Under the Knife: A Beautiful Woman, a Phony Doctor, and a Shocking Homicide (5 page)

Then Labor Day came and Dean and Debra’s world of limitless freedom and fun came to a screeching halt. Once again, it was time for school work—and the harder job of avoiding their father’s wrath.

DEAN WAS 12 YEARS OLD AND DEBRA WAS 9 WHEN THEIR
parents first separated. Sam moved out of the home on 9 Cedar Avenue. He consulted an attorney who advised him to move back into the home, or his wife could divorce him on grounds of abandonment. The lawyer convinced him that a no-fault divorce would leave him in a better position—he would lose fewer of his assets, and his alimony and child support payments would be lower.

So weeks after leaving, Sam returned. He forced his way in and reclaimed 9 Cedar Avenue as his own. For Dean’s mother, this started the divorce clock all over again. At that time, to legally end a marriage, a couple needed to live apart for eighteen months. Now, Carmel had no choice. She had to leave the home at once to free herself of the man who made her and her children miserable.

Carmel told Dean and Debra to pack their things. They had to move from the only place either child could remember calling home. Dean stood in his bedroom in a daze. He stared in his sock drawer not knowing which colors to take and which to leave behind. He didn’t even know how long he would be gone or if he would ever return.

As he stood stock still, incapable of taking any action, Sam entered his room. “Can I help you?” he asked.

Dean glared at him. How could he offer to help his son
pack his clothes and leave his home in the middle of the night? He wanted to say, “Sure, you can help me—by leaving my sister and my mother and me alone.” Instead, he just shook his head.

The three found refuge at grandmother Ada’s home in Newark. She was living alone in a small apartment with only a living room, a bedroom and a kitchen. Now, four people occupied the tiny space. Despite the challenge and the loss of privacy, Ada did all she could to make her daughter and grandchildren feel welcome.

Ada slept on the sofa—a situation that embarrassed Dean. He offered to take her place, but she would not give it up. In the sole bedroom, his mother slept on an uncomfortable cot. Dean offered her his place in the bed where he and Debra slept but she would not even consider it. He and his sister had school to attend, she told him; they needed to sleep well. Watching the sacrifice of his mother and grandmother night after night fed the flames of anger and resentment that Dean felt toward his father.

Every morning, Carmel drove Dean and Debra to school in Madison. Every afternoon, she drove back to pick them up and bring them to the loving but minuscule apartment. Dean’s mother struggled with depression over her situation—the overcrowded home, the endless negotiations and waiting for the divorce papers. For the first time in her life, she let herself go. Her hair hung limp for days at a time, her fingernails became chipped and ragged, her clothing draped from her body. Compared to a lot of women, she still looked great. But for Carmel, the appearance was definitely sub-par.

The largest room in the apartment was the kitchen, where Italian tradition made meal preparation a central part of every day. After school, Dean sat down at the long white Formica table to do his homework while his grandmother and mother bustled over the hot stove. Surrounded
by school books and the delicious aroma of home cooking, he studied hard, nibbling on the treats they set before him.

Outside, the neighborhood was not the suburban sanctuary of Dean and Debra’s earlier life. Gone were the broad manicured yards—these houses were separated by only the width of the driveway. Gone were the trees they used to climb and the vast expanses of grass where they could run and play. Here, concrete and a garage adorned the backyards of most homes. Gone were safe streets where children tossed balls and rode bikes. In the city, the streets were busy and dangerous. Gone were the pleasant window views of sweeping lawns covered with lush, green grass and dotted with trees, flowers and shrubs. Here the only sight was the wall of another structure, blocking the sun.

Dean passed through his early adolescence with no strong father figure—or any man—in his life. The only male in an otherwise female household, he lived in an apartment complex filled with single mothers and widows.

After two and a half years of exile in these crowded conditions, the divorce was at last final. Now, mother and children could return to their home in Madison and reconstruct their lives. Sam was not around much, but when he stopped for a visit, he belittled his children non-stop, calling Dean fat, insolent, effeminate, vain and unmotivated, despite the fact that Dean had the best grade point average in his class. Sam never offered a word of praise for Dean’s achievements.

He did not spare Debra either. He told Debra, a star athlete in high school, that she was fat, lazy, unappreciative, impolite and spoiled. Looking back on the accomplishments of these children, the way their father described them was preposterous. But, for these teenagers, each jab poked
through their veneer of self-confidence. The emotional impact was devastating.

Still, Dean continued to work hard on his studies and to be active in extracurricular activities. He was president of the National Honor Society, the literary magazine editor, president of the student ad-hoc committee, president of the annual arts festival and a member of the ski club. Dean’s classmates voted him “most likely to succeed.” According to the yearbook, he liked “skiing, tennis, Dylan, snow and carpeted lockers.” “Over-dramatic poetry and locked doors” annoyed him. He promised himself and his classmates that he would become an engineer.

His charming ways and good looks drew other students into his orbit. His friends called him Dino. Every year, a new bevy of girls developed crushes on the dark-haired, olive-skinned hunk of a boy in their midst.

He learned at a young age that certain privileges beyond popularity accompanied his remarkable good looks. He found that he often got a free pass on issues that would have sunk a homelier person, in the social set of his peers. At times, that bothered Dean; but, for the most part, he allowed the preferential treatment to enhance his enjoyment of life. He seemed to believe that his good looks could get him out of any tricky situation.

Dean graduated from Madison High School in 1977. He then attended Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, a school established in 1824 in Troy, New York. The purpose in its creation was “instructing persons, who may choose to apply themselves, in the application of science to the common purposes of life.” When Dean matriculated at Rensselaer, it comprised five schools: Architecture, Engineering, Humanities and Social Science, Management and Science. Noted alumni of the institution included Washington Roebling, engineer of the Brooklyn
Bridge; Raymond Tomlinson, who put the @ in email addresses; Sheldon Roberts of the “Traitorous Eight” who created Silicon Valley; and Bobby Farrelly, director, writer and producer of
There’s Something About Mary
.

Dean, however, was not destined for their glory. His commitment to change the world through engineering hit the wall of hard work and died on impact. Living away from home, he didn’t have the benefit of his mother’s encouragement and discipline to keep him on track. He possessed enough ability and intelligence to succeed, but without Carmel’s constant input, he did not have the motivation to excel. He dropped out after five semesters and drifted around from job to job after leaving the school. His father’s prophecy seemed to be fulfilling itself.

BY THE MID-EIGHTIES, DEAN WAS OUT OF THE CLOSET AND
openly gay. He was also HIV positive. When Christopher Buczek first saw Dean, lust hit him with chaotic intensity. He pursued Dean with single-minded desire, and a torrid romance began.

Christopher told Bryan Burrough, who interviewed him for
Vanity Fair
: “I was one of a long line of people who were obsessed with Dean.” He added, “The real thing that drew people to Dean was that soft-spoken manner. He knew just what to say and what not to say. You know, he was like an expert at creating infatuation. For years, he just kept circulating around in my bloodstream, like a virus.”

Despite his obsession, Christopher also thought Dean was very shallow. At the time, though, Dean was only 23 years old. Finding any male in that late adolescent age range with any real depth would be a confounding challenge.

Dean’s engineering dreams were dead and he floundered around for an alternative way to make a living. He danced a few gigs at New York go-go bars. He spent a short while as a real estate broker for Hartz Mountain in Secaucus, New Jersey, and as the manager of a Greenwich Village auto body shop. He worked in various construction jobs and, then, on the strength of that experience, developed as
an independent carpenter, going on to run his own small contracting firm.

He managed to save enough money through these enterprises to purchase a three-story frame house in the Forest Hill neighborhood of Newark—a quiet, elegant, old community of historic homes a mile north of downtown, and just a twenty-minute train ride from Manhattan. His new home bore the moniker “Madame Jeritza’s Mansion.”

DR. WELLS EAGLETON MARRIED FLORENCE PESHINE RIGGS ON
May 27, 1913. For Wells, a man in his fifties, this was his first marriage. Florence was a widow with two sons from her previous marriage. She was a leader in the women’s suffrage movement and an advocate for women’s higher education. She was one of the first women to serve as a Trustee for Rutgers University. Dr. Eagleton was a prominent physician in New Jersey. He was the first doctor to complete an internship at the Newark Charitable Eye and Ear Infirmary. He continued to provide his professional services at the clinic until his death. He was chief of head surgery at Camp Dix during World War I and served as trustee for the State Commission for the Blind, the Newark Museum and the Newark Council of Social Agencies. He also supported his wife’s passions—the pursuit of women’s suffrage and world peace.

Florence owned a piece of land at 212 Elwood in the Forest Hill section of Newark. The development of this fifty-six-block community began in the 1870s and continued into the 1920s. The prime section of the neighborhood, on the Ballantine Parkway overlooking the New York skyline, housed the wealthiest families of the time in grand estates of brick and stone, complete with elaborate stained glass, embossed ceilings and embellished masonry. The creation before the turn of the century of Branch Brook Park—the first county park in the nation—enhanced the
area’s natural beauty and established its separate identity. Frederick Law Olmsted, who laid out New York’s Central Park, designed this oasis and filled it with cherry trees. The springtime display of blossoms rivaled that of Washington, D.C., in its profusion and fragrance.

In the year of their marriage, the Eagletons built a two-and-a-half-story Colonial Revival home on the plot. Doric columns supported the portico and side porch of the clapboard-clad house. A hipped roof with dormers and leaded windows added to the home’s gracious exterior. Their dwelling sat in majestic splendor with its one-story carriage house on a small hill, looking down on its neighbors. It was one of the showcases of the less prestigious area of Forest Hill. In addition to Wells and Florence, Florence’s son Stafford and two live-in servants resided in the house.

Dr. Eagleton passed away in 1946. Florence remained at the home until her death in 1954. She donated more than one million dollars to establish the Wells Phillips Eagleton and Florence Peshine Eagleton Foundation—now known as the Institute of Politics—at Rutgers University.

On September 21, 1954, the estate sold the property—consisting of a main house, a guest house and a carriage house—to New Jersey umbrella manufacturer Irving Seery, the third husband of the much-lauded Madame Maria Jeritza, for $12,700. They had married six years earlier in Manhattan when Maria was 60 and Irving was 57 years old.

Madame Jeritza, also known as Baroness von Popper, a legacy from her first marriage to Baron Leopold von Popper, earned her fame as an internationally renowned soprano—the golden girl of opera’s golden age. Born in Brunn, Austria, in 1887, she debuted on stage with the Vienna Royal Opera in 1912 by special invitation of Emperor
Franz Josef. She exploded into stardom in the States in 1921 as a prima donna with the Metropolitan Opera.

Tall, blonde and with a commanding presence and powerful voice, she added fire and color to every role. Madame Jeritza’s reputation soared after her performance as Floria Tosca, her stately but sinister characterization of Violetta and her slightly over-the-top portrayal of Minnie in the 1929 revival of Puccini’s
The Girl of the Golden West
. She was credited with receiving the largest ovation ever in the Metropolitan’s history after singing the second-act aria of Tosca while prostrate on the floor. She performed with the Metropolitan Opera for the last time in 1932. Many of the tenors and other sopranos were relieved to see her go. The tempestuous diva had feuded with them constantly.

She continued to tour Europe and the United States for years. In 1935, she returned to Vienna for a performance. Normally, a visit from Jeritza was a time of national celebration, crowds mobbing the stage door whenever she sang in her home country. This time, however, she was greeted by public chastisement in the Catholic press. They disapproved of her Arkansas divorce from von Popper and her second marriage to Hollywood producer Winfield Richard Sheehan.

In the face of this criticism, Jeritza refused to sing. The Austrian government, seeing Jeritza as a national treasure, stepped in to broker a peace between the diva and her public. In an elaborate ceremony, they awarded her the Order of the Knighthood. Mollified, Jeritza sang for her countrymen.