Last Stand

The federal prison closest to anchorage sits in tiny Sheridan, Ore., where the fenceless minimum-security wing already houses 491 inmates, including a few Alaska legislators who were greased by oil money. There’s an outdoor track, plus lots of fresh air perfumed by local vineyards and what former Anchorage state representative Tom Anderson calls “very professional and respectful staff.”

Joining them soon may be Senator Ted Stevens, Alaska’s senior Republican, who was found guilty on Oct. 27 on seven felony counts related to $250,000 of unreported gifts from influential constituents. Stevens, whose political trademark was his immense success at bringing home the bacon–$3.4 billion in federal earmarks for Alaska since 1995–was convicted by a jury in Washington for making false statements about gifts like his new massage chair, a pricey sled-dog puppy and, most of all, massive renovations to his home that were largely comped by Bill Allen, the disgraced CEO of Veco Corp., an oil-services company. Stevens, 84, had predicted the outcome before he even knew the FBI was listening to his telephone conversations. In a particularly incriminating wiretap that was introduced as evidence in his trial, he assured Allen that “the worst that can happen to us is we … might have to serve a little time in jail.”

Actually, darker days are now in store.

Before his conviction, Stevens was locked in a tight re-election race with Anchorage mayor Mark Begich; after the jury returned a verdict, Stevens’ poll numbers dipped. But even if Stevens does eke out a victory, he is already facing calls from across his party to resign soon afterward. Both John McCain and Sarah Palin called on Stevens to step down after the election. Under Alaska law, a resignation would set in motion a chain of events leading to a special election to replace him 60 to 90 days later. If he chooses not to resign and his appeals fail, the Senate would probably toss him out. “There is zero chance,” said GOP leader Mitch McConnell, “that a Senator with a felony conviction would not be expelled from the Senate.”

Any of these fates–defeat, resignation or expulsion–would be an ironic career ender for the 40-year Washington veteran whose control of the federal purse strings once made his colleagues practically genuflect in his presence. Longtime friend Jack Roderick, who practiced law with Stevens 40 years ago, sounded subdued at his Anchorage home the day of the verdict. “It’s just sad on a personal level,” said Roderick, who believes his old friend is innocent. “No question, he showed bad judgment to get associated with a guy like Bill Allen. He got sloppy.”

Stevens treated the verdict like just another feature of a re-election campaign, claiming “prosecutorial misconduct” and vowing to “fight this unjust verdict with every ounce of energy I have.” It is possible that in Alaska, with oil prices tanking, voters could decide that their state will have a hard time building the kinds of roads, bridges and schools they’ve come to expect without Stevens there to lard up the federal budget.

Stevens’ years in power have earned him loyalty among Alaskans. At a Federation of Natives meeting on the weekend before the verdict–more than 4,000 native leaders in a massive convention hall in Anchorage–Stevens sent a video message in which he asked for their prayers and apologized for missing the meeting. Julie Kitka, a Chugach native who is the federation’s president and was a character witness for the defense in Stevens’ trial, predicted that the state’s 125,000 natives–about 20% of the population–will stick by him. At the end of his video, she said, the entire audience rose and gave Stevens a standing ovation.

But local affection won’t trump the mess he made. If Stevens loses on Nov. 4, the Dems could inch closer to a 60-seat Senate supermajority. He and Palin have not been particularly close, but she could also be tarnished by the sorry spectacle in Alaska. In the Lower 48, the only people cheering Stevens now are Democrats.