JAMES DAVIS, AARON ASKEW, AND THE TRUTH

We will never know for certain why Othniel Boaz "Aaron" Askew murdered City Councilman James Davis. But we must still seek an answer, because to ignore the question would be to say that Davis died for no reason. That wouldn't do the man justice.

At issue is whether Askew was simply deranged, or whether Davis-wielding a humiliating secret about Askew's past-relentlessly tightened the screws around Askew until the unbalanced, tormented, hot-tempered would-be candidate simply exploded.

We will take our best guess, based on evidence from Davis's friends and enemies and from what we have learned about Askew since he emerged from obscurity just two months ago.

Askew was one of 134 hopeful candidates to file papers with the Campaign Finance Board by the June 2 deadline to join the matching-funds program. We promptly called Davis, who was surprised because he'd never heard of the man. I pointed out that for all we knew, Othniel Boaz Askew was a woman. Davis amended his quote, saying, "I've never heard of him-or her."

And he laughed that hearty laugh. Davis not only amused us, he amused himself.

The quote was meant to be humorous, not demeaning, just like when Davis belittled the candidacy of another challenger, Tony Herbert.

"I'm going to work so he doesn't get one vote. Not his loved ones, not his family members," Davis bellowed. "I'm going to send him back underneath the rock that he crawled out from."

Most people weren't upset by his bravado because they were used to it. But Aaron Askew was not like most people.

Askew was driven to succeed in politics, as was Davis. But there was a big difference: Davis had the background and the know-how to do it.

A former cop, as he constantly reminded people, Davis was articulate, funny, dashing, and smart. He'd grown up in Crown Heights and served as a correction officer and transit policeman before joining the NYPD. His Brooklyn roots ran deep.

After Assemblyman Clarence Norman declined to be his political mentor, Davis learned on his own-running for office every year from 1996 through 2003, except for 1999, when no seats were up. When he lost or got knocked off the ballot, he came back more determined.

All the while, he built name recognition through the "Love Yourself: Stop the Violence" organization he'd founded. Some folks griped that it didn't have any programs, and was little more than an annual march promoting James Davis as much as non-violence. But that's not the point. The point is it gave Davis credibility and standing in the community, something Askew never had.

(Davis answered the "self-promotion" allegation by calling what he did "No different than [Borough President] Marty Markowitz building a name off his concerts." Davis was a big fan of Markowitz. "I'm the black Marty Markowitz," he would say.)

Askew was likewise articulate, convincing, and good-looking. But his political résumé was woeful. He'd never run for office, been a civic activist, or held a job of any importance. He was politically inexperienced and terribly naïve.

While Davis had put $63,370 in his campaign fund, Askew had raised nothing, and had little understanding of the matching-funds program.

Askew had lived in the district for just a few months. He'd grown up in Long Island (after being born in Park Slope), lived in Manhattan in the 1990s, and served in the Air Force. Except for the people on his block of South Elliott Place in Fort Greene, some of whom were annoyed by the work he was doing on his row house, no one in the 35th District had ever heard of him.

None of this discouraged Askew. Yet there was one thing he wasn't sure he could overcome: his arrest in 1996 for beating his boyfriend with a hammer. The attack had sent Askew's live-in lover running naked into the street, eventually to the hospital, and finally to the courts for several orders of protection.

Except for that, Askew believed he outshined Davis. He felt he was smarter, more handsome, and a harder worker-a political star in the making. He was blind to the reality that in a Democratic primary against Davis and Herbert, he'd get about 5 percent of the vote.

Few people doubt that Davis found out about Askew's criminal past and let the starry-eyed candidate know that a conviction can come to light when you run for public office.

The New York Post portrayed this as Davis engaging in "gay blackmail." The paper cited a "well-placed source" as saying Davis threatened to reveal the arrest unless Askew quit the race.

The New York Times, citing a law-enforcement official, said Askew had told the FBI "Davis had confronted him and threatened to reveal that Mr. Askew was gay."

A Newsday headline read, "Councilman's Killer Feared Being Outed."

Wait a moment.

By all accounts, Askew was already "out." He'd lived with a man and frequented night spots popular with gays. His lawyer remembered him as being openly gay. It was apparently not a secret to his family, as reporters found his boyfriend standing with his stepfather outside his house after the shooting.

Moreover, to people who can recognize such things, Askew came across as obviously gay. The "don't ask, don't tell" policy forced him back into the closet during his Air Force stint in North Carolina, but he left the military in April 2001 and returned to his usual lifestyle. Having to live in the closet might well have been the reason he left the Air Force after a stay of undetermined (but probably short) length.

Second, being openly gay would not have hurt Askew's chances in the 35th Council District, which has a sizeable gay population in Prospect Heights and Fort Greene. It might even have helped him garner a few votes.

Third, "outing" an opposing candidate would have damaged Davis's reputation and destroyed the relationship Davis had worked so hard to build with the gay community. He had organized an award ceremony for gays last December. He marched in the gay pride parades in Brooklyn and Manhattan every year. Though heterosexual himself, he was extremely comfortable with gay people-hugging gay acquaintances when he ran into them, dancing with them at events, chatting them up and giving them rides in his car, as he regularly did with all kinds of people.

Contrary to what the Post reported and to what Askew told the FBI, Davis was not gay-baiting. The issue was not about Askew being outed. After all, he wasn't ashamed of being gay. He was ashamed of having pounded his lover with a hammer-or at least he believed it would kill his dream of winning the election.

Let's assume that Davis did, as even his supporters acknowledge was possible, learn of Askew's arrest and mention it to the 31-year-old. Is that blackmail, or is that legitimate politics?

Ask yourself: Would you want to vote for a candidate who beat his lover with a hammer? Does a penchant for domestic violence reflect badly on someone's character? The issue is not about gay or straight. If a candidate has a public criminal record, that's fair game.

That's not to say Davis couldn't be cutthroat. He could. He had a habit of pressuring supporters of his opponents to quit. Even this summer he chased someone off Herbert's campaign by turning up information she wanted to keep private. The woman was driven to tears.

Yes, Davis could be mean. His temper flared at a recent School District 13 Presidents Council dinner because the emcee failed to introduce him and because Herbert was the deejay. Davis considered it a slap in the face, and he berated and cursed the organizers in full view of everyone. Last year, he childishly hounded State Senator Velmanette Montgomery for omitting him from her brochure of helpful numbers.

Should we then give credence to Askew's claim to the FBI that Davis was stalking and blackmailing him, obsessed with keeping him out of the race? No. For several reasons.

Davis's confidants tell us he talked about Herbert, but rarely Askew, who had no community support.

Also, the call to the FBI came on the morning of the murder, July 23, a full 12 days after Askew failed to make the ballot. Davis had no reason to harass Askew at that point.

Furthermore, Askew's claim to the FBI that he was blackmailed out of the race is clearly false, since he continued to prepare his petitions. We know for certain that he filed his financial disclosures with the board on July 15. Later, we'll explore the real reasons for the phone call. But first, back to the story.

There's a tale floating around that before the July 10 deadline to file petitions for the Democratic primary, Askew showed up at the home of a politically active person in the district and, near tears, revealed that he couldn't run because James Davis had some personal information on him that would destroy his life. He also reportedly told a friend.

At that point, Askew was clearly torn. He had spent five weeks collecting signatures on petitions to get on the ballot. He'd set up a campaign committee (naming Joseph Raby treasurer) and joined the matching-funds program. He'd even set up the email address Vote4AskewSep9@aol.com. He thought he was on his way to fulfilling his dream of winning the council race, only to find that his arrest was known to Davis and perhaps could be discovered by others.

What happened next is murky. According to an e-mail Askew sent us, he missed the deadline to file petitions because of "human incompetency." But whose? Newsday reported a City Council official who'd had contact with Askew said the would-be candidate was disappointed to find out his petitions were delivered a few minutes past the midnight deadline. "He was upset and very angry at that point," the official said.

We know that someone shoved petitions under a locked door at the Board of Elections several minutes after the deadline. It may well have been Askew, whose campaign consultant has acknowledged driving him to the Board of Elections just before the deadline. The board has no record of it, and Askew never signed in on July 10.

Askew claimed his petitions had 2,500 signatures, much more than the 900 needed. He later offered us the chance to review them.

Sources told us Askew walked out of a Brooklyn attorney's office at 9:45 p.m. July 10, bound petitions in hand, with plenty of time to get to the Board of Elections at 32 Broadway.

His internal conflict about whether to run, and risk his 1996 arrest coming out, may have caused him to postpone the hardest decision of his life until the last possible moment. Or he was trying to make a deal with Davis. Or both.

He finally decided to file, we believe, but he or one of his campaign workers didn't try to enter the board offices until past midnight and found the doors locked. This may have been the "human incompetency" he mentioned so angrily (he sent us that e-mail several times). He told Citizens Union it was "human error."

Askew told his consultant minutes after the deadline that he didn't file because he'd just accepted an offer from Davis for a $20,000 consulting job with a cash advance, and that Davis was upstairs at the Board of Elections making sure Askew didn't file. Impossible. Hordes of political people were at the board at the deadline. If James Davis were there blocking Askew, someone would have seen them. Moreover, everyone has to sign in after 5 p.m., and Davis is not on the sign-in sheet. Neither is Askew.

Since Askew lied about Davis being upstairs, we can assume the rest of what he told his consultant was also a lie.

Moreover, Askew continually distorted the truth, for example, when he talked of his construction company, which apparently didn't exist. He gave three contradictory explanations for why he didn't file petitions. Everything he said must be regarded with suspicion.

Conclusion: James Davis didn't blackmail Aaron Askew off of the ballot. Askew tried to get on. He went to the Board of Elections. He just didn't beat the clock. Perhaps, at that moment, he didn't want to beat the clock-a decision he would come to regret.

(Supporters of Davis told us he wanted Askew in the race to take votes away from Herbert-that he either wanted two opponents or none. When Askew failed to make the ballot, Davis promptly challenged Herbert's petitions.)

That Askew didn't accept his fate and wait until 2004 to run against for Assembly or State Senate is testament to his infatuation with beating Davis. Askew began dogging Herbert, asking that Herbert replace himself on the ballot with Askew in exchange for being named chief of staff when Askew won.

When Herbert rejected that laughable offer, Askew made another. "He wanted me to agree to providing him with his own office and his own secretary and some of the powers of being councilman," Herbert told the Times. "He suggested that we could be sort of, co-candidates. He came in here and wanted me to put this down on paper. He wanted it signed. I thought he was crazy."

Askew began spending more time with Davis, who welcomed him even when he showed up uninvited. But Askew never got in writing-he always wanted things in writing-a promise of a staff position.

As if to document his superiority as a candidate, Askew drafted a letter in Davis's name saying that if Askew had run, he would have prematurely succeeded the councilman, preventing Davis from achieving his goals in politics. Davis had his spokeswoman Amyre Loomis rewrite it into a basic constituent letter of support. He also had her remove the clause pledging to hire Askew as Davis's Fort Greene liaison.

And, of course, Davis continued to reject Askew's efforts to replace him on the ballot.

"He offered James $45,000 to drop out," a Davis staffer told us.

Davis wasn't impressed. "I have $45,000 in my war chest!" the councilman replied. "This is my dream. I'm not giving up my seat. You want my seat? Come and get it."

The trash talk swelled the anger within Askew. But Davis misread how obsessed Askew had become. Askew had even stacked Davis campaign literature in his apartment and put Davis posters on his wall. Later he ripped them down. Classic stalker behavior.

At 5 a.m. the day of the shooting, Askew tried Herbert again. Four or five times he called.

"He kept saying to me that he had hoped that I would see that he was the better candidate and that I would drop out and support him," Herbert told the Times.

Four or five phone calls beginning at 5 a.m. indicates desperation that has reached a climax. Askew was making a last-ditch effort to get back in the race, knowing that if he failed, he would kill Davis and himself that day. At one point, he told Herbert, "This is the last time we can make something happen."

After being rejected by Herbert, Askew left a note to his brother that said simply, "Bye Duke." Also in his apartment he left a list of his bank accounts, a last will and testament, and some keys. He loaded a silver .40-caliber gun with seven rounds, tucked it in his waistband, and put seven more bullets in his left sock.

Before leaving home, he called the FBI and charged that Davis was harassing and blackmailing him. He claimed Davis, during a walk in Fort Greene Park, had threatened to "out" him if he ran but offered him $45,000 and a $15,000 no-show job if he'd quit. He wanted to leave the impression after his death that he had been a political threat to Davis.

Askew put in his pocket another letter he drafted in Davis's name which said Askew would have won had he made the ballot.

Then he set off for Davis's office on DeKalb Avenue. Davis later walked with him through the district, eventually winding up at the X Kings and Queens Unisex Parlor for a haircut.

Davis introduced Askew to the people there, telling them the young man would be running in a future election. Davis, sources told us, had visions of putting Askew on a slate of candidates to run in 2004 against Montgomery and perhaps Rep. Major Owens and Assemblyman Roger Green.

In June, Davis had told Askew he'd defeat Green next year, leaving the Council seat open for Askew. By mid July, Askew may have realized that Davis hatched such plots all the time without following through. Askew felt manipulated, perhaps betrayed.

Meanwhile, the more he hung out with Davis, the more he realized Davis was still king. It could be a humbling experience, since everyone seemed to know him and he seemed to know everybody. "Congressman James E. Davis!" people would say, getting the title wrong but the middle initial right.

"[Askew] walked around the community with James, and the rage was just boiling in him. Boiling and boiling," the Davis staffer said.

At the barber shop, the conversation between Davis and Askew became spirited, even heated.

"I think that he just was enraged," the staffer said, "because he wanted that seat and James said, 'You can't win.' And he said it in front of people."

Askew could have killed him right there. But he asked to accompany Davis to City Hall, knowing Davis would walk him around the metal detectors because he'd done so a month before. City Hall would be his stage. An assassination there would bring Askew the attention, the recognition he felt he deserved.

He would be, at last, important.

Contact Brooklyn Politics at (718) 399-3693.

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