He said he had first become aware that Sidney Sparrow had represented Kitty Genovese when a reporter from Newsday had written him a letter in 1979 telling him so. Asked why he had waited until 1989 to file suit, he said he did not have the minutes of his trial because all of his records had been lost in the Attica uprising of 1971. Between 1979 and 1989, he had needed to get someone to read the trial minutes for him and then he had taken his time to make sure he got things written properly.
When Judge Block asked the assistant district attorney if he had any questions for Winston Moseley, Gene Reibstein replied, “Oh, yes, your Honor.” Approaching the witness, Reibstein said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Moseley. I hardly know where to begin.”
The judge asked Reibstein to avoid the comments.
Gene Reibstein had done his homework. He had not only carefully reviewed the original trial transcript and case file, but had also spoken with Charles Skoller, Phillip Chetta (the former assistant district attorney who had taken Moseley’s statement), and some of the original investigating detectives, including John Tartaglia. Long retired from the police department, Tartaglia lived in a small house in a peaceful stretch of Long Island where he indulged his hobby of making handcrafted bird houses. The former detective remembered very clearly his meeting thirty years before with the icy killer, as did everyone else who had encountered the disarmingly placid man. The district attorney had vowed to re-try Moseley in the event his petition was successful. John Castellano and Gene Reibstein had devoted considerable time to speaking with the surviving police and attorneys involved in order to learn as much as they could about what had transpired in 1964.
Reibstein had come well prepared to impeach Moseley on his new claims.
The first and most obvious was Moseley’s assertion that he knew nothing of Sparrow’s representation of Kitty until 1979. On crossexamination, he admitted that he had heard Sparrow mention it at the trial back in 1964.
Moseley remained unruffled when Gene Reibstein caught him in lies. As always, nothing seemed to ruffle this man.
The questioning did not last long. The only other witness to testify at the hearing was Kitty’s brother, Vincent.
John Castellano asked, “Do you recall the early morning of March 13th, 1964?”
“Vividly.”
“Do you recall what happened that morning?”
“There was a knock at the door at approximately 6:00 a.m. The local police informed us of a tragedy that had occurred and described what it was. We were obviously—it was a nightmare. There was confusion, chaos.”
“Did someone have to identify the body of your sister?”
“Yes,” Vincent answered. “That was my Uncle Vito.”
“Are you aware that there have been certain allegations or suggestions in this courtroom about the connection between your family and the so-called Genovese Organized Crime Family?” Castellano asked.
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Is there any truth to those at all?”
“Absolutely not.
“Are you aware that there was a man at the head of the Genovese Organized Crime Family named Vito Genovese?”
“Yes.”
“Is that man your uncle?”
“Absolutely not.”
Barry Rhodes did not cross-examine. Considering how deeply the Genovese crime family had been investigated by authorities, it was easy enough to prove that this particular Genovese family was no relation. It was just one more indignity for the family of Kitty Genovese to endure.
On November 13, 1995, Judge Frederic Block denied Moseley’s petition, ruling that Sidney Sparrow had provided him with “effective, competent, and capable counsel.” Block also found “truly overwhelming proof of Moseley’s guilt,” and that Moseley’s testimony at the July 24 hearing was not credible. On cross-examination, it had become apparent that Moseley had lied, both at his parole board hearings and about certain things that had transpired in 1964.
As the years passed, Winston Moseley would not be the only one to give a drastically revised version of what happened in March of 1964.
PART THREE
TWILIGHT
I was wrong, after all, to tell you that the essential was to avoid judgment. The essential is being able to permit oneself everything, even if, from time to time, one has to profess vociferously one’s own infamy.
Sometimes it is easier to see clearly into the liar than into the man who tells the truth. Truth, like light, blinds. Falsehood, on the contrary, is a beautiful twilight that enhances every object.
The Fall by Albert Camus
They said no one called the police, but I know that 17 people called—some called twice. The police didn’t respond because they thought it was just another brawl at the bar. You know, since the incident, I have never driven home alone at night.
Connie, last name withheld, resident of the Mowbray, quoted in Memories magazine, 1989
We don’t know what happened here. What happened that night has become a myth. It is what we have read about. We don’t know what is true and what is myth. This event doesn’t exist.
Old-time resident of Kew Gardens quoted in Newsday, March 11, 1984
chapter 20
HAROLD TAKOOSHIAN FELT great empathy for Kitty Genovese, as he did for all crime victims. He also found bystander inaction to be a very troubling and all too common problem.
Takooshian received his Ph.D in social-personality psychology from City University of New York in 1979. He joined the faculty of Fordham University in New York City as a professor of psychology. Early on, Professor Takooshian conducted numerous studies on bystander inaction. With the participation of his students and colleagues, he staged crimes such as auto break-ins, bicycle thefts, and pickpocketing on New York City streets with the goal of seeing if anyone passing by would question the thief or call for help. Many of these experiments were filmed.
The results were disheartening. In the simulated auto break-ins, in 100 out of 300 trials, a bystander stopped and gaped at the crime in progress but did not challenge the thief. The experiment was repeated in 190 trials throughout nineteen cities across the United States and Canada. The overall rate of intervention—when a bystander either questioned the thief or sought a police officer—was 11% overall, 3% in New York City.
It is worth noting that these experiments were conducted in the early 1980s, before the advent of cell phones. In some trials, however, a uniformed police officer was purposely stationed not more than 100 feet from the crime in progress, to see if perhaps fear was the main factor that kept people from speaking up (the idea being that a witness could easily inform the police officer of what was going on just a short distance away, thus putting the risk of confronting the thief into the hands of the officer). The presence of a police officer made little difference, however. In two instances, people actually warned the thief to be careful, telling him there was a cop nearby.
In several instances, Professor Takooshian and his associates identified themselves afterward to people who had obviously noticed the crime, asking why they had not acted. Some said they were uncertain what was going on. Others bluntly told them, “It’s not my car, it’s not my business.” One man, a vendor doing business a few feet away from one of the staged car break-ins who had observed the action for several minutes, told the psychology professor, “I don’t care which car he breaks into, as long as it’s not mine.”
Conducting hundreds of experiments like these, Takooshian came to refer to this as “the secret of street crime,” as criminals know they can usually count on people not intervening.
Professor Takooshian appeared as a guest on a number of television programs, including NBC’s Today show with Jane Pauley and the early reality program That’s Incredible!, which aired footage from his experiments. One particularly disturbing segment aired on That’s Incredible! Going beyond inaction to crime, Dr. Takooshian had staged an experiment in which a boy of about ten years old told people on a busy street in Manhattan that he was lo
st and asked if they would help him call his mother. A hidden camera filmed the scene and a microphone concealed on the boy’s collar recorded the voices. “Excuse me, I’m lost; can you help me call my mother?” The little boy, clad in a winter jacket and stocking cap against the cold, asked this question of dozens of different people as they walked by.
The three-minute film is difficult to watch. Most people walked on, completely ignoring the boy’s plea. One man told the child, “Look for a policeman up by the corner,” before briskly walking away. Another man slowed down long enough to tell the child that he wished he could help, but he had a bus to catch. A woman said, “Check with a policeman, he’ll help you,” and walked away. Not one person helped the child.
Professor Takooshian did not regard his research with clinical detachment. For him, it was both deeply personal and deeply troubling. He wanted to increase awareness in the hope of changing attitudes. In March of 1984, Professor Takooshian organized the first Catherine Genovese Memorial Conference at Fordham University.
Sponsored by the National Institute of Mental Health, the National Institute of Justice, and Fordham University, the conference was held March 107–12 at Fordham’s Lincoln Center campus on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Harold Takooshian co-hosted the conference with his colleague, Peter J. O’Connor, a professor of law at Fordham. The three-day conference brought together one hundred specialists in the fields of psychology and law along with government officials. Among the many esteemed presenters was Dr. Stanley Milgram, the social psychologist noted for his provocative human behavior experiments on obedience to authority.
C. Everett Koop, Surgeon General of the United States, gave the keynote address. “I am not pleased to be here at all,” Dr. Koop told the audience. “I wish there were no event to commemorate . . . I wish Catherine Genovese were still alive. She would be forty-eight years old now, maybe married, maybe a mother. Or maybe she’d still be single, a working woman, one of the twelve million single women in the work force today.”
C. Everett Koop called for duty-to-assist legislation, holding bystanders legally accountable for failing to assist a victim in an emergency. Conceding that such a law might be unenforceable, Dr. Koop said, “The mere act of getting the law on the books would help to educate the public about good and bad Samaritanism.” Professor Takooshian also supported a nationwide adoption of duty-to-assist statutes.
The conference attracted media coverage (referred to in some press accounts as the “Kitty Genovese Memorial Seminar on Bad Samaritanism”). In an article for the New York Times, Maureen Dowd quoted panelist Mario Merola, the Bronx district attorney: “The conduct by the witnesses in the Genovese case was a natural, normal reaction. It happens day in and day out. The average person is fearful, apprehensive and doesn’t want to get involved. They want [someone else] to do it. The effect on the criminal justice system every day of people who witness crimes and don’t want to get involved is horrible.”
Fordham law professor and conference co-chair Peter J. O’Connor commented on the lasting interest in the Kitty Genovese murder case even now, two decades removed. “It’s held the imagination because looking at those 38 people, we were really looking at ourselves. We might not have done anything either. That’s the ugly side of human nature.”
The 1984 Catherine Genovese Memorial Conference marked the first of a series of recurring conferences at Fordham University held in her name and memory.
The year 1984 also seemed to mark the first public claims by some residents in Kew Gardens that no such terrible thing had actually happened in their community.
chapter 21
THE KITTY GENOVESE case received a good deal of attention in the press in 1984, particularly in newspapers in the New York City area. In addition to the major conference held at Fordham University, there was considerable press coverage of Winston Moseley’s first parole hearing in late January of that year. Following the parole hearing, Buffalo News columnist Ray Hill wrote an article recounting the crimes of Winston Moseley. Hill received an angry letter from Fannie Moseley.
Dear Mr. Hill:
The Bible says, “Let ye that are without sin cast the first stone.” Are you without sin Mr. Hill? . . . I have read many articles about my son—all that various members of the staff of the Buffalo News have written since 1968. But without a doubt, the article you wrote for the February 2nd edition of your newspaper, is the most distorted and vicious article about anyone I have ever seen. It is a lynching in print. You write stridently—almost hysterically about crimes that happened 16 and 20 years ago as though those crimes occurred yesterday. To what has reached the PERSECUTION stage, you are vindictively condemning of my son far out of proportion to his offense to Buffalo where he neither committed murder nor did anyone any serious physical harm.
She accused Hill of exaggerating Winston’s crime spree in Buffalo, then wrote that Winston’s family was greatly hurt and incensed by Hill’s suggestion that he should never be released from prison. Fannie continued:
What kind of unforgiving society are we living in? What kind of unforgiving person are you? Did Winston personally do something to you? . . . Winston is genuinely sorry for his criminal acts. He is genuinely sorry for the harm he did to anyone in Buffalo. Yet he isn’t the one that won’t let the victims forget, that keeps them fearful. The Buffalo News does that with an endless stream of Winston Moseley articles year after year. I’m making a mother’s plea that you stop it. You have no reason or right to persecute anyone.
MARCH OF 1984 also marked, of course, the twenty-year anniversary of what was undoubtedly one of the highest-profile crimes in New York City history, if not American history.
The New York Daily News printed an article on March 11, 1984, under the headline, “KITTY’S DEATH STILL HAUNTS US.” It included a small picture of Kitty Genovese and a larger photo of Surgeon General C. Everett Koop at the Fordham symposium. The article quoted a resident of Kew Gardens, an elderly woman who did not want her name published, saying: “It’s a shame you news people have to bring this up all the time. Don’t you have anything else to write about?
“Nobody in here is apathetic. I know it isn’t true that 37 people heard her screams and failed to call the police. I was here, and we are not like that.”
A neighbor of hers added: “We are not bad.”
A dissenting opinion came from another woman who had lived there at the time. Calling the neighborhood “a disgrace,” she said: “I believe that people heard but didn’t want to help. I don’t think they’d help today, either.”
Former Chief of Detectives Albert Seedman echoed this, saying he didn’t think the people of Kew Gardens would lift a finger today.
Oddly, the article takes a sudden and inexplicable turn toward advocacy, stating that the issues raised by the case were so basic that it was unrealistic to see them changed by a single event “however out of proportion it may have been blown.”
Aside from the statement by the elderly Kew Gardens resident who said she didn’t believe that thirty-seven people had not called, it offered nothing to support a claim that anything had, in fact, been blown out of proportion. The article ends on an equally strange note, saying that the killing of Kitty Genovese may have been “more private and less public than has been suggested by some police officers and some reporters—and it should be noted that both groups had something to gain from the way they told the tale.” Again, nothing was given to support this, nor was there any explanation of what the New York Times or the New York City Police Department might have had to gain from demonizing a small community that few people had ever heard of in a murder case that few people had ever heard of prior to March 27, 1964. Ironically, no observation was made that residents of Kew Gardens had something to gain by minimizing their role.
A reporter from Newsday writing about the case at this time also heard some denials in Kew Gardens. In an article that appeared on the same date, March 11, 1984, liquor store owner Bobby Tobin told the reporter: “You wa
nt the truth? The truth is it didn’t happen. There weren’t 38 people who heard that. No way.” Tobin gave no explanation of what the truth actually was; most of the deniers offered no explanation beyond their own personal feeling that the story was just not true.
Another of the shop owners on Austin Street said it was a very noisy street; the witnesses mistook Kitty’s murder for “just noisy customers from the bar.” (The same man would be quoted in another interview years later as saying that people didn’t react because the area was so quiet and crime-free that they didn’t believe a murder could happen).
A woman who claimed she had slept through the murder and had not heard a thing also said, “And I happen to know someone called the police. I believe that there were two calls.”
The denials and revisions became more egregious with the passing of time. A few years later, one resident would tell a reporter that there had been seventeen calls.
The boldest claim in the 1984 Newsday article came from a person who reporter Kenneth Gross identified as “one of the old-timers, one of the German-American residents,” who said: “We don’t know what happened here. What happened that night has become a myth. It is what we have read about. We don’t know what is true and what is myth. This event doesn’t exist.”
In 1989, Martin Gansberg, retired from the New York Times and now a former chairman of the journalism department at Fairleigh Dickinson University, revisited his much-lauded 1964 article in a short feature for Memories magazine. It began, “Fear. Fear of getting involved. Fear of dealing with police. Fear of reprisals. These were some of the reasons given to me by the 38 witnesses to the murder of Kitty Genovese 25 years ago.” He wrote of the lies people told him. “The lies bothered me then. They bother me today.”
Kitty Genovese: A True Account of a Public Murder and Its Private Consequences Page 34
