THE INEVITABLE

For Connecticut residents eying their state government, a pattern has developed that has become all too familiar. A respected elected official finds himself in a mess of trouble with the law.
The pol goes through a tortured process of denial, anger, apologies, regret and finally, the inevitable—resignation.

The latest example is State Sen. Louis DeLuca (R-Woodbury) who pleaded guilty last June to a misdemeanor charge of threatening. DeLuca had dealings with James Galante, a Danbury-area trash hauler now under federal indictment because of a racketeering scheme with alleged ties to organized crime.

Upset because he believed his granddaughter was being abused by her husband, DeLuca agreed to have Galante "have someone pay him a visit" according to documents. Those same documents indicate DeLuca rejected a bribe set up as a test by an undercover FBI agent, but never reported the incident until questioned later by federal authorities. The feds say DeLuca told the undercover agent he was already looking out for Galante's interests, ready to do "anything, within my power, that I can do."

The relationship between DeLuca and Galante, whom DeLuca believed was "on the fringes" of organized crime, triggered a State Senate inquiry with an eye to possible official reprimand, censure, or outright expulsion from the Senate.

As the inquiry panel, the Bipartisan Committee of Review, pored through official documents and sought new information, many at the State Capitol hoped DeLuca would spare everyone (including his family) and simply resign—but he repeatedly refused to do so.

For Connecticut, it was "déjà vu all over again," the same pattern of resistance exhibited by former Republican Gov. John Rowland, and former Democratic State Sen. Ernest Newton when they faced corruption inquiries.

As a State House impeachment probe bore down on Rowland, the then governor was asked if he'd given new consideration to stepping down. Rowland, who previously had admitted that he'd lied about gifts from lobbyists and state contractors, now suddenly told reporters that he had no reason to consider quitting.

Newton, under federal investigation for bribery and steering state bonding money, at first reacted to the negative spotlight by simply stepping down from chairmanship of the legislature's Public Safety Committee, insisting he would clear his name.

DeLuca appeared before the Committee of Review and wavered about answering detailed questions under oath but insisting "I did not and do not have a corrupt relationship with Mr. Galante."

Critics called it arrogance as Rowland, Newton, and DeLuca clung to their elected posts, yet each man believed he could survive the negative jackpot he'd fallen into. In the end, each man resigned his office, a result many viewed as inevitable.

For Rowland, Newton, and DeLuca the pressure of scandal deepened. Escape routes did not materialize.

Rowland faced impeachment, not to mention the more ominous threat of federal prosecution. Newton's arrest on corruption charges was rumored daily. DeLuca faced the release of additional federal evidence that may have been damaging and the likelihood of a Senate vote to expel him.

So each man chose to resign. Why? When the options you have are all bad, resignation offers an odd measure of comfort.

Stepping down from elected office on your own gives disgraced politicians a chance to exit on their own terms. Why wait for someone else in power to drop the guillotine?

In 2004, Rowland announced his resignation in a speech delivered "live" on TV from the garden of the Governor's Executive Residence in Hartford. Rowland made his remarks and turned away. Only "pool" reporters attended, and no questions were allowed.

In 2005, the often outspoken Newton, stood outside Bridgeport City Hall and let loose a resignation speech, boldly telling supporters and media: "I have been the Moses of my people and all I've ever asked for is to let justice be served, but I couldn't even get justice." Soon after Newton pleaded guilty to corruption charges, but when he resigned—he did it his way.

Last week, DeLuca waited until minutes before the State Senate was due to take a vote that could have paved the way to his expulsion, before calling a news conference to step down.

He praised past and present politicians he had worked with—but he very noticeably left out mention of any current state senators, including fellow Republicans, who stood near him in the news conference room. DeLuca exclaimed one more time that he "did not—ever—violate the public trust." Then he announced his resignation from the Senate, which is effective Nov. 30th.
 

Posted 11/19/07

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