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Justice Maureen O’Connor says campaign money doesn’t affect her

By Denise Grollmus 

In 2006, the Ohio Supreme Court found itself sweating beneath the national spotlight. The New York Times had run a damning article detailing how the court routinely favors those providing hefty campaign contributions.

According to the paper's research, justices ruled on behalf of donors 70 percent of the time. Some, like Terrence O'Donnell of Rocky River, sided with the money 91 percent of the time.

Suddenly the rest of America understood what Ohioans have long known: Ohio Supreme Court rulings seem to be available to the highest bidder.

"I never felt so much like a hooker down by the bus station in any race I've ever been in as I did in a judicial race," Justice Paul Pfeifer told The Times. "Everyone interested in contributing has very specific interests. They mean to be buying a vote."

The court, obviously, was none too happy to be called out in the national press. It's an issue that still stings today. Ask Justice Maureen O'Connor about it, and be prepared for a full frontal attack.

Her tone grows sharp and defensive, flooded with annoyance. The Times numbers were inflated, she claims, and she resents the implication that she's selling her vote. "Do you know what you're even talking about?" she demands.

But there's a reason behind her hostility. O'Connor will go before voters this fall, and she has much to be defensive about.

There was a time when O'Connor couldn't win an election to save her life. During the 1980s, she lost four straight bids for the Summit County Common Pleas Court. She didn't land her first judgeship until 1993, when the Republican Party appointed her to a vacancy.

But O'Connor quickly brandished her judicial aptitude. Defense lawyers praised her diligence, while prosecutors applauded her patience. She attracted little criticism, aside from her preference for wearing leather mini-skirts beneath her robe. A year later, O'Connor won her first election with 68 percent of the vote.

She didn't stay on the bench for long, however. Three months later, the GOP appointed her to yet another vacancy. She became the new Summit County prosecutor.

That's where she quickly established a reputation as a no-quarter-given ballbuster. Under her watch, crime rates fell and indictments rose. She was following the route of ambitious prosecutors everywhere, pounding even low-level criminals with a dizzying array of charges.

Her most famous case involved the bust of an Akron escort service. That effort ended with 1,088 charges against 67 women. For the most part, those charged were simply low-level call girls. Still, O'Connor slapped them with everything from money-laundering to racketeering. The case was eventually dismissed, but it was emblematic of O'Connor's bloodlust.

She also became notorious for trying violent juveniles as adults. In 1996, 14-year-old Donzell Lewis was picked up after a botched drug heist. Lewis had accompanied Michael Stallings to the home of a drug dealer, whom they planned to rob. When the dealer refused to hand over the money, Stallings shot 16-year-old Rolisha Shepard, who just happened to be at the dealer's apartment. She died holding her 14-month-old son in her arms.

O'Connor had Lewis' case moved to adult court, where she charged him with involuntary manslaughter. During closing arguments, O'Connor referred to him as "a little sociopath." The jury agreed. Lewis was sentenced to 14 years, becoming the youngest person ever sent to an Ohio prison.

But O'Connor took a polar approach to white-collar criminals — especially those linked to her Republican patrons.

In 1989, the city of Cuyahoga Falls purchased Blue Cross health insurance through broker Robert Myers. Three years later, James Collver, a former Blue Cross employee, accused Myers of swindling the Falls.

In a lawsuit that Collver filed against Blue Cross, he claimed that Myers was involved in an elaborate kickback scheme with Blue Cross salesman Edward James. Collver accused James of offering customers highball rates, then steering them to Myers for a "better" deal. In exchange for the referrals, Myers gave James numerous kickbacks, including a Corvette, a spacious house, and $150,000.

In the meantime, customers were saddled with an overpriced plan. City employees in Cuyahoga Falls watched their health-care costs nearly double.

Police investigated Collver's allegations. But Myers and James had made campaign contributions to the city's Republican Mayor, Don Robart, to whom the officers reported.

Not surprisingly, detectives never bothered to interview Collver. James and Myers turned down interviews with investigators, who never issued them subpoenas. And though the department's final report notes "strong support to the possibility of a kickback relationship," it claimed that all the evidence was "circumstantial." The city recommended no prosecution.

When the report finally landed in O'Connor's lap, her touch went uncharacteristically soft. She responded with a letter praising the investigation and agreed not to prosecute.

"I guess what upsets me the most is that it was covered up by O'Connor," Council President Kathy Hummel told Scene in 2002.

Today, O'Connor claims she doesn't remember the case, but is insulted by the notion that she covered up anything. "For someone to speculate that I was in some way trying to protect Robart — that's ridiculous," she says. "That doesn't even warrant a response. I never shied away from prosecution, no matter who the perpetrator was. If we didn't prosecute, there must have been valid reasons."

O'Connor's party allegiance landed her in trouble again in 1996, when the Ohio Election Commission cited her for illegally soliciting employees for a Republican Christmas fund-raiser.

"It is my understanding that almost everyone from our office purchased a ticket for last year's party," she wrote in an office memo, a none-too-subtle reminder of who controlled their jobs. "I am hoping to have the same result this year."

She was slapped with a $50 fine.

But someone was impressed with her political moxie. In 1998, Bob Taft scooped her up as his gubernatorial running mate. Together, they waged what became the most expensive race ever in Ohio at the time, beating Lee Fisher and Michael Coleman.

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