Cicero's love of the school and football team led to a fateful, unforeseen result. Seeking to prevent a scandal, Cicero's warning emails to coach Tressel in April 2010 about players selling memorabilia for tattoos and cash inadvertently set into motion a series of events that led to one of the university's ugliest moments.
Marvin Fong l The Plain DealerChristopher Cicero sent an email to Ohio State coach Jim Tressel, right, with the intent to help Tressel and quarterback Terrelle Pryor, left. Now both Tressel and Pryor have left the school under a cloud of scandal. COLUMBUS, Ohio -- Columbus attorney Christopher Cicero never missed a chance to play up his ties to the school he loved, Ohio State University.
He played football for the Buckeyes in the 1980s, a spot on the team he earned through grit and work. Cicero was a small lineman from suburban Cleveland who scrapped to become a walk-on linebacker for then-coach Earle Bruce.
And he wouldn't let people forget it. His love of the school and team led to a fateful, unforeseen result. Seeking to prevent a scandal, Cicero's warning emails to coach Jim Tressel in April 2010 about players selling memorabilia for tattoos and cash inadvertently set into motion a series of events that led to one of the university's ugliest moments.
More than a year after he sent those emails, Cicero's attempt to help his alma mater unraveled. Tressel resigned, star quarterback Terrelle Pryor skipped his senior season at Ohio State, and Cicero faces scorn from fans of the team he loves.
The scandal pushed Cicero into the national spotlight when he spoke to ESPN after the messages became public last spring. But the emails to Tressel, hundreds of pages of court records and interviews portray him as a man who wanted to be noticed as a part of something important, whether on the football field or in the courtroom or political arena.
Christopher Cicero Most of all, he wanted to be noticed as a Buckeye.
For years, he was known for something else -- controversy.
In 1997, his law license was suspended for statements he made about a sexual relationship he had with a judge who assigned him to a case on her docket. In about 2002, a special prosecutor looked into allegations that he discussed killing witnesses for a client accused of committing two murders, records show. No charges were ever filed.
Cicero, 54, would not be interviewed for this story, nor would John Ferron, an attorney who has represented him. Several attempts to reach his family in Northeast Ohio were unsuccessful.
Hard work in weight room
Cicero began playing football at St. Peter Chanel High School in Bedford in the 1970s, where he loved the game but struggled to play regularly. Yet he worked with weights and became an average-size lineman as a senior.
"He wasn't an outstanding player, but he worked hard to get bigger and stronger," said Regis Scafe, head football coach at John Carroll University, who coached at Chanel while Cicero played there.
Cicero graduated from Chanel in 1975. He served a stint in the Marine Corps before he went to Ohio State, according to a 1983 story in the Lantern, the Ohio State student newspaper. Cicero walked on to the football team, playing for Bruce. One of the coaches on Bruce's staff was an impeccable dresser named Jim Tressel.
And as he did during his days at Chanel, Cicero quickly went to work in the weight room.
"We went down one spring, and I saw Chris, and I thought, 'Wow!' " Scafe said. "He was really big. He was huge. I'm amazed that he made it at Ohio State. He had to be very determined to get there."
In 1983, Cicero lettered as a linebacker. He received a watch for playing in the 1984 Fiesta Bowl, a gift he gave to his father, Carmello, a Woodmere cop for 26 years who also worked at Republic Steel. Cicero told Tressel in an email that his father wore the watch every day while on duty as a police officer. When Carmello Cicero died in 2001, his son placed the watch in his office, but he doesn't wear it.
"It meant so much to me that he wore [it] with pride," Cicero wrote.
But Cicero did little on the field. The team's year-end statistics show that Cicero failed to make a tackle in 1983, according to the Buckeye Sports Bulletin, a weekly paper devoted to Ohio State sports.
"He's a friend and a former football player. That's all I'm going to say," said Bruce, reached at his suburban Columbus home.
Cicero graduated from Ohio State in 1984 and the University of Toledo College of Law in 1987. He opened his legal practice a year later. He made his mark representing criminal clients in Columbus, gaining a reputation as a strong-willed advocate.
License suspended after comments
Those who have worked with Cicero in the courtroom say he is a good trial lawyer who works hard for his clients.
Previous Plain Dealer coverage
"He has been around a long time," said Franklin County Common Pleas Judge Dan Hogan. "He knows when to hold them and when to fold them. He does a good service to his clients."
But Cicero's legal career has been hit by controversy.
In October 1993, Franklin County Common Pleas Judge Deborah O'Neill assigned Cicero to represent a defendant in her courtroom. Three months later, she withdrew from the case because of statements Cicero made about her.
Records from the Ohio Supreme Court's Disciplinary Counsel show Cicero led some attorneys to believe that he had an ongoing sexual relationship with O'Neill. At one point, according to records, Cicero told a prosecutor that the judge probably would deny a continuance in the case because of her desire to get the case resolved so that she could have sex with Cicero over the Christmas holidays.
Cicero's client became aware of his boasts "and informed other inmates that they should retain [him]," according to records filed by the disciplinary counsel, which oversees the conduct of lawyers.
Cicero claimed that he exaggerated his level of intimacy with the judge and the timing. He told the disciplinary counsel that while he had feelings for her, a sexual relationship did not begin until after O'Neill stepped off the case. The Ohio Supreme Court suspended his license for a year, citing a failure to maintain a respectful attitude toward the courts.
Several attempts to reach O'Neill, who is no longer a judge, were unsuccessful.
When he regained his license, his swagger in the courtroom stood out.
In 2000, he filed an unusually worded document in U.S. District Court in Youngstown while representing Ronald "Scrap Iron" DeAngelo, state president of the Avengers motorcycle gang. DeAngelo was charged with racketeering and violence in aid of committing racketeering, as prosecutors argued the Avengers wanted to hunt down rival bikers.
Cicero disagreed.
"The only persons ever preyed upon by any Avenger were ready, willing and able go-go girls with tattoos," Cicero boasted in a motion. "And if the court doesn't believe us, the U.S. government has pictures of the clubhouses with the bras and underwear of these heavenly women voluntarily left behind hanging on their walls as souvenirs."
DeAngelo was convicted of attempting violence in aid of committing racketeering and sentenced to 27 months in prison.
Outside the courtroom, Cicero worked to ingratiate himself with powerbrokers. He handed out Ohio State football tickets and became a fixture at candidates' fundraisers. He doled out campaign contributions to judges, even hosting fundraisers for politicians, including Franklin County Municipal Judge W. Dwayne Maynard and Common Pleas Judge John Bender, and contributing to county Prosecutor Ron O'Brien's campaign.
Cicero also was a friend of O'Brien and many in his office.
"God knows how many OSU football tickets I have floated through that office," Cicero said in a deposition filed last year, referring to O'Brien's office. "I don't think he and I have ever gone to a game together, but I know that, you know, other members of his office and I, as we sit here today and speak, are close friends."
His friendship with O'Brien began to sour about 2002 when Cicero briefly represented James Conway, 32, of Columbus, who was convicted and sentenced to death for committing two murders.
During appeals, Conway's attorneys said in court documents that Cicero was aware of or discussed killing witnesses linked to Conway's crimes. A co-defendant of Conway's testified that it was Cicero's idea to kill a man who saw Conway commit a shooting, according to Conway's attorneys' court filings. The witness was found dead in a cornfield, and Conway was convicted of his murder.
The Franklin County prosecutor's office asked a judge to appoint a special prosecutor, Rick Gibson of Hamilton County, to investigate the attorney, according to interviews and court records, but no charges were ever filed.
In an interview, Gibson declined to discuss Cicero but said his investigation failed to find credible evidence to support charges. In the deposition, Cicero asserted his Fifth Amendment rights about a dozen times when asked about issues linked to Conway's witnesses.
An email sent by a representative for O'Brien said the prosecutor no longer considers Cicero a friend "due to a number of circumstances that surrounded the James Conway cases." The email said Cicero has been deleted from the mailing list of O'Brien's campaign committee.
Email about free tattoos
Cicero's law practice and his love of Ohio State became intertwined when Eddie Rife walked into his office in April 2010. Rife was a small-time felon who had a tattoo parlor called Fine Line Ink on the city's west side, one that had become a hangout for Ohio State players.
Rife met Cicero because of a raid at Rife's home. Cicero told Tressel that Rife was a former client and that federal agents seized money and OSU memorabilia from his house during a major drug investigation.
"I have been told OSU players including [name redacted] have been given free tattoos in exchange for signed memorabilia," Cicero wrote in the first email, April 2, 2010.
Two weeks later, he wrote to Tressel that the information was confidential and went on to say Rife met with him and told the attorney he had about 15 pairs of autographed spikes, nine Big Ten Championship rings and four or five jerseys from players.
"He will not talk publicly about this," Cicero said, referring to Rife.
Tressel wrote back: "Keep me posted as to what I need to do if anything."
Tressel did nothing, in terms of telling his bosses.
In December, federal authorities notified the university about the memorabilia, because they were seeking to seize items from the raid at Rife's house.
The raid eventually led to the suspensions of Pryor and four other players. Weeks later, on Jan. 13, officials from the OSU Office of Legal Affairs stumbled across the spring 2010 emails to Tressel while doing research to appeal the suspensions given to the players.
When the emails were made public, Cicero refused to talk to local reporters. Instead, he went on ESPN, saying that he wasn't a Judas and that he had received death threats about what he had done.
"If I had to do it all over again at the end of the day," Cicero said in the interview, "I never would have sent him the email."
With each passing day, Cicero's alma mater faces greater scrutiny, and the questions mount as an NCAA investigation continues.
And most of it goes back to the email of April 2, 2010, from a lawyer who wanted to help the school he loved.
Plain Dealer news researcher Jo Ellen Corrigan contributed to this story.
To reach this Plain Dealer reporter: jcaniglia@plaind.com, 216-999-4097