lavishly decorated fireplace. A tall tree sat in the background and John’s arm warmly embraced Mary Jean’s shoulders. Faith sat on the floor in a red velvet dress, her father wore a dark suit, and her photogenic mother looked exceptionally pretty and alluring in a black velvet dress with a split up the left side. Mary Jean’s hair and makeup were perfect, just like the smile on her lips. They looked like the ideal family . . . or so their friends believed.
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