Secrets and Scandals: Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 29

Monday, September 21, 2015

H. Philip West Jr.

Between 1986 and 2006, Rhode Island ran a gauntlet of scandals that exposed corruption and aroused public rage. Protesters marched on the State House. Coalitions formed to fight for systemic changes. Under intense public pressure, lawmakers enacted historic laws and allowed voters to amend defects in the state’s constitution.

Since colonial times, the legislature had controlled state government. Governors were barred from making many executive appointments, and judges could never forget that on a single day in 1935 the General Assembly sacked the entire Supreme Court.

Without constitutional checks and balances, citizens suffered under single party control. Republicans ruled during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; Democrats held sway from the 1930s into the twenty-first century. In their eras of unchecked control, both parties became corrupt.

GET THE LATEST BREAKING NEWS HERE -- SIGN UP FOR GOLOCAL FREE DAILY EBLAST

H Philip West's SECRETS & SCANDALS tells the inside story of events that shook Rhode Island’s culture of corruption, gave birth to the nation’s strongest ethics commission, and finally brought separation of powers in 2004. No single leader, no political party, no organization could have converted betrayals of public trust into historic reforms. But when citizen coalitions worked with dedicated public officials to address systemic failures, government changed.

Three times—in 2002, 2008, and 2013—Chicago’s Better Government Association has scored state laws that promote integrity, accountability, and government transparency. In 50-state rankings, Rhode Island ranked second twice and first in 2013—largely because of reforms reported in SECRETS & SCANDALS.

Each week, GoLocalProv will be running a chapter from SECRETS & SCANDALS: Reforming Rhode Island, 1986-2006, which chronicles major government reforms that took place during H. Philip West's years as executive director of Common Cause of Rhode Island. The book is available from the local bookstores found HERE.

Part 3
SEPARATION OF POWERS 1

29 

A Question of Ethics 1995–98 

The Rhode Island Supreme Court had twice affirmed the Ethics Commission’s authority to write ethics rules for all public officials, but the old order had not changed. During 1994, legislative assaults had morphed into a bureaucratic siege against the commission’s budgets, personnel, and office. 

Martin F. Healey, the panel’s new executive director, never cringed. He had the look of an altar boy and spoke in a clear tenor. After stints as assistant U.S. Attorney in San Francisco and Boston, he had worked for the Massachusetts attorney general. Healey had come to the Rhode Island Ethics Commission while Sara Quinn was in charge, and when she resigned to run for attorney general he became acting director. In August 1994, he negotiated the settlement of an ethics complaint Quinn had filed against John Harwood, who paid $5,000 in fines but did not confess wrongdoing. The settlement was paltry but was the closest any speaker had ever come to being held accountable for conflicts of interest. 

Three months later, the commission hired Healey as executive director, but a new barrier loomed: the Supreme Court’s Committee on Character and Fitness stalled his application to practice law in Rhode Island. Lawyers on the committee blocked him for more than a year, and the chief clerk acknowledged that few attorneys from other states had to wait more than six weeks. 

Meanwhile, the State Properties Committee, which had been the venue for corrupt leases during the DiPrete and RISDIC scandals, still obstructed a new office lease. Two legislators on the panel — Rep. Vincent Mesolella and Sen. John McBurney — quibbled endlessly over technicalities, insisting they only wanted to get it right. Other lawmakers used the Unclassified Pay Plan Board to block new hires and delay routine pay raises. Though the Ethics Commission had no moat or castle walls, the bureaucratic siege threatened everything it tried to do. 

Early in 1995, though Healey lacked staff and had no permanent office space, he urged the nine-member commission to begin a systematic review of state ethics rules. Two Supreme Court advisory opinions had affirmed the commission’s constitutional authority to adopt ethics rules for all government officials. In fact, no ethics agency in the United States possessed such broad powers to legislate, investigate, and prosecute public officials. Healey began researching remedies that had already been enacted in other states, typically in the wake of scandal, and he told the commission, “Lessons they learned the hard way we can apply as prophylactic measures.” 

When Lincoln Almond became governor in January 1995, he issued an executive order requiring subordinates to pledge that they would never use public service for private gain or misuse confidential information. He suggested that the Ethics Commission launch its public hearings at the State House and, after barely a month in office, he testified before the panel: “The people and our Constitution have assigned to you the role of making the law, interpreting the law, and enforcing the law.” 

With the General Assembly refusing to budge on separation of powers bills, the Common Cause state board decided to ask the Ethics Commission about the inherent conflicts of legislators on quasi-public boards. In May 1995, I delivered a fateful proposal to Marty Healey’s desk with a cover memo that noted: “Nothing in the current code prohibits individuals from dual office-holding, even where that creates impropriety or a severe appearance of impropriety.” I attached packets of correspondence, court decisions, columns, newspaper articles, and bills. 

A few days later Rae Condon, who had rotated off the Common Cause board, phoned me. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said. “The Ethics Commission is politically vulnerable. You’re piling on an enormous burden.” 

I told her we assumed the question would wind up before the state Supreme Court, just as the previous questions of the commission’s authority had. 

“But what if the court rules against you? Or worse, what if you hand the General Assembly their chance to crush the commission?” 

The next morning our board president, Cathy Speer, told me Condon had phoned her. “She thinks we’ve made a mistake that could harm the commission,” Speer said. A military wife for forty years, she had lived on bases in many states. “I think in their heart of hearts, legislative leaders know that the separation of powers is right. They say separation of powers functions differently in Rhode Island, but they’re just clinging to power. If the legislature won’t create a forum where Rhode Island can discuss abuses of power, maybe the Ethics Commission will.” 

 

Over several months Marty Healey and his staff culled strong provisions from ethics laws enacted after scandals in Hawaii, Illinois, Louisiana, Maine, South Carolina, and Texas. Other possible new rules came from states as diverse as Alaska, Florida, and New Hampshire. Commission members lugged around loose-leaf binders thick with photocopied laws and draft regulations. 

One new regulation proposed to eliminate the quid pro quo requirement that the Supreme Court had used to absolve DiPrete of the Tutela violation and its related $15,000 fines. Another would bar public officials from soliciting subordinates for their charities. In a pending case, for example, Workers’ Compensation Court Chief Judge Robert Arrigan had solicited lawyers representing clients in his courtroom for contributions to his wife’s favorite charity. 

A new gift rule aimed to prevent public officials — from the governor down to a cop on the beat — from accepting “anything of value,” including political contributions, “in exchange for being influenced in the performance of any official act.” Healey explained that this “zero-tolerance” gift rule would be one of the most stringent in the nation. A related section proposed to stop public officials from accepting honoraria for speeches related to their official duties. Other prohibitions outlawed personal use of government equipment, vehicles, telephones, and frequent flyer miles. 

Another would broaden existing anti-nepotism rules to stop public officials from shoehorning their live-in partners onto the public payroll. It would add a definition of “household members” to the existing list of family members related public officials by the legal ties of birth, adoption, or marriage.

Our memo about the inherent conflicts of lawmakers who served on executive and quasi-public boards also made the cut. Healey and his staff developed two options. The first recognized tacitly that the commission might lack constitutional authority to oust legislators from public and quasi-public boards. It presumed that lawmakers would continue as members but would prohibit them from accepting campaign contributions or “anything of economic value” from vendors who did business with their boards. It also proposed to bar them from voting on legislation involving the agencies where they served. The second and more stringent alternative declared that legislators could not serve on executive or quasi-public boards at all. 

On October 10, 1995, as required by state law, commissioners voted to publish these draft ethics rules for public comment. Their 49-page package was both historic and controversial, and the cumulative effect left me giddy. At one fell swoop, the commission’s new rules would outlaw practices that had spread like crabgrass. Persuading the General Assembly to adopt such rules would have taken decades; by packaging them, the Ethics Commission seized the high ground. I guessed that the new ethics rules would win broad support from citizens fed up with sleaze. 

Not surprisingly, legislators blasted the Ethics Commission for questioning their role on executive boards. When a Providence Journal reporter asked House Judiciary chair Charles Knowles about it, the lawyer fired back: “Who the hell do they think they are?” 

Vincent Mesolella also bristled. “I think they’re exceeding — really exceeding — their authority,” he declared. “I don’t see myself resigning simply because the Ethics Commission says I can’t serve. Unless the Rhode Island Constitution forbids me from doing that, I’m going to serve.” 

 

On a mild November afternoon, Bob Kilmarx and I testified in the Department of Health auditorium that the Ethics Commission — still without its own space — had borrowed. Kilmarx rehearsed the Easton’s Beach case he had litigated a decade earlier: a developer applying to build a time-share hotel on the beach between Newport and Middletown hired House Majority Leader Joe DeAngelis as attorney for the project. Kilmarx described warnings of professional biologists and DeAngelis’s conflict of interest. “Legislative leaders appointed half of the Coastal Council’s members. On the day of the key vote, they all showed up and supported the hotel that DeAngelis represented. Needless to say, it passed.” 

“Mr. Kilmarx?” Richard Morsilli, the commission’s chair, interrupted. “Was that legal?” 

“Not only legal,” Kilmarx replied. “The law establishing the Coastal Council required those legislative appointments.” 

Morsilli’s eyebrows shot up. “Let me be clear about this. The majority leader of the House was representing the developer? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” 

“We thought so,” Kilmarx replied. “One newly elected representative had never before attended a meeting of the CRMC, but he showed up and voted for the project.” 

“And the courts agreed to that?” Morsilli made no effort to hide his astonishment. 

“We appealed to the Superior Court,” Kilmarx replied. “Judge Ronald Lagueux asked the parties to brief the question of whether legislative appointments to the Coastal Council were constitutional. We found a case where the North Carolina Supreme Court had ruled that the Environmental Management Commission was unconstitutional because it had four legislative appointees. We argued that eight legislative appointments made our Coastal Resources Management Council unconstitutional.” Kilmarx clearly relished the retelling. “Judge Lagueux issued an eloquent decision that legislative appointments violated the separation of powers doctrine.” 

“Predictably,” Kilmarx continued, “DeAngelis appealed to the Rhode Island Supreme Court, where all the justices were former legislators chosen by the General Assembly in Grand Committee. Not surprisingly, Chief Justice Thomas Fay wrote for a unanimous court that it was improper for Lagueux to raise separation of powers sua sponte, meaning ‘on his own motion.’ With that technicality, our Supreme Court ducked the underlying constitutional question. It ruled that once the parties submitted themselves to the CRMC’s jurisdiction, they could not challenge its authority.” 

Morsilli asked if Common Cause favored the stricter regulation that would prohibit legislators from even serving on boards with executive duties. 

Kilmarx chose his words carefully. “Gov. Almond has made it clear that he favors the second version, the absolute ban. That’s the question he wishes the Supreme Court to resolve on the merits.” 

“So you think the Rhode Island Supreme Court will ultimately have to decide this matter?” 

“We do,” Kilmarx answered. “The current situation is rife with similar conflicts of interest, and the Supreme Court ruled in 1992 that the Ethics Commission possesses constitutional authority to address such conflicts.” 

“What about the argument that senators and representatives on boards provide legislative oversight?” 

“Members of the General Assembly can get all the information they need by attending meetings or having staff attend. These boards comply with the Open Meetings Law, but having legislators and legislative appointees as voting members creates unresolvable conflicts.” 

“One last question,” Morsilli said. “Will this regulation banning legislators from these quasi-public boards solve the problem?” 

“If the Supreme Court agrees,” Kilmarx said, “it will. I learned early in my legal career not to predict what the court will say.” 

Doug Riggs, a reporter for the Providence Journal, attended the Ethics Commission hearing and went back to our office for a story on the twenty-fifth anniversary of Common Cause. He asked how confident I felt that our approach on separation of powers would work. 

“I believe we’re right on the issue,” I said. “Most other states and the federal government don’t allow legislators to sit on quasi-public boards or administrative agencies. In Rhode Island, it’s routine to have legislators on the Lottery Commission, the Board of Bank Incorporation, the Narragansett Bay Commission — the list goes on and on. It’s been a source of great corruption, and in our view is a factor in the fact that we have the third-highest per capita indebtedness in the nation.” 

“People at the State House say you’ll never win this fight,” Riggs countered. “How sure are you that you can prevail?” 

Many thought we could never win. In my darker moments, so did I. “We haven’t gotten a lot of attention on this,” I said. “The problem is that people don’t see how it connects to their pocketbooks.” 

I told the reporter that public agencies were operating in casual ways, ignoring sound management practices, and tolerating conflicts of interest. “Sooner explosive scandal that will rattle the foundations.” 

 

Sunday dawned gray and spitting sleet. I heard the paper thump onto our porch. A front-page story stretched across three columns with the headline: “A milestone for Common Cause.” Above a photo of me at the Ethics Commission hearing was a priceless subhead: “Can the godfather of political reform in Rhode Island maintain his reformist zeal?” 

In his article Riggs pictured the Ethics Commission meeting in a borrowed auditorium, hurrying through part of its agenda because women in maroon leotards were filtering in for an aerobics class. He described my relief that the commission was going forward with “an ongoing, preventive process” and pictured a firm foundation laid for continuing reform in the nation’s strongest ethics agency, which could adopt its own code and enforce it “untouched by legislative hands.” 

Riggs listed reforms that Common Cause had helped lobby into law or into the state’s Constitution over the years, then portrayed us — now without support of the RIght Now! Coalition — taking on a foe vastly more resistant to separation of powers. He sketched our case, quoting my critique of several boards where lawmakers routinely executed laws they had written. 

Senate Majority Leader Paul Kelly had spoken to Riggs on the record. “I totally disagree with Phil on that,” Kelly said. “The only checks and balances the public has on boards and commissions, especially quasi-boards, are legislators who are directly accountable to the taxpayers. Remove them from the boards and you wouldn’t even know there are problems coming down.” 

Riggs left readers with a question: “Do Rhode Islanders really want to change? Can a people raised in a state that has behaved more like a dysfunctional family since colonial times, when it was known as ‘Rogues’ Island,’ find their true political comfort zone anywhere but in the cynicism that is their birthright?” 

 

The pace quickened when Gov. Lincoln Almond testified for a second time before the Ethics Commission. “I am here today to reaffirm my support for this process,” he declared, “which will result in a new code of ethics to help maintain the highest standards of ethical behavior for all levels of public service.” As he had during his February appearance, Almond emphasized the commission’s bedrock authority. “The people of Rhode Island, by constitutional amendment, created a powerful ethics commission to respond to what they viewed as rampant unethical behavior in all three branches of government.” 

Almond affirmed the proposed rule that would bar lawmakers from service on public and quasi-public boards. 

“Governor,” asked Chair Richard Morsilli, “would you seek an advisory opinion from the Supreme Court to confirm that?” 

“If this commission were to formally ask me,” Almond replied, “I would.” 

Almond rose from the witness table, taller than anyone in the room. Few thought this contest would end during his first four-year term or even a second. 

An immediate dilemma remained: which separation of powers rule? Almost from the spring day when I first delivered the Common Cause memorandum and supporting documents, the commission had recognized two distinct paths. One assumed the commission lacked constitutional authority to bar lawmakers from boards that executed state laws, and it proposed to prohibit their “asking, demanding, soliciting, accepting, receiving, or agreeing to receive . . . anything of economic value” from vendors or others who wanted special treatment from their agencies. The second, that Gov. Almond favored, aimed to ban legislators from any boards that exercised executive powers. Almond’s executive counsel, Joe Larisa, made clear that the governor would present the outright ban to the Supreme Court but would not advance the more cautious first version. 

Uncertain about their constitutional power to enact the outright ban that Almond sought, the Ethics Commission hired a national expert in state constitutions to advise them. Geoffrey C. Hazard Jr., a professor from the University of Pennsylvania’s American Law Institute, analyzed the issues and replied cautiously. He acknowledged the Rhode Island General Assembly’s “long history” on boards, “some of it unsavory or worse,” and he recognized the value of “a prophylactic prohibition of the scope proposed.” But he concluded that the proposed ban “exceeds the authority conferred on the Ethics Commission” by the state’s Constitution. 

But then he hedged, writing that “in light of the severity and long duration of the problems involved,” the Supreme Court might “permit the Ethics Commission to impose a strong preventive measure.” 

 

Less than two weeks after the Ethics Commission’s hearing, a Providence Journal investigative reporter revealed flagrant corruption involving a powerful state senator who used his dual executive and legislative positions to enrich himself. Reporter Thomas Frank had followed a paper trail left by former Sen. John Orabona until he retired. The headline read: “Ex-senator seeks $106,000 in pensions.” 

Though only fifty-two, Orabona had claimed 79 years’ worth of employment credits and a $106,057 annual pension — nearly $33,000 more than he had earned during any year in his life. Orabona’s claim combined three pensions: $10,000 a year for his time in the legislature, $53,042 a year for work in the Providence school system, and $43,015 per year for various political jobs in Providence. Orabona cited summer pool jobs while he was in high school and a stint as an aide to the mayor, and he expected to collect for service on several nonprofit boards. 

How had this happened? With his $300 per year legislative salary as a base, Orabona had purchased credits for sixteen years of part-time city jobs. He paid only $768. Had he bought those same credits based on his pay as a teacher, he would have had to pay $74,611. The senator had then transferred credits between the city and state retirement systems, which allowed him to retire at the age of fifty-two.

Orabona had spent years padding his pension. He purchased or transferred credits at discrete intervals that would not alert the clerks who processed his requests. His scheme had been systematic, clever, hard to trace, and lucrative. He relied on special pension bills that routinely appeared on a “consent calendar,” which was supposed to include only noncontroversial items that were not subject to debate. This end-of-session consent calendar often reminded me of cattle being herded through a gate in a cloud of dust; no one could tell one from another. I often suspected that many of these bills were rewards for lawmakers who had done the leadership’s bidding, but I had no way of finding out who benefitted or how. After the dust settled, special pension bills faded into bureaucratic oblivion, forgotten except by their beneficiaries. 

Only rarely did investigative reporters pore through them in often-fruitless attempts to identify recipients and compute their likely rewards. A 1987 special pension bill that passed in the last-minute rush had allowed full-time officers of public employee unions to buy their way into the state pension system at fire-sale prices. The following year, Providence Journal reporter Katherine Gregg put those abuses on the front page, and taxpayer fury forced a repeal, but the damage had been done. Twenty-four union leaders had already bought into the system, all but two of them employees of teachers’ unions, which sued to protect these fraudulent buy-ins. Together the labor leaders would reap an estimated $12 million in pensions. 

For generations, such pension gimmicks had multiplied under a shroud of official secrecy because a section of the state’s public records law had kept personnel information “identifiable to an individual applicant for benefits” confidential. Under that rubric, pension files were sealed until Kathy Gregg unraveled the web of pension abuses, broke the code, and exploded the lies. 

In 1991, once again because of Katherine Gregg’s reporting on pension corruption, Rhode Island’s Access to Public Records Law had been amended to make retirement files public records. But Orabona had secured his pension during the 1980s, while secrecy and exploitation still prevailed. Even against a sordid backdrop of rigged pensions, he set the record with a pension claim of $106,057 per year. 

On the day of the Orabona expose, Peter Hufstader strode into our office. A retired teacher and veteran of the Navy’s Cold War search for Soviet submarines, he offered to help Common Cause. “This man is robbing taxpayers,” he said of Orabona. “If I can help track him down, I’m at your service.” 

He went directly to the State House Library and began poring through volumes of old public laws. 

Ten days later, Hufstader came back and slid a memo across the table detailing a 1983 bill that allowed legislators to combine their legislative service with “service to a municipality” for retirement credit. A separate bill allowed any active legislator to receive credit for service on a municipal board or commission. These changes were tiny and technical; they passed without objection. The documents suggested that Orabona had drafted both. 

Hufstader pointed further down in his memo. “Until 1984,” he said, “nobody employed by the state could retire with full benefits until fifty-five but Orabona cosponsored a bill that eliminated the age requirement. His legislation allowed him to retire at fifty-two. Now look at who was supposed to be minding the store!” He handed me photocopied lists of those who served on the legislature’s Joint Committee on Retirement over the span of the decade from 1983 to 1992. Orabona’s name appeared every year, several times as secretary, once as chairperson. 

Nor was Orabona alone. Sen. Donald R. Hickey had chaired the Senate Finance Committee while he served on the Retirement Board. Like Orabona, Hickey had sat on the Joint Committee on Retirement during the 1980s but left the Senate in 1985 to accept a full-time job as executive director of the State Retirement System. He retired in 1990 with a state pension of $55,455. 

“What makes my blood boil,” Hufstader said, “is that these guys should have been watching out for the people’s interest. They were elected members of the General Assembly. They’d sworn to uphold the Constitution, but they exploited its flaws.” 

John Orabona’s achievement sprang from a State House tolerance for self-dealing compounded by two underlying flaws in government: sealed personnel records and laws that empowered legislators to execute the very laws they wrote. On the legislature’s Joint Committee on Retirement, Orabona wrote pension legislation; as a member of the Retirement Board, he administered pensions. Those two information-rich roles enabled him to learn and exploit the system’s arcane secrets. Instead of using his positions to provide oversight and protect taxpayers, he finessed incremental changes in state pension law. He gamed the system to his own advantage. 

We prepared summaries of Orabona’s machinations for the Ethics Commission and for General Treasurer Nancy Mayer, who chaired the Retirement Board. “The problem,” we wrote in a press statement, “is that lawmakers were in position to both write and execute retirement statutes. By switching hats, these legislators could play both ends against the middle. They always won, and taxpayers always lost.” 

 

No one at the Ethics Commission underestimated the challenge of taking on separation of powers. Commissioners and staff wrestled with the implications. Marilyn A. Hines, the commission’s education coordinator, identified 147 state agencies, boards, and commissions where legislators served or made appointments. She calculated that legislative members or appointees constituted a majority in thirty agencies and half of the membership in four. Functions of those agencies, she wrote, “cover the full spectrum from legislative to executive to judicial.” 

Meanwhile Peter Hufstader appeared several days a week — always in a tie, beneath mostly white hair and with a neatly trimmed beard. He became an unpaid research director for Common Cause. He pored over laws, gleaning the powers lawmakers exercised. He produced a color-coded chart that illustrated the vast array of executive functions in legislative hands: purchasing, managing, and selling property; employing architects, engineers, and managers; issuing bonds; receiving taxes and fees; lending and investing state money; enforcing laws; investigating and prosecuting complaints; adopting rules and regulations; suing and being sued on behalf of the state; making assessments and imposing user fees. 

From the day in 1995 when I delivered the Common Cause request until a final vote, the panel’s painstaking deliberation had taken nearly three years. We argued before the commission in August 1996 that legislators should be prohibited from all these tasks that properly belonged to the executive branch. 

On June 2, 1998, after many public hearings, the Ethics Commission voted unanimously to bar legislators from serving on public and quasi-public boards. To leave time for the state Supreme Court’s decision, they set the new rule to take effect on July 1, 1999, more than a year away. Its members knew they were swimming in dangerous currents and that the constitutional struggle would be fierce. 

Questions remained. Would Gov. Almond follow through and present the advisory opinion request? After its evasive reaction a decade earlier, how would the Rhode Island Supreme Court respond? 

 

H. Philip West Jr. served from 1988 to 2006 as executive director of Common Cause Rhode Island. SECRETS & SCANDALS: Reforming Rhode Island, 1986-2006, chronicles major government reforms during those years.
He helped organize coalitions that led in passage of dozens of ethics and open government laws and five major amendments to the Rhode Island Constitution, including the 2004 Separation of Powers Amendment.

West hosted many delegations from the U.S. State Department’s International Visitor Leadership Program that came to learn about ethics and separation of powers. In 2000, he addressed a conference on government ethics laws in Tver, Russia. After retiring from Common Cause, he taught Ethics in Public Administration to graduate students at the University of Rhode Island.

Previously, West served as pastor of United Methodist churches and ran a settlement house on the Bowery in New York City. He helped with the delivery of medicines to victims of the South African-sponsored civil war in Mozambique and later assisted people displaced by Liberia’s civil war. He has been involved in developing affordable housing, day care centers, and other community services in New York, Connecticut, and Rhode Island.

West graduated, Phi Beta Kappa, from Hamilton College in Clinton, N.Y., received his masters degree from Union Theological Seminary in New York City, and published biblical research he completed at Cambridge University in England. In 2007, he received an honorary Doctor of Laws degree from Rhode Island College.

Since 1965 he has been married to Anne Grant, an Emmy Award-winning writer, a nonprofit executive, and retired United Methodist pastor. They live in Providence and have two grown sons, including cover illustrator Lars Grant-West. 

This electronic version of SECRETS & SCANDALS: Reforming Rhode Island, 1986-2006 omits notes, which fill 92 pages in the printed text.

---

Related Slideshow: Rhode Island’s History of Political Corruption

Related Articles

• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 25
• Secrets and Scandals: Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 26
• Secrets and Scandals: Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 27
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 22
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 21
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 17
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 18
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 19
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 20
• Secrets and Scandals: Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 28
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Fourteen
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Nine
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Eight
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Four
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Five
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Six
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Seven
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 15
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 16
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 24
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter 23
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Eleven
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Ten
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Twelve
• Secrets and Scandals - Reforming Rhode Island 1986-2006, Chapter Thirteen

Enjoy this post? Share it with others.