Inside the bunkerlike basement office where a playful banner reads "Welcome to Fumodelphia," State Sen. Vincent J. Fumo strives to keep it all together, talking about his legacy in a rare one-on-one interview, and soberly acknowledging the 800-pound gorilla in the room.

There is his imminent retirement after a rough-and-tumble 30 years in politics, more than 20 as Democratic chairman of the powerful Senate Appropriations Committee.

There is public business to transact: crucial amendments to the Gaming Control Act, an effort to move Philadelphia's proposed riverside casinos, and the looming fight over extending electricity rate caps.

At 65, he has health concerns after a March heart attack.

And on Sept. 8, he faces the challenge of a lifetime with the start of his federal corruption trial. Fumo is charged with using his position and public money for personal gain.

So how does he feel?

"Apprehensive," he said. "Anxious. Fear."

Then he grabbed a sheaf of legal papers on his desk. "This is today's reading," he said. "These are statements and memos from my lawyers and things like that."

In a wide-ranging 90-minute interview Tuesday, Fumo looked back at his achievements and forward to what may come.

Of his jury trial, which is expected to last months, he said: "You never know. When you go down there, you put your life in the hands of 12 people. You have no idea what they are like, who they are. Will they understand?

"But it doesn't mean that you shirk from that," said Fumo, who twice before faced corruption charges and beat them.

"You go ahead. I liken it to [when] the doctor says you have cancer. Well, you don't go in the corner over there and just die. You fight it. You get chemo. You get whatever you can get. You may win, you may not."

With so much at stake - the possibility of years in jail - and so much uncertainty, had he considered a negotiated plea?

"We're going to trial," he said. "How could you not fight for your life? I mean there are people who commit suicide, there's no question about it. Their problems get so overwhelming. They can't take it anymore, and they throw in the towel, literally, in a quite severe way. I've never been that way.

"That's not to say I don't get depressed some days, to say I don't get angry, don't get aggravated. 'My God, what are we going through here?' But you play the hand you've been dealt. And you play it as best you can. . . .

"When I made my speech on the Senate floor the day before the indictment" in February 2007, he continued, "[I] assured my colleagues as to what this case was about, that I had done nothing illegal. I believe that just as much today as I did then."

Fumo hasn't second-guessed his decision not to seek another Senate term in the First District this year.

"Under the circumstances, I have not looked back. It would have been near impossible to carry on an election and a defense at the same time," he said. "There's no question that the case caused my retirement. . . . If the case weren't there, would I have retired? Maybe in four years. Probably wanted another four years. There's still stuff left undone."

His homey office is festooned with memorabilia: figures of black knights he purchased in England to spoof his media image as the brooding "Vince of Darkness"; a cartoon image of Scrooge McDuck, which a friend gave him after Fumo took charge of the appropriations' purse strings; small models of airplanes he has owned and piloted; sculptures of soaring eagles; and on one wall, a poster highlighting a dictionary definition of loyalty, signed by staffers wishing him well.

"I'm big on loyalty," Fumo said. "I believe loyalty is a two-way street. I'd go through walls for people. I'm a little bit different that way than the average politician. But also I've got to look back and say, after 30 years, 27 of it in the minority, how did I become what the media calls the most powerful politician in Pennsylvania? And it had to be a lot of those attributes that people saw in me that I wouldn't lie to them. I wouldn't screw them over. You know, I'm a warrior, but I'm also an honorable warrior."

In building its 139-count indictment against Fumo, the government charged several associates who have pleaded guilty and are cooperating in the case. In addition, Fumo's estranged son-in-law is expected to testify for the government.

"In a situation like this, so many, many, many people have been terrific. For the few that have disappointed, those are good odds. And even there, some of the people who people would expect me to be angry with, I'm not. Because I understand their plight. I understand their fears," Fumo said. "It's a terrible ordeal for anybody to go through."

Fifteen pounds lighter since his heart attack, a more compact Fumo said he watched his diet and weighed himself every day, but found it hard to get regular exercise because he'd rather work than walk.

Some days, he said, he feels like that performer on the old Ed Sullivan Show, spinning plates on sticks, running back and forth.

On a recent day he was at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, presenting a state seed-money grant to a Pennsylvania State University partnership doing research on alternative-energy hydrogen fuel cells.

A week later, he weighed in with an anti-casino coalition of House and Senate members who represent districts along the Delaware River. They sharply criticized a state Supreme Court decision giving casinos the right to build on submerged land.

Soon he is expected to announce the relocation of the Philadelphia Regional Produce Market in South Philadelphia, a move he had been nudging for seven years.

His office estimates that projects he has initiated and supported in his career have brought more than $8 billion in state aid to Philadelphia and Southeastern Pennsylvania.

"There's always a problem to be solved. It's fun. Helping people is fun," Fumo said. "People walk in here with problems which to them are unfathomable, and to me and maybe my staff it's really not a big deal. To be able solve them or make them go away, it's a terrific feeling."

Fumo said he might even vote by phone on days when his trial ends early, especially if there are critical decisions on electricity deregulation or casinos.

With his identity so wrapped up in being a senator, does he know what he wants to do next?

"I don't know," Fumo said. "I can't focus past Sept. 8."

Then he thought for a moment and said, "I probably want to go into business and maybe make some money," or teach political science at the graduate level.

"One of the things I think about is the legacy," Fumo said. "You always think about your legacy as you get closer and closer. Over the years the thing I've enjoyed the most is bringing people along. And teaching young people. I've been pretty successful in that."

Asked what he wanted to be remembered for, Fumo cited three achievements: rewriting the state Uniform Firearms Act in 1995, which expanded gun ownership while also requiring background checks; fighting to cap electricity rates in 1998; and pushing through the 2004 state gaming bill, which he called "the most important and monumental piece of legislation in 30 years."

In a legislature almost always dominated by Republicans, he said, identifying and exploiting leverage has been critical.

"That's what I always say to my staff going in," said Fumo. "Where is our leverage? Do we have it? And if we don't, fine. Then you beg, cajole, do whatever you've got to do, but each situation is different. Each budget negotiation is different."

A recent example, his staff said, was Fumo's threat in July to block Keystone Opportunity Zone tax-break legislation until critical players, including Gov. Rendell, agreed to help pressure casinos to build elsewhere in Philadelphia.

Fumo said at the time that his planned amendment and related tactics were legislative "spitballs," to be followed by "atom bombs" if the casino license holders did not agree to move.

Legislators will readily "vote for a bill honoring Mother's Day. They'll vote for a lot of resolutions," Fumo said. "But when it comes down to really pressing things, they're fights."

Contact staff writer Michael Matza at 215-854-2541, or mmatza@phillynews.com.