Legal battle looms over a rock
BY SCOTT ANDRON, The Miami Herald
Federal officials have sued a Pembroke Pines man over custody of a moon rock.
Well, technically, they sued the rock.
In United States of America vs. One Lucite Ball Containing Lunar Material, federal lawyers argue that the Republic of Honduras is the rightful owner of said rock. But retired businessman Alan Rosen, who lives in Pembroke Pines, said he bought the rock fair-and-square from a retired Honduran military officer.
Eventually, a federal jury may have to decide which side is correct.
There's more at stake here than the fate of a pebble-size lump of space-dirt. The Honduran government regards the rock as a national museum piece. And both Rosen and the federal government agree that the rock is worth big money -- perhaps as much as $5 million -- to earthbound collectors.
Much of the case centers on the biography of the rock.
APOLLO 17
It led a normal life for a moon rock, resting on the Taurus Littrow Valley for millions of years. But this anonymous existence came to an end in December 1972, when Apollo 17 astronauts plucked it from obscurity. The astronauts carried the rock to Earth, where President Nixon assigned it to diplomatic duty.
Nixon took dozens of lunar pebbles, had them encased in plastic balls, then had the balls attached to plaques, which he gave to foreign heads of state. In 1973, Nixon gave one of the plaques to Honduran dictator Gen. Osvaldo López Arellano, who had just overthrown the elected government. It's not clear what happened to the plaque next. What is clear is that it reappeared in the mid-1990s, in the hands of a retired military officer.
By this point, Honduras was a democratic country again, and Rosen was there to deal in produce and fruit juice. But the fruit merchant and the moon rock were about to cross paths.
One day, a man approached Rosen with a strange story. The man told him about a retired colonel named Roberto Agurcia Ugarte, who had a moon rock for sale. The colonel had read press reports of moon dust selling for hundreds of thousands of dollars, and figured the rock must be worth $1 million. The man wondered if Rosen was interested.
His curiousity was piqued, so he started doing some research, and learned about Nixon's gift. He realized the colonel's rock could be legitimate. But he still didn't have a million dollars.
About a year later, Rosen again encountered the colonel's intermediary. Agurcia had been having trouble selling the rock, and agreed to come down in price. Rosen met with the colonel, and they reached a deal. They signed a contract and Rosen began making payments. Ultimately he offered $20,000 plus a truck valued at an additional $10,000.
In 1996, Rosen accepted delivery of the plaque at a Denny's near Miami International Airport.
Rosen said he had an attorney inquire whether NASA considered it illegal to buy and sell the moon-rock plaques. The answer he got was that NASA frowned on such transactions, but wasn't actively trying to stop them.
Then, in 1998, Rosen saw an ad in USA Today from a company that wanted to buy moon rocks. Rosen replied to the ad, which unknown to him, was placed by a front company run by NASA's Office of the Inspector General. The space agency apparently had set up the company to catch people trying to sell fake or illegal moon rocks.
Pretending to be potential moon-rock buyers, agents of NASA, the U.S. Customs Service and the Postal Service met with Rosen at a North Miami Beach restaurant. Eventually, Rosen led them to a safe-deposit box at a NationsBank in Aventura, where the feds identified themselves as police officers, pulled out a search warrant, and carried away the plaque -- moon rock and all.
The feds had talked about charging Rosen with a crime, perhaps smuggling, but they never did. His lawyer said that's because they had no evidence.
What they do have is Rosen's rock. Or somebody's rock, anyway.
RIGHTFUL OWNER?
In early 2001, the U.S. Attorney's Office for South Florida filed a lawsuit for what lawyers call ''forfeiture in rem.'' It's essentially a request for a federal judge to identify the rock's rightful owner. The feds say the rightful owner is the Republic of Honduras. They want the judge to turn the plaque over to the Customs Service, which would return it to Honduras. The Customs Service is now holding the plaque temporarily until the lawsuit is resolved.
In this kind of case, legal procedure calls for suing the property in question -- not Rosen. That's why the lawsuit makes it sound like Uncle Sam is suing a rock. In theory, the judge's decision will bind the world at large, not just Rosen.
This arrangement makes for some strange reading in the court file, though. At one point, lawyers discuss a warrant for the rock's arrest.
Assistant U.S. Attorney James H. Swain has asked the judge to end the case without a trial by granting him ''summary judgment.'' There's no telling when the judge will rule.
The plaque states explicitly that the rock was a gift to ''the people of Honduras,'' and not to López personally. Asked about this point, Rosen said he knew this.
But he also knew that the colonel was determined to sell it anyway.
LOW-INTEREST LOANS
And if he wins the case and sells the rock, Rosen said, he will use part of the money to benefit the people of Honduras, perhaps by establishing a nonprofit bank to make low-interest loans to small businesses there. After all, he loves Honduras.
''It's a beautiful country,'' he said. ``It's been mismanaged and misrun and taken advantage of for centuries. It's just unfortunate.''
Rosen said he would even be willing to auction the rock and split the proceeds with the government of Honduras.
Rosen said he has been impressed with the new Honduran president, Ricardo Maduro, and figures he could find good use for the cash, especially since Hurricane Mitch devastated the country in 1998.
''I think Honduras could use the money,'' Rosen said. ``The government is basically broke.''
-- Anonymous, July 08, 2002