Like a glowering gnome, his eyes smoldering with hate for his enemies, Martin Sweeney lurks on the Plain Dealer's front page today. The paper looks gleeful at a chance to kick the hapless ex-city council president one last time.
Sweeney has ended his presidency with a final indulgence, and the file photo makes him look furious to be caught out.
Totally unsurprisingly, Sweeney retired for a few days to collect his pension -- the same cheesy double-dip he allowed Ken Johnson to pull last year. Then he rejoins council on Monday for another four years.
There ought to be a law against elected officials' week-long fake retirements, but there isn't. Double-dipping drains government pension systems of cash and credibility (take a look at Detroit to see how that ends). Yet Cleveland councilpeople have just made double-dipping even more a part of their insular culture, restoring double-dippers' ceremonial seniority honors. They meant to come back, council explains. Everyone knows their retirements are fake.
I still can't figure out how Sweeney lasted eight years as council president. He survived a sexual harassment allegation. He dodged multiple ethical questions arising from his friendships with Cuyahoga County corruption scandal figures. He never turned over those receipts for the work that Michael Forlani's company did on his house. He never explained the relationship between Forlani's fundraising for his council leadership fund and the contractor's wiretapped boast that he could count on 14 votes from the council majority.
Last year, Sweeney's ruthless gerrymandering backfired. His old majority too slim for comfort after the November election, he delivered a score-settling farewell and handed off the presidency.
"Let's move on," says Kevin J. Kelley, the council president-elect, "and deal with the vacant housing problem [and] the gun violence epidemic." Sounds good.
Update, 3 pm: Speaking of Kelley, he scolded council members at a retreat today to show up for meetings and pay attention. But many councilpeople weren't there to hear it -- they skipped the optional meeting. Cleveland.com says only 9 of the 17 council members came, though Joe Cimperman is also tweeting from it, so let's say 10.
Kelley said committee chairpersons and vice-chairs often ignore the mayor's cabinet members when they testify. “One of my personal pet peeves is when the chair is off talking to someone else or checking email, while the director is addressing the group and looking around for someone to make eye contact with,” he said. No kidding!
Last Tuesday, the day after Cleveland City Council voted to un-retire colleague Ken Johnson and enable his double-dip, cleveland.com flashed this headine:
Two hours later, Councilman Joe Cimperman tweeted this:
I followed Cimperman's link to the lyrics of "Some Nights" by Fun -- an angsty pop hit that, in my fevered imagination, became a councilman's tormented lament at being strong-armed into a taxpayer-wrath-inducing vote by a council president whose links to corruption defendants keep embarrassing City Hall:
Oh, Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for oh
What do I stand for? What do I stand for?
Most nights I don't know anymore
Oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, oh...
So this is it. I sold my soul for this?
Washed my hands of that for this?
I miss my mom and dad for this?
"Rough week to be a Cleveland city councilman, judging by these lyrics," I retweeted.
Cimperman, the tweetiest pol in town, answered in a half-hour. In 140 characters, he managed to explain that he'd actually spent the evening at a meeting about the Inner Belt in Tremont, which reminded him of how Tremont had been home to a Civil War camp, which reminded him of the video to "Some Nights":
It does have a very Civil-War Gothic vibe. And considering Cimperman's manic, beatific Twitter feed, regularly filled with Jesuit mysticism and patriotic rapture, his wild explanation actually makes sense.
So it's all me. I was just imagining how a councilman ought to feel after walking the double-dip plank for Martin Sweeney.
==
Cleveland City Council is an ancient, self-absorbed institution with peculiar rules even more undemocratic than a U.S. Senate filibuster. Sweeney, the council president, drove those rules to a new low last week.
Follow me, now: A city councilman "in good standing" can appoint his successor. Decisions about council membership are subject to the "unit rule," which requires everyone in a legislative caucus or convention delegation to show support for the majority's decision.
Then last week, the "right" to name your successor became Ken Johnson's "right" to retire and reappoint himself, and collect a pension and a salary at the same time, and preserve cost-of-living pension
increases that won't apply to future retirees, and have all of city
council approve his double dip. All 19 city council members caucus with the Democrats, so Sweeney expected the vote to be unanimous.
Some councilpeople really, truly disagree with the idea that government
pensions should go to public employees who've, you know, stopped working.
City councilpeople are all public employees, see. They're outraged that
the state changed the pension rules so quickly on Johnson, and on them.
Fairness to their own tribe preoccupies them. Fairness to taxpayers,
not so much.
Others, like Cimperman, voted reluctantly for Johnson's double-dip, fearing Sweeney's
punishments, including hostile gerrymandering. Ward lines are being redrawn to eliminate two councilpeople this year. So the no voters on Johnson's double-dip -- Dona Brady, Brian Cummins, and Mike Polensek (a double-dipper himself) are now the most likely to lose council's game of musical chairs.
Watching this all happen, I marvel at Sweeney's continued ability to whip votes and hold onto his job as council president. To an outsider, he hardly looks like a strong leader. New City Hall initiatives seem to come from Mayor Frank Jackson or from creative councilmen such as Cimperman or Matt Zone. And Sweeney's name keeps coming up a little too often for comfort in prosecutors' accounts of the Cuyahoga County corruption scandal.
==
Last week in court, the feds played a five-year-old wiretap of crooked contractor Michael Forlani claiming he'd funneled $20,000 to Sweeney's Council Leadership Fund. Forlani cynically calculated that the cash might've bought him several votes.
The council leadership fund is another tool a council president uses to reward allies and punish enemies. Its funds are dispersed to loyal councilpeople running for re-election. Forlani may have been talking out of his ass, bragging about juice he didn't really have -- but it's at least plausible that a contractor could buy influence and legislation by contributing to the council leadership fund. It would work if (I'm talking theoretically here) the contractor had a council president willing to twist arms on his behalf. And if the money was passed through intermediaries, regular councilpeople might not even know why they were being told to vote a certain way. Their votes could be effectively bought without them knowing it.
So if I were a councilperson, the insinuation dropped by Forlani in that wiretap would infuriate me. I
would want to hear an explanation from Sweeney, a straight denial that
Forlani had arranged with him for donations to the fund in exchange for any sort of
understanding. Instead, Sweeney's been very tight with his no-comments.
Sweeney's name has come up in federal subpoenas. It came up a few times at last year's Jimmy Dimora trial. In one wiretap, Sweeney told Dimora he'd helped answer Ferris Kleem's questions
about an airport contract. (Kleem was one of the underwriters of
Dimora's famed Vegas romp.) Sweeney made a mysterious appearance
in the Dimora case closing argument, when the prosecutors included him in a 20-person pyramid of key players. Most entertainingly, J. Kevin Kelley testified that Dimora's
cronies considered Sweeney part of their "B Team," but not their "A Team."
After all that, it's easy to wonder how Sweeney manages to hold onto the council
presidency. Once-mighty politicians such as Bill Mason
and Dean DePiero have seen their careers cut short by peripheral
connections to the scandal, but Sweeney's presidency motors along. One
outraged local writer wants us to sign a petition calling on Sweeney
to step down until his name is cleared.
There's just one problem: Cleared how? Cleared of what? No one can quite say. Sweeney hasn't been accused or implicated in any wrongdoing. Watchdogging the powerful is important, but so is avoiding guilt by association. [Update, 1/17:The petition has been rewritten to call for an ethics investigation, and for Sweeney to recuse himself from voting on contracts until it's finished.]
Forlani's brag could be based on a misunderstanding. Contractor Steve Pumper testified last week that Forlani was trying to help Pumper resolve a court case of his, but the settlement didn't actually need council's approval. Sweeney's calls on Kleem's behalf may have just helped Kleem navigate red tape without anything in return ("You can take credit," Sweeney tells Dimora on the wiretap). Even being dubbed a member of Dimora's "B Team" may be a character witness of sorts -- yeah, we hung out with the guy, but we didn't share the take with him.
Just because Sweeney is the feds' Public Official 7 doesn't mean he did anything wrong. Those code numbers are meant to protect the unindicted, not brand them. To see the problem, consider Public Official 14, Ed FitzGerald.
==
Last week, an FBI agent mentioned FitzGerald, too, as a recipient of funneled Forlani money. Suddenly, just as FitzGerald was ramping up to run for governor, he faced a serious threat: a campaign contribution in the name of a guy he says he didn't even know. Rather than let a stray mention shake up a governor's race, chief corruption prosecutor Ann Rowland issued an unusual public exoneration:
Ed FitzGerald is not a target of the investigation... We have no evidence Ed FitzGerald knew Michael Forlani
had anything to do with these contributions.
Rowland did not extend the same courtesy to Sweeney. Does that mean something? Or was the agent's mention of FitzGerald (himself a former FBI agent) simply an especially out-of-control example of several careless, career-damaging name-drops flying off the edges of the corruption investigation?
If the feds had something on Sweeney, they'd likely have charged him by now. Their investigation focused on 2008, and it's 2013. The statute of limitations, five years for the major federal corruption law, is about to run out.
==
Still, there's corruption, then there's bad government. Federal prosecutors' sentencing memo for Forlani reused a classic quote from convicted former councilwoman Sabra Pierce Scott, who pleaded guilty to taking bribes to help Forlani with the VA expansion project in University Circle.
At a 2006 council committee meeting, Zack Reed questioned whether the VA project was using enough minority workers. Pierce Scott responded with this gem:
How dare you use your own approach to question a project in my ward without having a discussion with me first. You are out of line. And you will not continue to come to this table and get in other people’s ward business. I do not appreciate it and if you’ve got a problem with this project you should have said something to me. You have no right to sit here and question them. You don’t understand what it takes to get this done. And you’re wrong. I don’t appreciate it. And you’re not going to sit here and build a reputation off of me. I don’t mess with your projects and don’t you mess with mine.
The feds quoted Pierce Scott's attack because it was bought and paid for by Forlani's protection money. But Pierce Scott was actually explaining the regular rules of business at Cleveland City Council. Her tongue-lashing of Reed was part of a hallowed council tradition.
The late Fannie Lewis once did the same to Cimperman, calling him a "judas goat" for questioning a building project in Hough. Daring to ask a policy question about a project in someone else's ward is an outrage in city council's arcane, undemocratic world.
Those old, unwritten rules are the real reason to hope for a change in leadership at city council. When is someone going to open those creaky, cobwebbed windows and let some sunlight in?
Now we know why the Port Authority got hit with a subpoena
about its parking deal with the Cleveland Browns. Federal prosecutors think
Robert Peto, a member of the Port Authority board, was bribed by
corruption-scandal defendant Michael Forlani. They suggest that Forlani
used his ties to Peto to try to extort a higher price for flat-screen TVs out
of the Browns.
The feds’ new court filing is a fun read for all the F-bombs
Forlani drops. (More on that in a minute.) But it’s also relevant because the
port is asking for a big new levy on the Nov. 6 ballot. It’s hard for a public
agency to ask for more money when someone in its leadership is under federal
investigation. (Just ask the Parma schools.)
Peto’s lawyer says he didn’t extort the Browns,
has been a good board member, and isn't resigning. But Peto doesn’t have to resign. His term
ran out in January. He’s only serving on the port board until Cuyahoga County
Executive Ed FitzGerald names his replacement.
If FitzGerald wants the port levy to pass, he’d be wise to
nominate someone to the port board to replace Peto and get council to approve him or her, fast.
Yet despite his eagerness to put a stamp on the county government, FitzGerald
hasn’t moved fast to assert himself at the port. Maybe it hasn’t been a priority for him because the city of
Cleveland controls six seats on the port board and Cuyahoga County only three.
Last year, it took him until fall to pick Chris Ronayne to fill a seat open since
January. Maybe it’s hard to find good people for the port board.
But Peto’s
been identifiable as PE61 in prosecutors’ filings for months now. (On one tape, Forlani reportedly calls Peto "Hoffa.") He was forced out of his leadership job at the local carpenter’s union last year. After 20
months in office, you’d think FitzGerald would fast-track this talent search.
For more detail, let’s go to the prosecutor's filing. (These aren't formal charges, but a "bill of particulars" giving Forlani's lawyers more detail about the prosecution's case. Peto isn't named and isn't formally charged with a crime.)
Public Employee 61
(“PE61”) used his official positions as (1) a member of the Cleveland-Cuyahoga
County Port Authority (“Port Authority”), (2) the Executive Secretary-Treasurer
of the Ohio and Vicinity Regional Council of Carpenters (“OVRCC”) ... to benefit
FORLANI
This description matches Peto.
15. FORLANI,
Doan Pyramid Electric, and Neteam AVI gave and offered to give PE61 things of
value, including free and discounted home improvements and materials,
discounted vehicles, and personal services, in return and in exchange for PE61
using and promising to use his official position with the Port Authority,
OVRCC, and ERISA funds to benefit FORLANI and his designees.
Home improvements again! Yes, Forlani is a Jimmy Dimora-style corruption defendant. They were even indicted together.
D.
Cleveland Browns Extortion
18. In or around
2008, the Cleveland Browns had an agreement with the Port Authority to lease
parking space in close proximity to Cleveland Browns stadium...
19. In or
around 2008, the Cleveland Browns were considering a number of improvements to
Cleveland Browns stadium. One project under consideration was upgrading to
high-definition televisions in the suites. FORLANI was negotiating the contract
price with the Cleveland Browns.
20. When the
Cleveland Browns tried to negotiate a lower price, FORLANI told a Cleveland
Browns employee that FORLANI would use his power and influence with the Port
Authority to increase the contract pricefor the Cleveland Browns parking
contract ...
FORLANI then stated, “They f–k with me, you see that parking you guys got next
door at that f—ing Port Authority, you wait and see what f—ing happens.” The
employee responded, “I know that.” FORLANI continued, “You watch that f–king
Port land next door, you’ll guys will be f—ing crying. I’ll tell you that right
now.”
The Cleveland Browns employee replied, “They already had a meeting with
us. And they said we don’t pay enough money . . . Well you could’ve helped us
with that.”
This Browns employee seems to be playing it pretty cool.
FORLANI
answered, “Oh sure, I can make it two things [] either, you could, the amount
you’re pay’n’s okay, or the amount that you’re payin’ is like half of what it’s
gonna be.”
FORLANI also
told the Cleveland Browns employee, “I can’t tell you how much f—ing trouble I
can cause. That f—ing port. That Port Authority. I can make it so f—ing bad you
can’t imagine.”
Next, the feds say, Forlani calls Peto.
FORLANI updated PE61 on the television
project. FORLANI said, “Let me tell you, they start f—ing with you down at that
parking lot, [PE61], I want you to stick it up their f—ing a– so they know why
not to f–k with the good guys in town.”
PE61 replied, “Well, I agree. Like I
said, I’m ready to pull the f—ing parking.”
22.
Approximately ten minutes later, FORLANI called the same Cleveland
Browns
employee and discussed the proposed television contract price.
FORLANI said,
“I’m gonna tell you right now, they’re gonna get f—ed on that parking. I can’t
even explain it to you.”
The employee
replied, “Well don’t worry, he’s gonna find out about that tomorrow”...
Update, 8/15: FitzGerald has sent a letter to Peto asking him to resign, says this Plain Dealer editorial -- which also points out that the county executive and council can replace Peto anytime they want.
The corruption investigation has touched Cleveland City Hall again. Former councilwoman Sabra Pierce Scott was charged today with taking $2,000 from businessman Michael Forlani in exchange for supporting his development of Cleveland's new veterans' hospital tower.
The charge suggests Pierce Scott asked for, and got, $2,000 in cash to pay her daughter's tuition as well as a job for her son with Forlani's company Doan Pyramid Electric. In exchange, it's alleged, Pierce Scott co-sponsored several pieces of legislation that supported the veterans' hospital tower, including a tax financing agreement.
I say "suggests" because the filing doesn't name Forlani, who hasn't been charged with a crime, or his companies. But the details about "BE 10," "Business 14," and "Business 42" make his identity clear. It also doesn't name the VA hospital tower, but the references to a $120 million project with Port Authority financing are unmistakable.
The filing also says Pierce Scott chewed out an unnamed fellow councilperson at a 2006 finance committee meeting for questioning the amount of minority participation on the hospital project.
"How dare you use your own approach to question a project in my ward without having a discussion with me first," the prosecutors quote her as saying. "I don't mess with your projects and don't you mess with mine."
Sounds like a typical city council turf war, if not for the alleged cash in an envelope! (Update, 9/30: Zack Reed tells the Plain Dealer he's the councilman Pierce Scott ripped into. That makes sense. Reed often pushes for minority participation in construction jobs, and he often breaks the unofficial council rule Pierce Scott so clearly articulated in the quote, that councilpeople don't question what goes on in others' wards.)
Prosecutors filed the charge against Pierce Scott as an information, not an indictment, usually a sign that the defendant is cooperating with the investigation.
The charge finally brings to light a quiet part of the FBI's corruption investigation. The VA project was named three years ago in a search warrant executed on Jimmy Dimora's office. Forlani's Doan Pyramid Electric was raided on the same day. But no county employee was ever charged with improperly influencing the VA project. Instead, a former city councilwoman is now charged with doing so.
Like a glowering gnome, his eyes smoldering with hate for his enemies, Martin Sweeney lurks on the Plain Dealer's front page today. The paper looks gleeful at a chance to kick the hapless ex-city council president one last time.
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