Jack Kevorkian

Let the litigation begin

Kevorkian's lawyer's suit against the Columbine killers' parents is just the beginning.

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“This is not about money!”

So declared Michael Shoels as he announced his family’s $250 million wrongful death lawsuit against the parents of Columbine killers Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. “This lawsuit is about change!” Shoels insisted. “That’s the only way you get change, if you go rattling their pocketbooks.”

Welcome to Round Two of the Columbine Tragedy, where the action shifts to the courtroom, but the focus remains squarely on the media.

Fresh from victory in the sensational Jenny Jones tabloid television trial, and several assisted-suicide cases for Dr. Jack Kevorkian before that, attorney Geoffrey Fieger flew to Denver to represent the parents of Isaiah Shoels, the only African-American killed in the April 20 attack that left 15 dead. The suit filed Thursday in Denver’s District Court charges the killers’ parents with five counts of parental negligence.

Fieger said the suit against the killers’ parents is just the beginning: He plans to eventually target police, school authorities, gun manufacturers, accessories to the murders and “any individual who directly contributed to two sick children possessing an arsenal and access to the school.”

The lawsuit was not filed in Jefferson County, where the murders occurred, but in Denver, Feiger said, because the Shoels family moved to Colorado’s largest city since the killings to flee ongoing racial discrimination and intimidation. Michael Shoels said that days after his son was murdered, a young man in a trench coat showed up in his yard, and his wife Vonda “was terrified about continuing in that location.” He said the police response was, “This is happening all over the neighborhood.”

The legal wrangling might have begun sooner, if not for an anti-ambulance-chaser statute in Colorado, which forbids attorneys from contacting families until one month after the death of a victim. Technically, the moratorium did not apply in this case, as the family initiated contact with Fieger. Local reaction Thursday was fiercely negative, with talk radio dominated by anti-lawsuit sentiment, leveled generally against the lawyers rather than the Shoels family.

Fieger acknowledged “there will be cynics” who think the lawsuit is “about greed.” But Colorado law limits awards in wrongful death cases to $250,000 — state law restricts suits against governmental entities like the school district even further, to $150,000 — and Fieger insists he’ll spend more mounting the case than he can ever hope to recover. He admitted one goal of the lawsuit would be to overturn those dollar limits, which may involve additional suits in other jurisdictions. “This lawsuit is a symbol,” he said. “This lawsuit is to serve as a living memorial to Isaiah Shoels.”

The first lawsuit targeted the killers’ parents, Fieger added, because it will give him time to develop the case against the other parties. He said he may even turn to federal courts to take advantage of this week’s Supreme Court decision holding schools responsible for sexual harassment. “I can’t believe that the Supreme Court would hold that immunity is gone from sexual harassment, but not for the loss of human life,” he said.

The suit charges each of the four parents with five counts of parental negligence, which involve their allowing their sons to amass a cache of semiautomatic weapons; stockpile bombs and explosives; continue to hang out together, since each was “a co-conspirator and accomplice in a prior criminal act”; to “author extremist writings of a hateful nature”; and to continue to grant their sons “extraordinary privileges despite knowledge that [they] had been engaged in prior serious criminal activity.”

But Fieger and the Shoelses seemed to have divergent agendas for their crusade. Fieger, who recently staged an unsuccessful run for governor of Michigan, delivered an impassioned opening statement that sounded like a stump speech for a third-party candidate for president. He ripped into “the excesses of liberal social engineering” that have “contributed to the erosion of personal responsibility and an excessive preoccupation with self-indulgent and material pursuits.” But then he quickly turned on “conservatives” who he charged “destroyed the social safety net,” including access to quality medical care and mental health treatment, “made the reality of a living wage unlikely” and destroyed our future with “mindless rhetoric about Second Amendment rights.” He acknowledged that he developed his agenda independently of the Shoels family. “Those were my statements. The family doesnt tell me how to try the lawsuit. I think they agree with them. I ran them by them.”

Michael Shoels, by contrast, ticked off a priority list that included morality in the home, prayer in the schools and an end to all forms of hate, including but not limited to pervasive racial bigotry. He repeatedly returned to the racial abuse his family suffered before and after the shootings, which he says went unanswered by law enforcement. Vonda Shoels remained quiet through most of the proceedings, but responded quickly and forcefully when asked what she hopes to accomplish with the suit: “Change! Because no one should have to suffer like we had to suffer.”

None of the other families have announced lawsuits yet, and none had immediate reactions to the Shoelses’ suit. Neither the Harris nor Klebold families commented on it, directly or through attorneys.

The lawsuit isn’t the only wrangling about money in the wake of the Columbine tragedy. Locally there’s been growing tension about the use of a $2.3 million Healing Fund, donated by strangers around the country to help the Columbine victims’ families, as well as the 23 wounded survivors. Very little of that money has actually been distributed.

In the past few days, there have been local news reports detailing how victims’ parents are upset about the way the money will be distributed. Several parents complained of mounting medical bills, and one mother told of being unable to work since the trauma, and having to beg for money to cover rent. A Wednesday meeting between families and Jefferson County District Attorney Dave Thomas, who serves as co-chairman of the fund, seemed to ease some of the tension. Thomas announced that the funds would be used primarily to assist victims’ families, with a much smaller allotment for the community. A survey will be distributed to families to resolve details, particularly whether the money should be divided equally, or based on need.

Meanwhile, victim Cassie Bernall’s family declined to seek riches when they chose a publisher to tell the story of their daughter’s conversion from troubled teen to Christian martyr. Despite interest from major mainstream publishers, they sold the book, titled “She Said Yes,” to a small Christian publishing firm.

Dave Cullen is a Denver writer working on a memoir, "In a Boy's Dream."

Assisted suicide advocate Jack Kevorkian dies

Doctor was a prominent face for the issue of euthanasia, served eight years for second-degree murder

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Assisted suicide advocate Jack Kevorkian diesJack Kevorkian speaking at UCLA.

A lawyer and friend of Jack Kevorkian says the assisted suicide advocate has died at a Detroit-area hospital at the age of 83.

Mayer (MAY’-uhr) Morganroth tells The Associated Press that Kevorkian died Friday morning at William Beaumont Hospital in Royal Oak, where he had been hospitalized. He says nurses played classical music by Kevorkian’s favorite Johan Sebastian Bach before he died.

Kevorkian had been hospitalized since last month with pneumonia and kidney problems.

Morganroth says Kevorkian was conscious Thursday night and the two spoke about leaving the hospital and getting ready for rehabilitation.

Kevorkian was released from a Michigan prison in 2007 after serving eight years for second-degree murder. He claims to have assisted in at least 130 suicides.

Al Pacino brings Jack Kevorkian to life

In HBO's understated biopic, the notoriously hammy actor does something truly riveting: He disappears

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Al Pacino brings Jack Kevorkian to lifeAl Pacino in "You Don't Know Jack."

Most Americans are willfully ignorant about death. We cling so desperately to our distractions, our novelties, our money, our diversions, all with the illusion that we can put off death indefinitely, that any direct talk of death makes us uncomfortable.

“We’re all going to die someday,” the realist tells us. “We get older and older, and eventually, we die.”

“Jesus, could you stop being so negative?” we respond.

“It’s really best to plan for it before it happens, so we have some control over how it goes,” the realist counters.

Plan for it? God, you’re morbid,” we say, turning back to our iPhones to tweet about the fantastic pastrami we had for lunch.

We actively divert our attention from death each day, and then one day, there it is, rudely interrupting our normal routines, and we’re bewildered by how cruel and callous the world suddenly seems. Doctors who refuse to weep with us! Coroners who go about their business as if they do this several times a day! Funeral home directors who gesture gracefully to a plentiful box of tissue, pursing their lips in a grotesque affectation of heartfelt sympathy! It’s all so macabre, yet so mundane! It’s just so wrong.

This is the framework in which we encounter Jack Kevorkian, aka Doctor Death, the advocate for physician-assisted suicide. “Death? Suicide? Physician?!” we shriek. “Who is this creepy guy?”

But HBO’s Kevorkian biopic, “You Don’t Know Jack” (premieres 9 p.m. Saturday, April 24), offers a more mundane picture of Kevorkian, and of death itself: Patients neither weep inconsolably nor smile sweetly like those brave souls on “Grey’s Anatomy,” nor do they close their eyes in an instant as their friends and family hold hands in a circle, singing softly. Death may bring relief to Kevorkian’s patients, but in the end, the dying patient and his or her loved ones hardly know what to say. They look at each other questioningly. They hold hands and try to smile. “You’re so brave,” one woman tells her husband. Another dying woman simply thanks Kevorkian for helping her, the two squeezed together in his VW van because there’s nowhere else to do this.

The mundane reality of death is something we don’t anticipate, something we can’t bear, at some level, thanks to a lifetime of being spoon-fed valiant stories of the soldier who speaks a few brave words then dies on cue or the old man who lies in his bed at home, receiving loving visitors with warmth and clarity. By presenting death — and Kevorkian himself — unadorned by the usual comforting clichés, director Barry Levinson and screenwriter Adam Mazer not only do justice to Kevorkian’s story, but they also do justice to his very humble cause.

“Is this the face of a killer?” That’s what the promotional posters for “You Don’t Know Jack” say, under a close-up of Al Pacino’s face. Is Scarface a killer? Is that a trick question?

Miraculously, though, in “You Don’t Know Jack,” Al Pacino makes us forget every other role he’s ever played. Instead of bringing more Pacino to the table than anything else — the macho growling, the eye rolling, the almost poetic line readings, the exaggerated rage — the actor brings low-key eccentric Jack Kevorkian to life. Direct but unassuming, confident but ambivalent about the spotlight, Kevorkian allows Pacino the chance to do something he’s only been able to do a few times in his long acting career: disappear.

Along with the pleasure of watching Pacino flesh out this strange, stubborn man, bickering amiably with his friends in a scratchy Midwestern accent at poker night or matter-of-factly interviewing patients about why they want to end their lives, HBO’s biopic demonstrates beautifully how the profile of a strange controversial figure like Kevorkian can be transformed into a moving, eye-opening story. Like Kevorkian himself, this film isn’t a splashy attention seeker, but its charms are apparent within the first few minutes, from Jack’s rambling, off-topic conversations with his friend Neal Nicol (John Goodman) to his humble little apartment, with its odd ambient light and framed photographs. Instead of glamorizing Kevorkian or making him appear more heroic or more suave than he is, the filmmakers embrace the down-to-earth nature of his life and his choices. Each scene, each shot reflects this perspective: the wide angle of Kevorkian crouched under his VW van, working on it, as activist Janet Good (Susan Sarandon) approaches to tell him she’s sorry she couldn’t help him with his first patient; the off-kilter banter with his sister Margo (Brenda Vaccaro) that always skitters around the darkness of what Kevorkian is taking on.

Most important, “You Don’t Know Jack” presents what many of us missed back when Kevorkian’s face was on all the magazine covers, navigating the kind of media storm that can make even the most unassuming idealist look like a grandstanding opportunist. Despite the grim nickname “Doctor Death,” despite the disturbing nature of what he did, rigging up tubes or gas masks to help terminally ill patients die, Kevorkian’s aims were anything but morbid. After watching helplessly as his mother died slowly in the hospital, lingering on, in pain, unable to speak, he decided to challenge the accepted approach to death in this country, an approach that he saw as inhumane at best, downright savage at worst.

Death doesn’t have to unfold the way we assume it does, Kevorkian argued. No one should necessarily have to accept years of suffering through whatever extended nightmare awaits them, in the hospital, in hospice, in the nursing home. Death isn’t some frightening, terrible thing. Just because we spend most of our lives trying to avoid its very existence, just because it’s depicted in books and movies and works of art as some shadowy, mysterious, dramatic presence, that doesn’t mean we’re utterly powerless in the face of it. As taboo as it is to look at it directly or to dictate its terms, death can simply be a choice to stop living.

Kevorkian himself didn’t always make the most rational choices. After helping 130 terminal patients end their own lives, Kevorkian had the audacity to show footage of himself administering a lethal injection to an ALS patient on “60 Minutes,” after which he openly dared authorities to do something about it. He then represented himself in his murder trial — stubborn idealists as passionate as Kevorkian aren’t always so open to advice in these matters — and subsequently spent eight years of his life in jail. Even as we witness Kevorkian skidding off the tracks, as his friends and former lawyer look on, cringing, it’s hard not to admire his tenacious adherence to his own principles. He didn’t want to help people behind closed doors, he wanted to change the laws of the land. He accepted his fate with an understated shrug. In his mind, he really had no choice. “When a law is deemed immoral by you,” he tells anyone who’ll listen, “you must disobey it.”

The film conjures a complicated picture of Kevorkian. But even with such witty, touching dialogue and such a moving performance by Pacino, what we remember most clearly at the end of this film are Kevorkian’s patients. These people didn’t see Kevorkian as “Doctor Death,” they saw him as an angel, one who might finally deliver them from their suffering. 

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Heather Havrilesky is Salon's TV critic and author of the rabbit blog. Her memoir, "Disaster Preparedness," published in 2010.