Current laws permit Montgomery County commissioner's lapses

Slipping contracts to friends. Misusing campaign money. Conducting government business in secret.

All are among the allegations lodged against Montgomery County Commissioner James R. Matthews in a scathing grand jury report released last month.

But the panel's ultimate finding? None of it was illegal.

That conclusion has proved as surprising to many in the county in the weeks since Matthews' Dec. 6 arrest as the fact that he found himself in handcuffs in the first place.

Matthews, who opted not to run for reelection, will soon leave office. Meanwhile, questions linger about the latitude that state and federal law give elected officials who skirt the intent of transparency laws.

Montgomery County Commissioner Bruce L. Castor Jr. - Matthews' avowed political enemy and a former district attorney - places the blame on lawmakers, who, he said, have weakened the statutes for years.

"These laws were written by politicians for politicians," he said. "They're intentionally difficult to prosecute."

Matthews stands accused of lying under oath - a charge he has repeatedly denied. Since his arrest, he has declined to discuss the grand jury's findings. "This is totally silly," he said on the day of his arrest as he was ushered into a courtroom for his arraignment.

He would not have faced charges if he had admitted spending campaign money on himself or steering county contracts to supporters, county District Attorney Risa Vetri Ferman said.

"While many of his actions were inappropriate, they are protected by laws that . . . tend to protect this behavior," the grand jury report said.

The perjury charge stems from statements Matthews made about his connection to Certified Abstract Co. Inc., a Fort Washington title-insurance company that was given a contract for county land purchases.

Matthews' personal business - Keegan Mortgage Corp. - routinely worked with Certified, and he owned a minority stake in a separate firm run by Certified's owners.

Although those ties may seem to pose a conflict of interest, state law prohibits officials only from conducting business in a way that benefits themselves, their families, or their businesses.

Grand jurors found no evidence that Matthews gained personally from Certified's receiving the contract, so there was no violation, they found.

The commissioner's use of campaign donations toed a similar line, the panel said.

Grand jurors accused Matthews of spending $57,000 in contributions to pay off personal credit card bills for bar tabs and coffee expenses and $20,000 for payments on his Ford Taurus.

He has defended the transactions, saying they all advanced his campaign in some way.

And under state law, that is all the justification he needs.

Before 1980, Pennsylvania law outlined a specific list of approved expenses, including staff salaries and travel costs. But lawmakers loosened those restrictions that year, allowing for any expense made "for the purpose of influencing the outcome of a nomination or election."

The grand jury report concluded: "Pennsylvania law is now so broad as to legalize virtually all expenses."

Federal law offered no recourse, either.

Although elected officials have faced prosecution for using campaign money for personal use under a statute known as the Honest Services Law, a series of U.S. Supreme Court decisions over the summer weakened that statute's reach.

Justices ruled in June that the law was too vague. They limited its scope to only those seeking to defraud donors by accepting bribes.

No one but Matthews gained from the questioned expenses, once again leaving grand jurors feeling hamstrung.

None of the panel's allegations has received more attention, though, than a series of breakfast meetings between Matthews and Commissioner Joseph M. Hoeffel 3d.

Both men testified they met regularly at a Norristown restaurant to discuss everything from budget issues to political appointments, but they insist their talks never lapsed into decision-making.

Castor has accused his colleagues of violating the state Sunshine Act, the law meant to ensure openness in government decision-making.

But short of proof that the breakfast meetings crossed the line from mere discussion into deliberation, the grand jury found it could not charge either man with a crime.

Punishments for Sunshine Act violations - a maximum $1,000 fine for first-time offenders - offer no real deterrent, either. (When first questioned about the meetings in December, Matthews joked, "I'm ready to write the $100 check right now.") That was the maximum penalty at the time.

State Rep. Mike Vereb (R., Montgomery) pushed a bill last year that would increase Sunshine Act penalties. But, he said, he was still not pleased with the current punishment range.

"There's just no appetite in the General Assembly to strengthen laws that affect politicians," he said.