George Bertel was conned out of his life's savings, the house his father built
in Oakland, even the money hidden under his pillow for his sister's funeral.
He died last year at 87, alone in a one-bedroom apartment.
Irwin Temple, 89, gave $26,000 to two women he met while strolling around
Lake Merritt. He thought he was investing in a hotel drapery business. It took
him years to find out it didn't exist.
Authorities say the men were just two of 11 victims of "an organized-crime
family of nomadic predators" that has spent years befriending, then
defrauding, elderly victims of more than $1.3 million in the East Bay and
beyond.
The ringleaders, George and Sylvia Yonko, are set to be sentenced to 10
years in state prison in Alameda County Superior Court today and tomorrow.
The couple agreed to the prison terms, considered hefty in such a case, in
exchange for an unusual plea deal that freed their accomplices -- their three
adult children and two daughters-in-law -- from jail. Prosecutors hope the
arrangement also will free the Yonko children, and their children, from a
scam- artist tradition that has been passed from generation to generation.
The probe into elder abuse plunged local authorities into the peculiar
world of Gypsies, an obscure subculture in which babies are born with myriad
aliases, children are kept home from school and never learn to read or write,
and daughters are sold into marriage in their early teens. They make their
living, authorities say, by separating others -- particularly lonely old men
-- from their money through sweet-talking sophistication and lies about life-
threatening illnesses and nonexistent businesses.
"They're doing nothing other than what they were taught by their parents,"
said Sylvia Yonko's lawyer, Oakland attorney Jeffrey Fettner. "They know no
other lifestyle."
Authorities are quick to point out that not all Gypsies -- whose culture is
traced back to India by way of Eastern Europe -- are con artists, and
certainly not all those who prey on the elderly are Gypsies.
But they say the Yonkos and many others like them have operated throughout
the United States for decades, often ignored by law enforcement because their
multiple identities and transiency make them hard to track. When they are
caught, they often repay their victims, presumably with other victims' money,
then disappear.
"They never live long enough in one place to have anybody go after them.
They don't have employment," said Kathy Boyovich, the Alameda County district
attorney inspector who investigated the Yonko case. "They don't file taxes.
They use aliases on all of their birth certificates. None of them go to
school. "These people do not exist."
Boyovich began investigating such crimes shortly after Alameda County's
elder abuse unit was created in February 1999. Her first case, against Sam Riste and
Cynthia "Peaches" Thompson, now serving six years in state prison on
similar elder abuse charges, led her to the Yonkos, who last lived in
Berkeley. Riste is George Yonko's nephew, and there are common victims in the
two cases.
Sylvia Yonko's sister and niece also were convicted last year in Sacramento
of bilking an 85-year-old man out of $23,000. Other relatives have been
charged or are under investigation in similar crimes.
Because of their numerous aliases -- Boyovich said she knew of 150 among
the seven Yonko family members arrested -- authorities are unsure of their
exact ages. They believe George and Sylvia are about 48; son Tony Yonko and
his wife, Cynthia "Lila" Steve, both about 24; son Michael Yonko, 21, and his
wife, Gina Miller, 23; and daughter Angel "Bubbles" Yonko, 18. They were
arrested between May 2 and Sept. 22 of last year.
According to authorities and court records, Yonko family members defrauded
at least 11 men between ages 73 and 89 between March 1995 and March 2000.
Losses ranged from $5,000 to more than $400,000 and totaled more than $1.3
million. Sylvia and George Yonko also were charged with more than $500,000 in
welfare fraud.
Female family members typically met their victims at bus stops, stores or
other public places. They often pretended to be old friends of the man's
family, took them out for meals and invited them to their homes.
"They target people who are isolated socially, who don't have family," said
Laurinda Ochoa, the deputy district attorney who prosecuted the case. "They
look for people who are more vulnerable because of a medical condition or
disability." They asked for loans, always promising the money would be paid
back, for medical emergencies from hip surgery to chemotherapy or for
businesses from a drapery firm that outfitted Las Vegas hotels to an olive
plantation in Sicily.
They had their victims buy them cars, run up credit card debts on Versace
gowns and Armani suits and Victoria's Secret lingerie, cash out their
retirement funds and take out loans against their homes. They spent the money
on clothes and gold, gambling in Las Vegas and lavish parties.
Temple, who lived in Oakland, met two of the Yonko women when he sat down
on a bench with them during his daily walk around Lake Merritt. They invited
him home, and he began to drop by daily.
The retired plumber said he later had loaned them $1,000 for "some kind of
(medical) operation" and eventually had given them $25,000 toward a hotel
drapery business. Temple, who left the area to live with his son in a small
Northern California town, said it sounded like a good investment. But when he
didn't see any return, he got suspicious. "I tried to get some information on
the hotel; it didn't even exist," he said. When he reported the matter to
police, he said, they told him it was a civil matter, not knowing the business
was a fraud, and its "owners" weren't who they said they were.
"Looking back, I realize it was foolish," Temple said. "Of course I was too
trusting. All my life, I've been that way."
Once Temple got an attorney, George Yonko paid him back $10,000 and
promised to repay the rest. According to Temple, he never did. "They're a
pretty smooth team," he said of the Yonkos. "They've done in many more than
me."
One victim lost $323,000, nearly all of it in cash. He was convinced he had
invested in an olive business. The Yonkos even took him to an Oakland
warehouse they said was theirs. A Las Vegas man bought them two new sport-
utility vehicles, and then had his 1.7-carat diamond ring cut off his finger
while he sat in the backseat of one of them.
Bertel took out so many loans against his house, which his father built in
1912, that it was foreclosed upon. The Yonkos, Boyovich said, told Bertel they
owned a flower business. When his sister died, they promised to provide the
flowers for her funeral, but never showed up. "She was buried not having so
much as a petal," Boyovich said.
The Yonkoses have been ordered to choose a single identity, learn to read
and write, get jobs, enroll their young children in school and stay away from
elderly people who are not related. All were released from jail two weeks ago,
but know they could be sent to prison for six years should they violate
probation.
Cynthia Steve's attorney, Eric Safire of San Francisco, said his client
"was sold into (the Yonko) family and did nothing other than what her
ancestors had done for hundreds of years before her." However, Safire said,
she now has "every intention" of raising her two young children to lead
law-abiding lives and of doing so herself.
"We tried to have an impact," said Ochoa. "We think (the younger
generation) wants to break out of this tradition. Or they may just be running
a good con with me and the court. They'll be on a very short leash."
