'It turned out I was the bad guy'
IMMIGRATION | Corina Turcinovic came to the U.S. 17 years ago to care for her disabled fiance. Now that he has died, she's getting kicked out

January 14, 2008
BY SHAMUS TOOMEY Staff Reporter/stoomey@suntimes.com
Corina Turcinovic was in her robe the night of Dec. 28 getting ready for a bath, when the doorbell of her West Beverly home rang.

A friendly neighbor, she figured.

» Click to enlarge image

Corina Turcinovic cared for her husband, Maro Turcinovic, in their Beverly home 24 hours a day before his death in 2004.
(Courtesy)

» Click to enlarge image

Corina Turcinovic.
(Courtesy)
"I saw the police, and I opened with a big smile, because I thought they were looking for a bad guy," Turcinovic said. "It turned out I was the bad guy."

After 17 years in the United States -- 14 spent caring for her quadriplegic husband -- Turcinovic was being deported.

Her permission to come to the United States, acquired hastily after her musician fiance was paralyzed while on tour here, had long ago expired. After a tangled immigration tale, her time was up.

The claustrophobic 43-year-old was handcuffed and hauled away, she said, winding up in the McHenry County Jail, where federal immigration authorities hold detainees. Next stop: France, the country of her birth.

"It's a nightmare," said neighbor Turna May. "This is her home."

May and her husband, Bill, a Chicago Fire Department ambulance commander, are now part of a band of friends and neighbors doing anything they can to help.

The Mays pick up Turcinovic's mail, pay her bills and take care of her dog, FiFi. Another friend checks on her South Talman house every morning and feeds her cats.

The litter box gets changed. The plants are watered. The walk is shoveled. One friend starts her car routinely and took down her Christmas tree. Another put timers on her lights.

It's as if Turcinovic is there, but the tight-knit neighborhood knows she's not. She's sitting in a jail cell and hoping for a miracle.

'Stories that require humanity'
"After the initial shock, I'm doing OK," Turcinovic said by phone from jail Friday. "I miss everything. I miss my dog. My friends. It seems a little harsh for what I've done."

She doesn't dispute what she's done. The former Corina de Chalup's immigration journey began in 1990, when her fiance, Maro, came to the United States with his Croatian band. While in New Jersey, he was hit by a car and badly hurt, according to Turcinovic's lawyer, John Colbert.

Emergency room doctors didn't notice a broken vertebra, though, and because of the error, Maro ended up paralyzed from the neck down.

When told her fiance was hurt, Turcinovic obtained a "visa waiver" to enter the country and be at his side. Under the waiver, a foreign national may stay 90 days and then must leave to apply for a visa. "She came here with no intention of ever staying," Bill May explained.

But it became clear Maro couldn't be moved in 90 days. Rather than leave the country -- and Maro, who had no relatives here -- Turcinovic stayed and married Maro, Colbert said.

She eventually brought Maro to Chicago for medical care, settling in West Beverly. She rarely left his side. She was so committed, neighbors didn't even know she existed.

Maro was eventually granted legal residency and allowed to apply for citizenship. His application stalled, however, when officials insisted he come in to be fingerprinted, which he couldn't do, Colbert said. He died in 2004.

Turcinovic was suddenly without a husband and her best hope of staying in the country legally. Having a U.S. citizen husband was no guarantee of citizenship, but it was a leg up.

Colbert acknowledges Turcinovic has no legal standing to stay. She managed to fend off deportation for years by applying for stays of deportation on the humanitarian grounds she was caring for Maro. She can't do that anymore, Colbert said.

And because she has violated immigration laws by staying longer than 90 days, if deported she can't reapply to return for 10 years, Colbert said. Turcinovic hopes someone -- anyone -- will step in and stop the deportation.

"Through all this mass hysteria of 'kick the immigrants out,' there are these stories that require humanity," Colbert said. "And they require avenues and remedies in our immigration law that actually enforce how we feel as human beings."

'We can't enforce proposals'
Tim Counts, spokesman for U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, said by not leaving when her last stay of deportation expired in 2004, Turcinovic made herself a fugitive.

"Our job is to enforce the laws as they are on the books," Counts said. "We can't enforce proposals or suggestions."

Turcinovic is resigned to going back to France, even though her life is here, she said. It's a bitter pill, because, after 14 years behind closed doors with Maro, she had begun to thrive in the last three. She became a neighborhood favorite who was glad to chat up people and go out dancing with new friends.

"I came to sort of enjoy my life," she said. "It had become very calm and very serene. And that's when they picked me up."

"It seems a little harsh for what I've done.

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