Steven Long - Texas Writer

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The True Story of Death Without Dignity

SAN ANTONIO - I have made a career of covering some of the nation's major murder trials, and have even written a few books about some of the cases. I have seen most of Texas' top criminals work their magic before judge and jury. When I got into this business, I was taught how the elite of the defense bar think, and I was taught by members of the elite - given an inside look at their craft. More importantly, I was given a behind the scenes seat at the table of the longest, and maybe still, the most expensive murder trial in the state's history.

My oldest and closest friend, the late federal Judge Stephen Reasoner once observed to me that "The law is a closed profession. You will never penetrate it." Boy did I surprise him.

I had wanted to write a book for some time. My friend Ronnie Duggar, founder of the Texas Observer, even brought me to the attention of his New York agent. But it was on the suggestion of Texas Monthly's Dick Reavis that I called the magazine's upstart book publishing division and two weeks later found myself in the Alamo City covering the Autumn Hills Nursing Home Case.

I was in over my head. I didn't know come here from sic 'em about the case, and had produced a 14 page outline to sell the book that would become Death Without Dignity only after spending a Sunday afternoon drinking beer and talking about it with the now defunct Houston Post's Steve Olafson, and the Houston Chronicle's Kevin Moran, plus reading a good magazine overview piece by my pal Michael Berryhill in the now defunct Houston City Magazine.

So there I was, sitting in San Antonio watching an interminable voir dire and wondering how in the hell I was going to make a book about old people exciting, much less readable.

I've always had a talent for deals, and just making ends meet on the meager $10,000 advance I was paid was going to be a challenge, even in 1985 when the book was done. Everybody knew the trial would last forever. Yet I had a book contract. That alone was far beyond my most lofty ambitions or expectations. What's more, I talked the owners of San Antonio's elegant and historic Menger Hotel into letting me have a room for $30 a night for the duration of the trial. At least I would be living well.

The case had been moved to San Antonio from Galveston County by Judge Don B. Morgan. On trial for murder were six of the nursing home chain's owners and executives, and the corporation itself.

The Menger sits right next door to the Alamo and has since memories of the battle were only 23 years old. The building is built on the foundations of an 1859 brewery. Alcohol has always been a part of the venerable old Texas landmark. It is said more cattle deals were struck in its bar than in anyplace in the state. The watering hole is also the spot (probably one of many) where Teddy Roosevelt recruited the Rough Riders. And it was here that I got to know one of the most colorful men ever to serve as a Texas judge.

I had known Morgan for about ten years covering Galveston County politics (rich fodder for any journalist). A lifelong liberal Democrat who grew up in the shadow of the state capitol in Austin, he was an unparalleled raconteur, gourmet, reader, egomaniac, and as fun a companion as any man could have. After completing the University of Texas Law School with a proud "C" average, he went into private practice, eventually landing in the coastal tank town of Texas City representing blue collar workers in personal injury and workman's comp cases.

Morgan would quip, "I passed the bar with a 75, the lowest passing grade. I'm a good lawyer. I didn't give the bastards an iota more than I had to."

He had a lifelong affinity for the little man. The well heeled and well coiffed owners and managers of the nursing home chain wouldn't be going before a tougher arbiter than the judge who would preside over their case.

Morgan also liked to drink.

So did I at the time.

So did most of the defense team, as well most of the press contingent who would endure covering the trial for seven months.

So it was at the "Roosevelt Bar" on a rainy fall evening that Don Morgan (who always introduced me as the "Book Writer") gave me privileges in his court that I have never seen another journalist receive either before or since.

So that I was able to tell the complete story, a state district judge told me that I would be allowed into chambers during even the most sensitive discussions out of the presence of the jury.

Morgan knew that I was not filing daily. We had an unspoken pact that I would not reveal to other members of the press what I heard during the in camera conferences. Equally important, Morgan made me his constant companion at dinner each evening where we would discuss the intricacies of the trial playing out before him. I was told his innermost thoughts - some of which would have chilled the defendants.

Yet the judge kept an even hand. Before him were some of the most skilled trial lawyers Texas had ever produced. Roy Minton and his partner Charles Burton are two Austin legends who made a career defending high profile clients against the state capital's rambunctious District Attorney, Ronnie Earle (think Tom DeLay). Joined at the defense table was the Fulbright and Jaworski team of famed medical malpractice attorney Tom Sartwelle and his co-counsel, Gail Friend. The corporation was also represented by local counsel, a San Antonio legend in his own right, Roy Barerra Sr. Rounding out the team was Mike Ramsey who would become world famous for his successful co-defense with Dick DeGuerin of New York billionaire Robert Durst, and his unsuccessful defense of the late Enron Chairman Ken Lay.

Appearing for the prosecution was a rookie lawyer named David Marks (now a successful Houston PI lawyer), Galveston County DA Mike Guarino, and a former state appellate judge named Jim Vollers. Much of the state's investigation had been bankrolled by then Attorney General Jim Mattox, and in fact Marks and the former judge were both on the AG's payroll.

Marks had spent virtually his entire career on the case. The "baby lawyer" had discovered it in an old file in the Galveston Country District Attorney's office as a Medicare fraud action. The case would eventually grow to the point that Autumn Hills was suspected in the alleged deaths by abuse and neglect of more than 200 frail and helpless nursing home patients. It would go through indictments by three separate grand juries before going to trial.

Marks came to be viewed as a zealot by much of the public and some of the press. Yet the case he presented was compelling, and most importantly, Galveston's new DA, Guarino, bought into it.

And so when testimony began, it wasn't long before Morgan adjourned to chambers to talk about points of law with the army of lawyers before him. I followed them in.

"What's he doing in here?" one of the uppity lawyers presumptuously asked the judge.

"He's in here because I say he is in here," Morgan responded, leaving no room for sass. "He's writing a book on the case."

And that was that. The lawyers now knew who I was and what I was doing there. Earlier the defense had their investigator check me out after I told them I was doing a book for Texas Monthly Press. I didn't check out for them because no by-line check had turned up my name since I wasn't a TM staff writer.

Over drinks in the Menger the judge had given me his candid assessment of each of the lawyers involved in the case, their strengths, weaknesses, foibles, and his own personal opinion of them.

At the bottom of the heap was Sartwelle.

"He's a prick," he told me.

Well, prick that he may have been, Tom Sartwelle is the kind of prick you want in your corner if you suddenly find yourself sitting in the middle of a legal cesspool. He is passionate and relentless in defense of his clients. He, and lawyers like him, are the reason the term advocate was coined. Sartwelle can find a defense in even the most sordid medical malpractice.

But Morgan couldn't stand the lawyer, and it was evident from watching him on the bench. The Fulbright solon was constantly chided by a judge who could hardly mask his disdain.

And as much as he disliked Sartwelle, Morgan adored Roy Minton. The Austin lawyer had made a name for himself defending the powerful, and Morgan betrayed his plebian roots when he quietly admired those with fame, money, and power.

Morgan also loved the perks that come with being a state district judge. Honest to a fault, he was still irresistible bait to the highly paid lawyers who did their best to influence him. We dined in the finest restaurants San Antonio had to offer, the defense, the judge, and the journalist. I was able to watch the delicate balancing act performed by the players as the lawyers attempted to curry favor with the judge as we all ate at their client's expense. I learned the loose (not the legal) definition of the term ex parte.

All the while I was taking notes. After each session in the courtroom, in chambers, in the bar, or at a restaurant, I would go back to the hotel room and write down my memories.

Three months into the trial I knew I could speak candidly with the judge, knew I could suggest damned near anything to him. We had become good friends. I suggested we set up a dinner with Sartwelle.

I made the same suggestion to the lawyer, who felt some trepidation at breaking bread with the judge he knew hated him, yet knew he must win over.

Morgan agreed to a dinner with Sartwelle.

We met, ate, drank, and then drank some more. By the end of the evening, Morgan looked at the startled lawyer and said, "You know, you're alright."

Sartwelle quipped, "I've been trying to get that over to you, Judge."

The ice had been broken.

At another dinner, Minton told the judge that he was working on three jurors, using all of his considerable charm to win just those three over. He was making eye contact with them as he sat at the defense table. When he questioned a witness, he would turn and pose his query while looking at the juror rather than looking at the witness. One, a retired Army enlisted man, he believed, would hang the jury. In fact he did just that, along with the two others Minton had identified as susceptible.. It was cynical lawyering at its very best.

As the trial neared its end, Morgan began to become familiar with the small corps of media who had followed his every move for seven months. The late Jimmy Woods of the Houston Post began joining the two of us for dinner. Finally, we all gathered in the Roosevelt Bar for drinks with the judge. It was one of those wonderful off the record evenings when newsmaker and media are able to be themselves in a relaxed atmosphere. In fact, it was so relaxed that we all made bets on the outcome of the trial, and the judge held the funds. When he put his bet down, he made a call for conviction. I bet that the jury would hang.

When the jury went out I was in chambers with Morgan and the defense team. The state's lawyers skulked off to their own spot. They had been standoffish throughout the trial.

At last, a note from the jury came in. It was nothing and the judge sent a note back telling the twelve as much. I needed to pee. When I opened the door of the hallway leading from the judge's chambers to the courtroom, cameras flashed, video rolled, and my colleagues with the print media raised their Reporter's Notebooks to take notes.

"What can you tell us Steve?" they asked.

"Nothing," I replied. "Morgan will have me for contempt if I even breathe."

But under my arm was my notebook. In an exaggerated motion, I put it on top of a nearby cigarette machine as I sauntered toward the men's room.

Not a single journalist took advantage of my subtle offer and picked up the notebook. Idiots, I thought to myself.

The Autumn Hills jury hung after six days. Minton and Sartwelle had worked their magic. Two hours after walking out of the Bexar County Courthouse the defendants threw a big victory party at the Cadillac Bar, a trendy Mexican restaurant near where they had stood trial. The spread was lavish and the tequila flowed freely.

As I stood with Morgan looking at the former defendants and their happy lawyers I asked the judge for his post mortem on the trial he had just witnessed He looked at me with a "Haven't I taught you anything?" look and then smiled.

"Talent whips truth every time," he said in admiration of the defense team.

They had been paid $2 million.

What Mitt Romney Faces From the Press

GOP presidential wannabe Mitt Romney is a daring man. He is running for the Oval Office with full knowledge that his beliefs and the beliefs of millions like him will be put under the glare of media scrutiny. That is a place where many of his Mormon faith find distinct discomfort. I know, because I plunged headlong into that world writing about a tragic event in Utah, the heartland of the LDS Church.

Romney has just won the Iowa GOP straw poll. That fact alone will intensify the media scrutiny on a candidate uncomfortable with it. He has already flared on a conservative radio talk show in the state when asked about his Mormon religion. That is only the beginning, and as the media asks more and more probing questions about his faith, I predict he will flame out as a candidate for the Oval office.

Why? Because I have personal experience with the very thin skins of many who are practicing members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. When Mormon beliefs and practice are illuminated by the media spotlight, many in the church cringe. Others strike out, as I found out when I found my book on a Utah murder case the brunt of a relentless attack of bad reviews on Amazon.

Every Woman's Nightmare, (St. Martin's Press) is the story of the tragic and disgusting murder of Lori Hacking by her husband Mark, after discovering he had been lying to her about his acceptance into the medical school of the University of North Carolina. She was shot in the head as she slept, her body thrown in a dumpster and later buried with garbage in the Salt Lake City dump. The search for her remains gripped the nation.

Woven into the book is the story of a deeply religious Mormon family. During my research, and after the book's publication, I learned that some members of the faith regard its inner workings and rituals as secret, only available to the initiated. Yet I had a story to tell, and revealing those secrets was a part of giving my reader the full picture of the world in with Lori and Mark Hacking grew to adulthood and embraced.

As a journalist, I have always believed that few secrets are off limits to members of my profession, none the least of which those of a church which goes out of its ways to hide its core beliefs from outsiders.

Had I not written about the Mormon Church, Every Woman's Nightmare, would have been just another boring scribble about domestic violence. I don't waste my time, or my readers either, by writing about such droll soap opera upheavals in a marriage gone bad.

Lori and her brother Paul were adopted children of Portuguese descent. Their parents ultimately divorced and the children were split between their father and mother. Lori was raised in Orem, about 45 miles from Salt Lake's Temple Square, the two were regular attendees at the Ward House at the end of their street. Mark was an enthusiastic elder, an active participant in a church which dominated the couple's lives, as does the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in the lives of the majority of residents of the Beehive State.

So when I traveled to Salt Lake City, I naively expected to find members of a church community willing to talk about the tragedy that had happened in their midst. I wanted, and expected, full cooperation from the Mormon Church when I went to Temple Square, walked into a visitor's center situated at the epicenter of Mormonism, and asked for directions to the sect's public information office. In a lifetime of journalism, I have never encountered anything but openness and cooperation from church administrators and clerics.

A very nice elderly man quickly got on the phone and quickly connected me with the church flacks. I informed them of my mission, to write a book for a major New York publisher on the tragic death and heroic hunt for the body of Lori Hacking.

First, there was silence as cold as Brigham Young's tombstone for a time, and then came the inevitable "We'll get back to you" moment. I instantly knew it was circle the wagons time as the Mormons closed ranks around their own. Later that evening, I got a call from the big guy, an uptight fellow named Dale Bills, the official spokesman for the fastest growing religion in America, if not the world. I was informed that "We will not be taking part in this."

I was polite, yet I don't take doors slammed in my face gracefully by an ice clod flack or anybody else. No good journalist does. Yet the church had shunned me and I had been shunned by none other than the chief Mormon flack at that. I suppose deep down I felt flattered. They were taking my presence seriously.

Shunned though I was, I had done the ethical thing. I had offered the church the opportunity to refute everything I would eventually present about it in my yet and they had rebuffed the opportunity.

I had halfway expected this sort of treatment. I didn't know much Mormon history at the time, but I darned sure knew that its Prophet, Joseph Smith, had been brutally murdered by an angry mob after he had been outrageous one too many times on June 27, 1844. The loss of Smith was just the beginning of horrendous self inflicted bad luck that would visit the Mormons and their leadership. It was of little wonder to me that they wouldn't want a "gentile" like myself poking around their innermost secrets, and reporting beliefs that most believers would consider alien, if now downright goofy. Who could blame them for closing ranks around their own? I certainly didn't.

Yet to the average Mormon, beliefs cherished since childhood were anything but goofy, alien, or strange. However, deep down, most know that the Mormon Church is out of the American mainstream of denominations. And while it sends legions of missionaries worldwide to make converts, the church is not open to outsiders in many ways.

Rather than embracing their history, the writings of their forbearers, and fundamental beliefs, when public scrutiny by outsiders happens, the Mormons often run from it, hide it, and when confronted directly about it, speak in vague generalities. Theirs is a colorful and truly heroic past, but all too often only a sanitized story is told by church spin doctors.

The Lori Hacking case was a media circus that brought the glare of publicity to Salt Lake City, and at the center of it was her mother. Like the tender hearted across America, my heart gushed rivers for Thelma Soares. But it was around her that the wagons circled their tightest. It was a circle that would not be unbroken, and I tried to breach the tight Mormon web around her and eventually made contact with her spokesman through her bishop who was momentarily accommodating. Eventually, I was told she would talk to me, however, Thelma and her handlers had determined she deserved a return for the investment of time it would take to sit down with and author to discuss her relationship with her daughter Lori.

"You are doing this book for money, aren't you?" her spokesman said matter of fact, his voice a monotone. "She will talk to you, but she needs something in return."

I have never paid for an interview in my life, and never will. I briefly put up a fight saying that doing so would be a violation of journalistic ethics. In the end though I knew I would have to get firsthand information as best I could. Fortunately, Lori's brother Paul was more than willing to help out on my project and we became good friends.

Thelma Soares wanted to profit from her adopted daughter's death. I would later learn that the gentle grieving mother portrayed on television would write a scathing review on Amazon of my book for which she was receiving nothing. When it came out, I had to wonder if the review would have been positive had I played ball with her handlers and offered to pay Thelma.

Without cooperation from Thelma, I determined to hit the books, cram as much Mormon history as I could into my mind, and spend shoe leather on the pavement retracing the steps of Mark Hacking the night he killed his wife. And like any investigative journalist, I determined to talk to as many insiders as possible.

Learning of the inner workings and practice of the religion was easy. My wife is of pioneer Mormon stock - some of whom have lapsed. And one of the lapsed ones is a cleric, an Episcopal priest, in fact. It was through him and his first person accounts that I learned of how everyday Mormons practice their religions. It was also through him that I got a insider's look at the lives of the Mormon faithful. It was also through him that I learned the intimate details of the wedding ceremony that causes so many faithful young Mormons to become disillusioned enough to leave the church.

I like to say I write books about lawyers, not about murders. After all, a murder is a pretty boring event. Taken to its lowest common denominator, living flesh is turned into dead flesh in an instant. What makes a case interesting is the skill of the lawyer before a jury as they practice their ancient craft. And sometimes the skill is never seen as lawyers work behind the scenes for their clients.

Over a career that is becoming increasingly long, I've seen many of the best. I've written books about them, and hundreds, if not thousands, of stories about their cases. Two veteran lawyers, Gilbert Athay and Bob Stott would face each other should the case ever come to trial. Both knew it never would. Yet their machinations and the charade played by both were interesting.

I couldn't have written about Athay and Stott without talking with their contemporaries. Athay, for the defense, is a longtime liberal crusader against the death penalty. Stott, is a career prosecutor, a Mormon, and already the controversial subject of a book, The Mormon Murders, in which it is alleged he protected the interests of the church over justice in a particularly bizarre case.

And then there is Utah itself. Nature looks down upon that state and smiles. While the desert of the Great Basin is a wasteland of truly biblical proportions, the grandeur of the Wasatch and High Uinta Mountains is unsurpassed. All that being said, it is without a doubt the most backward state in the union, making Alabama look almost progressive. Why? Because the wagons have been circled so long by the conservative Mormon hierarchy against gentiles and their influence many institutions harken back to the 1950s. What's more, many Utahans would have it no other way.

I don't know of any other state today in which to get a drink in a public place you have to "join" a private club, or where alcohol is sold only in state owned and run stores. And that is just one item on a long list of quirks about the state I found interesting, and delightful in a perverse sort of way. Another is its politics. The legislature is dominated by Mormon elected officials who are among the most conservative politicians anywhere. Members of the LDS Church largely vote as a block, at least in much of Utah. I recall seeing a chilling poster of a man running for Congress once on a country road in the southern part of the state. It showed a well dressed, beefy, white male. On it were written two messages, his name, and the caption, "He's one of us."

Not a week goes by without a major story in a major daily newspaper about polygamy. Tell me one other state in which that happens?

Yet all of Utah is not a throwback to a long vanished America. Salt Lake City tries. It has even elected liberal Mayor Rocky Anderson to head its government, much to the consternation of the conservatives who must deal with him. And worse still, gentiles have surpassed the faithful within the city in the census. And the crowning blow - an openly gay Democrat represents the district housing Temple Square in the state senate.

So in writing Every Woman's Nightmare I had two primary elements to deal with, the domestic tragedy of a young couple's marriage, and the incredibly interesting atmosphere in which they grew up. It is an atmosphere that has evolved an "Us Against the World" attitude which has even resulted in violence against innocent people simply because they weren't Mormon. In September, 1857, a wagon train crossing Utah was attacked and more than 100 innocent pioneers were massacred at Mountain Meadows west of Cedar City. While the modern church has long denounced the killings, outsiders are still decidedly -- well, outsiders.

As I delved into Mormon history I learned that the flock has a convenient habit of forgetting the foibles of their pioneer ancestors, including Joseph Smith himself.

Mormons are an abstemious lot. They don't drink, smoke, or take coffee into their bodies. Yet the Prophet himself, Joseph Smith, ran a bar for a time until his first of many wives, Emma, threatened to throw him out of the house. And Brigham Young once thundered in a speech in the Mormon Tabernacle itself that the faithful men of the church must absolutely stop spitting tobacco juice on the building's floor.

And even today some, no many, Mormons have difficulty leaving the past behind. Old habits die hard, and for Fundamentalist Mormons, the habit of polygamy hasn't died at all.

The Mormon faith is a belief of prophecy and revelation. Its leader communes directly with God - and more importantly, the faithful believe God talks back. Such was the case in 1890 when Utah desperately wanted to join the Union. Yet Washington made it clear that its populace would have to give up plural marriage before the prospect would even be considered. In a revelation of convenience, the Prophet of the moment ordered scores of Mormon men to choose a single wife and Utah became a state in 1896.

While plural marriage is officially a thing of the past in the mainstream LDS Church, the institution of a man with one wife is embraced with reverence and is an integral part of the faith. Lori's husband, Mark Hacking (as incompetent a killer as ever walked the earth) was destined upon his own death to become a God of his own planet. Yep, you read it right. Had he not killed his wife, Mormon orthodoxy holds that Mark, if he remained a righteous man to the end of his days, would get his own world, surrounded by his happy family. And since Mormon marriage stipulates a bond for "Time and all Eternity," then if the marriage hadn't worked out and had not ended in murder, too bad for the wife. At her own death, she was stuck with the man she had married long ago but couldn't stomach after living with him. It is a pesky detail the prophets haven't quite worked out yet.

Such beliefs are definitely different from those of mainstream Protestants, Catholics, Jews, and Muslims. Many fundamentalist Christians such as Baptists find Mormonism so obnoxious to their preconceptions of faith that they brand the church's practitioners a cult.

And much of the Republican base which will decide if Mitt Romney should receive the nomination is Baptist or a part of another similar sect. The former Massachusetts governor has a hill a difficult to climb as any slope at Snowbird.

When Every Woman's Nightmare was released in April, 2006, it was met with a firestorm of Mormon indignation in online reviews posted with Amazon. Even Lori Hacking's mother took her pound of my flesh saying, "I'm Lori's mother, so I have a pretty good understanding of what happened. If Mr. Long wanted to find accurate information about us "Mormons" and the religious doctrines in which we believe, he should have asked Church Public Relations, not an excommunicated member who carries a grudge. As a lifetime member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I barely recognize the religion Mr. Long describes. And, this book is full of errors, errors, errors! Where are St. Martins "fact checkers"? I think Lori is having a pretty good laugh, barely recognizing herself in this book. Readers beware!"

I suppose I should have paid her after all. And yes, the church PR flacks were the first to get a call from me. Hmmm. What's more, I treated Thelma Soares gently, reverently in the book.

While Thelma berated me and my work online, Lori brother Paul came to my defense on Amazon saying that "Lori was every brother's dream and this book portrays who and what Lori really was. I feel the book was well written and provides a good basis for this case."

Paul continued, saying "This book is not anti-Mormon nor is the author anti-Mormon. The people who write that this book is anti-Mormon are portraying their own opinion. I know in my opinion that this book is nothing to do with the LDS Church, except for the fact, that this story occurred in Utah where so much of daily life is intertwined with the LDS Church."

Paul ended his Amazon review saying, "This story is a tragedy that has affected not only the families involved but everyone who become in contact with this story. This book, in general, captures the feelings, emotions, and facts that occurred over the search for Lori, Mark's trial, and all points in between."

In researching and writing Every Woman's Nightmare I learned several indisputable facts. Many Mormons aren't familiar their historical past. Others, because they grew up with Mormon doctrine don't understand why those of other faiths find their beliefs and practices strange, alien, bizarre, and frankly balderdash.

The Mormon faith will find itself increasingly under media scrutiny as GOP presidential hopeful Mitt Romney makes his quest for the White House. The candidate has thus far finessed soft ball questions from a timid press unwilling to offend. That likely will not last. Some snotty reporter will eventually have the gumption to ask the man who would be the leader of the free world if he truly believes in the Mormon doctrine of Blood Atonement as postulated by Brigham Young (look it up).

The questions will be hard, and an entire state will likely cringe, wanting to withdraw tortoise-like into its protective hard shell. Yet this time there will be no Amazon web site to provide an easy and unchallenged platform for those in denial to vent.

Suggested Reading:

No Man Knows My History, Fawn M. Brodie
The Mormon Murders, Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith

What Mitt Romney Faces From the Press, July 2007, In Cold Blog