A Little White Wedding Chapel, located just north of the Stratosphere, is a perennial favorite spot for out-of-towners to get hitched in Las Vegas. No one expects much piety from a House of the Lord located in such glitzy and tawdry surroundings.
Yet the chapel's owner, Charlotte Richards, has long held monthly staff meetings with her employees that ended with everyone gathering round in a circle, holding hands, and praying. One of her limo drivers, Thomas Mindiola, reluctantly went along with this practice—he says the prayers were usually pleas to the Almighty to help the business—until one day in 2002, when he was asked to lead the prayer. Uncomfortable with the request, but wary of trying to rock the boat, Mindiola nevertheless stumbled through a prayer.
Then he complained to his supervisor, Lance Atchison, who complained to Richards. A few days later, Mindiola was fired.
Mindiola sued the chapel alleging religious discrimination. Under Title VII of the Civil Rights Act, employers are entitled to hold devotional meetings for employees, but the meetings must be voluntary. Atchison had testified that Richards regularly fired people who opposed the prayer policy. For his troubles, Atchison was also fired.
What followed was a surreal, Vegas-style scrum of finger pointing, which finally resolved in Mindiola's favor last month in district court. Following Mindiola's lead, four other drivers had filed suit against Richards, also claiming they had been forced to participate in the prayer session. (Two of those drivers had also accused Mindiola of bigotry, allegations with no support.)
The chapel responded with a series of questionable letters attacking Mindiola's credibility. One letter was from a woman who claimed Mindiola asked permission to say the closing prayer—yet the woman never attended the meeting. Another letter was from a supervisor who stated Mindiola said disparaging things about Richards, but the letter was dated long after the supervisor had been fired. And other documents in Mindiola's personnel file have an illegible signature that Mindiola claims was forged.
The case went to arbitration last August. A hearing was held this past March, attended by Richards and her attorney, several witnesses and Mindiola, who represented himself. The arbitrator found the evidence "overwhelming" that Mindiola was terminated due to objecting to the prayer sessions at the chapel. "The arbitrator didn't believe anything they said," Mindiola says. "When you tell a lie, it's hard to remember a lie. They were getting so confused they couldn't get any dates together."
A District Court judge accepted the arbitrator's ruling last month. Damages awarded to Mindiola were calculated by the arbitrator as three months of lost wages plus treble damages for Richards' "malicious" conduct.
Early on, when his case was at the federal level, Mindiola says he was offered a settlement worth six figures. But he "wasn't after the monetary part." He wanted to win. He hopes his case can serve as a precedent.
"Other people will have cases like this," he says. "That's what I love about this. Someone can use this case."
"She can no longer subject people to this religious harassment," says Atchison, who now works as a photographer in the Caribbean. "They no longer have to stand in the circle, hold hands and have prayer. What upsets me the most is all this was done in the name of Jesus."
Richards did not respond to a call seeking comment for this story. Her attorney, Anthony Martin, told the Weekly he had no comment, either.
Mindiola, who now works in sales in California, draws a reference to another Biblical figure. "It's a David and Goliath thing," he says. "I think it has a good ending."