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Bob Hunt remembers Beene as a good but inflammatory attorney.
Steve Lowry

Roy Beene was a Houston criminal-defense attorney who occasionally landed big-name clients such as capital murder defendant Cynthia Campbell Ray and James "Humpy" Parker, a former sheriff of San Jacinto County.

However, his real notoriety came in far more novel ways. Beene was gross. It was a point of pride with him, a benchmark by which all others who aspire to crudeness could be measured.

And Beene loved to cook up moneymaking schemes. Former associates in the Harris County Courthouse believe Beene may have been hard at work in that pursuit last fall, when it was reported that he died after a tumble at an Acapulco mansion. In fact, some of his friends believe the 59-year-old Beene may have pulled the ultimate scam by faking his death.

Those friends find the fatal sequence of events too incredible to accept. Beene's sister, Tish Ogden of Midland, concedes that Beene could be strange. "He was a real nonconformist," Ogden says. "He didn't like rules very well."


Roy Beene began his legal career enforcing rules of law. Attorney Bob C. Hunt met the colorful lawyer when Beene was a city prosecutor in 1967. For years the two breakfasted together at the former One's A Meal in River Oaks Shopping Center.

Beene took a major step up in the early 1970s, joining Will Wilson's Special Prosecution Team against organized crime. Wilson, a former Texas attorney general who busted up the rackets in Galveston County during the 1950s, based his unit of federal prosecutors in New Jersey. It targeted New York's five Mafia families.

Years later Beene would regale bar crowds with his stories of that crime-fighting, as well as his stint with the U.S. Attorney's Office in New Orleans.

"He was a big name-dropper," says Jim Skelton, who knew Beene since their law school days together.

Hunt praised Beene's courtroom talents both as a prosecutor and defense attorney. But by the time he went into private practice, Beene already had built a reputation as a crude and cantankerous type of person.

"Beene was an asshole," Hunt says. "He was a good lawyer, but he pissed everybody off."

In one federal court trial, Beene managed to alienate every one of the attorneys on his own side of the case. It reached the point where Beene had to move from the counsel table and take a seat near the spectator gallery. "Beene wouldn't sit with the rest of the lawyers, and they wouldn't sit with him," Hunt says.

Discussions about subjects as basic as religion could send Beene into a tirade. Skelton remembers when they were at a barbecue joint and he jokingly introduced a woman to Beene, describing him as a direct descendant of infamous Wild West Judge Roy Bean.

"She had a camera and wanted to get a picture with him," Skelton recalls. "He went off the deep end, cursing so loud that everyone in the place heard it. He was totally out of control."

However, Beene stayed in command of his courtroom skills. A staple of his business was handling pornography cases for defendants such as bookstore or peep show operators. He defended former sheriff Parker on charges of mistreating prisoners.

Among his oddball cases was the 1985 prostitution charge against Raymond Freda Sr., who was accused by Montgomery County officials of running the Hot Tub Club brothel from his prison cell. Freda, as mobster Raymond Conti, had been a member of the federal Witness Protection Program.

For three weeks in 1986 Beene represented Cynthia Campbell Ray. She and accomplice David West were later convicted of murdering her parents while they slept in their posh Memorial home. Ray got a life prison term in that case -- and Beene got her house as a legal fee.

Hunt says Ray never forgave Beene for the exorbitant cost of his brief representation. "The rumor around prison was that the first thing that she was going to do if she ever got out was to kill Roy Beene."

That case demonstrated Beene's knack for turning a phrase. Clifford Irving, in his book Daddy's Girl about Ray, gave Beene's summary for West's devotion and allure to Ray: "One of the strongest fibers in the world is a cunt hair."

Beene relished the nature of shock, getting attention through inappropriate remarks. But his housekeeping was also cause for alarm.

Garbage would pile up for days after Beene moved into Ray's old house in a neighborhood near Westheimer and Shepherd. His car was even worse: Half-eaten hamburgers rotted on the floor next to sheaves of legal papers. Beene even bragged that a rat made its home in the old Chevrolet, sharing the lawyer's cast-off food.

With suspect sanitary practices, a sour outlook and the apparent goal of grossing out those he met, Beene would hardly seem to be on anybody's social list. Yet the attorney had an uncanny knack for charming others with his refreshing bluntness.

 

During his final Houston days, Beene would join friends for drinks at PJ's Sports Bar in Montrose. He would entertain his mostly male audience there with tales of past glory in the courtroom, as well as the garbage, the car rat and his fondness for prostitutes.

The bar's owner, P.J. Mastro, remembers Beene as a nice guy who told terrible stories and was a slob. Beene would rest his elbows on the tabletop Formica and drink merlot. He wore jeans and a white dress shirt that he tried to keep tucked in, as some last effort at neatness. But Beene was still a monument to grossness.

"His shirt was always dirty from food stains, and when he bent over, you saw the 'plumber's crack,' " Mastro says.

His regular bar appearances ended in the spring of 1998. Beene had made a good living in the legal ranks, especially with his clientele of drug defendants. But his scramble for cases had taken its toll. He was suffering from job burnout and felt ready for new adventures. Beene packed his few belongings into his old car and headed out of Houston for the last time.


Roy Beene may have left the legal profession, but those who knew him say he was more interested than ever in his other continual quest: to get rich quick.

An early and overriding passion was his pursuit of Latin American mines and gold. And he once told friends that he had a surefire winner in a setup to buy and sell airplanes. Then there was the plan to market tennis shoes imported from China. And, he assured his companions, global satellite telecommunications were going to make him a wealthy man. He even tried to break into the movie business at one point.

Hunt says Beene once bragged about money laundering with a partner who ultimately went to prison. Beene told of his admiration for a friend who had faked his death in Mexico to escape U.S. justice. And Beene boasted of windfall profits from an early investment in Amazon.com and talked repeatedly about trying to stay one step ahead of the Internal Revenue Service.

"The rumor going around is that he finally hit it big on one of those gold scams," Skelton says. "He always had a scam going." But even Beene's friends say his credibility was lacking at that point. "I thought that Roy was a big blowhard, myself," Skelton says.

Beene had no outward signs of wealth in 1998, when he wheeled out of Houston to return to his family home in the north Texas town of Bonham. He stayed there for a few weeks, then drove to Austin to work on the campaign of Jim Mattox, the former Texas attorney general who was seeking the Democratic nomination for governor.

In spring 1999 Beene and sister Tish Ogden sold the Beene house in Bonham. He packed a van and headed south to Mexico.

Friends say that melting into the tortilla soup of Mexico was ideal for someone like Beene. "He had tax problems, and some of the deals he was working on went sour," attorney Robert Pelton says. "I think that he thought this was the best way out."

Ogden says Beene headed for Saltillo. "He had some kind of gold deal. I don't know if he would have ever found gold, but he sure looked for it."

Months later Beene wound up in Acapulco, staying at an 11,000-square-foot mansion. It was the home of Bern Feazell, the ex-wife of Vic Feazell, a former McLennan County district attorney. Ogden says the woman and Beene planned to start an import-export business in Mexico.

Beene's sister says she was notified that there had been accident at the mansion, that Beene had been intoxicated and had fallen down a flight of stairs. He had been taken to an Acapulco hospital and had brain surgery. After several days of hospitalization, he was returned to the Feazell home, where he died on October 7, Ogden says.

A paid obituary appeared two days later in the Houston Chronicle, advising that there would be no funeral service. Speculation about Beene intensified when it was learned that the body had been cremated and the ashes shipped to Bonham.

While Hunt thinks Beene's luck finally ran out and he is indeed dead, Pelton says his old associate was too much of a veteran drinker to take a tumble like that. "I think Roy Beene is still alive."

Ogden says the hospital staff spoke only Spanish, so she remains mystified about the precise cause of death.

 

"I don't know what he died of, and I guess I'll never know," she says. "He just went to sleep one day and didn't wake up."

As for the doubts by others about the demise of her brother, Ogden laughs at the skeptics before emphasizing, "Let me tell you, he's the only brother I've got. He's dead."


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