COMMENTARY
Piccoli leaves victims hurting badly
Do not tell them that Richard Piccoli seems like a nice guy. Do not remind David and Karen that he looks like somebody’s kindly grandfather, a compact, gray-haired man who moves in small steps.
They know all about how friendly and concerned Piccoli, who appeared briefly Tuesday in federal court, seems to be. That is why they believed in him. That is why they today feel broken and betrayed.
They will tell you that the cost of their enlightenment was the tens of thousands of dollars in severance pay that David placed in Piccoli’s hands. The cost of enlightenment was the tens of thousands of dollars they inherited when Karen’s mother was killed in a car crash. The cost of enlightenment was the life savings Karen’s brother, a retired Buffalo priest, entrusted to the grandfatherly fellow with the Old World charm.
Piccoli is accused of bilking some 250 investors of about $17 million in what authorities call a classic Ponzi scheme. He is charged with using funds from new investors to provide modest payouts to older ones while pocketing most of the money. Piccoli advertised in Catholic newspapers and duped a legion of priests. Karen and David say they are among his victims.
He is 55; she is 51. They asked me not to use their last name, to avoid embarrassment. But they want their story told, in the hopes of erasing any sympathy a judge or a jury might feel for the older gentleman who inspired trust. In their minds, sympathy for Piccoli is the equivalent of sympathy for the devil.
If that sounds harsh, consider that authorities say the prime targets of Piccoli’s scam were priests, who are seen by Catholics as God’s emissaries. Piccoli’s attorneys, Dick Sullivan and Joel Daniels — plucked from the top shelf of Buffalo’s defense corps — said that it is too soon to say what, if anything, happened.
“There are assets available to pay investors,” Sullivan said.
David recently took a buyout after 37 years at General Motors. He told me that two months ago, he handed his $43,000 severance check to Piccoli. They entrusted him in 2004 with the $50,000 Karen inherited from her mother.
“I don’t know how this man looks in the mirror at night,” Karen said.
They are not cruel people. But they do not want any judge or jury to cut a break for the man they say gutted their lives.
“Do I want him to go to jail? You bet I do,” Karen said. “I don’t care if he’s 82.”
Karen first heard of Piccoli from her brother, a recently retired Buffalo priest who put his life savings of $300,000 into Piccoli’s hands.
Unlike some people, Karen and David are not ruined. But life just got tougher. David needs to find work to keep up on mortgage payments, child support and a son’s college tuition. Karen, an unemployment counselor, cannot imagine retiring. Their dream of one day buying a place in Florida vanished into Piccoli’s pockets.
It is about more than the money. It is the things the dollars buy: Security. Sense of self. Protection for your family. Obligation to Karen’s mother, who was widowed young and lived simply in order to leave something to her kids.
“That money is gone now,” said Karen. “I almost feel like I’m grieving her again.”
After court adjourned Tuesday afternoon, I saw Piccoli — in brown trench coat, shoulders hunched against the swirling snow — standing on Franklin Street, looking small and lost.
I could see how a passer-by might help him to his car. I could see how they might get to talking, maybe stop for a cup of coffee. I could imagine Piccoli mentioning all of the priests he was helping with their investments.
I could picture someone thinking, hey, this seems like a guy I can trust.
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