The Advocate

By Richard Blassberg

Lies Beget Lies

Next Monday will mark the fifth anniversary of a tragic incident, a dark moment in the history of the Town of Harrison, and, in truth, the entire Westchester Community. And, while there was no reversing the unthinkable
events that cost a beautiful young man his life, just eight days before what would have been his eighteenth birthday, the lies and the betrayal set in motion by Jeanine Pirro in order to protect, and preserve, her position
cast the die that even five years later holds some two dozen young adults, including her daughter, in indefinite purgatory.

On April 23, 2002, when Harrison High School experienced an early afternoon power failure, and school officials decided to release the students more than two hours early, several of them, juniors and seniors, would end up at the Porzio household, just around the corner from the home of District Attorney Jeanine Pirro, and a couple of houses from the former Rukaj home. Mr. and Mrs.Porzio were away, entrusting their daughter Beth, a junior at Harrison High, and their son John, Jr., a senior at Rye Country Day School, to look after their home.

Given the availability of the house, Beth invited more than twenty of her schoolmates, including Rob Viscome
and Patrick Rukaj, for what would become an afternoon drinking and substance abuse party. Lots of beer and other intoxicants were flowing, and it wasn’t long before words were exchanged between Rob and Patrick.

Some accounts have suggested that Rob may have teased Rukaj about his father, who, having won $18 million
in the State Lottery, was away in prison for having killed two members of his extended family in a “blood feud” involving the wife of his cousin.

Whatever the provocative exchange that occurred, Viscome and Rukaj stepped out of the playroom onto the stone patio where Rukaj threw a sucker punch to Rob’s face as Rob bent over to pick up Rukaj’s chain, causing him to fall over backward, striking his head. He would never regain consciousness.

A call to John Porzio, Jr. would bring him home “on the double.” But he was not the only arrival from Rye Country Day School. Christine Pirro, the DA’s daughter, better known to her friends as Kiki, would show up as well. Upon arrival John would immediately tell everyone, “This didn’t happen here.”

He would not permit anyone to phone out for emergency medical assistance. Instead, two dozen young men and women would leave their friend lying in a coma, fluid coming from his nose and mouth, as they cleaned up
beer cans, bottles of alcoholic beverages, and other substance paraphernalia, for almost half an hour, before deciding to lift him, reportedly dropping him twice on his head, as they carried his lifeless body to Ashley Fanelli’s BMW.

Putting him in the front passenger seat, they drove to United Hospital, little more than a mile away, in Port Chester. The story Harrison Police would get in one form, or another, from the youngsters, was what they initially
told the emergency personnel at United, that Rob Viscome had fallen from the monkey bars at a local park.

No matter what the story, it would not matter because as soon as Jeanine Pirro became aware of the incident,
truth “went south;” Kiki was literally pulled out of the situation and disappeared from school, from Westchester, from New York, for five weeks. Statements, taken from her friends, were shredded by Harrison Police. There
was a clear understanding that none of the kids involved would be prosecuted, and none of them would give up Kiki.

Rob, who should have received immediate emergency medical attention, was taken from United Hospital to the Westchester Medical Center. Beyond recovery, he was declared, “brain dead,” and removed from life support seven days after the incident, April 30, 2002. John Porzio, Jr., had the nerve to act as a pallbearer, and display sympathy and sorrow, publicly, while never whispering a word about Kiki, and never admitting the betrayal
of Rob.

Mrs. Pirro would allow more than two months to pass without prosecuting anyone. Then, knowing that she had to, at least, make some apparent effort to prosecute the puncher, Patrick Rukaj, if no one else, she sent the case to a grand jury, totally overcharging him with Felony Assault, and instructing the jury so as not to produce an indictment. However, Mrs. Pirro did not anticipate the strong response that would come from the West Harrison Community, Rob’s peers in particular, who knew from classmates and friends closer to the incident what had gone on, and who also knew that Pirro’s daughter had been there, and had gone absent from school for five weeks.

The kids kept up the pressure producing petitions, quickly signed by hundreds of local residents demanding action. Cutting a further deal with Rukaj, and even arranging for his legal representation, Pirro went back into
the grand jury on a Misdemeanor Assault charge assuring Rukaj that he would receive Youthful Offender treatment, and no jail time. At one point, in July, three months after the incident, she showed up at a local shop in
West Harrison, from which a letter had come criticizing her failure to prosecute the case. She was accompanied by ADA Patricia Murphy, carrying posters and illustrations, to put on a ‘dog and pony show.’

Arriving at that gathering, she was taken by surprise, not having expected the nearly forty parents and two newspaper reporters, who also showed up. When asked outright by one of the reporters to respond to the
widespread rumor that her daughter Kiki had been at the party, Pirro said, “She wasn’t there when the assault happened.”

But she was there, alright. And, because she was, everyone skated. Because she was, statements given to police were shredded, and we were told that giving false reports to the police was not actionable. Because she was,
two dozen young adults were never held accountable for their reckless, selfish conduct that sealed Rob Viscome’s fate. Because she was, those same youngsters will never have closure because there was no acknowledgement of right from wrong, no statement of truth, no community service, no relief, only lifelong guilt and regret.

To those young men and women, and to all those police officers, school masters, judges, assistant district attorneys, lawyers, all of you who willingly got sewn up into Jeanine Pirro’s lie – you know who you are – on this, the fifth anniversary of young Rob Viscome’s death we say, It’s never too late to tell the truth.