A life on trial

From defending himself against charges he was running an illegal rave club to waging a child custody battle, Tampa businessman Elias Abusaid has made representing himself in court an almost everyday occurence.

By MELANIE AVE

© St. Petersburg Times, published July 9, 2000

CARROLLWOOD -- "How ya doing, counsel?" asks the man in the black double-breasted suit dashing through the courthouse hallway. He's on his way to argue yet another case, before yet another judge, in yet another hearing.

He's confident as he passes the bewildered attorney and swaggers up to a few other lawyers for the Hillsborough County Sheriff's Office standing in a circle chatting. "Hi, guys," says the man in black to these attorneys who aim to close his AV-O2 after-hours club in Carrollwood.

They are his legal enemy.

But he shares his problems on a case with them anyway. They smile and nod.

They too know the hassles of the law -- but from the opposite side of the justice system.

Elias "Lou" Abusaid Jr. is a 37-year-old high school dropout whose first Tampa residence was a jail cell. He's been sued by his ex-wife, former girlfriend, previous landlord, past business associate and the state of Florida.

He's sued doctors, insurance companies, people with nicknames like "Cigar Boy" and "Solar Suzy" and the Hillsborough Sheriff's Office.

The man who lives in a pink house in Carrollwood's Country Run subdivision has been in court so many times in so many suits, he's well-versed at representing himself as a plaintiff and defendant. He relies on his own legal knowledge to maneuver the court system, and has been known to help friends with their legal problems. In fact, the Florida Bar Association has ordered him to stop playing lawyer to others.

"My life," said Abusaid the other day from behind a cherry wood desk in his living room, "is a complete tort action."

Opening Arguments

Abusaid may act like a lawyer and sometimes talk like a lawyer, but a lawyer he's not.

Licensed attorneys learn their craft in law school. Abusaid picked up most of his legal schooling on his own, as a man accused of wrongdoings in criminal, civil and family court.

He's best known locally as former owner of the AV-O2 club on Gunn Highway -- the site of a June raid where dozens were arrested and drugs and booze were confiscated.

Authorities wanted the AV-O2 closed because they said it was an illegal rave club.

Abusaid maintains it was a private social club.

Only time will tell if his argument will hold up in court.

He won a brief reprieve, arguing that the AV-02 -- the one that glowed with pink fluorescent lights from 3 a.m. to 8 a.m. -- was not a rave club, but a late-night meeting place for investors in his bottled water company by the same name.

Then, on June 29, his landlord evicted him.

Before the AV-02 club closed, Abusaid played the part of the popular, well-liked club owner to his customers. The 20-somethings, often with rings in their noses and tattoos around their ankles, lauded Abusaid's efforts to keep the club open.

"He's like my daddy," said Syretta Bassett of Clearwater, hugging Abusaid.

Authorities have been cracking down on raves, which are all-night parties featuring dancing and thumping techno music, because they say the clubs foster drugs and alcohol violations.

Sheriff's Lt. Paul Davis said authorities "feared for the safety of the young people going in" the AV-O2. "The information we had was a lot of underage drinking and a lot of drugs were being consumed inside," he said.

Abusaid, who said he tried to keep drugs out of the club, plans to open a similar club in Ybor City. He said the AV-O2, which opened in November, was attracting hundreds of people and bringing in $40,000 per month.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be conceited, but that's simply the best," said Abusaid, who wears his black hair slicked back and peppers his language with legalese. "I don't mean to sound sophisticated, but no one I know is capable of doing that."

Direct Examination

Elias Abusaid Jr. was born the oldest of three children in New York City, the son of a Lebanese laborer and a schoolteacher mother. The Catholic boy who dreamed of playing baseball for the New York Yankees moved with his family to Wimauma in the 10th grade.

He lived in a mobile home and rode the bus to East Bay High School until he opted for girls, rock 'n' roll and hanging out with friends. He quit school in the 11th grade.

Abusaid got jobs in a tomato packing plant and a grocery store produce department before becoming a block mason.

Then, in 1982, his legal troubles began.

After picking up a hitchhiker and stopping at a Wimauma gas station, he got into a fight with the man, who Abusaid said was hassling a female friend and threatening him.

Abusaid pulled a gun and shot the man in the leg. He was arrested two weeks later and charged with attempted murder. The charge was later reduced to aggravated battery -- his first felony.

He met his public defender, the man who would represent him.

Abusaid remembers it this way:

"He asked me, "Well, did you shoot him?' I was like, "Yeah.' "Then go plead guilty.' I said, "Are you sure? Don't they want to know what happened?' "No,' he said. "I'm your attorney right? You're not a lawyer, are you?' I'm like, "No.' "Then plead guilty.' I got sentenced immediately. Boom."

Looking back, Abusaid believes the shooting was a cut-and-dried case of self-defense. But he was too poor to hire a private attorney.

"I was in that courthouse and you might as well been talking Swahili," he said. "I didn't understand anything they were saying. I thought I was fairly educated and had a good sense of vocabulary. "Do this. Motion that.' I'm like, "A writ of what? What are they talking about?'

"I've never felt so defenseless in my life. It was just horrible, horrible."

Abusaid said he earned his high school equivalency diploma during his year-long jail sentence. And he learned from the other inmates -- drug smugglers and the like. They told him how witnesses and a jury trial could have helped his case.

He learned one of the most difficult lessons of all: Justice can sometimes depend on the size of a person's pocketbook.

"They taught me, "If you would have had a lot of money,' he remembered, "you could have hired an attorney.' "

Cross Examination

But it requires hours of work

"Litigation is labor-intensive," said Carl Frederick, one of the founders of the non-profit organization. "It sounds so simple and easy. Oh, a lawyer is only charging $150 an hour. Yeah, and a 1,000 hours later, it's $150,000."

Abusaid, who has been convicted of carrying a concealed weapon and marijuana possession and had protective orders filed against him, said he learned the arcane language of the law and technical courtroom procedures by watching and listening to judges and lawyers.

But his interest was fueled by what he considers bad legal advice "not once, but twice, three times, four times, five times." His own courtroom mess-ups provided more motivation, as he learned how to enter evidence, subpoena documents and cross-examine witnesses.

"I learned what I was doing was improper procedure," he said. "You don't discuss ABC when you're here to discuss XYZ."

The worst failure, he believes, was the loss of visitation rights with his 5-year-old daughter, Caitlynn. He has not seen the girl, who lives with her mother in Tampa, in three years.

His ex-wife, Michelle Polefrone, alleged Abusaid abused the girl, which he adamantly denies.

A judge ordered him to be evaluated by a psychologist, but he refused. He believes doing so would be a sign that he is guilty of abuse.

Out of money at the time, Abusaid said he represented himself against his ex-wife's allegations. Many of his motions, inside his 6-inch-thick family law file, are handwritten in large, loopy lettering on yellow legal paper.

He said he didn't know what he was doing and now no attorney will touch his case.

"I was told by one attorney it's an f-ing snakepit," Abusaid said. "They're not going to clean up someone else's dirty laundry. I messed it up too bad."

His 1999 case against the Sheriff's Office, alleging false arrest, failed completely. A deputy dragged him, naked, out of his home after a pregnant girlfriend called the department. She accused him of slapping her and endangering their unborn child. Abusaid said he was asleep and the woman was simply angry at him for coming home late.

Chris Sabella, counsel for Sheriff Cal Henderson, said the department prevailed because Abusaid didn't follow proper procedure.

"His allegations," Sabella said, "were not properly set out."

Closing Arguments

Abusaid is an active litigant -- court records show at least 25 cases involving him or his company -- who estimates a win-loss percentage of 30-70.

"The 30 percent is more recent," he said. "I'm more defined, sharper."

Inside his home, in the living room and the dining room, Abusaid has his office. Two red leather chairs stand in front of a large desk where a brass nameplate reads: Elias Abusaid, CEO.

Legal folders are scattered about on shelves and on the floor. Two $200 Trawick's law books sit by a computer, which Abusaid uses to dial into the court system, Florida Law On-line and the Lexis-Nexis database where he hunts for case law.

Abusaid said he doesn't want to be an attorney. He's a businessman. After his jail term, he worked as a fundraiser for the Police Benevolent Association and nightclub bouncer before starting a car rental business and opening the AV-O2 club.

Law school would be too hard, he said.

"And I'm getting too older and I really hate the court system. It's a lot of work and nobody feels sorry for you and your clients are going to turn on you when they don't get what they want.

"Those kind of circumstances is something that clashes with my personality."

Verdict

He calmly tells the judge he has an oral contract with his landlord. He believes this contract overrides the written, six-month lease that required him to give 30 days notice that he intended to stay on the property. He is suspicious of the landlord's motives

"I'm just alleging the landlord wants us out so they can take over the business at that location," Abusaid tells County Judge Eric Myers.

"I'm in the proof business, sir," the judge replies. "What you believe and what you can prove are two different things."

The judge wants to know the whereabouts of Abusaid's written notice to the landlord.

Abusaid says there isn't one.

"What I'm trying to prove to the court is oral agreements are bona fide," says Abusaid, growing annoyed. "As a businessman, we do not do things the way the courts process them. It's a lot quicker and faster to do things verbally."

But Myers is unmoving. He wants proof.

"The only thing we have to go on is testimony and documents," the judge says.

He rules in favor of Abusaid's landlord, Joseph Raymer.

The well-mannered club owner keeps his cool. He could be back in this judge's courtroom in another hearing, on another day.

"Have a good day, your honor," Abusaid says.

"Thank you for being here," the judge replies.

"Thank you!" Abusaid says.

"Let it be known, your honor, I plan to file an appeal."

Melanie Ave can be reached at (813) 226-3473 or melanie@sptimes.com.

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