Backstory: Corruption, past and present

By Michael Green

Pundits and politicians around here often thump their chests about the important role that ethics and corruption play in elections and policymaking. It should be the only thing they agree on, and they can't even agree on that.

The recent primary is only one example. County Commissioner Mary Kincaid-Chauncey (15 years on the North Las Vegas City Council, eight on the commission) and Assemblyman Wendell Williams (two decades in office) fell like lead balloons.

Their defeats--and, in her case, the size of it, exemplified by her third-place primary finish--surprised some. After all, Southern Nevada voters forgive corruption, or so the argument goes. Did she take money from strip club owners, or ask one of them to comp lap dances for her son? Did Williams take city paychecks while at the Legislature and think he ran the community college? And what if they did? What do you expect in Sin City?

Contrary to popular belief, their defeats don't mean a new day has dawned. Voters did what they always have done: forgive politicians if they don't violate their trust with them, and disembowel those who do.

Las Vegas once was a small town, and in many ways it's still Mayberry on neon steroids. The first mayor, Peter Buol, invested in numerous companies, as did his partners, who were tied to the bank, the power company and the railroad that ran the town. His successors included the owner of a movie theater and insurance business, an engineer and real estate developer, a furniture store owner--businessmen who knew other businessmen and whose votes might directly or indirectly help themselves.

Other council members ranged from bankers to car dealers. The County Commission was no different. A couple of insurance agents on one board wrote policies for hotels they regulated. Another commissioner ran an ad agency. Clients and colleagues came before all of them.

Was this corrupt? Yes and no. To recuse yourself from dealing with anyone you knew meant recusing yourself out of existence. Conflicts of interest were inevitable, and blatant ones duly noted. Voting for friends was fine--if residents suffered no ill effects.

But voters never accepted corruption that stole their money or violated their trust. And usually, the accused--guilty or not--step aside rather than face the voters. In the 1950s, a sheriff and county commissioner caught on tape taking bribes bailed out--fast. Then-Lt. Gov. Cliff Jones allegedly bragged about his influence and suggested Meyer Lansky held a hidden interest in the Thunderbird. Jones denied it, but never again pursued elective office, ending a promising electoral career. In 1991, Mayor Ron Lurie didn't seek re-election amid accusations of profiting from land deals based on information he received as a councilman.

Those who choose to face the voters often face the music. Longtime city councilman Al Levy, a real estate man facing similar rumors, ran again and lost. One of his successors, Frank Hawkins, lost a re-election bid after numerous ethical quagmires. So did Michael McDonald, who defeated him.

Former County Commissioners Dario Herrera and Erin Kenny had yet to be indicted in the strip club scandal when he ran for Congress and she ran for lieutenant governor. But both lost big anyway. Many voters saw a pattern and didn't trust them.

Kincaid-Chauncey and Williams fall into that category--and how. Worse, in proclaiming their total innocence, they accused their opponents of vendettas and lies, despite either a lack of evidence or overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Voters don't like to be treated like dolts, although George W. Bush's campaign disproves that daily.

City Councilwoman Janet Moncrief, who ousted McDonald, just pleaded not guilty to fudging her campaign money--charges due partly to testimony from those claiming to have done the fudging for her. Two groups hope to recall her. Guilty or not, she reflects another truism: Those who campaign against corruption better live in a glass house. Hypocrisy may bug voters even more.

That could trouble Mayor Oscar Goodman, who faces ethics questions for helping his sons. A land deal apparently turned on his name appearing on their letterhead. Goodman says it's there only so that lawyers in other cities know of their ties. First, if other lawyers don't know, they aren't paying attention. Granting that Goodman remains more popular with voters than food and water, and that previous complaints against him really have been minor, he's reaching the point of combining disdain, victimization and hypocrisy in one neat package, and it's time he figured that out.

Goodman campaigned on being too rich to be bought off. That doesn't mean he won't help others who want to get rich, such as his children or Councilman Michael Mack, who soon may learn voters dislike elected officials who don't seem to know the difference between ethics and a steak sandwich.

County Commissioner Chip Maxfield presumably knows the difference. But he said his recent departure from his engineering firm removes all ties, and he faces charges that one of his votes in 2001 benefited his company. It doesn't hurt that he's in a Republican district, but he should look out the windows of his glass house: He ousted Lance Malone, implicated in the same scandal as Kincaid-Chauncey and another student who flunked Ethics 101.

Not all voters passed that class. But they know who didn't, they know the difference and they punish the politicians who don't. As much as Las Vegas has changed over the years, that hasn't.