The Hill and the Hall Week in Review
Each Friday, Paul McMorrow will take you inside the smoke-filled rooms and darkly-lit corridors of government to bring you the hottest and juiciest political tidbits. This Week: Scandal! Sleaze! Dirty money! It’s like Christmas Morning. Plus: A sad announcement.
It’s been a hell of a year for scandal on Beacon Hill. Jim Marzilli went on a sexy rampage, there’s a grand jury investigating the Speaker’s former campaign treasurer, and the House Majority Leader might not be far behind.
The man who’s opposing him for control of the House probably used his committee to buy support. When one Rep didn’t fall in line, she was told she might get “really hurt.” Another couldn’t get hurt—he wasn’t anywhere near the State House when he was voting on stuff. And to top it all off, Rep from Worcester has a crooked mortgage and a young girlfriend who works for some insurance lobbyists. (Allegedly, allegedly, allegedly.)
None of that matters anymore. Because now, we’ve got Dianne Wilkerson to kick around.
As scandals go, this one’s a cake-topper. Wilkerson shook down some dude who was looking for a liquor license, so he went to the FBI. The FBI and the dude then let Wilkerson pocket a ton of their money. Then they arrested her.
The feds have flung subpoenas far and wide. They’ve opened a grand jury, and are seeking the documents to make their undercover investigation stand up. They’ll surely get around to asking the perpetual victim two questions: Who else paid her? And was anyone else was on the take?
The volume of recon (150-odd secret recordings) and cash pocketed ($23,500) in this case is impressive. As is the ubiquitous photo of the senator cramming filthy hundreds up her shirt. As is Wilkerson’s hilariously Aristotelian one-liner, accepting a bribe from an undercover Fed by saying, “I am a firm believer in the notion that you can do good and do well at the same time.”
And even better, there’s no complex money laundering scheme to try to follow. (Allegedly!) There’s no Gordian knot of lawyers and un-lobbyists to navigate.
There’s no guilt over mercilessly beating up the mentally ill, or the invariable question: “Do I actually care about this?” that arises whenever one reads sordid news from Worcester. There’s just… filth. A fetid, stank-ass, bottomless pile of filth. It’s glorious.
Unless you work on Beacon Hill and run for office every two years. Then it’s the worst crisis to rock the public sector in three decades.
The Beacon Hill press corps certainly appreciates the moment. They’re killing Wilkerson at every turn. The other electeds named in the Wilkerson affidavit—Therese Murray, Maureen Feeney, Michael Morrissey, and Chuck Turner—all vehemently deny being in on the scheme, but they’re being dragged along for the ride nonetheless, thanks to a flurry of FBI subpoenas.
As is Byron Rushing, who is widely believed to be the “House Representative Z,” the House member whom the affidavit alleged would be responsible for filing sketchy development legislation in the House, and receiving a $5,000 kickback for his troubles. The thing is, Wilkerson filed her bill on October 20. Rep Z never followed suit.
(Reached for comment by State House News on Tuesday, Rushing said, “I’m shocked and very sad for Dianne, and distressed for the Senate, for the institution, for all of us.” He was then asked whether Wilkerson had ever talked to him about Parcel 8, and he ended the interview, saying, “That’s it.”)
More on people not named Dianne Wilkerson later. The high theater yesterday was the Senate’s unprecedented call for Wilkerson’s resignation.
Hordes of reporters staked out Murray’s offices, where legislators met behind closed doors, debating Wilkerson’s fate. Court officers stood guard outside. There was a lot of waiting. A lot.
At one point, Jack Hart stuck his head into the hall, scouting whether the coast was clear. It most certainly was not. So he retreated inside, and the waiting continued. Brian Wallace cruised by a couple times to rubberneck at the surreal scene.
Just outside the room where Senators wrestled with the fallout from Wilkerson’s crimes, and below the phalanx of cameras and reporters, a group of elementary school kids scarfed down some lunch and ran laps around Nurses Hall. This is what democracy looks like, children.
The lawmakers eventually emerged from Murray’s office, and had to perform a hurried perp walk on their way to the Senate chambers. The president tersely declined to comment; Michael Morrissey (the famous Senator Y), flanked by Robert O’Leary and Robert Creedon, hurried through a brief statement, the gist of which was, “I’m not on the take, and didn’t know that my colleague was, either.” He wouldn’t speak with the press afterward.
Then there was a mad rush to the Senate gallery. The court officer on duty was kind enough to not enforce the chamber’s rigid dress code, though she did firmly remind a Globe columnist to remain seated. And then it was on.
The Senate stripped Wilkerson of all her committee posts. They referred her case to the Committee on Rules and Ethics, a move that could lead to her prompt expulsion. And, in the loudest voice vote we’ve heard in quite some time, they passed a unanimous resolution urging Wilkerson to resign.
Morrissey had wanted her expelled immediately, though the body’s rules don’t permit that. Wilkerson had sent Murray a letter pledging to “respect whatever decision you make” at the caucus. Thursday’s resolution was Murray’s way of calling her bluff.
Of course, the embattled senator quickly backed away. Even as the Black Ministerial Alliance and the Ten Point Coalition prepared to toss her out into the street.
Still, democracy stops for no woman, no matter how many cameras wait outside. So, after dispatching with Wilkerson, the Senate voted to congratulate a church in Haverhill, the Coolidge Corner Theatre, and some lady who had recently turned 80. They also advanced a number of public works bills. There were long faces all around. Several lawmakers cast nervous glances up at the press gallery. An aide chomped at her nails. The body finally recessed. On with the circus.
Murray was mobbed when she finally engaged the press. She read a statement about cooperating with law enforcement and blah, blah, blah and then, thankfully, went off script. She indulged the softball question “Are you angry?” with, “Do I look angry? Yes, I am. I’m very angry.”
And, for good measure, she threw in, “I think if she values the integrity of the Senate, if she values her colleagues’ work, then she will go.” And that’s tame. The Senate President is said to be livid. Apoplectic. Pissed the F off.
It’s not an uncommon emotion. Creedon, standing on a stairway and watching several of his colleagues take turns teeing off on Wilkerson for the cameras, told us, “The last couple days, the mood in the whole place has been somber. People are shaking their heads. For me, it’s bookends to my 12 years here.”
He’d chaired the Ethics Committee investigation into Wilkerson’s tax evasion and subsequent house arrest. Now, here he was, one foot out the door, and Wilkerson before the Ethics Committee again. “What luck!” he cried as he walked away. “I thought the Irish were supposed to be lucky!”
Asked what the caucus was like, Stephen Brewer replied, “The mood was outrage. Not sadness. Outrage.” He added that the idea of a resolution seeking Wilkerson’s expulsion wasn’t the result of hours-long haggling. It was introduced “immediately.”
The anger is felt deepest among the lawmakers named in the FBI document. Some are shocked—shocked!—that government works this way. Sorry. Minus the bras full of crisp hundreds, this is how government works. Politicians beat up on other politicians to get what they want. Especially when it comes to their own neighborhoods.
“It’s nothing we haven’t seen a million times before,” says a Beacon Hill insider. “It’s her job to advocate for her constituency. But Morrissey, Murray and Feeney don’t know she’s getting paid.”
Murray and Morrissey and Feeney are caught up in this thing because Wilkerson played hardball on something she should’ve been expected to play hardball on, and they went along with it. And now they find out that Wilkerson didn’t just get paid for stringing along the Senate President and the city council. She hit them with cries of discrimination. Racism. And got paid for it.
That’s why everybody involved in this thing is so enraged. Wilkerson didn’t just sell out herself, her office, her colleagues and her constituents. She also used racial demagoguery to get the job done.
And now they’re all in danger. People who say they’ve done nothing wrong will have to swear to that fact before a federal grand jury. They’re in danger of unintentionally perjuring themselves. How easy is that?
The Hill and the Hall made a series of calls this week about an old liquor license fight between the city and Morrissey. We could’ve sworn it happened in 2006-2007. It was 2005-2006. That misunderstanding never made it to print, but at least Times v. Sullivan is more lenient that federal perjury law. Others aren’t so lucky. And the legal paper has just started flying.
“I’d be shocked if this was the only shoe that fell,” says former AG Scott Harshbarger. “Once you’ve subpoenaed, you don’t know what you’ll find. The FBI is going to be holding lots of documents that normally wouldn’t end up in the hands of the FBI.”
Harshbarger, for one, believes that Beacon Hill might not be hit as hard as City Hall. “Where there’s money and power, you investigate. Most of those intersections occur at the city level. They all got tainted, whether they were in on it or not.”
One last point: Wilkerson has tried to make hay out of Mike Sullivan’s timing here. She’s not incorrect that Sullivan, a Republican, is eying his future. But that doesn’t make him the villain here.
“Sullivan knows he’s out of a job in a couple months,” the Beacon Hill insider says. “He’s setting himself up for Senate. It’s nothing new. Weld did it, Rudy did it. Sullivan wants a Senate seat and she’s guilty as sin. The two are not mutually exclusive.”
And here’s why: Wilkerson finds fault in the fact that the Feds cuffed her the week before her election. But they had to arrest her now. They had her on tape (allegedly) talking about her thirst for cash. Talking about how she couldn’t get reelected with $250 donations. They thought she was taking fistfuls of cash, off the books, to illegally fund her reelection run. They couldn’t wait until next week.
By next week, it might’ve been too late.
Man. That’s a king-hell bummer to end this thing on. So let’s try wrapping it up with this.
Overheard in the halls of the State House this week: Paul McMurtry greeting a gaggle of little kids touring the state capitol. He asks them what sights they’ve seen so far. Then he asks, “Did you see the Speaker of the House? No? Well, if you see him, tell him I say hi!”
EDITOR’S NOTE: It’s with great regret that we have to announce that this is the last Hill and the Hall for the foreseeable future. (McMorrow went and got himself a full-time gig, thus helping our commonwealth’s employment numbers, but leaving a dark, black hole at Boston Daily that can never be truly filled).
Thank you readers for making this column a staple of your Friday afternoon. We had high hopes for it when we conceived it over sandwiches and frozen yogurt at the late, lamented Golden Horn, and it’s fair to say Paul’s efforts made it the most widely-anticipated, best-read offering on this here blog. —Paul Flannery.
