Betty Loren Maltese does have a story to tell. A girl from Louisiana without an ounce of Italian blood drops out of high school, marries a charming operator with dangerous friends, and becomes the mayor of Cicero, the onetime stomping grounds of Al Capone.
Loren-Maltese was born in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, but she was raised in the Chicago area. After working as a waitress, realtor, and newspaper publisher, she became active in the politics of Cicero, a suburb adjacent to the west side of Chicago.
But Ashleigh is happy now in the South, so maybe she'll go there. It's hard to imagine Cicero's Betty Loren Maltese in a Southern town, but that's where she started out, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Betty says that around the time of her birth, her father tried to unionize the restaurant workers there.
After working as a waitress, realtor, and newspaper publisher, she became active in the politics of Cicero, a suburb adjacent to the west side of Chicago. Her husband, Frank Maltese, was the Cicero township assessor and mid-level mobster; among other duties, he was the driver for Cicero town president Henry Klosak.
Loren-Maltese, the former president of the Town of Cicero, was convicted and sentenced to eight years in federal prison for her role in a scheme that defrauded the municipality of more than $12 Million. She ultimately served six years of her sentence.
She now lives in a tiny one bedroom apartment in the south suburbs, surviving on a small widow's pension. Until she gets a regular job or her Cicero pension restored, she will not be able to fulfill her dream of regaining custody of her 13-year-old daughter who lives with Loren-Maltese's estranged sister in Alabama.
Cicero, IllinoisShe is a member of the Republican Party and received national attention for her role in an insurance scam which robbed the town of $12 million....Betty Loren-MalteseResidence(s)Cicero, Illinois11 more rows
Larry Dominick, Town President. Maria Moreno, Admin Asst.
making it the 11th largest municipality in Illinois. The town of Cicero is named after Marcus Tullius Cicero, a Roman statesman and orator....Cicero, Illinois• PresidentLarry DominickArea• Total5.87 sq mi (15.19 km2)• Land5.87 sq mi (15.19 km2)27 more rows
Most of the defendants, including Loren-Maltese, also were charged with either filing false tax returns or tax evasion conspiracy.
By late afternoon, Loren-Maltese, who has run the town since 1993, was released on a $100,000 bond secured by her house in Cicero.
The 17-count indictment charged that Loren-Maltese and two former town officials--Emil Schullo, public safety director, and Treasurer Joseph DeChicio--siphoned off more than $10 million in town funds under the guise that the money was for insurance payouts to town employees.
Also charged were Michael Spano Sr., who reputedly took over as Cicero's mob boss after Ernest Rocco Infelice was convicted on federal charges in 1992; Spano's son, Michael Jr.; John LaGiglio, a Cicero trucking executive, and his wife, Bonnie; Gregory Ross, a former IRS agent turned reputed accountant to the mob; and attorney Charles Schneider.
As members of the town's insurance committee, Loren-Maltese, Schullo and DeChicio were responsible for ensuring the fair administration of the plan, authorities said. Instead, the indictment alleged, they were paid bribes to permit the fraudulent overpayments to Specialty Risk.
To make it appear legitimate, the indictment alleged, Schullo directed that Town President Henry Klosak' s signature stamp be placed on the Specialty Risk proposal given to accountants working for the town.
Gillespie and attorneys for the LaGiglios and Schneider vowed their clients would be vindicated at trial.
Nearly two years after federal officials declared the Cicero ''candy store'' officially closed, Betty Loren-Maltese, the former town president, was sentenced today to eight years and one month in prison for helping steal $12 million from a municipal insurance fund.
Ms. Loren-Maltese was convicted of racketeering, wire fraud and mail fraud. In addition to her maximum prison term, she was fined $100,000 and ordered to pay more than $8 million restitution. Judge Grady said she must surrender to the authorities on April 1.
Prosecutors said that in the last three years Ms. Loren-Maltese bet nearly $19 million at casinos, mostly in Las Vegas, where she has a second house. In 2000-01, they said, Ms. Loren-Maltese spent nearly 1,600 hours gambling, suggesting that someone other than her was caring for her daughter.
Loren-Maltese, 52, gave a brief emotional statement in which she sought leniency on the grounds that a lengthy prison term would harm her 5-year-old adopted daughter.
Judge Grady said that children's welfare was often involved in such cases and that although a child might be adversely affected, it was not enough to minimize the penalty that a parent had to face for a serious crime.
She was the sixth of seven people convicted last year in the Cicero scandal to be sentenced this week. Michael Spano Sr., a reported organized-crime boss, was sentenced to more than 12 years in prison for his role in the scheme. Emil Schullo, a former chief of police, was given nearly 6 years; Michael Spano Jr., more than 6 years; Bonnie LaGiglio, more than 3 years; and Charles Schneider, a lawyer for Mr. LaGiglio and the elder Mr. Spano, 7 years.
Ms. Loren-Maltese's lawyers also presented the court with a stack of letters from supporters, but those did not help her.
Betty Loren Maltese does have a story to tell. A girl from Louisiana without an ounce of Italian blood drops out of high school, marries a charming operator with dangerous friends, and becomes the mayor of Cicero, the onetime stomping grounds of Al Capone.
As she feasts on junk food, Betty, now 58, is barely recognizable. Dressed in dark green khakis, she looks more petite than voluptuous. She's replaced her Liz Taylor–style wig with a baseball cap. Her false eyelashes are gone, as are her trademark big glasses—she was mixing a giant bowl of oatmeal cookie dough in the prison kitchen and they fell in and broke. She wears a little bit of lip gloss bought at the prison commissary, but otherwise her face is bare. She's lost four teeth and says she feels like a Halloween pumpkin. She's not puffing on a cigarette. The prison doesn't allow smoking, so she was forced to give up her two-pack-a-day habit.
Her appeal was moving slowly. "Every day feels like a year," she said at the time. She talked to Ashleigh every night on the phone, but the fiction about being away at a job was becoming hard to maintain. "She says, ‘Mommy, please quit and come home,'" Betty said. "‘I need you.'"
Last summer, the little girl learned through the Internet that she had been adopted and that her mother was in prison, not simply working away from home, as Betty had long told her. Citing an old newspaper story, Ashleigh told Betty, " You just used me as a pawn to stay out of jail.". Today Kitty Loren can barely see.
Connections to what? Betty won't answer. She says she can't because she worries about Ashleigh and her mother. But when she gets out, she might write a book. "I always have said the whole Cicero story will eventually come out. I just hope it's sooner rather than later. I have to get out of here."
Betty said she wanted Cicero to shed its reputation as a home to the mob. Nonetheless, she acknowledges she spent time with Spano, though she claims they didn't talk much about town business. He often took Betty and her mother for gambling excursions on the riverboats.
Today Kitty Loren can barely see. She lives alone in Betty's Las Vegas house, which briefly went into foreclosure in the fall after Vrdolyak stopped paying the mortgage. "How could he do this to us now?" Betty asks of the lawyer who made millions doing legal work for Cicero and served as her political adviser. "Ed always wants me to be in need."