The walk, quack, smell and shit like a duck theory does not carry much water with the Florida Commission on Ethics. They need greater proof to nab a duck.
Take the case of Treasure Island City Council member Irving "Butch" Ellsworth. Everyone in town knows Butch is a prominent employee of the Rice family, the largest landowners in this tiny beach municipality. It is discussed and joked about all the time.
When family spokesman Sid Rice sits in the back of City Council meetings, people joke that he is communicating with Ellsworth through tiny ear mikes, like Jon Gruden coaching Brad Johnson. "Butch's votes are very predictable," says homeowner Walt Herring. "You just ask yourself, how would the Rice Family vote? And that is Butch's vote."
Ellsworth, in office since 1998, is an affable, likeable guy. He doesn't try to hide or diminish his conflict with the Rice Family. He works for 'em, what can he do? Oh, a couple times, a whiff of conflict caused him to abstain from voting on Rice-related projects: There was a bungee jumping permit he wouldn't touch with a 10-foot pole. He also backed off from voting on a University of Florida marching band practice permit.
The Rices do own a bar called Gators, after all.
But when the issue at hand means good fortune to his employer, Ellsworth has bravely cast his "Aye." His vote was the swing on several 3-2 decisions seeking to establish greater height and density opportunities for development on this 3.8-mile barrier island — the biggest issue in town history and one in which the Rice Family has a multimillion-dollar stake.
A private attorney in the audience at one council meeting warned Ellsworth not to vote. The city attorney asked the Ethics Commission for its opinion; the commission sent a letter outlining the conflict of interest laws.
Undaunted, Ellsworth voted and voted and voted. He openly supported beachside development, even as his District 2 constituents said no. (Last November, in a referendum, nearly 70 percent of voters favored stringent controls against height and density increases.)
"When I was on the council, we were taught to avoid even the appearance of a conflict of interest," says disturbed resident Allan Sansotta. "Butch is a friend, but he's really painted himself into a corner here."
Disgusted with Ellsworth, homeowners Herring and Rhonda Anderson filed complaints with the Ethics Commission on July 23 of last year. "It was cut and dried," said Herring. "The man was guilty."
The plodding Ethics Commission took six months and, incredibly, found no substance in the Herring/Anderson complaint. Though everyone else in town knew something was going on, the hapless commission could find no Rice project that Ellsworth's votes could help.
Then, it got weird. About the time Ellsworth was exonerated, a local resident received a faxed letter from Naples land-use attorney Tim Ferguson addressed to elderly Agnes Rice, the family matriarch. Ferguson dialed the wrong fax number and the secret letter went awry.
The resident does not want his name used. He made sure the mis-faxed letter reached state investigators. The "insider" letter spoke of progress on the Rice's multimillion-dollar Kingfish Point resort — a proposal absolutely dependent on changes Butch supported in the city's new zoning regulations. The letter was proof that the Rices had an actual plan working — which Ellsworth had hotly denied in public and in interviews with the Ethics Commission.
The commission reopened the case and, seven months later, found "probable cause" that Ellsworth violated Florida ethics laws.
"Seven months? Why so long?" asks Sansotta. "I have to question a system that takes so long. A lot of public damage can be done in that interim."
After a hearing or plea bargain, a guilty Ellsworth would face a maximum $10,000 fine and a reprimand. Pocket change and a bad boy, Butch! That's all. A public official who commits an ethical crime does not lose his job. He does not face jail time. He keeps his parking place, his stipend, his agenda. "That's the law," explains the commission's spokeswoman Helen Jones.
Ellsworth's ethics charge stems from a vote he made in May 2002. He's been voting on public issues ever since. By the time a full-scale hearing ends and the Ethics Commission sends it all up to the governor, it could well be next spring — when Ellsworth's term is up — before this case is closed. Ellsworth's seat on the council is critical to the pro-development forces — especially the Rices — who are now mustering another zoning code "compromise" to bring before elected leaders.
One vote could change the city forever.
The other City Council members could ask Butch to resign. (He could tell them to go to hell.) The people could recall him. He could get hit by lightning. Or eaten by a shark. Until one of those equally unlikely events occur, Butch Ellsworth will park his big white truck next to City Hall, walk inside and take his seat as a living, breathing, voting, "probable" conflict-of-interest on Treasure Island's ruling body.
Our state ethics police have a gun to his head, but it ain't loaded.
And the duck remains at large, quacking all the way to the bank.
Peter Gallagher is a St. Petersburg writer who specializes in conservation causes.
This article appears in Aug 7-13, 2003.