A Cautionary Tale: The DWI Trial Of Stephen Mole

Chapter 1

Don't know how close you were to Steve Mole but he is doing 30 years in a Texas prison. Sounds like a joke but it isn't.

Keller man gets 30 years for fatal crash

By DOMINGO RAMIREZ JR.

Star-Telegram staff writer

January 16, 2008

DENTON -- A Keller man was sentenced to 30 years in prison Tuesday for causing a 2006 crash that killed an American Airlines flight attendant and injured two others.

A Denton County jury had convicted Stephen Mole, 54, late Friday of intoxication manslaughter and two counts of intoxication assault.

He was sentenced to 20 years on the intoxication manslaughter charge and 10 years on one of the intoxication assault charges. Those sentences will be served consecutively. Mole was also sentenced to 10 years' probation on the other intoxication assault charge, to be served concurrently with the prison time.

Mole must serve at least 15 years before he is eligible for parole.

He had no previous DWI arrests, court officials said.

According to Tarrant County criminal court records, Mole was arrested in December 2001 on suspicion of family violence, but that case was dismissed in January 2003.

Mole was arrested on suspicion of causing the crash on March 25, 2006, in unincorporated Denton County that killed Marilyn Gates of Fremont, N.H., and injured two others in the car in which she was riding. Mole had been free since posting $25,000 bail shortly after his arrest.

Gates, 52, was a flight attendant who would have been on American Airlines Flight 11 on Sept. 11, 2001, but did not make the flight because of a family appointment, according to news reports. That plane was flown into the north tower of the World Trade Center in New York. ¹

It was one of few times I managed to navigate Facebook without much confusion. There it sat; a grim posting from a high school classmate I’d barely spoken with in 35 years on the subject of a one-time best friend I’d been out of touch with for almost as long.

"Don't know how close you were to Steve Mole but he is doing 30 years in a Texas prison.. Sounds like a joke but it isn't. I just found out recently."

Steve Mole. The kid I first met in seventh grade, back when he was still wearing a tie to school. His family had emigrated from England to Crystal Lake, Illinois shortly before, and the parents apparently weren’t pressured by 1965 American junior high fashion. Both were soft spoken, dryly humorous, and resolute; very proper British. Young Steve never seemed to challenge them.

Out-of-place tie or not, Steve was popular. Part of it was the novelty of his Englishness. (Did you ever meet the Beatles?) He was small as a result of skipping a grade during his intercontinental transition. Despite the promotion, he remained academically near the top of the class.

Typical of school buds, we spent a great deal of time at each other’s houses. We shared a love of the Beatles, the Stones and Grand Funk Railroad. He got me mildly interested in the Moody Blues while I dragged him to a Frank Zappa concert. One of our best times was seeing the Who and the Kinks on a double bill. It was the era of the Chicago riots and my parents weren’t about to let me go. I threw a fit and they relented; the compromise being that my dad would drive us up and back. Both sets of parents contributed their fair share of chauffeuring.

We attended the edgy movies of the late 60’s, early 70’s together—films that seemed to stretch society’s consciousness the way our individual awareness was being impacted by impending adulthood. Steve beckoned us to stay in our seats for a few moments after Easy Rider ended. He needed to pause a beat while processing his outrage.

We were in the same advanced freshman biology class. I struggled, he breezed through it. I frequently sought his academic assistance while he never asked for mine.

We went to different colleges and for the first time stopped being actively involved in each other’s lives. We’d re-connect upon returning home during holiday breaks and head out for typical drinking/ partying/ girl-chasing shenanigans. Sometimes we were reckless as were nearly all the rest of our friends. It was a different era. I was drunk driving one night to the point where my weaving got me pulled over. All the cop did was make me call my roommate to come get me. On another occasion Steve was behind the wheel and managed to get us lost for six hours despite the fact we were never more than an hour or two from home.

I was one of the first in our circle to get married. When my fiancée Pat was introduced in a bar to the Hometown Buddies, Steve pretty much led the razzing. Do you know what you’re getting into? type of stuff directed at Pat. It actually won me points. Despite the façade, Pat could see that I was loved.

He was a natural programmer back when the computer industry was still in its infancy. He worked for various Chicagoland companies before making a permanent move to Texas. Soon after, his parents and sister left Illinois to also become permanent residents of the Lone Star state.

Steve was 32 and married in 1987 during the one time Pat and I visited. The Moles had a beautiful spacious ranch house within a mile or two of the actual Southfork of Dallas TV fame.

I was never sure of his boyhood religious conviction although I knew he attended church fairly regularly. His political persuasion was less ambiguous. He shared the in-your-face-liberal-verging-on-radical position most of us held in the Viet Nam era. When he wrote me he was born again, I mistakenly pegged him as a converted right winger which he later corrected. Politically, I am close to my friends of my youth, he said, while in matters of faith I am close to my Baptist buddies. I sense that at times both sides have looked at me wondering where my true beliefs lay.

Typical of Steve, his religious conversion wasn’t so typical.

It was June, 2010 when I received the notice, more than two years since the beginning of his prison life, and more than four since the fateful night that put him there. Having been unaware of Steve’s challenges, I was just recovering from a few of my own. My trading partner, who had for years ensured that we never deviate from our pre-determined mechanical trading program (easier said than done), died of tongue cancer. Six months later, my wife went into a coma in her sleep. She died four days later. I went into a prolonged depression and recklessly traded myself into a significant financial hole.

Upon receiving the stunning Facebook message, I began souring the internet. Initially two, maybe three articles turned up. They spoke of a drunk driving conviction; an accident in which a woman died and two other individuals were seriously injured.

Stephen David Mole, convicted felon. I wasn’t sure about his middle name. His listed age seemed to be a couple years off until I realized the article was two years old.

Was this remotely possible? Maybe. Some of the sporadic contact I’d had with Steve made me wonder how much he’d changed. He'd been home schooling his children; frequently an attempt by zealots to shield them from the secular world. He had a rancorous divorce and a brush with the law over a domestic disturbance. He’d lost more than one job. With all his promise, was his life now being overrun with haplessness?

How far off Familiar Steve could he have ventured? On top of everything, did this all suggest a serious drinking problem?

Did I just not know him anymore?

On the other hand, couldn’t this have fit in with the Steve Mole I did know? During our 1970’s friendship, he would sometimes drink to excess. So would I. So would just about everyone else in our circle.

It was the start of a mantra I’d hear from everyone who learned the news. There but for the grace of God go I. Not everyone was so poetic and/or prone to clichés, but all variations on the theme pretty much said the same thing. Conceivably, it could have been any one of us.

I got my smoking gun upon locating his mug shot. There was no mistaking him even though now he perhaps looked more like his father than his old self. Merely seeing the photo was shocking. Perhaps even more unnerving was the myriad of facts I was discovering. Weird details and back stories seemed to stretch in all directions. The unusual length of the sentence, for starters, which took even the lead prosecutor Ryan Calvert aback.

It was surprising because Mr. Mole did not have any criminal history, Ryan said, admitting he was just hoping for some pen time for the defendant. –Dallas Morning News

The woman who died, Marilyn Gates, could well have perished in another violent event five years earlier. Marilyn was a flight attendant who took the day off on September 11, 2001 to take her father to the doctor. Had she not done so, she would have served on American Airlines Flight 11, which crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center. She grieved for years over the loss of tight-knit co-workers, just as her close family was now doing openly in court. Her pregnant daughter, Melissa Gates Larochelle, gave an emotional testimony listing things her mother would not share in her grandchild’s life.

Then there was the widowed husband, Don Gates, a seasoned ex-cop. The contrast of his tough physical presence and voice-breaking testimony was especially unnerving to the courtroom.

More than one witness described the victim impact statements as gut wrenching. Not even Steve’s advocates attempted to whitewash their emotional depth. His best friend, June Wise recounted "Everybody was crying in that room. Every juror. Both sides of the families and friends were all crying.

There was a lot of emotion. There was a lot of pain and it was exposed. Just watching was painful to all of us."

She was also among several people who reported the one person who was not crying nor showing emotion of any kind was Steve Mole. The strange display would come to haunt him.

The torrent of revelations was overwhelming. How does one cope with the fact that so many devastated people have understandable, even justifiable rage against you? But as June said, Steve had several supporters in the room as well, offering encouragement but also suffering their own personal torments. His wheelchair-bound mother was allowed to testify from where she sat. As is frequently the case, she was tripped up into saying things she didn’t intend. Some of her testimony was, in retrospect, considered harmful to the defense. Her husband, Steve’s father, was not in attendance as he was now in the grip of Parkinson’s disease. He died later that year. His imprisoned son would find out about it only after receiving a sympathy card from a friend.

His sister was torn between court appearances and tending to funeral arrangements for her husband. He had died during the trial—two days before she gave testimony. Though fighting for his freedom, Steve’s attentions were similarly divided. During the two year period between the accident and his second trial, (the first one ending in a mistrial), Steve had to attend family court with his ex-wife and bankruptcy court in addition to his criminal case.

I kept imagining the many sources of dread that must have inhabited my old friend. What I later would discover was that Steve’s attitude was nothing like what I would have imagined for neither myself nor nearly anybody else.

I was nervous about contacting him, but knew I had to. I had no idea what mental state he was in—a cold letter could have been unwelcome. His parents were elderly and probably frail and drained by the ordeal; I wasn’t about to intrude on them. I figured the logical, most non-obtrusive avenue was through his sister Susan.

Chapter 2

I won’t get into the rationalization and explanation as there really is none and this all falls under the heading of ‘I should have known better.’

I never had the sense of really knowing Susan Mole. I was a frequent visitor and she was on hand a lot. Even when she seemed interested in what her big brother and his friends were up to, she didn’t insinuate herself much. She seemed sweet, maybe a little shy. She had an infectious giggle.

It took me a couple of weeks to summon the courage to write and slow-mail the letter, a portion of which follows:

Hello Susan,

It’s been a long time, as the cliché goes. I’m sorry to be reaching out to you over such sad circumstances. I only found out about Steve’s imprisonment a couple weeks ago via someone on Facebook. As you know, we were very good friends through junior high and high school, but as the other cliché goes, lost contact over the years. Since being made aware, my heart has been heavy for him and your family. I can’t even imagine the depth of suffering you must have endured throughout all facets of the ordeal.

I’ve deliberated over how to contact Steve and decided you would know best what would be appropriate. I’d certainly be happy to maintain regular correspondence with him if that were his desire.

Steve did contact me once about five years ago—I learned that he had become religious. I’m not, but I can see how such faith could be crucial in such times. I’m hoping he’s hung onto it and it’s giving him comfort.

I realize I’m about four years behind as far as up-to-date news. I hope your parents are well—please give them my regards. I was also sorry to read about your husband’s passing. I can directly relate to that tragedy having lost my wife suddenly to sleep apnea in 2007.

Art

A day later, I received an email request that we speak on the phone. After initial pleasantries and some general catching up, we got down to the crux of the call. Some of what she was telling me was surprising. For one thing, there seemed to be recent bad blood between Steve and the rest of the family. She alluded to rancor over his ex-wife, Joy. June Wise offered affirmation of this as well as other family issues.

JUNE: "That was a problem. He was trying to protect his kids from a bad or abusive mother, and he went overboard. He was very protective—I guess I would be too in similar circumstances. But it [interfered with his] common sense.

When I first met Steve, he told me that he hadn’t spoken to his father in a year. I said ‘What?! Why?’ He said ‘They were angry at my son and I won’t accept that.’ I said ‘Steve, you need to write an apology letter to your father or mother and in that letter tell them how much you love them and appreciate them.’ And he looked at me and said ‘OK, I will’ and he did. That’s right when we met and that’s when they started talking again.

Susan said she routinely sends Steve money and supplies but had not visited him in jail. His mother saw him twice when he was first incarcerated but not since. According to Susan, Mrs. Mole has been shamed by the tragedy. She hoped acquaintances in other parts of the country would remain ignorant of it. There was also the understandable proximity logistic. Steve ultimately was moved approximately 200 miles away from his family. Mrs. Mole had health issues and was fearful that she wouldn’t be able to endure the journey.

Susan’s estrangement from Steve was not something I would not have expected based on my boyhood memories, not to mention the fact that Steve’s family had followed him to Texas. Her revelations would also be in contrast to her later testimony in which she described her relationship with Steve as very close.

She was the first to inform me that Mr. Mole had died, succumbing to a combination of illnesses. We exchanged sympathies over the deaths of our spouses and she invited me to call any time. She saw no reason why her brother would be opposed to me writing him. My subsequent letter read in part:

7-10-10

Steve,

I learned of your situation about three weeks ago. I managed to re-connect with Facebook—something that’s still tricky for me as is most computer-related stuff

There are articles on the net I’m sure you’re aware of—heartbreaking, shocking, and obviously distorting the image of the Steve Mole I’ve known. I confess to having passed the info along to a (very) few mutual acquaintances and also people you don’t know. The unanimous reaction has been one of empathy. While no one suggests you should be free of accountability, we all share a there but for the grace of God self reflection. None of us can say we’ve never made a bad decision about getting behind a wheel in our lives.

I hope you’ve maintained the faith you disclosed in your last letter to me. I can see how it could be crucial at such times. I hope you’re getting all possible support, peace of mind and anything else that makes your ordeal more bearable. Be aware that you have a friend in Illinois.

Sincerely,

Art

I was almost afraid to open the letter that arrived a week later. It’s again abridged, largely because some of his reflections are better served in later sections of the book.

July 18 2010

Arthur,

Wow, where do I start to tell this story. Needless to say, what is out there, and I am not aware of most that has been written about me, is most likely one sided. I’ll bet that statement is a surprise.

I won’t get into the rationalization and explanation as there really is none and this all falls under the heading of I should have known better. Yes, I had been drinking, at my parents’ anniversary dinner with my sister and her husband. Yes, I ran a red light and caused an accident that killed a woman and injured two others. Yes, I was charged, tried and convicted. Did I have a good defense lawyer, in hindsight the answer is no. But, that is often the case for court appointed lawyers.

Would I do things differently given the chance? Yes, I would have taken the plea offer and not listened to my lawyer that there was a credible mitigating defense available. At one point during that almost two year period between the accident and the second trial, I had cases active in three different courts. Family court with my (bipolar according to our children) ex-wife, bankruptcy court the combination of the divorce, the cost of raising two teenagers in a house that was losing its value and I couldn’t sell and criminal court with this. Did the alcohol cause the accident, no. I fell asleep