The Pittsburgh Press from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania • Page 12

U.S. Attorney Johnson casing life in the private lane r-- 14 fi I 5 isv-V. cerned, it's ancient history and way behind us." Attorney Samuel Reich, who represented some of the players who appeared before the grand jury, said he thinks baseball players already were aware of the dangers of cocaine before the Pittsburgh investigation. But, as a whole, the case indirectly led to longer sentences for drug offenders because the people convicted of selling relatively small amounts of cocaine to players received an average of 10-year sentences, Reich said. During his tenure here, Johnson served as past chairman and as a member of the Advisory Committee of U.S.

Attorneys. Current Chairman Robert Ulrich, U.S. attorney in Kansas City, said Johnson won the respect of Justice Department officials and fellow U.S. attorneys because he fought for prosecutors to get the resources they needed to do their jobs. Johnson, as chairman of the budget subcommittee, testified before Congress about the budget needs of local U.S.

attorneys, Ulrich said. As a result of his work in Washington and Pittsburgh, Johnson was under consideration to take over the Justice Department's criminal division last summer. His local post probably will be filled on an interim basis by his first assistant, Charles Sheehy. Among the candidates to fill the job permanently are Sheehy, Alexander Lindsay and Thomas Corbett. Lindsay and Corbett are both former assistant U.S.

attorneys in private practice and both have been active in Republican party politics. Going into private practice will mean a significant salary increase for Johnson, who earns $70,500 now. Johnson, who rejects talk that he may someday seek public office, won't say how much his salary will be at Reed Smith. But he jokes that he might mistake his first paycheck for half a year's wages. Johnson's wife, Kristen, said her husband's job often kept him at the office late and she expects him to continue his workaholic ways in his new job.

"He never does anything unless he can give it 150 percent." The Johnsons live in Ross with sons Jason, 14, and Christopher, 10. Because he spends so much time away from home, it's not uncommon for Johnson to return from a trip to find a room has been repainted or remodeled, Mrs. Johnson said. She said Johnson once returned home early from a conference in Arizona because he got sick. He went straight to bed but a few hours later got up to find the bathroom had been stripped of everything because Mrs.

Johnson was in the middle of remodeling it. "It's getting to be sort of a game to see how long it will take him to notice changes in the house," Mrs. Johnson said. J. Alan Johnson, U.S.

attorney since 1982, will soon By Janet Williams The Pittsburgh Press In one of Jerry Johnson's rare pensive moments, he admits it could be a difficult transition from the powerful and influential job of U.S. attorney to a private law firm where he'll be one among many. After all, J. Alan Johnson, as he's known professionally, has spent much of his 17-year legal career at the top of Western Pennsylvania's law enforcement community. Come Jan.

14, when his resignation takes effect, he'll be just another defense lawyer, albeit one with greater name recognition than most at one of Pittsburgh's top law firms Reed, Smith, Shaw and McClay. "I came into this job at a relatively young age and it's given me a chance to deal with my own staff, other lawyers, the courts, the media. I don't know what other experience is as challenging," said Johnson, who was 37 when he took office April 15, 1982. Now 44, his once black hair is more salt than pepper, and reading glasses, worn only occasionally when he started, have given way to wire-rims he wears most of the time. "I keep looking forward.

I'm looking at this next phase of my life as a chance to continue growing and to experience new things," Johnson said. Nonetheless, he's likely to experience culture shock. "It's a very tough transition to make," said Robert Cindrich, who spent three years as the local U.S. attorney during the Carter administration, returning to private practice in 1981. The U.S.

attorney has power to pick and choose some of the cases his office will prosecute, while a private defense lawyer reacts to what his clients bring him, Cindrich said. Johnson made drug prosecutions a ugh priority of his office, in effect the public corruption that were the hallmark of attorney General Dick Thornburgh's as U.S. attorney here in the 1970s. Under Johnson's leadership, the office successfully prosecuted numbers kingpin Anthony "Tony" Gros-a, who may spend the rest of his life federal prison; Eugene Gesuale, in East Liberty drug dealer with ties organized crime; leaders of the Motorcycle Club on drug jafficking charges; and 28 people, ncluaing Ferry Pernno, county assistant district attorney, on charges distributed large quantities of oocaine in Pittsburgh's east suburbs. Johnson seems determined to 'eave public life with a bang rather a whimper.

Prosecutions are lending against Ashland Oil for spiling more than 700,000 gallons of iiesel fuel into the Monongahela River and against 12 people for illegedly making and distributing the killer synthetic heroin known as China White. from page Al pillow on the other side of Chucky's head, next to the bolt protruding from his skull. In a few days Chucky McGivern, a smart boy with blue eyes he inherited from two good-looking parents, slipped closer to death. His lungs collapsed, his kidneys stopped working. Nancy McGivern said she didn't want her son to be kept alive by machines, and she and her husband signed papers authorizing the hospital to distribute Chucky's organs once he died.

In the 1830s in what is now Czechoslovakia, but then was part of Germany, there was a glut of priests. So much of a glut that the man who would later become a saint had a hard time getting ordained. John Neumann had finished his seminary training and was on the verge of being ordained when the bishop in his diocese got sick. Neumann signed up to become a missionary in the United States, and to his delight he was hardly off the boat in 1832 when the bishop of New York told him how badly he was needed and ordained him. First he was assigned to the Buffalo-Niagara Falls area, but after several years he found the work and isolation of a diocesan priest not to his taste.

On the advice of a missionary priest he'd met years before, he took vows as a member of the Redemptorists, an order of brothers. During the next 10 years, the Rev. John Neumann worked in Rochester, N.Y., Pittsburgh and finally Baltimore, where he became friends with Archbishop Francis Kenrick, whose territory included the Diocese of Philadelphia. Archbishop Kenrick liked the diminutive Redemptorist priest enough to make Father Neumann his confessor. And when Pope Pius IX asked Archbishop Kenrick to find a man who could be bishop of Philadelphia, he nominated Father Neumann.

The pope concurred. Bishop John Neumann came to the diocese during particularly hard times. Anti-Catholic groups were "burning churches in Philadelphia, there was dissension in the diocese. Bishop Neumann moved forward nevertheless. He practically invented Catholic school education as wfl know it today, he made the 40 Hours devotion a regular event en the diocese church calendar and he wrote the Baltimore Catechism, the book ev But Johnson is also leaving some unfinished business: More than two years ago, his office began an investigation of allegations that City Councilman Ben Woods accepted bribes from developers.

After a flurry of activity before the grand jury in late summer, there has been no apparent movement in the case. Woods has denied the allegations. Johnson personally led an investigation beginning in late summer of 1986 into suspected narcotics use and trafficking among airline personnel, including some employed by USAir. Attorneys representing flight attendants and pilots who appeared before the grand jury investigating the case said most of Johnson's questions centered on drug and alcohol abuse. So far, there have been no local indictments, although U.S.

attorneys in several other districts indicted pilots for lying about drunken driving convictions on their Federal Aviation Administration medical certificates. Johnson's office, also in mid-1986, began a much-publicized grand jury investigation into Presbyterian University Hospital's organ trans ery Catholic child uses to prepare for confirmation. His diocese was enormous, extending north and south from Scran-ton to Wilmington, and to Pittsburgh in the west. Yet he traveled it. Not terribly fond of horses, he covered hundreds of miles on foot every month, tending to his people.

In short, Bishop Neumann was a tireless worker. But you would not think him an extraordinary man certainly not a man who, in his own lifetime, could be considered a saint. If Chucky would not survive Reye's syndrome, his parents wanted to be with him when he died. They took up residence at Children's Hospital, which, for those who believe in coincidences, is located on 34th Street. From their room on the other side of the hospital, they could look out the window and see the intensive-care unit he was in.

Because of his chicken pox, he also was in isolation. Doctors and nurses were almost always with him. Somebody in the family checked on him every 15 minutes. In the between times, all they could do was sit in the waiting room and pretend to read old magazines and stare at meaningless images on a TV screen. One night when Nancy and Chuck and Nancy's uncle sat watching television, a boy came into the room.

He looked poor, off the streets. He was perhaps 11 or 12, wore a shabby plaid jacket, had rumpled hair and wore black-rimmed glasses. The boy walked into the waiting room, looked at Chuck and walked out. Chuck wondered what this boy was doing in this part of the hospital this time of night, but he said nothing. Meanwhile, Nancy had gone into Chucky's room and found that the medal of St.

John Neumann had been turned face down. She unhooked the Susie PoslThe Pittsburgh Press firm like Keith Hernandez and Dave Parker were seen entering the grand jury witness room in the U.S. Courthouse, Downtown. There was speculation at the time about large-scale cocaine trafficking among players, but the actual indictments featured no big names only a handful of low-level dealers who sold cocaine to players. Johnson was criticized for being too generous in granting immunity to players who testified before the grand jury.

FBI agents, who investigated the case, couldn't resist ribbing Johnson. They gave Johnson a rubber stamp that said "immunity" in bold letters, presumably to make his job easier. He still laughs about the stamp, which he keeps as a memento. But he turns sober when he argues today that the investigation focused nationwide attention on the seriousness of drug abuse because cocaine corrupted the national past time. "Obviously, the case made a great impact.

But it's not pleasant and we're not proud of it," said Rich Levin, director of news for the commissioner of baseball. Refusing to discuss the impact, Levin said, "As far as we're con seen to by Bishop Neumann. Evidence grew, and in 1921 Pope Benedict XV declared Bishop Neumann's life to be "heroic," the first of many steps in the slow process to sainthood. Miracles must be documented before an individual can become a saint, and the first of these occurred in 1923 in Sassuolo, Italy. Eva Ben-assi, 11, had acute peritonitis and "was beyond medical help.

Doctors said she could not survive the night. She was given the last rites. While praying over Benassi, a nun touched the girl's abdomen with a picture of Bishop Neumann. That night the peritonitis disappeared. Close examination of the case by church authorities determined that' Benassi's cure was "naturally unex-plainable." The second miracle occurred closer to home.

On July 8, 1949, Kent Lenahan, 19, of suburban Villanova was standing on the running board of a moving car when it sideswiped a telephone pole. His skull was crushed, his collarbone was broken, a rib punctured one of his lungs. He was admitted to Bryn Mawr Hospital, bleeding from the nose, ears and mouth and in a coma. Nothing can be done, the doctors said. His parents prayed at the Shrine of St.

John Neumann, and later a neighbor gave them a Neumann relic, a piece of cloth from Bishop Neumann's cassock. Soon after they touched their son with the relic, Lenahan began his recovery. Less than five weeks after the accident, he walked, unaided, from the hospital. There are others. In 1963 Bishop Neumann's remains were exhumed and examined, then they were dressed in priestly Christmas Fund for eight years.

Despite layoffs in coal mines, donations in Cumber-land-Benham-Lynch area have not declined. This year, the fund raised $9,700, which is used to prepare food baskets for 400 families. "Every year I set my goal at $10,000," Bennett said. "And every year, I just work a little harder." (Distributed by be moving to a private law stantiated charges of wrongdoing. "One thing that has always impressed me about Jerry is how he always made his assistants walk the line, play it straight with defendants," said Philip Ignelzi, a former assistant U.S.

attorney who is now in private practice. Attorneys for Ashland Oil might not think so. Without naming Johnson personally, they were highly critical of the government's decision to file criminal charges against the company for the January fuel spill, even though Ashland accepted full responsibility and paid more than $13 million toward cleanup costs. They implied the charges were filed because of their publicity value. Johnson dismisses criticism by saying, "I can take the heat." He got a lot of heat and a lot of acclaim for his handling of the most widely publicized case of his career cocaine abuse among major league baseball players.

A grand jury investigation began in 1984 and, although Johnson didn't publicize the panel's work at the time, the baseball cocaine case quickly became national news. Johnson remained silent even when major league baseball players was doing there and the boy said: 'I came to visit The doctors couldn't figure out how the boy made it to the isolation ward without being checked. They called security. The hospital was searched. The boy was nowhere to be found.

The nurse described the boy. He was 11 or 12, wore a beat-up plaid jacket, had shaggy brown hair and wore black-rimmed glasses. It was the same boy Chuck had seen in the waiting room. An hour later, the Rev. Robert Roncase of St.

Martin's Church arrived at the hospital. Nancy was taking a shower and didn't know he'd come. Father Roncase administered the last rites of the church to Chucky McGivern and left. It was only a matter of time for little Chucky McGivern. Or was it? On Jan.

5, 1860, Bishop Neumann was walking along Vine Street on his way to the post office to mail a chalice to a poor priest when he suffered a stroke. In three minutes he was dead. He was 48 years old. He had left word that, when he died, he was to be buried with his Redemptorist brothers. Since St.

Peter's was the only Redemptorist church in the city, he was buried in a crypt under the altar. Almost immediately, devoted Catholics began coming to the church and asking Bishop Neumann for special favors. Word was that some of those favors miracles were being granted. Between 1891 and 1900, thousands of Philadelphians died in typhoid and cholera epidemics. But not one parishioner of St.

Peter's succumbed, and many believe their safety was names were sought. Eventually 1,300 children were served. Letcher County residents bought $65,000 in Christmas gifts for needy children. Letcher County is one of many mountain counties that give generously to their own despite the unemployment and poverty throughout the area. In Harlan County, Jim "Muggins" Bennett has been raising money jr the Tri-Cities Empty Stocking plant program.

After taking testimony from nurses, doctors and organ donor coordinators, the investigation seems to have disappeared. Last summer, investigators from the Department of Health and Human Services said they filed the necessary papers with Johnson's office to proceed with the case, but Johnson said he received no such information. So far, there have been no indictments and the status of the transplant investigation is uncertain. Consistent with his long-standing policy, Johnson has refused to confirm or deny the existence of these three investigations. In fact, throughout his career as a prosecutor, Johnson has not publicly discussed on-going investigations, a practice that has won him the praise of colleagues and defense lawyers alike.

"He doesn't try his cases in the media," said defense attorney Charles Scarlata, a former federal prosecutor who has tried a number of criminal cases in U.S. District Court. "I don't want leaks. It's not fair," Johnson said, referring to an investigation that might go nowhere but leave the subject tainted with unsub safety pin and turned it face up again. She left the room.

When she returned, the medal was face down again. She unpinned it and turned it face up. The third time it happened, she was certain the stress was getting to her. She mentioned it to her husband. Together they went into the room and found the medal turned face down.

It didn't make sense. Whoever was doing it had to unhook the safety pin, take one medal off, flip the St. John Neumann medal over, rethread the other medal and attach the pin to the pillow again. The McGiverns asked nurses and family. All denied they had touched the pin.

Still, when either parent left and returned, the medal was face down. That was only the beginning. On Sunday night Nancy was standing alone in the room when two nurses came in. Not seeing her there, one said to the other, "He's not going to make it." When she heard this, Nancy turned her face away, and there on the wall, stuck with masking tape and crooked, as though it had been placed there by a child, was a picture of St. John Neumann.

No one knew where the picture had come from. On Monday the doctor told the McGiverns Chucky had pneumonia. On Tuesday morning there was no change in his condition, but when Nancy arrived at 6 a.m., she noticed that the relic of St. John Neumann her cousin had entrusted to her was gone. The room was searched, the dirty laundry in the basement was searched.

Nothing. Later that day, a nurse came to' the McGiverns. "We had a little problem today. We think you should know about it. Two doctors were working on Chucky and one looked up and saw a little boy in the doorway.

The doctor asked what he if there would be enough donations to fill the wishes of all the children. There was no reason to worry. The children's names and three gift requests for each were written on stars that were attached to a tree in downtown Whitesburg. Those who wanted to donate took a star and bought the child one of the gifts. In two days, all the stars were gone.

Almost everyone bought all three, not just one, of the gifts. New robes and placed behind glass in the lower Sanctuary of St. Peter's. That year he was beatified made blessed. The second-to-last step.

In 1977 he was made a saint. Nancy was drying her hair after her shower when a nurse, excited, appeared before her. "Mrs. McGivern, come down and see your son. He just moved." As she and her husband waited by the bedside, Chucky's fingers twitched.

Then his hand reached up and touched the bolt in his head. By 8 that night, Tuesday, Chucky was nodding yes and no to their questions; color had returned to his body. At 11:30 p.m. Chuck could hold back no longer. He asked his son, "Was there a little boy in here to see you?" "Yes," Chucky answered.

By Wednesday at 4 p.m., Chucky McGivern, the boy who had been on his deathbed for four days, was up and around. The next Saturday a week to the day he was admitted to the hospital he was released. Today Chucky is an A student at St. Martin's School. Not everybody believes in miracles, and those people are going to say Chucky just beat the odds.

His parents won't argue with that beating such odds is a miracle in itself. But there's a postscript to this story. While he was comatose, Chucky had a vivid dream. He was in a hospital bed surrounded by his family, many Asian children who brought him gifts and an older boy who, in the dream, was his best friend. A boy of about 12 who wore black-rimmed glasses.

That's not the end, however. A week after his release from the hospital, a week before Christmas 1982, Chucky and his parents drove down to the Shrine of St. John Neumann to say what would become the first of many prayers of thanks. They were offered a tour of th: monastery. Hanging on the wall in one of the rooms was a painting of a child with shaggy dark brown hair.

Chucky looked up, startled. "That was my best friend in my dream," I.e. said. The picture was John Neumann i 12. (Philadelphia Daily Newsdistributed by Knight-News-Tribune.) Mountain towns show spirit of giving at Press news services WHITESBURG, Ky.

When the chamber of commerce in this mountain town asked county teachers for the names of needy children for a Christmas gift project, it wasn't expecting a list of 850 names. Glenda Combs, wlio was organizing the project for the Letcher County Chamber, of Commerce, wondered.