The year of bad judgement

An election year brings out the wacky in people,
but how stupid can you be?

by Jody Ericson

For Rhode Island politics, 1998 was the year of dumb mistakes, of critical miscalculations and embarrassing scenarios. What was Nancy Mayer thinking when she attacked Sheldon Whitehouse, her opponent for attorney general, for using drugs in college before she even polled to see whether anyone in Rhode Island cared? And why on Earth did Eva Mancuso, a Whitehouse challenger in the Democratic primary, run an ad that so exaggerated her trial experience, she left a credibility hole wide enough to drive her obnoxious campaign RV through?And this was after Mancuso attacked Whitehouse for puffing up his own prosecutorial record.

No doubt, an election year brings out the wacky in people, even if they're not the ones being elected. Just the hype surrounding the campaigns is enough to make politicians start to believe their own messages and the likes of disgraced former governor Ed DiPrete to toy with the possibility of redemption.

Whether it was rushing to fill 500 acres of Narragansett Bay, fighting over credit for something that was never built, or engaging in downright abusive behavior, Rhode Island officials seemed hellbent on messing things up in '98. And in the worst display of bad judgement, we occasionally fell for their lame excuses for why they did what they did and loved them all the more.

In the most bizarre instance, after Senator Paul Kelly (D-Woonsocket) was accused of assaulting his wife of 26 years last October, Rhode Island's women senators (many of whom had benefitted from Kelly's policy of promoting his female colleagues in the Senate) rushed to his defense before even knowing the facts of the case. A month later, their sympathy and support turned into the momentum behind Kelly's successful reelection campaign as majority leader.

Ironically, only one female senator, one of the most conservative, voiced concerns about the senator's leadership abilities, along with the Rhode Island Coalition Against Domestic Violence: Senator Catherine Graziano (D-Providence) denounced Kelly's female supporters as "hypocrites" and asked rhetorically of his male supporters, "Do they go home and beat their wives?"

And let's not forget that other infamous incident involving politics and violence. Last July, a campaign volunteer for Providence City Councilman Joseph DeLuca allegedly threatened to shoot Deluca's rival, Anthony Fagundes, and to burn down Fagundes's house and have his children molested. But this public embarrassment also turned into a political boon for DeLuca, who skillfully portrayed himself as a victim of a smear campaign by his opponents and was swiftly reelected.

Of course, DeLuca never acknowledged his own role in the crux of the skirmish: a bitter between himself and Providence Mayor Vincent "Buddy" Cianci. In Rhode Island, steeped as it is in long-held feelings of betrayal and vengeance, personal rivalries often come before politics. And 1998 was no different. Indeed, Mayer was another one who seemed more intent on getting even than on winning votes.

Consider how she continued to harp on Whitehouse's drug use even after it began to hurt her in the polls. Was this in retaliation for the fact that Whitehouse, as director of the state Department of Business Regulation years ago, almost fired Mayer for her role in Rhode Island's banking crisis?

Over-confident and smug, Mayer complained that the media weren't interested in covering her press conferences -- only in slinging mud and twisting people's words. But then Mayer herself so viciously attacked Whitehouse, we couldn't help but not pay attention to the issues in our pity for him. Essentially, Whitehouse inspired more sympathy than Mayer. He was a credible candidate, but what warmed our hearts was his nervous smiles and constant fidgeting under Mayer's icy glare.

Overall, Mayer's miscalculation was this: rather than accentuating Whitehouse's negatives, she should have played up her own positives. She cleaned up the state's pension system. And she could have done one hell of a tap dance on the Attorney General's Office as well. But in her loyalty to fellow Republican Jeff Pine, Mayer never acknowledged problems in Pine's office, including their botching the DiPrete case -- and thus never gave herself the opportunity to point out her strengths in saying how she'd do things differently.

Of course, Mayer was not the only candidate in 1998 to ignore her personal strengths for the sake of politics. Remember Myrth York's dramatic makeover? Never mind her platform -- she literally made herself over. Gone were the boxy, conservative suits that characterized the down-to-earth former state senator in her first run for governor. At her announcement speech in February 1998, she wore a tailored, pastel-colored suit a la Hillary Clinton. York's hair was more styled as well, and she was more intent on promoting her family, a smart strategy for any female candidate.

But then came the more soul-searching changes -- York's alleged backing down on the abortion issue and gay marriage. A known champion of both as a state senator, York was accused of pulling a Clinton, of allowing public opinion, rather than conviction, to dictate her stands -- and possibly even her wardrobe. In interviews and during debates, her spark and sense of humor were clouded by caution. York came off as too programmed to stray from the words she and her campaign manager had hashed out the night before.

Like Mayer, York made one overall mistake last year: she was thinking in terms of '94. Indeed, government corruption was still big during her first gubernatorial bid -- Chief Justice Thomas Fay had stepped down a year earlier for misappropriating funds, while DiPrete's troubles were just getting started. Republican Lincoln Almond won the '94 election because, as a former US attorney, he was a steady, somewhat fatherly figure. Tired of the good old boys running rampant, voters were ready for a change.

And what followed was indeed different from anything we knew. Almond, a 9-to-5 guy who'd rather be on the Cape than at the state's helm, was so boring that many of us longed for a juicy scandal to goose us back to life. So what did Myrth York do in 1998? Presented herself in staid, conservative terms, almost as a female version of Almond. If only she'd run her '94 campaign in '98. Again, it was the year of bad judgement.

No doubt, York's was a desperate campaign circling the drain. But even Providence Mayor Vincent "Buddy" Cianci went to extreme lengths to clobber what amounted to token opposition. Indeed, Cianci went so far as to convince the Providence police to open a criminal investigation into whether his opponent, Pat Cortellessa, forged signatures on his nomination papers.

But what the mayor didn't seem to realize was that Cortellessa could've played the foil. Given the choice, voters would've appreciated what they had, a capable and knowledgeable candidate already in office versus a clearly unsafe bet. Cianci could have held himself up to the opposition, almost as a scare tactic for disbelievers.

The problem with Rhode Island is that people are used to the way things are, and can't handle even a hint of change. As a result, they never forget those people who foist change upon them, and sometimes the grudges go back forever.

In an extreme example, the Narrangansett Indians are still fighting for what they consider their inherited right: to open a gambling casino on ancestral lands in Charlestown. But even though the state collects an annual revenue of $100 million from such legalized gambling venues as its lottery system, Rhode Island officials quashed the latest casino proposal in 1998, prompting one tribal leader to accuse Governor Almond of possessing "the same attitude as certain colonists, who, when they arrived here, tried to enslave us and initiate us."

Then there's the Providence Journal. Founded by old-line Yankees more than a century ago, the paper has never endorsed a Kennedy for office, even opting for Richard Nixon over John F. Kennedy in 1960. And 1998 was no different.

Still, to be a conservative publication is one thing; to back a clearly inappropriate candidate is another. In 1998, the Journal bordered on irresponsible in endorsing Ron Santa over Patrick Kennedy for Congress, as Santa, by all appearances, was interested in only one thing -- bashing Kennedy. In fact, the Republican candidate didn't even try to hide his rabid, unreasoning hatred for Kennedy and all the young congressman stood for behind a platform. In a clever touch, Santa was particularly fond of playing "Where's Patrick?" in his press releases, chiding the congressman for, of all things, raising funds for his beleaguered colleagues rather than flying home to respond to Santa's petty criticisms.

Of course, in 1998 the Journal had more reason than ever not to endorse a Kennedy, as Patrick was considering a 2000 challenge to Senator John Chafee, whose family ties to the Journal go back decades. But in backing Santa -- rather than not endorsing either candidate for the congressional seat -- Journal honchos didn't do themselves any favors. Kennedy, after all, is a rising star in Washington, not just because of his name but because of the connections and concessions he's made to get where he is. As he becomes more of a power in DC, the Journal will want to maintain its access to him and the prestige he brings to Rhode Island.

But you see, in a state as small as this one, everyone wants to be the big cheese. And there are so many big fish in the small pond, the fish end up eating each other, even at the state's peril. Just look at how Rhode Island handled the proposed New England Patriots stadium compared to Connecticut, which ended up snagging the most eligible bachelor in regional sports history.

Even Bob Kraft, owner of the Patriots, marveled to the press at how Connecticut officials worked together. Indeed, Hartford's mayor actually allowed Governor John Rowland to have the limelight, to wine and dine Kraft and to bask in the glow of flashing bulbs. He appeared to trust Rowland to make the right decision for Hartford and all of Connecticut.

Now flash to February 1998. On the front page of the Journal is a wide-angle shot of Buddy Cianci in shorts. After a meeting with Kraft in Florida, Cianci tells a reporter that "it's going to be $100 million." A hundred million dollars?! That comment alone probably was enough to kill the stadium deal, but Almond and state legislators pretty much finished it off with their constant bickering over who was actually calling the shots. Overall, the modus operandi seemed to be confrontation rather than cooperation.

And it didn't end with the stadium. North Kingstown's Quonset Point was another disaster right from the beginning, but the Almond administration only made it worse by faking cooperation with the environmental community. Yes, the governor did organize a stakeholders process to allow the parties involved to voice concerns about the proposed megaport. But the group barely had a chance to sit down and discuss the various options before Almond was pushing forward with his original agenda.

After November's elections, there was a lull in all the craziness, a respite from the relentless bickering and shifting of opinions. But January 1, 1999 will usher in a whole new batch of politicians, with their own agendas, personal grudges, and way of doing things.

Every year we seem to come full circle in Rhode Island -- and end up right back at the beginning. Bad judgement resulted in little accomplished in 1998. Indeed, Kelly and Almond are still in power, and they're still fighting at Quonset. At least 1999 isn't an election year, at least we have that to look forward to.