The Rainmaker

AT 93, FORMER DEMOCRATIC GOV. ALBERT D. ROSELLINI is Washington's elder statesman. The highlight of his long and storied political career was two terms as governor, from 1957 to 1965. During that time, he oversaw significant improvements in the state's higher-education system, adult and juvenile prisons, mental hospitals, and institutions for the developmentally disabled. In 1988, the state acknowledged how important a role Rosellini played in the development of our highway system by naming the Highway 520 floating bridge across Lake Washington for him.

One of the lowest points in Rosellini's career came in 1972, when he sought to return to the governor's office but lost to the Republican incumbent, Dan Evans. According to Rosellini, he was leading in the polls until a few days before the election when a Seattle Post-Intelligencer article linked him to Frank Colacurcio Sr., who had been convicted of racketeering the previous year. "That was a typical political smear," Rosellini says now. "That cost me my election." The incident was especially painful because Rosellini felt he had battled prejudice against Italian Americans his entire political career.

Now, the relationship between Rosellini and the Colacurcio family is creating headlines again. This time, the buzz is about the Seattle City Council approval of a controversial rezoning of a parking lot at Rick's, a Lake City strip club owned by Colacurcio's son, Frank Colacurcio Jr., and others. Rosellini acknowledges he encouraged the Colacurcios to get involved in the political process, and he and the lawyer for Rick's lobbied City Council members about the rezone. Meanwhile, Rosellini hosted fund-raisers and solicited campaign donations for members of the City Council. To date, the Colacurcios, their relatives, their business associates, their employees, and their employees' adult children have given at least $32,000 during this election cycle to council members Jim Compton, Judy Nicastro, and Heidi Wills. Rosellini says nothing illegal or unethical has occurred. "It's just the political thing," he says. He deplores the "press frenzy" that has become "irresponsible and exaggerated." Yet how did the grand old man of Washington politics end up back in the middle of sausage making for a topless nightclub's property dispute?

POLITICS in Seattle, like everywhere else, is about relationships. In some relationships, one party has so much power that there is no question what the outcome will be. In 1995, when Nordstrom couldn't decide whether to move into the abandoned Frederick & Nelson building in Seattle's downtown core, city officials helped put together a few incentives: a low-interest government loan to remodel the building, reopening Pine Street to traffic, and building a parking garage while paying the developers an extra $23 million.

Most who come to City Hall looking for results aren't quite so influential. They rely on relationships built over time. We accept as a given that connected people get to know public officials. Insiders make donations, host dinner parties, and might go years without making a demand. And when the time comes, it is likely that a well-educated, polite, well-paid staff member or attorney for the insider makes a presentation in council chambers or offices, seeking a little help. The opposition might be a volunteer group of folks who are less at ease and less prepared. It's easy to see who will win these debates. That's why the opera house will continue to be bailed out, why Paul Allen's Vulcan Northwest will continue to receive zoning changes in South Lake Union, and why the University of Washington will keep expanding despite its neighbors' concerns. Usually, such things happen quietly, over a long period of time. In the case of Rick's strip club, the aggressive lobbying for the rezoning of eight parking spaces and the coinciding flurry of campaign donations departs from the usually subtle way people in suits do business at City Hall.

It happened in a relatively short period, from last November until June, and it was carried out rather clumsily. A lot of the cash came from people who don't normally give to campaigns. At least 17 Colacurcio-connected donors gave a total of more than $10,000 to Seattle City Council Land Use Chair Judy Nicastro's campaignand it was deposited in the campaign's account less than a week before a crucial vote. The total donations involvedat least $32,000, far outdistancing the contributions of much wealthier interest groups like Boeing and Microsoftwere a huge amount of money for City Council races in which individual donors are limited to $650. The enterprise involved is a neighborhood nuisance. In a recent two-year period, police were called to Rick's 144 times. The owner of the business is a convicted felon. And now an esteemed political figure has stepped forward, taking responsibility for engineering the entire episode.

ROSELLINI STILL GOES into the office five days a week, usually staying until 5:30 p.m. His SoDo digs are as colorful as his trademark boutonnierea ruby red rose. His white Cadillac, with "GOV ADR" vanity license plates, sits out front. The wall outside his office is adorned with plaques honoring his service and photos with dignitaries, like President Lyndon B. Johnson. These days, Rosellini says, "I do mostly business and political consulting." He describes himself as "too damn busy. I have more work than I can handle." He takes an interest in elected officials at all levels of government, including City Hall. He explains, "They would be the type of candidates who may develop into a higher-level politician someday."