The Providence Phoenix News/Features

Bye-bye, Buddy
Love him or hate him, Vincent A. Cianci Jr. has dominated political life in Rhode Island for almost three decades. As the mayor's storied career in public office draws to a close, some veteran Buddy watchers share their observations

SHORTLY BEFORE noon on Monday, June 24, Chief US District Court Judge Ernest C. Torres's clerk stepped back into his courtroom and discreetly handed the judge a note. This simple act marked the beginning of the end not just of Plunder Dome, but the long-running political career of Providence Mayor Vincent A. "Buddy" Cianci Jr.

Almost exactly 48 hours after he was found guilty on a single count of racketeering conspiracy, Cianci greeted a packed news conference in his office with a surprise announcement: he would not seek reelection and he ruled out a possible political comeback, saying, "You're through with me. You won't have me any more."

Two days earlier, the one guilty finding against Cianci triggered a variety of reactions -- from mystification, incredulity, and outrage to quiet acceptance, celebration, and calls for the mayor's resignation. But even though the charge could be set aside after Torres considers arguments next Wednesday, July 3, legal analysts tend to believe the odds are stacked against Cianci. The matter obviously weighed on the mayor, who cited the uncertainty of the case in explaining his decision not to seek reelection, even while expressing hope that he'll be able to serve out his term. He offered an upbeat assessment of his legacy, saying that efforts to improve Providence succeeded beyond anyone's imagination and that this would have been impossible

With an important chapter in Rhode Island history drawing to a close, the Phoenix asked some inveterate Buddy watchers to share their reflections.

SPECIAL ASSISTANT Attorney General Vincent A. Cianci Jr. knew the priest was lying.

All the evidence and an informant's testimony placed Mob boss Raymond L.S. Patriarca at a meeting in which the murders of Anthony Melei and Willie Marfeo, who had been running an unsanctioned gaming operation, was planned. But the priest testified in Providence Superior Court that he was with Patriarca at the very hour when the prosecution said the murders were discussed.

Cianci got permission to fly to the Washington, DC-Baltimore area, where the priest was assigned. After an argument with the parish monsignor, and a threat to haul his holiness back to Providence to face an obstruction of justice charge, Cianci got the records he had sought.

The brash young prosecutor returned to Providence in time to show the priest was performing a baptism in Baltimore on the day he claimed to be with the mob boss. Patriarca was convicted of murder conspiracy. The priest, though, wasn't charged with perjury -- hardly a surprise in the most Catholic state in the nation.

It wasn't long after that, in 1974, that Cianci undertook mission impossible, announcing for mayor of Providence. An Italian-American had never won City Hall and there hadn't been a Republican in the mayor's office since 1938.

Cianci was the anti-corruption candidate. Tapping his record as an assistant attorney general, he mostly used Providence's badly splintered Democratic machine to his advantage. Behind the scenes, party boss Larry McGarry and his lieutenants had had enough of incumbent Mayor Joseph Doorley. They backed Francis "Fran" Brown, Doorley's public safety director, in the primary. The nasty party skirmish left Doorley bloodied, but still standing. Key Brown supporters, with nowhere else to turn, began quietly working for Cianci.

While Doorley was busy fighting charges of corruption in his administration (rigged bidding on police vehicles, mounting personal wealth, and city accounts to favored banks for no-risk, personal mortgages), Cianci was out beating the bushes, shaking hands, telling anyone who would listen that the culture of corruption in Providence had to end.

He wasn't a physically attractive candidate -- short and rotund would be the most charitable description -- but Cianci was smart, supremely confident, he knew the issues, and made people believe that he had solutions. Cianci also was quick to recognize and take advantage of something new in American politics. He was among the first candidates for a major office to release his income tax returns and charge his opponent with having something to hide for not doing the same.

We saw back then what we would see throughout his career: Cianci hitting first, hitting hard, and moving on to the next issue. Then as now, he was quick as a cat and as tenacious as a pit bull. He learned early on to play the media. He would go farther than other politicians in sharing information against opponents, trying to get reporters to do what he couldn't, at least publicly; "You didn't get this from me, but . . . "

The fact that Cianci was smarter, quicker, and more ruthless than most of the people he dealt with -- in politics and the media -- was a tremendous advantage. During that first mayoral run in 1974, Cianci was written off as a loser in the race against the Democratic machine -- fractured as it was -- and Doorley, the 10-year incumbent, wounded as he was.

With Watergate as a backdrop and with anti-corruption his mantra, Buddy Cianci thrust himself into the national spotlight when he beat Doorley by 709 votes.

Just over a quarter of a century later, Cianci -- the longest serving mayor in a major city in the United States -- couldn't get the 12 more votes he needed most -- those of the eight men and four women on the Plunder Dome jury.

I DIALED THE phone, expecting a routine comment from the ex-mayor of Providence, Rhode Island, Vincent A. Cianci Jr., the kind of blather that bores readers, reporters and newsmakers alike, written for stories no one reads.

This was between Cianci's first and second administrations. Something had come up concerning his first term, the one that ended in 1984 with the admission he'd assaulted his ex-wife's boyfriend. As a reporter for the Providence Journal, I was making an obligatory call to cover all bases.

This is the angry, cruel, and vengeful Buddy. The one who keeps score. The astute reader of people, who understands the vanities of men and women. Master of the inside game, expert on all neighborhoods, businesses, and institutions of his city. The man, therefore, who knows how to really stick it to somebody.

I don't have to talk to you [expletive] people anymore. I'm not the [expletive] mayor.

Jones, you think that you stand for something. You think you're [expletive] better than anyone else. But you know what you really are? You are just a [expletive] errand boy for [the late Journal publisher] John Watkins. You write what you're told to write.

Reporters -- who are more Clark Kent than Superman -- hate it when people speak crossly to them.

I had been expecting Public Buddy: the affable quote machine, ever ready with a wisecrack, always on standby with the perfect sound-bite, delivered just in time for the first edition.

This was especially remarkable because Cianci didn't know me well. I wasn't a City Hall reporter, not one of the investigative sharks that hunt public wrongdoers. But with just a few poison-tipped words, Cianci had hit it just right.

Like most reporters, I really thought I occupied a high moral plateau. Sir Brian, of the First Amendment. Just the facts, ma'am. Owned by no man; servant of all. And colleagues sometimes called me "the conscience of the newspaper" because I was active in a labor union at the Journal and occasionally stood up to the boss.

But the mayor knew better. That like everyone else, I was working for The Man. I faithfully reported to work, first and foremost, for the paycheck. Conscience of the paper? In my dreams. John Watkins's toady? Closer to the mark.

Because I've been a reporter for a long time in Providence, I've seen a good deal of Cianci. I've watched him take credit for every good thing that's happened and for none of the disgraceful things. I was there the first night he left City Hall in disgrace. Seven days later, I was on Federal Hill when he received a hero's welcome at the St. Joseph's parade. I've watched him upstage every other politician unfortunate enough to share the same platform. I was there when he bantered with Imus, laughed off the Plunder Dome indictment, christened the Dunkin' Donuts Center, and was inducted into the Rhode Island Hall of Fame.

I was there the night when Cianci waited an hour for an injured firefighter to be carried from a burning house. Like hundred of other Rhode Islanders, I even own a Buddy proclamation: "Brian Jones Day in Providence," for my union work. But it was in one ego-puncturing conversation that I met the real Buddy.

Brian C. Jones, a former reporter for the Providence Journal, is a regular contributor to the Phoenix.

DURING ONE of our first interviews, Vincent A. "Buddy" Cianci Jr. disputed plans to discuss a previously arranged subject, ultimately pounding his imposing desk at City Hall with a fist and shouting, "I'm the one who sets the rules here, not you!" After about 25 minutes, though, Cianci became voluble on a range of subjects, including my curiosity about problems in the Providence Police Department. As the encounter closed, Cianci offered a tale about how he broke a sanitation strike in the '80s by posting shotgun-wielding detectives on the back of trash trucks. Lowering his voice for dramatic effect, he intoned, "What people didn't know was, the guns weren't loaded."

It was classic Cianci, the rat-a-tat-tat promoter with the imperial air, who moved from bully to charmer, pulling you into his clubby realm, with dizzying speed. In the more carefree days of the summer of 1999 -- a few months after the unveiling of the Plunder Dome investigation, but before the mayor's April 2001 indictment -- anything else was quite unimaginable.

In an earlier interview, Cianci's tough guy persona was more unstated, but just barely. Unusually profane for a public official, let alone the man nationally identified with the Providence Renaissance, he chain-smoked Merits and recited a familiar rapid-fire list of urban improvements. With a firm focus on the good news, Cianci initially brushed aside questions about the challenge of overhauling Providence's schools before conceding the difficulty of the task. Even then, he cast himself as a man of action, turning to a videocassette he made with Rhode Island's other urban mayors to highlight the need for additional state aid for education. (Although it represented an uncharacteristic loss of control when Cianci was unable to get the VCR in his office to work, even after summoning a coterie of aides, he remained unruffled, simply ejecting the tape and asking me to return it after viewing it at home.)

After gaining my introduction to Rhode Island during a mid-'80s stint working for The Associated Press, I'd heard many stories about Cianci, most notably those about the infamous 1983 assault that sent him into exile as a radio talk-show host on WHJJ-AM. And while Cianci's successor, Joseph R. Paolino Jr., certainly planted some of the seeds of the renaissance, my AP colleagues were hardly alone in wistfully considering the absence of the more colorful mayor. Within a few years, Buddy would be back, bigger than ever, presiding over a city rising in statewide stature and the national limelight.

The FBI raid of City Hall that signaled the public unveiling of Plunder Dome came on April 28, 1999 -- 23 days after I returned to Providence, to work for the Phoenix. It was a development that raised anew Rhode Island's outsized image as a bastion of corruption, sparking memories of the dark days of Buddy I, when 22 municipal employees were convicted of corruption-related offenses. Not surprisingly, Cianci, remained insouciant, proclaiming his innocence and famously declaring, "You're not going to find any stains on this jacket."

Even after his indictment, Cianci retained the ability to buff the city's image and bathe in the reflected glow, relishing the fight against his pursuers and impressing even critics with his ability to inspire or remain upbeat under trying circumstances. He talked of serving one more term at City Hall. Things began to change, however, with Cianci's trial in US District Court. Even taking into account a cast with its share of less than sterling witnesses, Providence came off in a decidedly unflattering light.

The legendary mayor, although sometimes unfazed outside of court, increasingly appeared worn, tired, and unusually subdued. A victory over the single count of RICO conspiracy isn't out of the question. But that Buddy Cianci would even demure this week when asked whether he would seek reelection, prior to announcing that he wouldn't run, showed just how much things have changed.

MAYOR VINCENT A. "Buddy" Cianci Jr. reminds me of a Shakespearean character in one of the Bard's tragedies. The central thesis of the tragic figure is that his greatest strength is also his greatest weakness. In the case of the mayor, hubris is the soul of the man.

Cianci's pride motivated him to turn Providence into the Renaissance City. The mayor repeatedly refers to Providence as his city. It's no wonder he cloaked Providence with finery matching his self-image as the city's leader. There's not much pride in presiding over a dung heap. Providence had to become a Florence -- where arts, leisure, and fine foods mark its very definition as a community. The marshalling of the mayor's pride in this regard was a boon to Providence, and Cianci deserves commendation for the benefits that came with his drive to be the kingpin of a topnotch city.

This same pride, however, was also his downfall. Kingpins begin to believe their own press, and after awhile the kingpin becomes, well, king. The king feels he is above the law. He's untouchable. People are to do his bidding, without question. Fear rules.

Since he is smarter than most people, the prideful king begins to believe he can outsmart everyone. This is the other side of Buddy Cianci. His funny quips before a crowd become, behind closed doors, mean jibes toward anyone who bugs him. Sometimes, he's unable to control himself when questioned in public. Take the stagehand with a tour that stopped at the Providence Performing Arts Center and, not recognizing Cianci, stopped him backstage. The mayor told "the faggot" to get out of his way.

The tragic figure in all of Shakespeare's tragedies yields to the dark side of his virtue and the good attribute turns into vice. Mayor Cianci has spent far too much time on his dark side. The witnesses from City Hall were terrified of him. His top aides, for the second time, are taking a dive. Some 30 members of his first administration were indicted, and 22 were convicted. There are fewer casualties this time, but the convictions extend to Cianci and his former top aide.

Time will tell whether the conviction for racketeering conspiracy will stick. The jury was obviously telling the mayor it felt that he was the mastermind and underlings had carried out corrupt acts for his benefit. The acquittal on the underlying charges was the jury's way of saying that he was too smart to have done the dirty work himself.

Chief US District Court Judge Ernest C. Torres will apply the law next Wednesday, July 3, on a reserved motion for judgments of acquittal on all the racketeering-related charges, including the one for which the mayor stands guilty. Regardless of the outcome, the fact remains that Cianci asked for a second chance during his 1990 re-election bid and he blew it.

The judge may give the mayor a third chance, and perhaps voters of Providence would have as well, but the bad pride side of Cianci remains far too evident. The king may reign over a great city, but he can't rein himself in. In the final analysis, his legacy won't be the nice city, but a legacy of sycophants who went along with the corruption under their very noses, rather than risking the ire of the king.

Arlene Violet, a former state attorney general, hosts the Arlene Violet Show on WHJJ-AM.

LAST THURSDAY, June 20, Vincent A. "Buddy" Cianci Jr. was holding court on the courthouse steps, spinning tales about his time as a lieutenant in the Army. He reminisced about his days as a state prosecutor and told jokes that kept the media amused on an otherwise boring day of verdict watch at US District Court. The truly sad part is that this whole scene was so unnecessary.

I've covered Cianci for more than 25 years. This man is one of the most talented, brilliant, and accomplished politicians I've ever met. His mind is sharp and his determination unmatched. He championed causes for the underdog and underprivileged long before political correctness became the clarion call of political opportunists. Cianci is a can-do guy with an uncanny ability to persuade even the most ardent doubters that whatever project he backs for his beloved city is indeed worthwhile.

So why was this storied 61-year-old mayor sitting on the courthouse steps, facing a dozen racketeering charges and a prison sentence that threatened to end his career in disgrace?

For all his popularity, I've never seen a politician so alone. Cianci has few, if any friends. His constant companion is the police driver for the black limousine with the "City 1" license plate. He dates, but his female companions seem like an afterthought. Even in recent weeks, Cianci felt compelled to attend a dozen or more events every day, including Sundays. His addiction to adulation and public recognition, albeit deserved in many cases, is insatiable. His unwavering demand for blind loyalty from staff and supporters becomes intolerable.

Peel away the mayor's bluster and overbearing personality and hidden beneath is a man who seems insecure. He needs to be in total control of the people who surround him, people who would support him and follow him through a hurricane if simply asked. When the cops make a good bust, Cianci has had to hold the press conference, deliver the announcement, and take credit for something with which he had little connection.

He's infuriated when he finds out that a city worker has taken it upon himself, without asking permission, to give a television reporter an interview about a mundane city issue.

Cianci is a born leader. He is a visionary who can, as he's done many times, rally community leaders to fork over millions to support the arts, the neighborhoods, and the schools. He may have not moved the rivers and built Waterplace Park all by himself, but the Renaissance City would more closely resemble that infamous "smudge" on the way to Cape Cod if he hadn't been at the helm for the past 11 years.

Cianci could have accomplished just about anything without wearing pancake makeup every day and ranting at his subordinates until they felt belittled and worthless. He could have used his wit, charm, and superior intelligence to convince the supporting actors in Providence to follow his lead and improve the schools, neighborhoods, and finances, instead of resorting to the bully tactics that have become an unnecessary hallmark. He could have used his creativity and the power of his office to take the already successful renaissance to the next level.

Cianci's racketeering conspiracy conviction represents a loss for the city. The taxpayers of Providence deserve a mayor -- like Cianci -- who truly loves the city and wants to make it a better place for all. What they don't deserve is someone who needs the office and all of its trappings to survive. And they don't need a mayor who had to spend the last eight weeks in a federal courthouse, waiting for eight men and four women to decide his fate.

ANY REPORTER who's covered Buddy Cianci is all too familiar with the difference between real time and "Buddy Time." Simply put, Cianci is never on time for anything (with the exception of the press conference he called on the night of his indictment. The mayor went on five minutes early, leaving a roomful of reporters stunned). Many attribute the tardiness to his dawn-to-dusk schedule.

This is why the mayor's relationship with the media has been so mercurial over the years. It also explains why the Plunder Dome case has proven so fascinating for those of us who have covered Cianci during his two tenures as mayor. I joked with an out-of-town reporter covering the trial that when they do those estimates on where time is spent over the course of your lifetime, mine would go like this: Brushing teeth: three years, two months; mowing the lawn, one year, four months; waiting in Cianci's outer office for various press conferences to begin: 12 years.

But we always knew that once the show starts -- regardless of the purported topic -- we'd come away with one or two memorable sound bites, a Godsend, given that Lincoln Almond has been governor the past eight years.

I've also learned the mayor has a long memory. When I was making the transition from print to television, I once joked with him in front of a group of people that his makeup looked better than mine. He forced a smile, but I knew the comment irritated him (and continues to whenever I make similar comments).

About a year later, he got me back. The Providence Teachers Union was several days into a bitter strike and the mayor was angry, threatening to fire its members.

"But mayor," I asked during a packed press conference in his office. "How will you replace all those veteran teachers who have years and years of experience in the system?"

"They don't miss you a bit, do they?" Cianci said, delivering the punch line with perfect timing and drawing gales of laughter from my assembled colleagues.

He had managed to make his point, get a personal jab in, and let me know who was in control.

That brings us back to Operation Plunder Dome. Federal court may be a stone's throw from City Hall, but when the mayor stepped inside those doors, he might as well have been in another country.

He was no longer in control, but he did find creative ways to get around the gag order imposed early on by Judge Ernest C. Torres -- to give us a sound bite without really saying anything.

It remains to be seen if the single charge of RICO conspiracy will stick. If it does, I've often wondered what would be worse for Cianci in such a scenario: the loss of his freedom -- or the inherent loss of control that would go with it.

ABOUT AN hour after the first and most devastating part of the Cianci verdict came down Monday afternoon, I paused from the hectic media chase to grab a quick lunch from a vendor around the corner from the courthouse. While waiting for a hot dog, a man introduced himself and began to tell me a Buddy story.

He said he had been a part-time political operative in a successful mid-'90s Cianci re-election bid. And he recalled a meeting that Buddy began by dressing down almost everyone in the room. There was a small handful of staff seated, as the story goes, and the gentleman told it this way:

"So Buddy starts the meeting by screaming, 'You suck. And you suck. And you suck, too.' And he looked at me and said, 'And I don't know if this guy sucks, because I don't know him.' But I know one thing. This is the worst goddamn campaign I have ever seen.' As the meeting went on, he had one guy in tears."

I shook my head, as I often do, when hearing a Buddy story. I asked what the gentleman thought of the verdict. He said, "It's not right."

There are so many Buddy stories. Some are told and retold by the press. The best are the ones told on the fly by one person to another. In the last few months, I've heard the good, the bad, and the ugly from countless people who were reacting to the trial and now the verdict.

Knowing Buddy and having heard countless tales, I've decided one thing: He is the most enigmatic person I have ever seen or met. His enemies hate him. His loyalists love and hate him, depending on how the meeting went. He commanded incredible popularity ratings during this crisis. The greater the pressure of the case against him, the more Cianci threw himself into his work as mayor and politician. He did slow down in the last days of the verdict watch, keeping his usually over-scheduled day mostly open, waiting for the word either in the office or holding a bull session with the press on the courthouse steps. Privately, you could see a broken heart. Publicly, he still commanded an audience.

The story of Buddy and his mystique is powerful. But when the verdict was delivered, the mystique lost to the FBI and US Attorney's overcharged full-court press.

My theory is that this jury threw up all over itself with guilty on count one. Think about the pressure these good people felt as they deliberated so many counts resulting in a not guilty finding. Cripes, what were they there for? To let all of this apparent corruption go without holding the man and the mystique accountable? Cianci's the boss, for crying out loud. They held him responsible because they thought they had to.

Legal experts will tell you different things about the chance for Judge Ernest C. Torres to grant the mayor an acquittal. Some say it's a long shot, and who am I to say it's not. But I will tell you this: I don't believe the government's allegation -- that the true Buddy story is an organized conspiracy exclusively designed to line his pockets.