It’s a lovely two-story Prairie-style home designed in the late 1800s by Frank Lloyd Wright.
(Prosecutors also declined to comment, citing the pending appeal.) The more I pored through court documents and spoke with those I could persuade to talk—including former classmates and coworkers, plus a rare interview with the daughter of Warner’s former girlfriend (a young woman whose family lived with the billionaire as the Beanie Baby craze was taking off)—the more the mystique of this never-married college dropout unraveled.To be precise, Hal “gave Ty a job as a ‘sub rep’ [representative] in Ohio,” recalls Harold Nizamian, Dakin’s CEO at the time.Nizamian says that the “very personable” Hal had a rather distant relationship with his son.If Warner was gloating on January 14, however, you couldn’t tell.At hearing’s end, he thanked his lawyers, caught an elevator downstairs, and, without a word, ducked through a cold rain into a waiting limousine.or an intensely private billionaire, one who had spent much of his adult life behind an impenetrable wall of plush, January 14 had to have been as agonizing as a bolt-up-in-bed naked-in-the-classroom night terror. Courthouse, the media and onlookers straining for a glimpse at the entrepreneur who has been called Chicago’s Howard Hughes. His eyes darted behind rose-colored lenses set in tortoise frames. His hands fumbled with a set of headphones provided to help him better hear the arguments on which rested the potential for an even more unthinkable indignity: prison. A few months earlier, in federal criminal court, Warner had wept as he pleaded guilty to that most clichéd of rich-people crimes: stashing millions (by the time he was caught, more than 0 million) in a Swiss bank account and lying about it to the Internal Revenue Service.
Yet, with no choice left him, there he stood, like a circus curiosity on full display, in the harsh fluorescence of a packed 23rd-floor courtroom in the Everett M. “He looks like he should be in a wax museum,” someone whispered. “This is a crime committed not out of necessity, but greed,” argued federal prosecutors in a sentencing memo to the judge.“Ty emerged from an unhappy family and a youth devoid of educational advantages to become a self-made American success story,” the memo says.Warner’s “humble” beginnings were described as days of little money and parental indifference that were almost Dickensian. Ty Warner grew up with his parents, Harold “Hal” and Georgia, and his much younger sister, Joyce, is no hovel.But once Kocoras began to speak, it became clear that Warner wouldn’t spend one day behind bars for tax evasion. with all my heart, society will be best served by allowing him to continue his good works,” the judge concluded.The judge all but produced a sword, asked the toy man to kneel, and tapped him on each shoulder. Warner’s private acts of kindness, generosity, and benevolence are overwhelming,” Kocoras said after reading aloud letters from Warner’s supporters. In lieu of the four-year-plus prison term recommended by federal guidelines, Kocoras sentenced Warner to two years of probation, 500 hours of community service, and a 0,000 fine.Nizamian says that he was a “darn good salesman” who earned six figures.