Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 25
Monday, August 24, 2015
Between 1986 and 2006, Rhode Island ran a gauntlet of scandals that exposed corruption and aroused public rage. Protesters marched on the State House. Coalitions formed to fight for systemic changes. Under intense public pressure, lawmakers enacted historic laws and allowed voters to amend defects in the state’s constitution.
Since colonial times, the legislature had controlled state government. Governors were barred from making many executive appointments, and judges could never forget that on a single day in 1935 the General Assembly sacked the entire Supreme Court.
Without constitutional checks and balances, citizens suffered under single party control. Republicans ruled during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; Democrats held sway from the 1930s into the twenty-first century. In their eras of unchecked control, both parties became corrupt.
GET THE LATEST BREAKING NEWS HERE -- SIGN UP FOR GOLOCAL FREE DAILY EBLASTH Philip West's SECRETS & SCANDALS tells the inside story of events that shook Rhode Island’s culture of corruption, gave birth to the nation’s strongest ethics commission, and finally brought separation of powers in 2004. No single leader, no political party, no organization could have converted betrayals of public trust into historic reforms. But when citizen coalitions worked with dedicated public officials to address systemic failures, government changed.
Three times—in 2002, 2008, and 2013—Chicago’s Better Government Association has scored state laws that promote integrity, accountability, and government transparency. In 50-state rankings, Rhode Island ranked second twice and first in 2013—largely because of reforms reported in SECRETS & SCANDALS.
Each week, GoLocalProv will be running a chapter from SECRETS & SCANDALS: Reforming Rhode Island, 1986-2006, which chronicles major government reforms that took place during H. Philip West's years as executive director of Common Cause of Rhode Island. The book is available from the local bookstores found HERE.
Part 2
JUDGES AND LAWMAKERS
25
Hard Choices (1993–94)
Charlie Silverman turned the Providence Journal ’s expose of Supreme Court patronage into political leverage. Almost single-handedly the Operation Clean Sweep leader had persuaded fifty-three representatives and twenty-six senators, a majority in each chamber, to sign pledges that they would not participate in the Grand Committee election of a new chief justice. Each pledge card called for merit selection of all Rhode Island judges. No one knew whether legislative leaders could have breached Silverman’s bulwark and convened the Grand Committee. They never tried.
Weeks before Thomas Fay finally resigned, Paul Kelly had appointed a nine-member Senate commission to recommend a better way of choosing judges. The panel, headed by the chair of the Senate Judiciary Committee, Domenic A. DiSandro III, began pondering possible fixes. Late in October, Robert Weygand announced that he would propose legislation for both merit selection of judges and a process for reviewing judicial performance.
Even Gov. Bruce Sundlun toyed with the idea of a judicial nominating commission. Throughout the 1992 and 1993 legislative sessions he had refused to discuss any plan that would “tie the governor’s hands” with a list of candidates. But as autumn rains brought down the last leaves, Sundlun called Alan Flink and me to his office. He ranted but seemed to be inching in our direction.
On December 10, Sundlun stunned the state. During the taping of 10 News Conference, the NBC-TV affiliate’s Sunday political show, Sundlun announced that he would support “a Missouri Plan approach.” Sundlun said he had held “fruitful negotiations” with the Bar Association, Common Cause, and the RIght Now! Coalition. A reporter phoned for my reaction to this breaking news. I confirmed that we had met with the governor and that his principles were now “almost entirely compatible” with ours. That afternoon I told the RIght Now! steering committee that Sundlun had stolen our thunder.
Alan Hassenfeld laughed. “Should we be surprised? He’s running for re-election!”
On December 16, two years after our first RIght Now! press conference, we celebrated our coalition’s return. In the State House rotunda, Hassenfeld lamented the fact that the people had again been “sold out by power, greed, and corruption” and decried “the flagrant abuse and embarrassment that we, as Rhode Islanders, have been subjected to.”
We unveiled two constitutional amendments for the November 1994 ballot. The first would establish a nonpartisan judicial nominating commission. For any judicial vacancy the commission was to present a list of three to five highly qualified candidates to the governor, who would then appoint one, subject to Senate confirmation. The second contained constitutional proposals of the Blue Ribbon Commission to end lawmakers’ pensions, raise legislative pay, and reduce the size of the General Assembly. But could either pass?
In February 1994, Providence Sen. Myrth York announced that she would challenge Gov. Bruce Sundlun in the Democratic primary. York aimed to become the state’s first female governor and the first chief executive to serve a four-year term.
Her quest renewed an old rivalry. In 1985, she had battled Sundlun for a seat in the Constitutional Convention. Her goals then were to reduce the size of the General Assembly, end legislative pensions, raise lawmakers’ pay, and establish a four-year term for the state’s governor. Sundlun won that contest and used the convention as a springboard for his unsuccessful 1986 campaign against DiPrete. He finally overwhelmed DiPrete in November 1990 — only to face the collapse of RISDIC on his inauguration day.
York had won her Senate seat in 1990 and took her oath of office on that tumultuous New Year’s Day when RISDIC collapsed. As a new senator, she sponsored revolving door legislation that became law in 1992 and survived Sundlun’s Supreme Court challenge in 1993. When Paul Kelly became Senate majority leader, he appointed York and Sen. Maryellen Goodwin to head standing committees in the Senate, the first women to hold such power.
In 1993, York sponsored Sundlun’s legislation to enshrine his judicial screening committee in law, but as the 1994 session approached, she committed herself to the Missouri model of merit selection drafted by the Bar Association and Common Cause.
She announced her gubernatorial campaign in the lobby of the Supreme Court, saying that she chose the venue to remind Rhode Islanders of the court scandal. “We will never move forward as a state,” she said, “until our officials stop fixing tickets and start fixing problems.” York promised systemic reforms: merit selection of judges, the end of General Assembly pensions, and laws that would make quasi-public agencies accountable or put them out of business.
“I want to be the governor for every Rhode Islander who doesn’t have a relative on the Supreme Court,” she told supporters. “I want to be the governor for every Rhode Islander who doesn’t own a credit union. I want to be the governor for every Rhode Islander who doesn’t have a special pension.”
I admired Myrth York but stayed away from her announcement. Common Cause barred staff or board officers from endorsing candidates.
Sen. Jack Revens was tall. Whenever I spoke with him I tilted my head back to look him in the eye. We stood at handshake distance on the Senate chamber’s deep green carpet. He had already redrafted his constitutional amendment for a smaller legislature to reflect the Blue Ribbon Commission’s recommendations. He said the idea of downsizing the Senate by half scared his colleagues. “They know it wouldn’t happen until the next redistricting,” he said. “Eight years may seem like a long time off, but it’s really not. And some would prefer to take a pay raise and keep their pensions.”
“Will we get a fair hearing?”
Revens smiled. “Of course.”
A day or two later, on the House chamber’s red carpet, I knelt on one knee beside Jim Langevin’s motorized wheelchair. Beside the lapel pin that marked him as a state representative, he wore a mustard seed encased in clear glass as a witness to his Catholic faith. Langevin and I had spoken several times about the proposed constitutional amendment he would introduce for our commission. “It’s no slam-dunk,” he said softly. “People have read enough to get suspicious, but not enough to understand why it’s right.”
I asked what he thought Harwood and Caruolo were thinking. Langevin shook his head. “They haven’t focused on it yet. I don’t think the proposed structural changes bother them much. But you can be sure they’ll resist merit selection of judges, which would take a real bite out of their power. They might just let legislative reform go onto the ballot, if only to show that they’re reformers.”
Neither of us laughed. Lobbyist conversations ebbed and flowed above our heads. Except to step around us, few noticed Langevin in his wheelchair and me on one knee.
“I need to mention something in strictest confidence,” Langevin said softly. “I may run for secretary of state. Just in case that makes you want to consider a different sponsor.”
I said I appreciated knowing his plans, but Gary Sasse and I both wanted him as sponsor. “You work hard on the bills you introduce, and your colleagues hold you in high regard.”
Speaker John Harwood had made his way through a throng of lobbyists and ascended the podium. He banged his gavel. “All reps please take your seats. All guests please clear the aisles. The House will come to order.”
Nebraska’s single-chambered legislature got my attention during our study of lawmaking across the country. Too often I had watched reforms pass in one chamber of the General Assembly only to die in the other. I suggested to Gary Sasse that we propose the Nebraska model for Rhode Island.
“Sounds like a great idea,” he said, “but you might soon miss the checks and balances of a bicameral legislature. Nebraska’s been unicameral since 1937. You might ask why no other states have followed.”
I saw his point in January. After a year in their new roles as speaker and Senate majority leader, John Harwood and Paul Kelly appeared together on the WPRI-TV Sunday program Newsmakers. In answer to a question, Harwood said the General Assembly should move quickly to install the acting chief justice, Joseph R. Weisberger, as chief. He reprised his argument that the Grand Committee was the “most democratic process” for choosing judges. “You have 150 elected people who are making the decision.”
Politely but firmly, Kelly said he would wait for the report of the bipartisan Senate judicial selection panel he had appointed. “The problem is not Justice Weisberger,” Kelly insisted. “The problem is to resolve the integrity of the court system. We want to address the process.”
Rep. Nancy Benoit had sponsored the merit selection amendment for Common Cause in 1993 and filed a revised version in 1994. “I’m filing with fifty-nine signatures,” she said, handing her original to me. A scrawled list of names filled its cover. Most were Democrats, and all fifteen House Republicans had signed. Benoit’s Woonsocket neighbor, Rep. Barbara Burlingame, had nearly as many names on the proposed merit selection law that covered details of creating the Judicial Nominating Commission (JNC).
The evening before a press event where the RIght Now! sponsors were to present their bills, Caruolo phoned me. “You wanted to meet with us,” he said gruffly. “I can see you for a few minutes at 1:30 tomorrow. Only you.”
Instead of taking me into his office, he ushered me into Harwood’s corner office. The speaker shook my hand. Caruolo and I took chairs across from his desk. “Here’s the deal,” Caruolo said without preliminaries. “You get your nominating commission, and we keep confirmation in joint session.”
I asked how that was different from the Grand Committee.
“It’s entirely different,” Caruolo said. “The House comes in at the very end. And we’re not giving that up.”
“And if RIght Now! doesn’t agree?”
Caruolo smiled. “We have lots of ways to peel away those reps who signed with Benoit. Or we can stall this to death and let time run out.” His gaze shifted out a south window. Beyond unpaved parking lots on both sides of Francis Street lay downtown Providence, where the gleaming new Rhode Island Convention Center had just opened. Under broken clouds, its glassy turret gleamed in sunshine. “I assume you’re aware, that one of your buddies on the steering committee has been up to some corrupt things down there.”
“Who?” I demanded.
Caruolo smirked. “I don’t have all the details yet, but we can get them.”
“Who are you talking about?”
He hinted that a RIght Now! leader had played an unsavory part in the development of the mall where construction would soon begin. “At this point there’s no firm proof,” Caruolo chuckled, “but who knows what a little digging will turn up? It would certainly divert attention from your righteous cause.”
Behind his massive desk, Harwood smiled but said nothing.
“Look,” Caruolo resumed reasonably, “you can achieve a truly historic change and look good at the same time. Just don’t blow your chance to get this right.” He rose to signal that the meeting was over.
Escorting me out, he shook my hand. “We wanted you to be clear about our bottom line. Understand that if you repeat this conversation, I’ll deny it. And keep in mind that the difference between you and me is that I have a witness.” He released my hand and opened the door.
I stepped into the marble hallway as the door closed behind me. I pulled out my new laptop to write down Caruolo’s words.
Half an hour later, the RIght Now! sponsors spoke to reporters in the rotunda. “Merit selection has a proven track record of success,” Myrth York declared. “It will be simple to implement and easy to administer.” Our press packet showed that she was filing the constitutional amendment, while her East Side colleague, Sen. Rhoda Perry, would introduce what we hoped would become the enabling legislation for merit selection.
That same day, Sen. Domenic DiSandro released the report of the nine-member Senate Select Commission he had led. He also introduced legislation that listed Paul Kelly as co-sponsor. It drew from versions Common Cause and the Bar Association had sponsored in prior years. No one doubted that DiSandro’s name would grace whatever might finally pass. Our sponsors — Myrth York and Rhoda Perry in the Senate, Nancy Benoit and Barbara Burlingame in the House — would be relegated to historical footnotes.
With a glut of proposals that bore the title “merit selection,” we faced the challenge of educating the public and differentiating ours. Frequently asked questions provided the framework for a four-page handout.
Q: What’s wrong with the way we pick judges?
A: Rhode Island retains two distinct but highly politicized mechanisms for selecting judges:
• Rhode Island’s Supreme Court justices are elected by all members of the House and Senate meeting “in Grand Committee.” Only two other states—South Carolina and Virginia—follow this practice. For all the talk about how “democratic” this is, there is no more efficient way of handing the choice to the Speaker of the House. Joseph Bevilacqua moved directly from his post as Speaker to the Chief Justice’s chair in the Supreme Court. Matthew Smith engineered the election of his friend and business partner Thomas Fay; then Fay chose Smith as Administrator of the Court.
• Lower court judges are appointed by the Governor in a process that has often deteriorated to deal-making. A top former executive branch official recently admitted that there has long been an informal protocol as governors and leaders of the General Assembly took turns in picking judges: ‘Mine. . . yours. . . his.’
Neither system works. Both must be replaced.
As the legislative session geared up, several op-ed writers and talk show hosts argued that Rhode Island should elect its judges, as many other states did, but no lawmakers introduced bills for judicial elections.
In the RIght Now! steering committee, Alan Flink warned of the need to keep political hacks off the Judicial Nominating Commission. “Unless we can make the panel genuinely independent,” he declared, “we’ll accomplish nothing.”
Our legislation would direct the governor to appoint an eleven-member commission: two lawyers and a law professor from lists provided by the Bar Association, other appointments from lists submitted by legislative leaders, and several public members independent of those lists. We were determined to keep commissioners at arm’s length from public officials and political parties.
Confirmation of Supreme Court justices became the key sticking point. The RIght Now! bill followed the federal system and other states in having the Senate confirm all judges.
For the first time in several months, Fr. Robert Newbold sat with the RIght Now! steering committee. In a black suit and priest’s collar, he was the State House lobbyist for the Roman Catholic Diocese of Providence. “House leaders expect a voice in confirmation,” he said. “The feedback I’m getting from them is that they’re not willing to give up the Grand Committee. Until now, as we all know, they’ve controlled Supreme Court appointments.”
“Exactly the problem!” shot back Alan Flink, across the Hasbro board table from him.
“I’m saying they feel strongly about this,” Newbold retorted. “This legislation — in its current form — requires the House to give up everything, while the Senate gets everything.”
“This isn’t about political formulas,” Flink roared. “We’re talking about a merit selection model that has been tested over decades.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t adapt the model.” Newbold seemed to be lobbying RIght Now! on behalf of Harwood and Caruolo. “As you know, the House would accept a judicial nominating commission that presented candidates to the Grand Committee.”
“That’s entirely off the table,” Flink thundered. “We brought RIght Now! out of hibernation to end the Grand Committee’s role in picking Supreme Court justices. There’s no way we can cave in on that issue.”
Unruffled, Newbold insisted the House might settle for joint confirmation of Supreme Court justices. “They’re willing to step back from the current situation, where they control the entire process. They’ll never agree to a plan that cuts them out of Supreme Court appointments entirely.”
At Flink’s elbow, Norman Orodenker raised a hand. A dark beard framed his jaw and made him look like Abraham Lincoln. “I don’t want to be disrespectful of the good Father, but I must mention that we had lengthy discussions about the Grand Committee, and we resolved that issue many months ago. Nothing I know of has changed in the interim.”
Like Flink, Orodenker was a lawyer; unlike Flink, he rarely raised his voice. As if to prevent Flink from leaping over the table, he laid a hand on his shoulder and extended the other toward Newbold, his tone soothing. “With all due respect, Father, this is not about horse-trading between the House and Senate. This is not about saving face for individuals in high office.”
When Orodenker breathed, Newbold interrupted: “Do you believe the House has to give up everything while the Senate gets everything?”
Orodenker shook his head. “If I’m not mistaken, they’ve mentioned ‘advice and consent of the two chambers in joint session.’ No matter how you dress that up, that’s the Grand Committee in another guise. I believe this steering committee has an obligation to the people. Otherwise, all this effort toward judicial reform will have gone for naught.”
“You may get nothing in the end,” Newbold said.
“If we go down in flames,” Orodenker said softly, “so be it. But we cannot leave the Grand Committee with any role in selecting or confirming judges. It’s my considered judgment that we need to stand firm on this issue.”
At Newbold’s side, Leo Cornelius motioned to Alan Hassenfeld for permission to speak. Recently retired as a United Way executive in California, Cornelius now led strategic planning for Rhode Island’s statewide Catholic diocese. “I like to be reasonable,” he said. “I understand that feelings here are strong. But I want to suggest that an anti-Grand Committee strategy is simply unrealistic.”
Newbold and Cornelius were attending their first meeting in months, and Hassenfeld let them speak at length. Then, in his endearing way, he explained that he would put the question of compromising on the Grand Committee to the group. “Our practice is to have one person speak for each organization around the table. I encourage organizations to bring several people but vote only once.”
He looked to Max Riter from the AARP State Legislative Committee to start.
“I don’t think we can compromise at this time,” Riter said “I’m not saying we won’t later. But definitely not now.”
Tom Banchoff spoke for Common Cause. “Our goal has been to squeeze politics — as much as possible — out of this process. Even without the Grand Committee, the governor will feel pressure to cut deals for judicial appointments. House leaders will have input at the front end when they give the governor names he must consider for the commission. The idea of allowing the House to veto a Supreme Court nominee would perpetuate the speaker’s dominant role. Only three states in the entire country allow representatives any role in Supreme Court appointments.”
“The Diocese of Providence votes for compromise,” Newbold declared. “Joint confirmation of Supreme Court justices.”
One after another around the table, members of the steering committee opposed any House role in confirming judges. Even chambers of commerce opposed accepting Caruolo’s compromise so early in the process.
Hassenfeld summarized the obvious: except for Newbold’s vote, there was a clear consensus not to accept House involvement.
“If I may?” Jim Miller, now a seasoned church executive, asked. “I’d like to ask where this leaves the diocese.”
“Not sure,” Newbold said. “Bishop Gelineau knows my concerns about throwing down a gauntlet. But he may not agree with what I’ve said here today. I’ll report this to him and get back to Alan.”
Dave Duffy, who had envisioned the RIght Now! name and logo, suggested that nobody mention this dispute outside the meeting. “Our position remains exactly what it’s been since last August: merit selection for all Rhode Island judges, nothing less. No room for any semblance of the Grand Committee. We can say that without rubbing it in their face. We get the public to lobby their representatives. Let the people push House leaders. The speaker has far less control over this issue than he had before the court scandal broke.”
Duffy glanced around the oblong table. “Will House leaders come around? At this point in February, none of us can say. Will we need to compromise in April or May? We don’t know that either. What we do know is that the organizations around this table can rally many thousands of constituents across the state. We’ve got two months to pressure individual members of the House — all of whom must run for re-election in November.”
Jim Miller segued to mobilizing. The RI State Council of Churches was preparing information for every church, synagogue, fellowship, and service group in their database. “We hope to generate a first wave of twenty or thirty thousand personal letters to members of the General Assembly.” Miller promised thank-you notes to lawmakers who had signed pledges not to participate in the Grand Committee and “a little prodding” for those who had not. “We won’t threaten,” he said, “but they’ll know we’re watching.”
The combined memberships of all the congregations in the interfaith council fell below the number of Catholics in the Diocese of Providence, and Miller had no authority over any clergy, yet he mobilized people through sheer moral force and tenacious outreach. He described training sessions for the interfaith community. Besides traditional Protestant denominations, Miller had drawn Orthodox congregations into the council and built alliances with the Board of Rabbis and the Unitarians. He also worked with Muslims, which was still innovative in the 1990s. Then he suggested bringing religious leaders to the State House for a lobbying day.
“Wow!” exclaimed Hassenfeld. “And I thought Jews were good organizers.”
Because I had spent years in parish ministry, Miller arranged for me to preach in churches. Drawing on the book of Exodus, I told an ancient story of judicial selection: when Moses confronted a restive Israelite camp in the desert below Mount Sinai. The never-ending task of resolving disputes left him exhausted, so Moses’ wise father-in-law, Jethro, urged him to appoint judges with specific qualities. They should be “capable leaders who fear God,” are utterly “trustworthy,” and “hate dishonest gain.” Such judges could resolve routine conflicts and bring only the most difficult cases to Moses.
I preached that although governments had changed dramatically over three thousand years, people still needed trustworthy judges who loved the law and “hated dishonest gain.” I reminded congregations that forty-four Democrats and fifteen Republicans in the House had co-sponsored the RIght Now! legislation, and all the announced candidates for governor had declared their support. But we needed people of faith to help squeeze politics out of judicial selection.
Media stories kept rehearsing the recent scandal caused by former House Speaker and Supreme Court Administrator Matthew Smith’s cover-up of embezzlement from court funds. Smith had run up parking fines worth more than $2,000 but wrote on Supreme Court stationery to get his tickets dismissed. He and Fay had run the court system with a sense of entitlement that no ordinary citizen enjoyed.
As winter gave way to spring in 1994, widespread bitterness still lingered like mounds of dirty snow. Smith and Fay were long gone, but their abuses of power left an ugly residue. Taxpayers felt themselves swept inexorably toward April 15, preparing their returns with a sense that their pockets had been picked.
Reminders of special privilege piled up. General Treasurer Nancy J. Mayer struggled to evict twenty-four union officials who had bought their way into the state pension system at flagrantly reduced prices when Matty Smith ran the House. One teacher’s union executive had bought thirty years of state pension credits for a mere $28,352, and Mayer noted that if he had purchased an identical annuity from a private insurance company it would have cost him $788,929.24 His state pension paid $61,430 per year, at taxpayer expense.
The General Assembly had repealed the 1987 law that allowed this abuse, but Superior Court Judge Antonio S. Almeida ruled that the union leaders were entitled to pensions they had bought in good faith. Almeida had been arrested in 1991 for taking bribes, and he went to jail, but his ruling stood.
At Mayer’s request, Senate Minority Leader Michael J. Flynn had filed legislation to revoke the 1987 law and evict those union employees who never worked for the state. One section would return their contributions with interest. Mayer and a posse of reformers testified in support of Flynn’s bill. Senators approved it unanimously in March, but it seemed doomed in the House of Representatives.
In March, witnesses trekked through heavy rain to testify for merit selection legislation sponsored by Myrth York and Rhoda Perry. At the Senate Judiciary Committee’s office, I handed the secretary a list of witnesses who were ready to speak.
Just before the hearing, a clerk handed out copies of DiSandro’s SubA, twenty-eight pages of dense legal language. I skimmed it and made notes in the margins. In a sharp departure from what we had discussed, Senate leaders had clearly decided to exclude the Bar Association from the process of appointing lawyers or law professors to the Judicial Nominating Commission.
Perry’s bill required that the nominating authorities and governor “endeavor to ensure that, to the fullest extent possible, the composition of the commission reflects the diversity of the state’s population,” but DiSandro’s substitute dropped a crucial requirement for “racial and gender” diversity on the panel.
I felt a sudden fear that DiSandro would take testimony and a vote on his bill before he heard from our witnesses on the York and Perry versions. If we waited, the vote might be over. We caucused in the hallway and agreed that all would testify for essential principles of merit selection but not support DiSandro’s new iteration. In my turn, I urged the Judiciary Committee not to vote on any bill before they had heard testimony on all of the merit selection bills.
“Is there a motion?” DiSandro barked. In an instant, he had a motion for passage and a second. The vote sounded unanimous. His slam-dunk made no sense.
I never learned why Senate leaders, who had led on merit selection, rushed the process. Weeks earlier, Myrth York and I had met amicably with DiSandro about these bills. Was it because she had announced for governor, or did he mean to pay RIght Now! back for being too pushy? Was he afraid reporters would compare the two bills in detail?
After the hearing, I caught up with Paul Kelly in the hallway and reminded him that RIght Now! was concerned that too many state boards had no women or racial minorities among their membership, and that our legislation required the Judicial Nominating Commission to address this. I told him the bill just approved in the Judiciary Committee did not.
“I hear you,” Kelly told me. “Let me see what we can do.”
On another blustery March day, the full Senate took up judicial selection. DiSandro proposed a floor amendment to restore the diversity requirement, and senators approved it without debate. They then passed both the enabling legislation and the constitutional amendment with unanimous votes.
On the House side, Judiciary Chair Charles T. Knowles had filed a constitutional amendment that would create a judicial nominating commission without specifying that it be “independent and nonpartisan” or that judicial candidates be “highly qualified by merit.” Even worse, Knowles’s proposed amendment allowed the governor to appoint justices of the Supreme Court, but it required their confirmation by the House and Senate “in joint session.”
The struggle peaked when two leaders of the East Providence Clergy Association, Fr. Jude McGeough and Rev. Ray Bradley, convened a forum in the heart of George Caruolo’s district. The clergy group invited the community’s entire legislative delegation. In a large assembly hall at the Riverside Congregational Church, hundreds of people filled rows of folding chairs. Dozens more stood along the walls. Seats on a low stage were reserved with conspicuous name cards for each lawmaker.
The three East Providence senators — Bill Irons, Jim McStay, and Paul Tavares — took turns reflecting on the scandals that had brought down two chief justices in seven years. Each spoke proudly of pledging not to participate in the Grand Committee election of another Supreme Court justice. “That was the only leverage we had,” Irons declared. “Everyone knew the House controlled the process from start to finish, and they weren’t about to give it up.”
McStay, who ran a nearby funeral home, was unfailingly polite. “I don’t know why my good friend George Caruolo didn’t make it here tonight,” he said without sarcasm. “My sense is that those of you who have come tonight care about our judicial system and want real reform.”
Applause erupted, and McStay paused until the cheers subsided.
“This is issue number one,” he continued, “but it won’t happen just because it’s right. It’ll only happen if all of you speak to George Caruolo. Those of you who live in his district have enormous power. He may not be here tonight, but you’ll bump into him in the market or at a gas station. Tell him how many people were here. Tell him that you and your neighbors are fed up. Tell him you demand judicial reform. Better yet, phone him and leave a message on his machine. He needs to hear from you.”
Fr. Jude McGeough bounded onto the low stage. Always warm and down-to-earth, he wore his authority lightly. “For those who don’t know me,” he said cheerfully, “I’m Father Jude from St. Margaret’s in Rumford, which puts me outside Rep. Caruolo’s district. But I spoke to him, and he told me he couldn’t make it tonight. Do you agree with Senator McStay that we should let him know we missed his presence?”
“Yes!” came a shout, and the audience roared.
“What?” Father Jude cupped a hand to his ear.
A deafening shout came back.
When it ended, host pastor Ray Bradley and I shook hands with people as they filtered out onto the sidewalk. We handed them flyers and urged people to call Caruolo. Afterward, Bradley walked me to my car in the church’s parking lot. Nearing retirement, he glowed with satisfaction. I told him that he and Fr. Jude made a formidable team.
“One thing before you leave,” Bradley said. “I met with Caruolo on Ash Wednesday. He made it clear that they won’t budge on the Grand Committee. That’s part of why Father Jude and I thought it was so important to do this tonight. Caruolo needs to know that without some meaningful merit selection, a lot of people could turn against him in November.”
“You think he worries about that?”
“I barely know the man,” Bradley replied. “But a lot of people say that beyond being brilliant and having a photographic memory, he’s genuinely decent.”
A few days later, Caruolo saw me in the House chamber and waved me over to his desk. Representatives and lobbyists stood at a respectful distance while Caruolo drew me close.
“Listen carefully.” He looked me in the eye. “You’re about to hear my last and most generous offer.” He proposed a compromise under which the Judicial Nominating Commission would present highly qualified nominees for each judicial vacancy, including the Supreme Court, to the governor. Supreme Court nominees would undergo separate confirmations in both the Senate and the House of Representatives. “Confirmation,” he insisted, “is the historic vestige we keep.”
I asked about Bar Association recommendations for the Judicial Nominating Commission.
Caruolo shook his head. “Won’t happen. Only nominees from elected officials. Of all people, you should recognize that the Bar Association is a special interest group.”
“You name professionals to all kinds of commissions,” I said.
“You just heard our final offer,” Caruolo insisted. “The governor gets four appointments without lists. He can ask the bar if he likes, but that doesn’t go into the statute. Nine members — just like your beloved Ethics Commission. Separate House and Senate confirmations for Supreme Court justices. That’s our bottom line.”
I nodded, knowing better than to argue.
“Look,” he pressed, “you’ve got ninety percent of what you asked for. We sacrifice Grand Committee election of Supreme Court justices. We even give up confirmation in joint session. But if you insist on Bar Association seats on the commission or on having only the Senate confirm — either one is a deal-breaker.”
“I’ll take it to the steering committee,” I said.
“Do that,” he muttered. “Take it while it’s on the table.”
We shook hands, and I ducked out into the rotunda to write down his terms. The entire exchange took less than a minute.
Around the board table at Hasbro, the RIght NOW! steering committee struggled over Caruolo’s compromise. No one liked surrendering an official role for the bar.
With perfectly trimmed dark hair, Kelly Sheridan wore horn-rimmed glasses, a starched shirt, striped tie, and charcoal suit. A vice president of the Rhode Island Bar Association, he had merged its legislation with the Common Cause bill. “Most of you have never seen the House of Delegates,” he said. “Forty-four delegates are elected by their peers. They represent diverse kinds of legal practice. Only seven come from big firms of fifty or more attorneys. Having the delegates present a list of potential commissioners to the governor would guarantee independent voices on the panel.”
“For those of you who aren’t lawyers,” Norman Orodenker added, “there’s a dichotomy to understand. Early in their careers, most lawyers choose between a political avenue in the legislature and the politics of the Bar Association. Most don’t have time or inclination to do both, and some who take the legislative route try to paint the bar as elitist.”
Sheridan nodded. “The insinuation of elitism is a smokescreen,” he said. “In fact, members of the judicial nominating committee who came via the Bar Association would be independent, and they’d be vocal — which is exactly what some in the State House don’t want.”
Orodenker smiled. “That’s a polite way of saying they fear that attorneys nominated by the Bar Association would be hard to control. The leadership fears having knowledgeable attorneys who could demolish the political hacks they might send up for judgeships. Once judges are on the bench, they’re there for life unless they do something criminal. But we’re pulling the process out of the closet for everyone to watch.”
“So the question,” Alan Hassenfeld interjected, “is whether Caruolo’s refusal to grant the Bar Association a role on the commission is a deal-breaker for us. Is that right?”
Orodenker answered: “I’d love to specify a role for the bar in nominating members of the commission. That’s the way to produce a truly independent and qualifications-driven commission. But if, in the grand scheme of things, the two pills we have to swallow are a panel chosen by elected officials and separate House and Senate confirmations, I think we’ve achieved a reasonable compromise. Particularly when you remember where we started.”
“You’re ready to throw in the towel?” Alan Flink demanded.
“No,” Orodenker replied. “I take Caruolo at his word when he tells us any more than that would be a deal-breaker. And I recognize that he’s agreeing to a deal that’s substantially on our terms, a deal that’s historic. I don’t think we can let the perfect become the enemy of the good.”
That became the RIght Now! consensus.
On April 8 a standing-room only crowd filled the House Judiciary Committee’s hearing room as Charles Knowles presented the revised legislation to his committee. “The eyes of the entire state of Rhode Island are upon us,” he declared.
The only drama came when Rep. Harold Metts, head of the Black Caucus of State Legislators, announced he would vote against the bill. “I like the present system,” Metts said. “There is no one in South Providence who is going to be on that commission. I can tell you that.”
In my testimony, I challenged Mett’s assumption, noting that several civil rights organizations were members of the RIght Now! Coalition. We wanted an explicit requirement that the membership of the commission fully reflect the racial diversity of the state.
The committee voted to send the bill to the full House, where Knowles would offer floor amendments. Under pressure, complicated bills sometimes go to the floor with an understanding that the committee chairperson will present a floor amendment to address technical problems. This practice avoids having to bring the committee back for a final vote.
I stepped out of the State House into a brisk April breeze. The promise of passage rose like daffodils in spring.
Proposals to modernize the General Assembly also moved. Our sponsors, Rep. Jim Langevin and Sen. Jack Revens, worked overtime to get hearings and votes. Revens introduced two constitutional amendments. The first proposed to raise legislators’ compensation from $300 to $10,000 per year and end legislative pensions, precisely the bargain recommended by the Blue Ribbon Commission. The second would downsize the Senate and the House of Representatives in redistricting after the 2000 federal census. “I believe we have far too much bureaucracy,” Revens told his colleagues in floor debate, “and I believe we have far too many people serving in this General Assembly.”
Senators approved both reforms by overwhelming margins and sent them to an uncertain fate in the House. There Jim Langevin had packaged all of the constitutional provisions in a single bill, with Charlie Knowles as a cosponsor. The House Judiciary Committee recommended it for passage, but several representatives who normally avoided me now stopped to argue about downsizing and the end of legislative pensions. I pointed out that they could continue under the old pension system and salary scale. Only those elected after passage of the amendment would be required to take the new compensation without pension benefits.
A few times I pulled out my dog-eared paperback of The Federalist Papers and showed them James Madison’s warning that large legislatures often undermined representation.
“Madison had nothing but contempt for Rhode Island,” Rep. Mabel Anderson retorted. “You think you know so much, but you don’t.”
“What’s your corsage for?” I asked her.
Beneath one of her quirky hats, she smiled in spite of herself. “For my birthday.” The word among lobbyists was that this was her seventieth. “And don’t think you can fool me by changing the subject!”
Week after week through April and May, Langevin’s legislation lay in limbo. I asked him why it was not posted on the House calendar.
“They won’t tell me,” he confided. “I think they’re having trouble corralling enough votes.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Keep the letters and phone calls coming in,” he said. “They expected pressure on judicial selection, but I think they’re genuinely surprised that so many constituents care about modernizing the legislature.”
Langevin’s proposed constitutional amendment finally came up for debate in the House on June 2, the same afternoon Bruce Sundlun was to sign the Judicial Nominating Commission bill into law. For five weeks we had been lobbying representatives who now milled in the aisles below the House gallery where I sat. Many took our commission’s Blueprint for the 21st Century as an insult, and I doubted that John Harwood and George Caruolo would risk political capital to put the amendment before state voters. Worse, the ballot question contained many moving parts: any difference between House and Senate versions would spell doom. No one knew whether this delicate deal could pass in both chambers.
The amendment increased Senate terms to four years while cutting the number of senators in half; the House would be downsized from 100 to 75 representatives who would continue with two-year terms. It would raise legislative compensation to $10,000 and keep up with inflation with periodic cost-of-living adjustments. The General Assembly would remain a part-time body, but lawmakers would receive the same health coverage as full-time state employees.
Legislators currently serving could choose to continue with the existing salary and pension benefits, but no one elected after November could get pension credits for service in the General Assembly.
Charlie Knowles rose to offer a floor amendment. While House pages distributed copies, he explained that his motion would delete parts of the text that granted four-year terms to members of the Senate.
My heart sank. Knowles, a co-sponsor, was scuttling the deal.
With little debate, Harwood called for a vote. On the board, columns of green lights showed broad support for dumping Senate four-year terms. Green lights glowed by the leaders’ names. Only a few red lights said no to Knowles. The final tally was 78–8. In an instant the Senate’s reward for a dramatic downsizing had vanished. Were House leaders about to sink the entire package? Was this lopsided vote payback for our pushing so hard against the Grand Committee?
Shortly after five o’clock, a tap on my shoulder signaled that it was time for the governor to sign the Merit Selection Law. As I climbed toward the exit, I heard several representatives asking to vote section by section on Langevin’s bill, always an ominous request.
Harwood and Caruolo slipped out of the House chamber, and I followed them into the State Room. While Sundlun trumpeted merit selection as a landmark accomplishment of the 1994 legislative session, I kept a straight face. Only a year earlier he had declared his opposition. Now, in full campaign mode, he praised House and Senate leaders for negotiations that had resolved differences over judicial selection. He declared that the bill he would sign was proof that government could be responsive to the people.
Myrth York was not present for the bill signing. She had dared to run against him, and I assumed Sundlun had warned Senate leaders he would never sign legislation she sponsored.
In his turn at the podium, Harwood returned the governor’s compliments and cited this legislation as transcending the politics of the House, Senate, and political parties. “I think this shows the state of Rhode Island that good government bills like this will promote what all of us are looking for, and that is a better judicial system, a system where we in fact will have the highest caliber of judges in the land.”
While Harwood spoke, Caruolo lifted a portable phone to his ear. It was as big as a brick with an antenna. When Harwood returned to his seat, Caruolo whispered to him, one hand hiding his lips. Swiftly, they ducked out, which probably meant trouble for Langevin’s bill on the House floor.
I waited my turn to speak. I thanked Sundlun and legislative leaders for bringing us all to this day. “This is genuine merit selection by any standard extant anywhere in the United States,” I said. “This will make it much harder for the old political trades to involve judgeships.”
Sundlun signed the legislation, but I had no time to savor the moment. I rushed back upstairs to the House gallery.
Caruolo was on his feet, reasoning with his colleagues. From his comments I surmised that representatives had deleted a section that would cut their number from 100 to 75 but passed the Senate downsizing from 50 to 25. Like a disappointed schoolmaster, Caruolo scolded gently: “I don’t know if it’s the air in here, but we have to keep in mind that this can only pass as a balanced package. It has to be even-handed for all parties.”
He asked for a motion to reconsider and quickly got one. Clearly in a rebellious mood, 21 reps voted against reconsidering, but Caruolo prevailed. In a second vote, House members acquiesced — by a vote of 48–36 — to cutting their number from 100 to 75. The final vote in favor of Langevin’s entire package, as now amended, was 61–11. Through a fog I heard Caruolo on the floor below recommending that the remainder of the House calendar be carried over to the next week. All the satisfaction I felt when Sundlun signed merit selection drained away.
The House rebellion reinforced our case for a smaller and more accountable legislature, but our package had come unglued. Once stamped by the clerk, Langevin’s legislation was hand-carried through the massive oak doors at the back of the chamber and across to the Senate, where it would likely die.
“I don’t want to burst your bubble,” Paul Kelly told me later, “but this is a deal-breaker. Without four-year senate terms, senators won’t agree to downsize.”
“Do you see any room for compromise?”
Kelly shrugged. “Since the House has agreed to cutting their number to seventy-five, I would talk to people here about the same percentage. Understand I’m not promising. I’m not sure I can sell any downsizing without longer Senate terms.”
Both chambers had passed legislation to downsize the General Assembly, end its corrupt pension system, and raise legislative pay for the first time in a century. Senators and representatives could tell their voters that they favored the concept, but unless both voted to put the same amendment on the ballot, nothing would change. The impasse reminded me of years past when the Senate and House approved different versions of our nepotism and revolving door bills.
I carried a checklist of bills that might still pass. Months earlier, I had testified in support of Nancy Mayer’s legislation to evict teachers’ union officers who had burrowed their way into the state pension system. With scrupulous fairness, Mayer proposed to repay what the union officials had paid in, plus eight percent interest. “I am the eternal optimist,” she told a reporter about her long-shot legislation. “I can’t understand what argument anybody could muster to vote against this bill.”
The Senate had passed her repeal in March, but union leaders argued before the House Finance Committee that Mayer’s bill amounted to a “retroactive repeal of a constitutional right.” The ACLU also opposed Mayer’s legislation, citing what it called “grave constitutional questions.” But as the General Assembly raced toward adjournment, the House finally followed the Senate’s lead, passing the repeal with an astonishing bipartisan vote of 76–7. Despite threats of another legal challenge, the bill went to the governor.
After promising he would sign the repeal, Sundlun allowed it to become law without his signature. Pressure from constituents had convinced many General Assembly Democrats to back the Republican general treasurer’s bill, but union lobbying had apparently persuaded Sundlun — now less than three months away from his primary showdown with Myrth York — not to sign what he might have claimed as a significant reform.
Legislative sessions normally ended with lobbyists trying frantically to move stuck bills while armies of legislators fanned themselves and longed for the final gavel. Behind the scenes, House and Senate leaders wrangled over lists of bills. I never attended one of those exchanges, but I knew a staff member who had. I asked him about the “horse-trading.”
“ ‘Horse-trading?’ ” He guffawed. “It’s hostage-taking.”
Our search for compromise on downsizing the General Assembly, raising members’ compensation, and ending legislative pensions seemed fruitless. Rumors flew among lobbyists that House and Senate leaders were at loggerheads about other bills and might simply adjourn.
Patience was running thin when Jack Revens waved me toward the rear door of the Senate and drew me into a windowless conference room. He said the best compromise we could get would cut the Senate to 38 and the House to 75. Both would stay with two-year terms. “It’s not what I’d like,” Revens said, “and I have no assurance it will pass on the other side. The question is whether you and Gary Sasse will affirm it if we go forward.”
I assured him I would. I knew Sasse was in the building and went to find him.
During the next break, Revens pitched the compromise to the Senate Committee on Special Legislation. “It’s not what we passed back in March,” he said, “but it’s genuine reform. I have assurances that RIPEC and Common Cause and RIght Now! will urge voters to approve it.” He paused. “Who knows if historians will cite this amendment as a major accomplishment of the 1994 session?”
The committee approved, and the full Senate quickly followed for the second time. The compromise resolution went back to the House with an armload of other legislation. Caruolo was on his feet, telling representatives to have a good Fourth of July weekend and come back ready to finish up. “I know some of you have vacation plans, but there’s one matter left of great interest to certain members of this chamber and the public, and that’s a compromise version of the bill we passed four weeks ago about downsizing and raising legislative compensation.”
Groans rose around the chamber. Despite Caruolo’s bluster, he and Harwood had compromised on merit selection of judges, they had backed downsizing recommended by the Blue Ribbon Commission, and they had supported passage of the Common Cause bill to put legislative data online. Now the gruff majority leader gave his exhausted rank-and-file a positive signal about what could still become Ballot Question 2.
After the long holiday weekend, lawmakers returned to finish up. Final versions of the Langevin and Revens amendments had been printed, their numbers listed in long calendars of other bills. As I watched from the gallery Harwood allowed disgruntled representatives to sound off about the ways legislative downsizing would increase the cost of campaigns or weaken the bond between lawmakers and their constituents. After their complaints wound down, representatives reluctantly approved the Senate compromise.
Formal business ended, and farewells began. The first class of Rhode Island legislators elected in the wake of RISDIC reminisced about their work together, wished each other well in fall campaigns, and said goodbye to those who were not seeking re-election.
I had known for a month that merit selection of all Rhode Island judges would be Question 1 on the November ballot. Now our proposal for downsizing the House to 75 and the Senate to 38 — compromised but worthy — would appear as Question 2. Reporters in the rotunda asked me what difference this amendment on legislative size and pay might make. I replied that it would provide “a leaner, fairly paid, and hopefully better informed legislative body that will be more accountable to the people.” Even if voters approved, the downsizing would take effect eight years in the future, in 2002. “We need to recognize that reform doesn’t happen overnight,” I said. “It’s a long, slow process of generations rather than weeks or legislative sessions.”
Outside, rain had left the marble balustrades glistening. Century-old cobblestones felt smooth and slippery under foot. All had been new when the State House was built between 1896 and 1901. Since then, through more than ninety years, voters had kept rejecting pay raises for their senators and representatives. Would voters again refuse to raise legislative salaries? Would they balk at health care for part-time legislators? Would union leaders campaign against downsizing? What if bitter voters simply rejected Question 2?
H. Philip West Jr. served from 1988 to 2006 as executive director of Common Cause Rhode Island. SECRETS & SCANDALS: Reforming Rhode Island, 1986-2006, chronicles major government reforms during those years.
He helped organize coalitions that led in passage of dozens of ethics and open government laws and five major amendments to the Rhode Island Constitution, including the 2004 Separation of Powers Amendment.
West hosted many delegations from the U.S. State Department’s International Visitor Leadership Program that came to learn about ethics and separation of powers. In 2000, he addressed a conference on government ethics laws in Tver, Russia. After retiring from Common Cause, he taught Ethics in Public Administration to graduate students at the University of Rhode Island.
Previously, West served as pastor of United Methodist churches and ran a settlement house on the Bowery in New York City. He helped with the delivery of medicines to victims of the South African-sponsored civil war in Mozambique and later assisted people displaced by Liberia’s civil war. He has been involved in developing affordable housing, day care centers, and other community services in New York, Connecticut, and Rhode Island.
West graduated, Phi Beta Kappa, from Hamilton College in Clinton, N.Y., received his masters degree from Union Theological Seminary in New York City, and published biblical research he completed at Cambridge University in England. In 2007, he received an honorary Doctor of Laws degree from Rhode Island College.
Since 1965 he has been married to Anne Grant, an Emmy Award-winning writer, a nonprofit executive, and retired United Methodist pastor. They live in Providence and have two grown sons, including cover illustrator Lars Grant-West.
This electronic version of SECRETS & SCANDALS: Reforming Rhode Island, 1986-2006 omits notes, which fill 92 pages in the printed text.
Related Slideshow: Rhode Island’s History of Political Corruption
Related Articles
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter One
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Two
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Three
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Four
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Five
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Six
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Seven
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Eight
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Nine
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Ten
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Nine
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Eleven
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Twelve
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Thirteen
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 16
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Fourteen
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 15
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 20
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 19
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 21
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 22
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 23
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 18
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 17
- Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 24
