USA Today

Italian suits, Rolex may spell downfall of Torricelli

By Walter Shapiro

So you think you're having a bad week?

Not compared to Sen. Robert Torricelli. The New Jersey Democrat is going through a patch that makes it seem like Sisyphus had it easy and Job was just a complainer. Here's a quick rundown on Torricelli's really bad week:

Sunday: The first-term senator appears on Meet the Press, ostensibly to discuss relations with China. But he ends up being grilled by host Tim Russert about an ongoing federal investigation into the fund-raising practices of his 1996 campaign. Torricelli is forced to concede on the air that, yes, his home was searched by federal agents.

Wednesday morning: The New York Times reports in a front-page story that David Chang, a former Torricelli supporter, has told the government that he gave the senator at least 10 Italian-made suits, a Rolex watch, Tiffany cuff links, an area rug, a 52-inch television set and an unspecified amount of cash. These allegations, if true, violate the Senate ban on gifts worth more than $50.

Wednesday afternoon: Torricelli, whose affection for TV cameras is legendary on Capitol Hill, holds a press event in Newark that even the publicity-obsessed senator wishes that he could have avoided. Reading a prepared statement, Torricelli angrily declares, "To challenge my integrity based on the claims of David Chang is beneath contempt."

Thursday: Under the headline, "Is Torricelli Torched?," the New York Post introduces a new feature, the "Torch-O-Meter." This tabloid fever chart — a reference to the senator's nickname of "the Torch" — points almost all the way toward "Bad News."

Now for the obligatory paragraph of disclaimers. Torricelli has not been charged with any crime, and the accusations against him remain unproven. Chang has pleaded guilty to illegally donating $53,700 to the 1996 Torricelli campaign and is now cooperating with federal investigators. In his Wednesday press statement, Torricelli said angrily, "My reputation is not David Chang's opportunity to get out of jail free."

Whatever the resolution of his legal problems, Torricelli is a senator who has made a career out of flying too close to the sun. He talked openly about running for president in 2008. He flamboyantly dated Bianca Jagger and Patricia Duff, the ex-wives of Mick Jagger and billionaire Ron Perelman. As the chief fundraiser for Senate Democrats for four years, Torricelli spent long evenings in the living rooms of the mega-rich, raising tens of millions from the kind of contributors who don't think twice about writing $50,000 checks to the party.

If Torricelli did accept such illegal gifts as those custom-made suits — and, remember, this is unproven — it says something important about temptation that goes beyond the case of a single New Jersey senator. Prominent politicians who enter public service without large personal fortunes constantly find themselves surrounded and flattered by people whose wealth is reckoned in nine and ten digits. It is hard for a senator, any senator, living on a congressional salary of $145,100 to accept the reality that while he may be a regular on the talk shows, while he may be courted by the president, he is still not rich.

There is a reason why envy is one of the seven deadly sins. It is confusing for a senator who worries about paying college tuition for his children to discuss education policy with someone who has just endowed a building at Harvard. It is seductive for a political leader to spend time with people blessed with their own Gulfstream jets and vacation homes on two continents. It is understandable that a politician might feel tacky attending a fundraiser in his honor at a palatial Fifth Avenue apartment wearing a $500 off-the-rack suit that is revolving on his MasterCard.

What also complicates life for members of Congress is that many of their colleagues get to have it both ways. Each year Roll Call, the Capitol Hill newspaper, runs a list of the 50 wealthiest legislators based on a conservative interpretation of congressional financial disclosures. (Torricelli did not make the cut.) By these calculations, nearly one in 10 members of Congress boast a net worth of $3 million or more.

But even before the Nasdaq crashed, money was not the measure of all things in modern America. Everyone who chooses a life of public service, whether it is teaching in an inner-city high school or running for Congress, makes a conscious trade-off. The price of emotional fulfillment (teaching) or ego gratification (politics) is that you accept an income far below that of someone who, say, owns a chain of dry cleaners. That is the way that society is organized — and anyone uncomfortable with that calculus should find a different way of making a living.

In theory, any legislator who feels underpaid should be out banging the drum for dramatically higher governmental salaries.

But, in reality, such a high-profile crusade is likely to accomplish just one thing: creating a former member of Congress. Any effort to raise congressional salaries, beyond an inflation adjustment, is certain to arouse a firestorm of voter protest in a nation in which a typical family gets by on less than one-third of what lawmakers earn.

So instead the envy festers. Two decades ago in the Abscam scandal, two New Jersey legislators (Sen. Harrison Williams and Rep. Frank Thompson) went to prison because they could not resist bribe offers from FBI agents masquerading as Arab sheiks. Torricelli's current legal torment does not demonstrate that these ethical questions are unique to New Jersey's political culture. Rather, it reminds us what could happen anywhere when temptation crosses paths with a politician filled with overly developed illusions of entitlement.

-- Anonymous, April 20, 2001