Behind The Scenes
By Josh Mankiewicz, Dateline Correspondent
The guy reminded me of my grandfather. Same western shirt, same cowboy boots, same Brylcreem in his hair. Except that I never saw my grandfather cry.
Now, this fellow wasn't blubbering, but he'd choke up every so often and a tear would form, which he'd dab away with some Kleenex wadded up in his fist. And I just sat there and did nothing. Normally, when someone starts crying in the middle of a conversation, your urge is to get out of your chair and put your arm around them, or at least tell them how sorry you are. But this was television, so I just soldiered on.
He was talking about his daughter, who'd been killed by her husband. And sadly, he was one of six straight interviews I'd done for Dateline in which the person sitting across from me was crying. We cover a lot of murder cases at Dateline, and in each case, the person I was interviewing was telling me about the worst thing that had ever happened to them; the sister, the best friend, the wife taken from them suddenly and through violence.
Television is pretty good at showcasing emotion, and there was a time when getting someone to cry on-camera was hugely desirable. "Did she squirt?" one high-profile TV doctor used to ask his producers after they returned from an interview. I suppose there are still people who seek out the tears, but I'm not one of them.
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By Sara James, Dateline Correspondent
Being a network reporter means having the opportunity to travel to some places which are, to say the least, out of the ordinary -- such as the Washington State Penitentiary in Walla Walla.
I made the trek there on a bright, sunny day, and as I waited in the prison yard for the interview subject to show up, I leaned back against a 30-foot wall festooned with concertina wire. A guard beckoned me over. "Hey, ma'am, that's a No Go Zone," he informed me.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Move away from the wall, please. It's a shoot-to-kill zone."
I didn't waste any time following instructions.
If such precautions seem extreme, it's worth remembering that this prison is home to some notorious prisoners, and I was there to interview one of them.
When I met Kevin Coe, it was easy to see the handsome man he would have been in his 30s. He has blond hair, blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw. He seemed like the last person anyone in Spokane would have suspected as the terrifying figure from a nightmare which lasted for years.
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By Fred Rothenberg, Dateline Producer
The next decision in the Michael George murder case -- the so-called “Comic Book Murder” -- could be a game-changer and and hugely controversial.
On Thursday, May 15, Judge James M. Biernat will hear oral arguments as the defense asks the judge to overturn the jury's unanimous guilty verdict. In legalese, the defense has asked for a directed verdict. Lawyers for both sides, who already have submitted written briefs, say the judge could make a decision immediately after the oral arguments, or days later.
It appears he has three choices, two of which would be remarkable.
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By Josh Mankiewicz, Dateline Correspondent
It's been a long road for Cindy Sommer. Her U.S. Marine husband died in February, 2002, and she just got out of jail last week after being convicted by a jury of his murder. Now here's the hitch: she's innocent. Officially.
Cops and prosecutors will tell you, somewhat derisively, that the jails and prisons are just full of innocent men and women, that everyone behind bars comes armed with a story about how they got jobbed by the system. I don't know how often that's true, but it's certainly true for Cindy Sommer.
Her husband dropped dead on the bedroom floor that awful night, and although Cindy tried to do CPR, Todd Sommer died at only 23. The official cause of death was a heart attack.
A year or so later, Naval investigators (NCIS) were about to close the case when they decided to send Todd's tissue samples to a lab for heavy-metals analysis. That lab test came back showing more than a thousand times the amount of arsenic in Todd Sommer's tissues than should have been there.
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By Bob Gilmartin, Dateline Producer
I first met Eddie Locascio Jr. at the law office of a longtime friend of mine, Michael Band. Michael, a former top Miami prosecutor, is now a successful private attorney who was hired to help steer Eddie and his aunt, Ursula Silveira, through the maze of the criminal justice system. Eddie struck me immediately as a brilliant young man. Looking in his eyes you could almost see his brain tracking the information minutes ahead of where you were in the conversation.
I first formally met his father, Ed Locascio Sr., in court during a break in the trial. We had seen each other many times in court before, but never spoke. He knew who I was from conversations with his brother, Al, and his sister, who I had spoken with in the hall. But the opportunity had never arisen to go speak with him. With the permission of a court officer, I approached him and introduced myself. Initially, there was some unease on my part about seeming too chummy with the defendant in a first-degree murder case -- especially in front of the victim's family.
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By Chris Hansen, Dateline Correspondent
We’d been hearing complaints from senior citizens and government regulators across the country about the tactics some insurance salesmen are using to sell certain investments to retired folks. I’m a long ways off from retiring, but it’s an important subject to me because my mom’s close to that age and my aunts and uncles are already there. Given the turbulence we’ve seen on Wall Street, it seems like everyone is re-evaluating or repositioning their investments and would like to have their money in a safe place. And that’s what a lot of salesmen are pitching these days.
The investments are called equity-indexed annuities. They may be appropriate for some, but not for everyone. Why are so many people trying to sell these to retired folks? Simple: that’s where the money is. Seniors control more than $15 trillion in today’s economy and for the salesmen, these annuities pay healthy commissions.
Dateline decided to use hidden cameras to find out what salesmen were really saying or not saying to seniors when peddling these investments. We attended some of those “free lunch” seminars put on for potential clients, classes where salesman are taught the tricks of the trade. We wired some houses in communities where a lot of retired people live, so we could see the one-on-one pitch play out in real time.
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By Leonor Ayala, Dateline Field Producer
At 8:45 in the morning, I found myself zipping down a lonely, long stretch of road. State Road 62 in Florida wasn't much to look at in that hour, just lots of open space and farm land (of course this from my city girl's point of view). This led me to second guess myself. Was I going in the right direction?
My mind was racing. I was en route to my very first meeting with a first-degree murderer at Hardee Correctional Institution.
When I thought about stepping inside a prison for the first time, my anxiety wasn't for my personal safety. It wasn't about the pat-down everyone had warned me about, or being a few feet from a convicted killer. It was about getting to the prison on time.
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By Liz Brown, Dateline Producer
Carol Kent grew up the daughter of a preacher. Religion has always been her touchstone. That and her love of family. But this devoted Christian doesn't go to church on Sundays anymore.
Carol and her husband have a new Sunday ritual. They still put on their best clothes and pile into their car, minds filled with anticipation for what is ahead. When they arrive, they might chat with their fellow congregants, and nod to the staff as they take their places. But instead of a church, their new Sunday destination is a Florida prison. Their pews are plastic chairs, the congregants are visiting families, and the staff pack guns. Carol calls it the Church of the Razor Wire.
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By Sara James, Dateline Correspondent
I only wish I had met Abe Anhang under different circumstances. I only wish I had met his son, Adam, at all.
Abe Anhang is both razor sharp and resolute, a man crackling with integrity and brimming with love for his family. Adam Anhang was also known for his quick wit and equally ready smile, a magnet of a man. The kind of guy who would figure out the puzzle more quickly than you, but happily turn around and show you how he did it -- that uncommon blend of a brilliant mind and a gentle, generous spirit.
Like father, like son.
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By John Block, Dateline Producer
I have been tracking Adam Anhang's case for over a year and a half, along with the rest of the Dateline NBC team. In the course of it, I have come to know, like, and respect Adam's family as well as Adam himself. It may seem strange hearing that I feel as if I know and care about someone who has passed on, but I feel as if I do -- at least a little bit.
I've been introduced to him through his family's recollections as well as those of his many friends. I admire very much the kindness that he showed to them all, as well as many of his other strengths.
The family was initially very wary about telling their story to a television audience. They were, and continue to be, in a lot of pain. And like most of us, they are very private people. I think that they finally agreed to be part of our report because they hope it will somehow lead to more answers.
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