Former State Sen. Vincent J. Fumo never lacked for allies - or enablers.
Time and again, the state's power elite joined in his maneuvering, looked the other way, or simply saw nothing amiss.
As the last days tick down to Fumo's sentencing Tuesday, prosecutors took one last swipe at the culture that permitted him to thrive.
"There are simply too many people in this case who never questioned defendant Fumo and who never stood up to him," they said Friday, demanding a long sentence to send a tough message to others.
The 66-year-old Philadelphia Democrat is virtually certain to receive a prison term for his sweeping conviction on charges of illegally extracting $4 million in benefits from the state Senate and a pair of nonprofit organizations, and then trying to cover it all up.
When Fumo pushed, few pushed back - and that went for everyone, from low-level apparatchiks to some of Pennsylvania's most powerful politicians, lawyers, and lobbyists. After all, Fumo's clout and his vengeance were both legendary.
Even when Fumo walked to the brink of extortion, the attitude was it was just "Vince being Vince."
But it was a meeting on the 51st floor of a major Philadelphia law firm that has come to exemplify best how Fumo flourished.
This was the crucial gathering in which the president of Verizon Pennsylvania asked two of Philadelphia's top lawyers - David L. Cohen and Arthur Makadon - for advice after Fumo began pressuring him for more than $50 million. The pair's recommendation, the businessman said, was that he "work it out with the senator."
The meeting was the talk of Philadelphia's legal community after Daniel Whelan testified in January during Fumo's trial.
The former Verizon president has been the only participant to publicly describe the session in detail. Since he spoke out on the stand, The Inquirer has put together a fuller picture of the session from new interviews and a review of trial testimony and documents, including exhibits.
In interviews, a series of veteran lawyers said they could not understand why Cohen and Makadon did not at least explore alerting federal prosecutors to Fumo's tactics.
"If I had a client that I thought were the possible victim of a shakedown, I would get him to the U.S. Attorney's Office as close to the speed of light as possible," said Gil Scutti, a former federal prosecutor.
In 2000, fresh off his success at secretly pressuring Peco Energy Co. for $17 million, Fumo put the squeeze on Verizon.
The playbook was the same as with Peco. Fumo attacked Verizon in the legislature, before regulators, and in the courts. He wanted Verizon cut in half, into retail and wholesale operations.
To Verizon, this was a death threat. Whelan set off on a risky path, walking a line between protecting his company and not buckling to the powerful antagonist.
A lawyer himself, like Fumo and virtually every figure in this story, Whelan, then 54, was no naif when it came to politics - he once served as his company's in-house lobbyist.
Whelan also was committed to civic involvement. Over the years his many civic efforts included chairing the Philadelphia School Reform Commission.
Whelan declined to comment for this article.
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