Speaker sets table for fiscal prudence

2 July 2004

Tom Finneran - master of the House, progressive scourge and subject of a federal probe - gives a firm handshake, sits down to lunch and proceeds to charm the hell out of you.

He is witty, talkative, inquisitive and flattering. In a few minutes, you find yourself recounting a story of how you first met your wife. Later, he leans over to you, seeking your advice on the U.S. Patriot Act. MOI? One scrambles to come up with an answer that doesn't seem inane.

This is all part of Finneran's shtick, delivered effortlessly and yet without artifice. It's the stuff that propelled the Mattapan Democrat to chair of Ways and Means in 1991 and then to speaker in 1996. The puzzle of the man, however, is that for all of his personal appeal, his image in the media is far different: arrogant, intellectually overweening, secretive, power-mad and controlling, holding absolute sway over the House and tolerating no dissent.

Inside the Legislature, image issues such as these can often seem irrelevant. But sometimes they do matter, particularly when the feds begin an investigation and - as happened to Finneran - you suddenly find yourself alone, without defenders and with people whispering behind your back that you must be some sort of crook.

In February, a U.S. District Court overturned the House's 2001 redistricting plan and, in a footnote, penned this critical line: "Although Speaker Finneran denied any involvement in the redistricting process, the circumstantial evidence strongly suggests the opposite conclusion." Those words prompted a perjury probe and Finneran found, much to his surprise, that most everyone seemed willing to jump to the conclusion that he had lied. It left him stunned and dejected. He is a man who had always set great store by his personal integrity. Now, it seemed, people were more than willing to believe the worst.

And so he began to fight back. Three months after the court decision, he unveiled a rebuttal. It seemed persuasive, citing frequent examples of testimony where Finneran, in fact (and contrary to the court's footnote), had said he was involved in the redistricting process. And he mounted his own public relations campaign, reaching out to the media and trying, somewhat belatedly, to build up good will.

Hence our lunch.

It comes on the heels of a smattering of positive news stories that already speak to the success of Finneran's efforts. He's in a good mood. The Legislature has just sent a balanced budget to the governor. He's chortling a bit about a bill that would take away from the governor the power to appoint a successor should John Kerry win the presidency. And the initial storm of the investigation has passed; he won't comment on it, but doesn't evince undue worry either.

And so we talk, less about politics and more about him: the nature of leadership, his deep unpopularity, his future and his legacy. It is a curious thing that almost all those who run the Legislature end up the subjects of public disdain, lightning rods for everyone's discontent. Finneran believes it's the nature of the job. Effective leadership in a legislative body requires Machiavellian kinds of skills, tactics that from the outside look manipulative and underhanded. The more effective one is at managing the body - and Finneran, without question, is one of the most effective ever - the worse the public perception.

Still, as Finneran acknowledges, there's more to it than that. Finneran has a strong personal agenda, and, whether it's opposing gay marriage or denying state funds for a new football stadium, he's not shy about pushing it. Most significantly, when voters in 1998 passed the Clean Elections Act, Finneran did everything he could to stop it, finally succeeding in 2003. He's unapologetic about that - he thought it a foolish law - yet knows that the public vilification he received did him significant damage.

How bad? He mulled running for mayor of Boston, but regards it as impossible - he's too unpopular and couldn't win. And so he looks to something nonpolitical: law perhaps, president of a university or something in the nonprofit world. Perhaps, after a stint of what would amount to rehabilitation, he could come back into electoral politics, but not until then.

All of which raises the question: How long does Finneran remain? A short while ago, at the beginning of the federal probe, rumors of furtive campaigns to succeed him surfaced. Those have died down now. Today Finneran has a new priority. For years, he has almost personified fiscal rectitude in the commonwealth, creating the state's Rainy Day Fund. Now he looks for a way to institutionalize his financial prudence and is pushing a constitutional amendment that does just that. Soon to be voted upon, its prospects look good. At best, however, it doesn't become law until voter approval in 2006. For those wondering how long Finneran sticks around, that's a good date to keep in mind.