They all pulled together. Louie went to New England to check out boarding schools for problem adolescents, but Gerry refused to go to any he recommended. Finally, with Tom, Louie, and Joey putting their heads together, they found a college near Boca Raton that had remarkably low entrance requirements. Gerry went there for almost two years, but he actually had minimal interest in studying.
Despite frequent visits from Joey, whose sheer physical strength awed Gerry into paying attention, he dropped out of college. Louie and Joey made a place for him in Capano & Sons, hoping that he would mature and show some interest in the business their father had begun. It was an iffy experiment at best. They soon saw that it probably wasn’t going to work, but they hung in there, anyway. Gerry was family.
TOM’S plate got fuller and fuller through the eighties. His career was demanding, his family was growing, and he was on so many boards and steering committees. And of course, there was Debby. Aside from their intense physical bond, he felt that she needed him to advise her on her problems at work and with her family. He always got along with women, and he prided himself on understanding their vulnerabilities and their frailties. First his mother had needed him, and then his wife and daughters. And he liked to think that he was unfailingly considerate to the young women he met through his work, giving them an ear or a shoulder when they had problems. Tom had an unerring instinct about him: he could see beyond the bright smiles that some pretty women affected, looking deep into the sorrows and lonely places of their hearts.
He worked the same magic with Debby. She and her sister both lived in the Wilmington area, but they had a poor relationship and Tom tried to bolster her about that, loyally telling her that she was the one who was in the right. She got along fine with her brothers, but they lived far away. Gradually, Tom had made himself indispensable to Debby’s well-being, although she might have been startled to realize that.
IN September of 1985, Debby found a wonderful old house on Delaware Avenue, a three-story white stucco that had once been the farmhouse on considerable acreage in the early days of Wilmington. It was known as the Little White House, even though it was anything but small. Debby bought it and moved in with her daughter and son, one six and the other only two and a half. She had always had a real talent for decorating, and now she worked with the fine old things her grandparents had left her. Her new house was cozy and tasteful. The children slept on the third floor high up under the eaves, and she took the second floor for her bedroom.
Her house was within a few blocks of Tom and Kay’s house, as well as those of several of their mutual friends, but it was surrounded by high bushes and tall trees. As outrageously dangerous as it seemed, Tom was able to visit her without being observed. Debby’s house was a haven for him, he told her, amid the many voices that needed something from him, the many hands tugging on his sleeve.
In this first home that was totally hers, Debby set about making a life for herself. Her trust fund meant that she didn’t have to work, but she couldn’t picture herself sitting around the house or filling up her days with empty activities. She plunged into volunteer work for the moment. She wasn’t sure where she could actually find a real job; it had been several years since her days as a secretary, and she had never completed the work for a four-year degree.
When her son, Steve, was three and a half years old, a friend of Debby’s asked her if she would like to work at Tatnall, the private school where she had spent most of her own school years. Her friend was developing an extended day care program there, and she thought Debby had the skills to help her do it.
“I said, ‘Sure!’ ” Debby recalled. “I could take my children with me because they would be in school there, and the job was for school days only. It was a really easy job going in, and I got paid $5 an hour, but it was a job, and it worked for me.”
Even so, Debby was going through a very difficult time. She was always aware of being a single parent when she was surrounded by couples who shared the responsibility of raising their children. If time conflicts came up, she always compromised herself in favor of her children. “I think most mothers do,” she commented. “And I was very guilt ridden because I continued to have this relationship with Tom Capano, whom I had fallen in love with.”
She hadn’t expected that to happen, but she had never had an affair before, and she had fallen into the same emotional trap as legions of women before her. She had gone into one of the most intense transactions a woman can have, without any protection. And she was too unschooled in the art of the affair to know how total her commitment might become.
Even though her marriage had ended, Debby and Tom continued to be very discreet; she lived alone with her children, but she had never allowed him to come to her home when they were there—only on Wednesday nights. She spent most of her evenings alone. Still, their daily phone calls made her feel part of Tom’s life. It seemed to her that they shared confidences about all the important parts of their lives. He knew all of her secrets, and she believed she knew all of his.
“And we saw each other at parties,” she said. “We couldn’t be together, of course, but it was OK. We had a secret. I knew that, other than Kay, I was the only one he cared about. That meant a lot.”
Tom was a moody man, Debby had discovered, and she had always tried to be accommodating to him—to avoid upsetting him in any way. That was how she had dealt with every man who had ever been important to her. “I never rocked the boat,” she said. “I wanted to please him, because I wanted his praise and I wanted him to love me. I thought that was the way it was. I was so afraid if I angered him, he would leave.”
His pleading and persuasive courtship were far behind them now. And once Debby had capitulated, Tom was very sure that she would always be there waiting for him. He could be very judgmental, and when Debby said something that displeased him, he would shoot her a withering look and say, “That’s a stupid statement. Why would you say something like that?”
“When that happened,” she said, “I would make a mental note of what I shouldn’t say, tell myself: God, don’t talk about that—or don’t talk like that anymore, at least in front of him.”
There were so many things, it seemed, that annoyed Tom or upset him, so many forbidden subjects.
Tom and Debby had some common interests, but they were very different in other ways. She was old money and accepted by society; he was the son of an immigrant who had made good. He aspired to what had come so easily to the MacIntyres, which she knew didn’t necessarily bring happiness.
Debby had always been athletic, and Tom was basically sedentary. She tried to get him to swim with her, and he grudgingly agreed to try it. “He actually went out and got goggles and earplugs and everything, and he went two laps when his earplugs fell out and his goggles fogged up, and he quit.”
Debby loved working in the yard, and he “absolutely abhorred it.”
She bought him presents that were not particularly expensive, but she had spent time picking them out because they just suited him, a music tape or a book. He bought her household gadgets like pasta makers and mixers, claiming that she had everything, and what could he really give her that she didn’t already have?
But however they differed in tastes, hobbies, and recreation, they had a tremendously powerful sex life. In this, too, Debby always tried to please Tom. If she didn’t, she was terrified that he would go away. She agreed to install a massive mirror opposite her bed and found a secure hiding place for the sex toys and gadgets, and the videos, that seemed to stimulate him. And she managed to repress his depiction of lovemaking as mere sport. He was too tender and too kind for her ever to believe that she meant nothing to him but a game won once again.
THERE were times when Tom was there for Debby when she truly needed someone. Gradually, she lost the people she counted on. Both of her grandparents died in 1984. It was more like losing parents than grandparents—she and her brothers and sister had found refuge with the elder MacIntyres many times.
&nbs
p; It was Debby’s greatest fear that her mother would survive her father. Sheila Miller MacIntyre, for all her neuroses and addictions, was in her sixties and still dependent upon her husband. With his children grown, Bill MacIntyre was able to focus most of his attention on Sheila, and she needed a great deal of care.
But as so often happens, it was the strong spouse who died first. Bill MacIntyre succumbed to a heart attack on September 7, 1987. He was only sixty-four. He had been a wonderful grandfather to Victoria and Steve, and he and Debby had long ago come to an understanding about his sense of duty toward the wife he loved but could not live with. Now, with their brothers living several states away, it was up to Debby and her sister to care for their mother.
They moved her into an apartment in Wilmington and arranged to have nurses stay with her most of the time. It was difficult sometimes for them to care for a mother who had never cared for them. But Debby, at least, made her peace with her mother, accepting finally that Sheila had never been capable of loving her children or even of living in the same house with them. Ironically, Sheila seemed to enjoy her grandchildren, and Victoria and Steve looked forward to visits at her apartment.
On the Saturday night before Mother’s Day 1988, Debby called her mother several times; she knew that the nurse-companion who usually stayed evenings with Sheila had taken the night off so she could visit her mother. When she didn’t get an answer, she assumed her mother had gone to bed early and couldn’t hear the phone.
The next day, she bought a bouquet of flowers and headed to Sheila’s apartment with Victoria and Steve. It was Debby’s sister’s birthday and she wouldn’t be going over to Sheila’s. “The kids were so excited,” Debby said. “They ran in ahead of me and pounded up the stairs. They were too young to know why she wouldn’t talk to them.”
Debby found her mother, fully clothed, lying across her bed. Her eyes were open, but there was something so ineffably still about her body that she knew her mother was dead. And she had never felt so alone.
Debby called Tom at home, grateful that he answered the phone. She had no idea what excuse he gave for leaving in the midst of Mother’s Day celebrations, but he did. “He came over as soon as he could,” she said. “He went upstairs and checked my mother and he came back down and told me she was gone. And he closed my mother’s eyes.”
Tom made arrangements for someone from the police to come and verify that Sheila MacIntyre was dead, and then he called for a funeral director to take her body away. It took hours but he stayed with Debby. And for her it was a tremendously bonding experience, sitting there together in the silent house while her poor, lost mother lay upstairs. She had no idea what she would have done without Tom.
Sometimes, after that day, he would remind her, “Remember, I closed your mother’s eyes.”
It was hard to grieve for a mother who had never been there, but Debby did—more for what might have been than for what was.
Chapter Eight
TOM WAS THERE for so many people when they were in crisis. His quiet voice, his calm manner, and his ability to make people understand what they needed to understand made him a natural mediator. Everybody who met him just seemed to like him.
But while Marguerite’s favorite son rose in stature in Wilmington, her younger three were having their problems—and not just Gerry, who seemed to care for nothing but guns, shark fishing, big game hunting, and girls with big hair and clothes that fit like a second skin.
Louie had built his father’s business into a major construction company, with both commercial and private projects worth many millions. When Louis Sr. died in 1980, his estate had been worth $1.2 million, and it included the Cavalier Apartments, part of a Holiday Inn in New Jersey, several housing developments, investment funds, and even a portion of a Pennsylvania coal mine. Tom, Louie, and Joey were designated as the trustees of the estate, and as such they were given the power to invest the money, open new businesses, and continue whatever current businesses they deemed proper.
That was only a jumping-off point for Louie and, of course, Joey, who had joined him in the business. Tom had never been interested in Capano & Sons, and his lack of interest continued. Lou’s will stipulated that his three older sons were to pay Marguerite, Marian, and Gerry a monthly stipend, and give Gerry shares of the estate when he reached twenty-one, and again at thirty-five. Marian was given no share.
Eventually it had become apparent that Gerry didn’t have the slightest aptitude for construction, and even less patience in dealing with clients. It was agreed that he should operate his own business, one that would complement Capano & Sons’ many real estate holdings. Gerry started a landscaping and lawn care business. Among other contracts, his work crews took care of the grounds at Cavalier.
Since Gerry eschewed Wilmington in the summer in favor of the shore, he rarely took a hands-on approach during the peak months of his business. Indeed, he would one day hire a gardening service in Stone Harbor to take care of the house he bought there. His brothers feared that Gerry was still involved with drugs, but they tried to keep that from Marguerite.
Marian had two early marriages that were short-lived, but she finally made a match that seemed to make her happy. In the early seventies, she married L. Lee Ramunno, an attorney who practiced in one of the historic, one-story brick buildings on French Street near the courthouse in downtown Wilmington. They had three children together.
Lee, who obviously doted on his attractive wife, did not feel as kindly toward her brothers, particularly Louie. He may have resented the fact that Marian, the oldest child and for five years the only child of Lou and Marguerite, had been omitted from her father’s will, except for a monthly dole at the pleasure of her brothers. It may have been some other dispute over money, but beginning in 1982, there was very bad blood between Lee Ramunno and Louie Capano.
Lee initiated a lawsuit against Louie, and Louie was served with it as he was having a good time acting as a guest bartender at a Wilmington restaurant. Outraged and embarrassed, Louie stormed out to the Ramunnos’ home in Forest Hills Park. He hadn’t come to visit and he didn’t use the front door; he smashed a wooden chair through a sliding glass door and stepped in through the broken glass.
Louie grabbed Lee by the throat and began choking him, as Marian, nearly hysterical, tried to pull him off. The brothers-in-law fell to the floor and continued to struggle, while Marian tried to separate them. When she couldn’t, she called the police. Louis, twenty-nine at the time, eventually entered an Alford Plea (no contest) to charges of second-degree reckless endangerment.
Family celebrations that included Louie and Lee were sparse after that, and the incident put a big strain on their espoused belief that family was family, no matter what. Tom got along well enough with his only sister’s husband, but then, Tom got along with almost everyone.
DAN FRAWLEY ran for mayor again in 1988 and Tom worked hard to get him reelected. He had a great deal of positive impact on Frawley’s campaign, and it was assumed that Tom would continue as chief of staff. But it didn’t work out that way. In mid-January, Tom resigned from his city position. Everyone who knew him well was surprised to hear that he was leaving to join Capano & Sons.
Louie needed him. The family business needed him, and as much as he dreaded the thought of working in the construction business, Tom had acquiesced to his mother’s pleas. He had a knack not only for getting along with everyone, but also for dealing with the sometimes onerous details that kept a company going. In 1989, the details were not onerous; they were scandalous, and his mother had begged him to help his brothers, to help the family.
Tom had promised her 365 days, and 365 days only.
Louie had the genius and the vision to make Capano & Sons boom, but along the way he had taken some shortcuts to grease the wheels of county government on a rezoning issue that he needed badly. County council members were the ones who voted on rezoning bills, and Louie had given Councilman Ronald J. Aiello $10,000 in 1987, in what was essentially an illegal
campaign contribution. A year later, Louie went further over the line and gave Aiello $9,000 in an outright payment for a rezoning vote favorable to one of his developments.
Federal agents had heard rumors of Aiello’s unlawful side income and they were watching him closely, but they needed evidence to trap him in a corruption scandal. Tom stepped in to handle the delicate negotiations between the U.S. Justice Department and his brother. It was Tom who played the pivotal role in extricating Louie from the threat of charges against him. The FBI needed someone who could set Aiello up in a sting operation so he could actually be witnessed taking a bribe. Once they had him, they could move in to seize physical evidence that would link him to dirty money.
On Tom’s advice, Louie agreed to cooperate with the sting and set it up in his own office. The FBI special agents witnessed Ron Aiello accepting $25,000 in marked bills from Louie Capano. That was enough.
Louie was never charged with any crimes in connection with the situation. “I think he [Tom] straightened out Louis, who was in kind of a jam,” former Wilmington mayor Thomas Maloney remarked. “Tom worked carefully with the Justice Department to solve a problem and alleviate a situation.”
Everyone but the man arrested seemed content with the outcome of something that could have been really sticky. Louie moved easily back into doing what he did best, but Tom was chafing at Capano & Sons, waiting eagerly for the year he’d promised his mother to pass. “It wasn’t the work,” he explained later. “I had a different way of looking at things than my brothers. [They] had been in business together for a long time. . . . They had both started working when they were in college, and it was tough—even though I was the older brother—to impose the order that needed to be imposed.”
In plain terms, neither Louie nor Joey would take orders from Tom, not about the business. The last months of Tom’s year of servitude to his mother were tense.