Dean Olds wouldn’t take my well-meaning advice. So now look at the miserable wretch.
A judge ordered him to get out of the lovely Wilmette house he once occupied with his wife and take only his clothes and an old car.
He says he’s broke and jobless, his grown children loathe him, his old friends and neighbors shun him, and his young German ex-boyfriend is said to be traipsing around Europe in a theater group.
That’s a long fall for a guy who was once a big-bucks lawyer with a net worth of about $6 million.
Of course, it could be worse. If justice hadn’t been cross-eyed in this case, Olds would be in a prison cell, as would his ex-boyfriend, Helmut Hofer, the leech who is believed to have murdered Suzanne Olds.
But a jury of mopes either didn’t understand the DNA evidence that tied Hofer to the murder or couldn’t spell DNA, so they set the pretty boy-thug loose.
Getting away with murder, as a judge later ruled, wasn’t enough for Olds. He wanted to walk away rich. Maybe a lifetime as a Chicago lawyer makes you think that way.
It was as if he were saying: “OK, maybe my muscular young boyfriend bashed in my ex-wife’s head because she cut off our money spigot in Divorce Court. And maybe I put darling Helmut up to it. But, hey, I’m the one who earned all that money, not her. Let’s be fair.”
So late last year, he wound up in court because he wanted a big piece of the $2 million his ex-wife willed to their children.
All he got for his efforts was a judge listening to essentially the same evidence that the dumb jury heard and coming to a far more rational conclusion.
The judge said that it was obvious that Olds and Hofer were responsible for the murder and that Olds wasn’t entitled to anything but our contempt.
You would think that would be enough to send him scuttling off to some dark corner of the world.
But, no, there he was again trying to grab whatever he could, which was half the family house, the furniture, a boat and other doodads.
That would have given him half a million in pocket money. It might not have been able to guarantee him a second honeymoon with Helmut. But maybe a long weekend or even a quickie.
So Monday another judge had to tell him: No, you arranged a murder. Your muscular sweetie committed the murder. So out you go.
You would think that this would be more than enough embarrassment for anyone. But, no, Olds says he is going to give it another try by filing an appeal. What a pest.
This could have been avoided had Olds simply taken the advice I offered last December after the probate judge said Olds had a hand in the murder.
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At that time, I suggested that he try to retain just a shred or two of dignity by doing the honorable thing and killing himself.
Had he jumped off a tall building, he might not have been remembered fondly. But on the way down, he might have had a moment or two of self-respect and even earned some praise. As long as he didn’t land on someone.
So now what will he do? It’s unlikely that anyone will hire him to do anything except possibly help plot the murder of a wife.
He could go to Europe and look up Helmut. But it appears that the bloom has worn off that romance. When they met in a hotel bar, Olds with his $6 million was far more attractive to Helmut, a former male hooker. Now that Olds is broke, he might seem less lovable to Helmut.
Besides, he has said that he believes Helmut did the crime on his own. And Helmut has said that–eek–he really didn’t enjoy having Olds touch his fine bod. And by now, who knows, maybe Helmut has found another rich sugar daddy. As Helmut said, he just wanted to get on with his life.
So Olds’ prospects aren’t very good. He could write a book, I suppose, which many other foul creatures have done with some success.
But for the book to have any commercial interest, he would have to admit that he had a hand in a murder and all about how he got away with it. And that could be used against him by prosecutors. Of course, if he got the same jury that heard Helmut’s trial, Olds might beat the rap too.
He could become a bum and a street panhandler. But then he would run the risk of running into his children, old friends, clients or neighbors. And that could be embarrassing to everyone, as well as physically dangerous for Olds.
So again I urge Olds to do the honorable thing. Can life really be worth living when all you have is a bad wardrobe and an old Ford?
But if Olds does it, I would ask him, please, don’t jump off a bridge. They’re really trying to clean up the Chicago River.