Rose Garden Lane: My Tragic Story of Greed, Family Betrayal and the Hidden Crime in the Divorce Courts

By Nina Cappella

This book reflects the following:

• Prior to WWII, we were privileged to witness the last days of the horse-drawn ice wagons, the ragman, and even the musical Umbrella Fix-It Man.
• All children in homes, churches, and schools were taught that their behavior was accountable to God, and it worked!
• Domestic violence and abuse of women were tolerated, and the woman was always to blame.
• Immigrants achieved progress and wealth by the sweat of their brow.
• Family destruction by means of divorce was acceptable, and still is, as long as lawyers and judges made money!

My prayer is that everyone who reads this book will realize the pain and suffering a corrupt legal system inflicts on families and that this book fall into the hands of a qualified person who can and will do something about it because divorces do not belong in the court system as a lawsuit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jul 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781973661801

Nina Cappella

No ATA

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Copyright © 2018, 2019 Nina Cappella.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

ISBN: 978-1-9736-6181-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-6180-1 (e)

WestBow Press rev. date: 10/01/2020

Contents

1 In His Time

Poverty and My Dependence on Almighty GOD

2 Run, Run, Run

See Nina Run

3 What Catholicism Means to Me

4 Nina and Tony

We’re Getting Married

5 Let’s Build a House Together

On Blueberry Hill

6 Tony, Real Estate, and my Baby Girl, Nancy

7 Let’s Buy an Apartment Building

Another Baby Girl, Linda

8 I Found Another Apartment Building

Let’s Buy It

9 A Yankee Doodle Dandy – Almost

Chip is born July 3, 1967

10 Rose Garden Lane

A walk in our own woods!

11 Tony, where are you?

What’s wrong?

12 Tony Says ‘You’re All No Good’

And A Farewell

13 Tony, Stop Hitting Me

14 Blueberry Hill

And My Son Chip

15 God, Please Save My Marriage

Mary Jane, a Listening Heart

16 My Little Girls Get Married

Thank You, GOD

17 A Million Dollar Apartment Complex in New Hampshire, and The Bible

18 More Physical Abuse

Chapter 209A – Restraining Order

19 Christ Came to Me

The Visitation in my Room – January 6, 1985

20 Tony Files a ‘Complaint for Divorce’

The Father of Lies

21 Tony Sues for Divorce

On Cruel and Abusive Grounds?

22 Three Other Lawsuits

23 Tears and Crosses

Recollection of My Mental Status – Before and During the Trial

24 Searching for Answers

The Puzzle Began to Make Sense

25 A Cantankerous Judge

Board of Judicial Misconduct

26 The Amended Agreement of Divorce Judgment - 1988

And Louis Reardon, Esq. Part A

26 The New Hampshire Case

Part B

27 The Trial Ends – 1986

Is It Really Over?

28 Qualified Domestic Relations Order (QDRO)

Tony Lied

29 Sherri

Divorces a Lawsuit? Part 1

29 Sandra

Divorces a Lawsuit? Part 2

30 George Whittaker, Esq. said, I read the New Testament.

31 Attorney Mark Kirwin

A Second Divorce Trial – 12-8-97

32 Jerry Monroe, Esq.

Second Divorce Trial Attorney

33 The Honorable Geraldine Wilson

My Second Divorce Trial Judge

34 Board of Bar Overseers

Jerry Monroe, Esq.

35 Brenda

My Sister in Christ

36 My Mother Wants To Kidnap My Kids!

More Restraining Orders – More Lies

37 King Lear

Jealousy and Betrayal

38 Christmas Cookie Miracle

1989

39 The Florida Property

Mismanaged and Lost to Foreclosure

40 The Supreme Judicial Court (2003)

A Panel of Seven Judges

41 My Letter to the Governor

March 17, 2003

42 Guardianship

The Girls Get Control

43 Tony Dies – January 15, 2009

The Obituary

44 Distribution of Marital Assets

No Wonder There’s No Justice!

45 All About – NANCY

Dies at Age 62

46 What the Divorce Did To My Children

47 What the Divorce Did To ME

48 In Conclusion – The Solution

Afterthought

To: JESUS who came to me and kept me sane through

a seemingly horrific family and legal situation,

and

my extended family from Grace Chapel’s Carpenter Ministry, Lexington, Mass., that He put in my life to support me, come to court with me and who put their arms around me so I wouldn’t forget that love still exists, and

Emily

whose help and devotion made it possible for me to write this book,

Thank You.

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1

In His Time

Poverty and My Dependence on Almighty GOD

I t was a cold damp Christmas Eve, and just starting to snow heavily. I walked quickly, almost running, from Parkway Christian Center, a Protestant denomination, to my car for shelter. My right hand, filled with pain, was clutching my Bible. I could hardly keep it from slipping. I always tried to hide the noticeably clumsy way I had of holding it through the pain. The permanent injury I had sustained to my wrist made it impossible for me to pick up articles, open doors, hold anything, or open anything like jars and pocket books and especially car doors without pain. My handwriting was poor and I couldn’t dress and undress and even bathe as any normal person could do with ease.

I fumbled for my keys, dropping my Bible to the ground. The ground was wet as I picked it up and brushed off some snow lovingly with my glove. Oh, where are my keys? I asked myself, shivering. I was so cold. It seems I was always cold. I never could seem to warm up in winter. I thought of my 2 mink coats that were presently in storage for the past 4 years. One had a velvet hood, which I always cuddled around my face for warmth. The cold wind never penetrated that hood, and it was sooo soft. Yet I didn’t desire or miss them anymore, as I once had. At this precise moment, I only missed their warmth. Since the divorce action started, there had been several robberies at my house, so I thought it best to leave them in storage.

I finally managed to find my car keys and get the car door opened. I put myself safely in the car, glancing quickly over to Parkway Church with its beautiful array of Christmas lights.

Everyone seemed so happy with their families wishing and kissing each other Happy Holidays. Since my friend Mary Jane had acquainted me with this church, Parkway Christian Center had become my new family.

I suppose I should describe myself. I am a very young 57-year-old Italian brunette. I was always weight conscious. My weight is 112 pounds, and I diet and exercise regularly at a salon. When my weight increases to 115 pounds as it occasionally does, I quickly take it off by exercise. My clothes were always kept just so and, for business or important occasions, I dressed articulately. But around the house and yard jeans are a must. I have been told by several people that I was very attractive and had a pretty smile. I never thought this of myself and thought the reason they probably said this was because I was well-groomed. I was a natural-born dressmaker and in my earlier years made all the family clothes as well as mine, often times designing them myself. Of course, I used the finest silks and woolens and my clothes always fit perfectly. Although it was hard work I saved money and enjoyed my creations. My hair was naturally curly and I tinted it occasionally, hiding the gray! I seldom went to beauty salons. I didn’t like to waste money and I didn’t like wasting time either, sitting there for hours. I liked to keep moving, and hardly ever stood still, probably just to eat or sew. But now with my injured hand it was necessary to go to the hair dresser, and because of my limited alimony, I only went when I had court appearances. Therefore, I would say, I wasn’t so perfectly groomed any more. This bothered me because my appearance was important to me.

Tears were filling up my eyes. I felt so alone and rejected. I cried often almost daily. I started up the car for the long 40-minute drive home. I could hardly see through the windshield. I mustn’t cry again while driving I thought, trying to wipe them away. It was about 11:45 Christmas Eve. The large numbers appeared and glowed a blurry 11:45 on the dashboard. I might get in a car accident and get killed. Boy! My husband and girls would just love that. Then everything I had worked for all these years would go to them and my husband’s girlfriend. I love them all so much! How could I have so much love for those who have hurt me so much? I knew it was Christ within me. I wished I could put my arms around all of them and never let go. But the tears kept coming like they always did since my husband filed for divorce.

I looked up at the crucifix dangling from my rosary in the rearview mirror. It came from Jerusalem and the beads and crucifix were made from olive wood from the Mount of Olives, a reminder of Gethsemane when Jesus prayed in agony. This was my Gethsemane.

I thought of the countless times I had prayed each bead, as my Catholic faith had taught me, to The Blessed Virgin Mary. But since I had come to know Jesus as my Lord and Savior, I had stopped praying the rosary. Now its presence was only a constant reminder of the cross and suffering on Calvary and my close and intimate relationship with this suffering.

The Virgin Mary whom I had really prayed to as my God was now unimportant. I longed and hungered for Jesus.

I had become a Born Again Christian November 30, 1983, and from that unforgettable moment I began to hunger for His word, and to know Him better. His precious words brought me into His life more and more. This new rebirth into the faith had taught me the full meaning of Christianity. Suddenly I was always aware of sin and evil around me, as well as within myself, and I fervently prayed for my Lord to cleanse me and keep me close to his pure heart. Somehow, I knew that he had chosen me to be a member of the family of God, because I never felt this way before. I quietly whispered Help me, Lord Jesus. Keep me sane. Help me to keep my eyes up at you and not down at all the horrible conditions surrounding my life.

Suddenly I began to dream. When I get home, they will all be around the kitchen table, Nancy, Linda, Chip, and Daddy, too, waiting for me and loving me back. They don’t hate me. They love me. They haven’t deserted me. All that is happening to me is just a bad dream. I still have my family. We’ll all set up the Christmas tree together. Tony loves to set the tree up. Chip will be so happy. He always asked, ‘When are we going to put the tree up Mom?’ I must hurry and get home to them. This dream seemed to relieve some pain and put a happy feeling in my heart.

The car was warming up now and my hands were tingling as I put the tape recorder on with a cassette that played my favorite hymn.

In His time. In His time, He makes all things beautiful. In His time. Lord please show me every day, as you’re teaching me your way, that you’ll do just what you say. In Your time.

I looked ahead of me, wiping the tears streaming down my face, to the Cadillac symbol in the center of my shiny new car. Although it was luxurious, I disliked it. I wished I were in my old Ford again with the girls jumping and yelling around in the back and Chip in the car seat in front with me. How I missed those old days and the old car! I looked up again at the crucifix dangling, through my tears, and listened to the beautiful hymns that followed my favorite hymn. I had become happily saturated with Jesus. He was, as I well knew, the only one that could help me now. He alone had kept me sane through these past 4 years of chaos. Everything I had accomplished in life I owe to Him, and now it had all been taken away from me – family, property, and money too. What had caused all this calamity? What caused my family’s destruction? One quarter of a million dollars lost to lawyers and business—mismanagement due to my husband’s negligence and divorce action! All this tragic waste of money. How could a man that loved me so much suddenly hate me enough to turn his own children against their own mother, in a court of law? Such a horrible waste of hard-earned money. Money that could have gone to the poor and disabled.

Was God doing this to me for a purpose? Was He trying to tell me something? Why were my children and husband filled with so much hatred, and I filled with so much love? The past 4 years of court proceedings and ill health had brought me to the realization that my faith was being tested, as

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, you may have had to suffer in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith – of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire – may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor, when Jesus Christ is revealed.

1 Peter 1:6-7 (KJV)

Whenever I read this scripture, I knew it was happening to me. I was being tried like gold going through fire over and over again. Many times, I almost gave up, but in some miraculous way, the Lord would remind me that He was still with me, and helping me to carry this burden and to trust in Him alone. Yes, he was helping me through this fire, and He was testing my faith over and over. I found myself praying again.

Keep me close to you, Jesus, no matter what happens. I love you for being with me, when there was no one else. Forgive me for any sins past and present, which I may have committed against you and my fellow man because if I have hurt my fellow man, I have really sinned against you. Thank you for dying on the cross for sinners like me. Thank you for shedding your precious blood that has cleansed me from sin. I love you, keep me close to you, always.

The car was nice and warm now and I began to feel physically as well as spiritually warm. I was in the arms of His protecting love which warmed and soothed my aching heart.

It was now around 12 midnight, Christmas Eve. I wondered what my girls were doing right now, probably playing Santa Claus to my grandchildren, Martin, Monica, Paul, and Peter. I cried as I thought of them. They’ll be all grown up and won’t recognize me some day. I will miss being a grandmother.

I thought of my 20-year-old son, Chip. I wondered if he were home or recklessly driving his car through the streets of Woburn. He had 14 cars in 4 years. He would buy a car and tear the engine apart all over my garage, driveway, and the street too. Grease was splattered everywhere. The neighbors even complained to the police.

For a long time, I wondered why he was doing this. Then it suddenly came to me. It was his way of telling the world Hey, look everybody. My family’s torn apart just like this car, and I can’t put it together again. I tried to give him all the love and understanding that was in me and God, give me patience with the horrible mess he is making. He also had been in many minor car accidents. I prayed to God to keep him safe.

As for my husband, Tony, I wondered who he was with, probably his girlfriend. He was the most important person in my life, too important I’m sure. His suspected adultery by now had become a reality. Oh, how I missed and loved him. I wondered who was keeping his apartment clean. I wondered if he was eating right and if his clothes were kept clean. I was always concerned with his appearance, also. Married now 36 years, the divorce was granted last July 21, 1986, and was now the subject of litigation in the appellate court, because of the unfair property settlement awarded me. So, I was miraculously still married and awaiting the final decision of the court.

I had spent the past four Christmases alone, that is, without my family. Although my son, Chip, was living with me, he had spent Christmas day either in his room or out somewhere. It was torture for me. I missed them so. The tears kept blinding my vision. I wanted to drive by my husband’s apartment. It was in one of the buildings we owned. I wanted to see if he was home. His car might be there. I would be passing it on the way home anyway. Why not go by there and see if he was there? I wanted so much to be near him this Christmas. I couldn’t bear it, without at least seeing him, this Christmas. I couldn’t seem to separate myself from this man I loved so much.

How did all this sadness happen to me? Was it that Christ was awakening me to the fact that life with Him eternally was far more important than Tony? I certainly was coming to that realization.

Friends and lawyers alike kept saying to me, You should write a book. Of course, this was ridiculous, I laughed. I certainly have no literary mind, but then again, I never did have a Real Estate mind either. Yet with the help of God, my accomplishments in this field were substantial. God can certainly help me again. – I wondered – Could my life’s experience told in a book help save families from destruction? Did God want me to let the world know what sin and greed for money can do to families? Did He want me to let the world know from my tragic experience the reasons why it happened and what He did to help me? Would my horrifying court experiences before prejudice and partial judges, who really are women-haters, help future women faced with this same predicament? I was now well aware of what the evil in these men can do to women. Would I be ridiculed for making testimony to this fact? Would they understand my suffering?

The car was getting too warm by now. I lowered the heat. My face itched from the salty tears. I constantly kept wiping them away, ruining the little make-up I wore. I noticed I just couldn’t stop crying. The hymns were still playing over and over. As the snowflakes hit hard against my windshield, I tried desperately to find the answers to all my questions.

How did it all begin? I began to reminisce back to my youth, when I was about 8 years old. Being of the Catholic faith, I had made my first Holy Communion the summer before. It was Christmas Eve way back in 1938. I was looking through a snowy window then, too. The snowflakes were hitting the window then, too. This was my favorite winter pastime. Only this window was broken and mended with tape, and the cold wind still came through. I lived in a 2nd floor apartment of a 3-family tenement building with my family. There was no Christmas tree for us, so I was looking at our neighbors’ Christmas trees through this window. We had one kitchen stove to keep 5 rooms warm, a gasoline-type oil-burner stove. I was always afraid of the fire it made. I don’t know how my poor mother managed to light it and keep it going. She always had to pick up a 5-gallon gasoline tank and put it behind the stove upside-down. It frightened me so to watch her do this.

The windows in winter-time were covered with pure white Jack Frost paintings. We never could see through them. There were no storm windows for us. Sometimes I would melt a little hole through the ice with the warmth of my finger and peek through. Then I could see all the colorful Christmas lights in our neighbors’ apartment windows.

The apartment we rented was a cold water flat, with no bathtub, drafty and cold. I wore a sweater constantly and I noticed my mother did too. Both our sweaters were worn out with holes at the elbows. I even wore mine to bed, to help keep me warm. My family was poor and the apartment was infested with roaches and mice as well as an occasional rat. I was terribly afraid to sleep. Although my mother complained to the landlord, nothing was ever done to resolve this.

One night I remember waking up to get a glass of water. As I put on the light in the kitchen pantry by pulling on a long string, I screamed. The whole room was crawling with roaches, hundreds and hundreds of them. I screamed for my parents, Mama, Papa, please help me. I’m afraid. Come and take them away. I can’t stand them. Come quick, help me! I heard my parents answering from their bedroom, Nina, stop shouting, close your eyes and go to bed. I ran back to bed, still thirsty, and hid under the covers.

Of course, this apartment had no air-conditioning, not even a fan. The portable folding screens we had were filled with holes and the mosquitos and their other neighbors came through and bit me during the night. I scratched and scratched all night and sometimes cried myself to sleep. The mice climbed up and down the walls or clothes that hung around. I was constantly screaming and crying. I was constantly in fear of these unwanted and unfriendly, unexpected and, more importantly, unsanitary creatures.

My mother also was afraid, as she had to work around them, pushing them away and shouting at them. Although she was upset by them, she tried to comfort me by sheltering me in her arms and telling me that one day they would all be gone and never come back. But, for now, Just close your eyes, Nina, and don’t look at them. So I closed my eyes, quivering, as I hugged her fat body and cried against her warm breast.

My parents were poor, ignorant Italian immigrants, and only my father spoke – some – English. I spoke better Italian than English, because they always spoke Italian to me, and so did I.

My father had a small butcher shop amongst other variety stores. It was called Quality Meat Market. It was well located on busy Porter Street in East Boston. There were about 30 stores along this shopping area, of every variety, shoe, hardware, clothing, grocery, fruit, etc., located across from the East Boston Sumner Tunnel. This busy street led to the enormous Atlantic Ocean, and back in those days, to a magnificent beach and oceanfront property known as Wood Island Park.

Along this enormous property was a small building called Aeronautics School of East Boston, where they taught pilots how to fly a plane. This was all prior to World War II. Later, during WWII, it was first called Logan Airport. Finally, after WWII, it became what is now Logan International Airport, a city in itself.

My parents would never allow me to cross this street alone, and usually there was no traffic cop. I would shout and call for one of my parents to come and get me, and then we would cross the street together. Sometimes I would let go of my father’s hand and run faster than the cars coming and get safely to the other side. My father would shake his head angrily and at the same time smile at my swiftness in relief.

As small as I was, it was my job to sweep the floor of the butcher shop and throw new sawdust on it weekly. I also had to pick up scraps of fat and bone from the floor that my father missed throwing in the bucket behind him when he trimmed and cut meat the customers had selected. He also put me on a stool and made me clean the white weighing scales almost daily. He also taught me how to tie sausages by hand. He made the sausages once a week. I loved to watch him do this and we worked together tying them. I took pride in keeping those white scales spotless and shiny, and the counters clean too.

Except for chores, my father never talked to me very much. He seemed busy and unhappy, but he smiled at me a lot and I thought it was because he was pleased with what I was doing for him and more importantly that he knew that I was happy doing this for him.

I was part of a second family to my parents. My mother married young at 16 years old, and had 10 children. Five of the children died of childhood diseases and except for my younger brother, the remaining three were married. My younger brother just played around all day, but I always was close to my parents and worked with them. They seemed to depend on me.

My two older sisters and brother that were married were out of the house and I was already an aunt, a very young aunt. How I loved my niece and nephew! Whenever I saw them, which was seldom at this time, I was never allowed to hold the babies. I was too small and never clean enough. This made me feel sad. I vowed to myself, Someday I would have a baby of my own to hug tightly to my heart.

Other than being a little flower girl at their weddings, I hardly knew my older sisters and brother. I never remember them as being at home. I didn’t see much of them now, because they were busy having their families. They all used to work in my father’s butcher shop, cutting meat, the old-fashioned way, and since they left and married, it was hard for my father, and I saw this.

My oldest brother went off to work in the wholesale meat market in Boston for larger wages, to support his family. So my poor father had lost his help and there was little me trying to fill their place. One thing I couldn’t do was cut meat. I was too young. My father hired someone else to do this, but the man was robbing him of money, so my father discharged him. I remember my father calmly telling the man, You have the devil in you. I wondered who this devil was.

Slowly my father was losing customers. I noticed many of our customers going to the other butcher shops, a few doors away. In those days you waited for the butcher to cut the meat you desired. My father was artistic. He cut and trimmed meat beautifully. This took time. The customers would get tired of waiting so they would leave. On Saturday, our busiest day, my mother always worked in the store with my father.

My father was not a good businessman. He gave away more meat to the poor than he sold. He also sent money to his parents in Italy, because they too were poor. He had a large pile of paper bags with names on them of customers that owed him money for meat. Very few of these customers ever paid their bills. As a result of all this, we all suffered at home. Naturally my poor mother complained to him about this, but he would only say he wasn’t making enough money anymore. So, although the store was kept clean and shiny, there were fewer customers.

My older sister, May, married a Navy yard worker and they too struggled to make ends meet. But my sister Phyl married a businessman who owned a produce business, with an automobile, and her life was plentiful. I loved riding in the rumble seat of her car, which was seldom. When I grow up, I’m going to marry someone with an automobile, just like my brother-in-law, Joe. My sisters’ homes, which were rented apartments, for now, were immaculate and there were no roaches or mice there either. There was so much food at Phyl’s house. I never closed my eyes when I was there.

My grandmother lived on the street behind us. Both our kitchens were facing each other and we often would wave across the yard to each other. Whenever my grandmother waved her white dish towel in the kitchen window, it meant she wanted me. Then I would run over to her house, to do her errands or wash her stairs or clean her kitchen windows. My mother would constantly look out that window to see if her mother needed me. Her mind