The dream team, as clichéd as it might sound today, was what Michael Roseboro’s defense resembled as they wheeled their briefcases and boxes of documents along the sidewalk toward 50 North Duke Street, downtown Lancaster, heading for courtroom 12 on July 8, 2009. The ephemeral presence of such a serious-looking group of lawyers aptly set the stage. Accusations from both sides had been hurled like insults for months. The local news media was primed, ready for a spectacle; a packed courtroom buzzed with anticipation, everyone geared up to hear testimony in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania v. Michael Alan Roseboro, the Honorable Judge James Cullen overseeing the drama. Allan Sodomsky, flanked by his group of assistants, legal experts and co-counsel, walked with the guarded sense of gravity his role in this tragedy carried. District Attorney Craig Stedman, representing the state with ADAs Kelly Sekula and Christopher Larsen, had only to saunter a few short steps out of his office to the elevator and head down to the fourth floor.
This much activity, centered around such a high-profile family, was certainly not a sight Lancaster County, Denver and Reinholds in particular, was used to. One newspaper estimated that its online version of a public forum had produced 150,000 words of comments about the case since Jan’s death. Denver residents could not get enough of a case that seemed to have all the earmarks of a Lifetime Television movie of the week: sex, drugs, booze, wealthy people, rumor and gossip driving the ship, adultery and—of course—a sympathetic victim, adored by her community, viciously murdered. To top it off, not much beyond the obvious was known about the defendant, other than his family members were icons in this small, tight-knit Amish community known more for its rolling hills and simple living, strawberry and peach preserves, pepper jellies, breads and antiques. The promise had been made long ago that Michael Roseboro needed only his day in court to prove he was no murderer.
Well, that time was upon him.
The state had subpoenaed 164 witnesses (an unprecedented number); while Allan Sodomsky had sent word to sixty-four that their testimony could be needed.
Neither would come close to utilizing all of these people.
In the packed gallery sat producers from the CBS magazine show 48 Hours. They took notes, made contact with the players, hoping to see if there was fodder here for one of the network’s salacious, over-the-top, hour-long Saturday-night crime shows.
Sodomsky had motioned for a change of venue.
It was denied.
His concern—very much warranted, to be fair—was that too many rumors had been spread. Picking an untainted jury among a community of peers so flushed by the rancorous outpouring of speculation circling the case was going to be difficult. With the World Wide Web (www) came a host of new problems for attorneys, a few of which would ultimately play out in this trial. Early on, the fear Sodomsky had, it’s safe to say, was that all of those comments being made by anonymous, faceless people sitting in front of keyboards, screen names hiding who they were, would somehow trickle down into the minds of jurors and poison their judgment. Heck, a few of the potential jurors could have made remarks themselves. Not to mention all the talk about town, in the newspapers and on local television. The guy had every reason to voice concern for his client.
By the end of the day, July 8, 2009, ten of twelve jurors had been chosen, however. Word was that testimony would begin as soon as Friday, July 10.
The following day, July 9, had brought one more juror.
The next day, the final juror was selected, with testimony now slated to begin on Monday morning, July 13, nine o’clock.
Ann Roseboro, one of the local newspapers reported, caught a glimpse of her son from a courtroom door’s tiny window—she watched as the star of the show, Michael Roseboro himself, shackled and in handcuffs, was walked into the courtroom by guards. It was a surreal moment for the Roseboro matriarch: to see her son presented to the public as the accused felon he was. Ann looked to be almost in tears as she watched her boy sit at the table that would become his home for, some predicted, the next three weeks. Craig Stedman had given Ann and Ralph Roseboro the option of sitting in on proceedings, even though they were slated to testify. But both chose not to sit behind their golden child. Michael would have to brave this impasse himself, with only his legal team and a few others to lean on, one of whom was the Reverend William Cluley, a Lutheran pastor chosen by the family to be its ears and eyes in the courtroom. Cluley was there, keeping tabs on every moment, no doubt reporting back to the family.
Michael Roseboro had a grim look to him that many presumed was his natural state—the glum deportment of an undertaker: dark, cold, baleful. Yet beyond those beady eyes (one that appeared larger than the other), there had to be a serious sense of dread and fear weighing on the forty-two-year-old, whispering in his ear ever so softly that his life could be lost in a matrix of steel doors, concrete walls, lonely hallways, and the obedience that had become his daily routine for almost the past year while residing in Lancaster County Prison.