Who needs a Clean Elections law if we're rid of public offices?

by Beth Teitell
Wednesday, May 1, 2002

The attempt by Clean Elections supporters to seize and sell House Speaker Thomas Finneran's office furniture raises an important question: What does a person really need to be able to work? A desk? A phone? A plant stand (or two, in Finneran's case)?

Look at Fonzie. He was successful, and his office was the bathroom at Arnold's restaurant. ``Step into my office,'' he'd say, heading into the men's room.

If Supreme Judicial Court Justice Martha Sosman allows the auction of Finneran's stuff to help fund the Clean Elections law, maybe the Speaker could work out of that public toilet near Faneuil Hall. (I know it comes with something like a 25-minute time limit, but legislators aren't known for keeping long hours, anyway.)

If Finneran doesn't like the bathroom, he always could work at Starbucks, and I don't mean behind the counter making Frapuccinos. He could become one of those patrons who arrive at 9 a.m. with a laptop, and then occupy their ``desks'' for the entire day, making it impossible for you and your $10 cup of coffee to get a seat.

As for me, my office furniture is superfluous. It's the candy machine I can't work without. (When I complained to a colleague recently that I couldn't write unless I was chewing, he consoled me by pointing out that writing is descended from the oral tradition, so by downing a steady stream of M&M's, I was simply doing my part to honor those who came before me.)

As of presstime yesterday, the judge had yet to decide whether Finneran (and two other House leaders, Reps. Joseph F. Wagner and Salvatore F. DiMasi) could keep their office furniture. I'm not sure whose side I'm on, but I fear a ruling in the plaintiffs' favor could set a dangerous precedent.

Think about it. You're out sick for a day, and your office rival, not content to bad mouth you to the boss or take credit for your report, saunters over to your desk, picks up a framed photo and a dictionary, and maybe the extra pair of pumps you store in a drawer, and decides to hold a little yard sale.

Actually, I'd sell off my own office furniture, and keep the change, if I weren't afraid of rejection. A few years ago I tried to give my couch to the Salvation Army, but they didn't want it. That came on the heels of an episode in which, eager to raise cash for a suede jacket, I tried to sell almost my entire CD collection to a used-music store on Newbury Street.

``Sorry,'' the clerk said after flipping through my pile of Kenny Loggins and Barry Manilow recordings, ``but we won't be able to sell any of these.''

That's an experience I imagine Linda Lay, the wife of Enron's ex-chief executive, won't have. I just read that she's opening an antiques and secondhand shop called Jus' Stuff - where she plans to sell off some of her family's personal property and furniture from their rental property.

Meanwhile, there's talk of selling public land, and even the legislators' parking spots under the State House, if that's what it takes to fund the clean elections mandate.

If those maneuvers fail, maybe they should try and get a court order forcing Finneran and his pals to hold a gigantic bake sale on the State House steps.

I know I'd buy a brownie for a good cause.