Louisiana's fatigue builds for rogue politicians

NEW ORLEANS -- Joseph Impastato conceded that he took the two cashier's checks worth $85,000. The whole thing was captured on tape by the FBI, so it would have been difficult to deny.

But it was no kickback, the councilor from St. Tammany Parish said. It was business. When he cut a deal to receive half the money from a government contract to haul away hurricane debris, Impastato said, he was acting as a private businessman, not a public official.

Federal prosecutors are not buying it -- and neither, apparently, is the Louisiana public. After a federal grand jury indicted Impastato on felony extortion charges last month, making him the first Louisiana politician accused of Hurricane Katrina corruption, citizens condemned him in newspapers and on talk radio and the Internet as an embarrassment to his home state.

''He's got to be a real lowlife to do something like that at a time like this," Frank White, a 62-year-old retired fire captain from the suburb of Chalmette, said in an interview. ''It's the Louisiana way of doing business, I guess. But there is a quiet majority now that's sick and tired of this. People are fed up with these crooks."

In Louisiana, which has a history of political shenanigans so rich and colorful that it has become a part of American folklore, people have long laughed off misbehaving politicians as a fact of life, every bit as inevitable as death and taxes.

But as the state lobbies Washington for more money to rebuild ravaged towns and cities, citizens are realizing that Louisiana's well-earned penchant for dirty politics has exacted a steep price: It has damaged the credibility of the recovery effort.

''Frankly, the reputation in Washington is, if we send money down there, it will just get stolen," said political handicapper Charles E. Cook, a Louisiana native who has worked in the nation's capital for more than three decades. ''It is a caricature of Louisiana politics that is not entirely undeserved but is grossly exaggerated. No one cared about it much before Katrina. But right now, it's hurting the state enormously."

A major turning point in public attitude came in 2001 when Edwin Edwards, the former four-term Democratic governor, received a 10-year sentence for taking bribes for riverboat gambling licenses. In the last governor's race, both candidates -- Democrat Kathleen Babineaux Blanco beat Republican Bobby Jindal -- were considered squeaky clean and promised government reforms. The distaste for dirty government has really picked up momentum since last summer.

''What was tolerated before Katrina is not necessarily tolerated now," said pollster Silas Lee III, a professor at Xavier University in New Orleans. ''Nerves are raw. People have lost their sense of security and direction. They are living a day-to-day existence, and they have little patience for any politician who is perceived as being corrupt."

Impastato's trial is scheduled to begin next month. He pleaded not guilty Jan. 10 to federal charges that he extorted money from a businessman after helping him land a contract to remove debris. He declined to discuss the case.

In addition to Edwards, in the last decade Louisiana has seen an attorney general, a member of Congress, a state Senate president, a federal judge, and countless local officials convicted of corruption. Louisiana's last three state insurance commissioners wound up in prison for offenses that include lying to the FBI, accepting $2 million in illegal campaign contributions, and taking bribes -- prompting jokes that future candidates should make sure they look good in stripes.

Jim Letten, the US attorney for eastern Louisiana and the lead prosecutor in the Edwards case, sees the convictions as a sign of progress. Wherever he goes, he said, he is greeted by people who tell him Louisiana needs to clean up its act. ''I am not sure that Louisiana has measurably more corruption than other [regions], but surely we have a reputation for being tolerant of it," he said.

Until recently, Louisiana politicians proved charisma trumped scruples. Even now, some Louisianians say they could stomach crooked politicians -- if they are competent. ''I'll tell you what, I'd take Edwin Edwards in a minute to get us out of this mess," said Gid Brill, 65, a tool salesman from Belle Chasse. ''He might skim off $10 million for himself, but he'd know what to do with the rest of the money."