The recent furor over Liberal MP Judy Sgro’s daughter Deanna brings to mind the old axiom about how road apples don’t fall far from the horse’s ass.
The junior Sgro is running provincially in Toronto’s Humber River-Black Creek, the riding her mother holds federally. The Toronto Star reported last week that Deanna, was disciplined by the Law Society of Upper Canada in 2013 after 155 complaints of harassment were lodged against her staff.
A panel found that the tone and manner of her staff in making calls was “abusive.” It also said the practice of sending out shakedown letters — signed by Sgro — with “draft” court documents confused many recipients into thinking they were being sued, calling the practice “deceitful and misleading.”
In one case noted by the panel, a hearing impaired 83-year-old panicked after being told in calls and a letter that he could lose his home over old credit card debt. The senior took the subway and two buses to get to small claims court, where he learned there was no such action. Little surprise, then, since she perpetrated these hijinx under her married name of Deanna Lynn Natale, Judy’s girl has elected to run for office as a Sgro.
Expedient name changes, after all, are a family tradition.
Judy herself is a faux Italian, although she has long waved the old country tricolor as a flag of convenience. Sgro nee Budd, originally hails from the Mediterranean mecca of, er, New Brunswick. When she married high school sweetheart Sam Sgro, she didn’t just gain a husband, but also a highly-electable surname in York West, where Italian Canadians have ruled for decades.
A former bank teller, Judy’s come a long way from the customer service wicket of her North York Scotiabank.
Ever since she got into politics, Judy’s made a name for herself as an obnoxious pain in the ass.
As the ball-busting municipal police services chairthingy, Judy was much-loathed by TO flatfeet for her shameless political sniping.
When the police union criticized her, she summoned her faux-Italian temper, frothing: “It reminds me of something you’d see in Louisiana, where you dare not ask the police anything or you’ll be found dead in the back of a car a week later! Today, it’s a politician, but what is it tomorrow? A black, a Jew, an Italian…?” (Insert “Walk into the Budda Bing” joke here!—ed.)
When not raising the spectre of being disappeared by Hogtown’s Secret Police, Sgro riffed freely on the cops’ inadequacy in stopping her own obsession, hookers.
A gang of at least 10 HIV-positive whores, Sgro warned darkly, ws prowling the streets, systematically infecting the menfolk of Toronto the Good. Her proof? Er…
In Ottawa, Judy got herself tangled up in Strippergate, where she allegedly arranged for a special immigration permit to a campaign supporter cum Romanian stripper.
The following year, 2005, she resigned from cabinet amid claims she offered to intervene in the immigration hearing of Harjit Singh, a Brampton pizzeria owner, in exchange for free pizza for her campaign staff.
Both allegations came to naught and Judy was exonerated, nothing could be further from the truth, etc.
More recently, she stuck her nose in the Scott Andrews affair, which readers will recall involved the Newf’ MP and his priapic bench-mate, Massimo Pacetti, who in 2015 were punted from caucus over allegations of libidinous hijinks.
Just as the whole pathetic affair was about to blow over and an exonerated Andrews prepared to return to caucus, a new allegation popped up, this time from none other than J. Sgro.
The septuagenarian member claimed to have experienced a sudden flashback of her own traumatic encounter with Andrews, one that involved “inappropriate touching!”
The incident in question allegedly transpired in the crush of MPs leaving the House of Commons after Question Period. Andrews, Sgro alleged, brushed past her, saying, “Excuse me,” and jokingly tickled her on the way by, and, er, that’s it. Exit Andrews.
This from the same crusading whistleblower who only a couple of years previous had transferred her Ottawa condo over to her kids so she could start paying them $22,000 in rent, courtesy the taxpayer?
One of the children was Deanna’s older sister, Catherine, who also knows a thing or two about whistle blowing. Many years ago, just before she was going to be married, the wedding was abruptly cancelled. It later emerged that Cathy had been schtupping the best man, a postie named Graziano, of whom, following mama’s sterling example, she later made an honest mailman.