Whither the whistleblower?
Dee J Hall - November 30, 2005 - Wisconsin State Journal
www.madison.com/wsj/home/local/index.php?ntid=62296&ntpid=1
MILTON - To government reform advocates, Lyndee Wall is a "hero" and "the spark that brought down" the top leaders of Wisconsin's Legislature.
In the spring of 2001, the nervous but determined 27-year- old administrative assistant quit her job and blew the whistle on campaigning by state employees at the Assembly Republican Caucus, one of four partisan caucuses that then served the state Legislature.
The allegations, published in the Wisconsin State Journal in May of that year, ultimately sparked criminal charges against state lawmakers from both parties and forced closure of the caucus offices, which were revealed as thinly disguised, taxpayer-funded campaign machines. Now, more than four years later, two Democratic state senators have pleaded guilty to related charges, and cases are pending against three Republican legislators.
"I guess without a Lyndee Wall, like without a Deep Throat in Watergate, this might not have happened - the revelation of the most serious and widespread political scandal in Wisconsin history," said Jay Heck, executive director of Common Cause in Wisconsin.
If the trial for three Republican lawmakers and one of their aides charged in the scandal goes forward as scheduled in February in Dane County Circuit Court, it's likely that Wall, who now goes by her married name of Woodliff, would be a key witness for the prosecution.
Will get degree For someone once at the center of the state's biggest political scandal, Woodliff's life today is remarkably normal.
The now 32-year-old is married to Bruce Woodliff, who works at General Motors in Janesville. She and her family, including David, 3, and Alex, 1, live in an attractive home in the countryside near Milton.
Next month, Woodliff will get her bachelor's degree in political science, summa cum laude, from UW-Whitewater. She's also completing a minor in legal studies, including an internship at the office of Rock County Circuit Judge James Daley.
But she didn't get to this point without a struggle. Soon after she dropped her political bombshell on Wisconsin in the spring of 2001, Woodliff left Madison and worked for a time at an employment agency in Janesville. She said she became discouraged as months went by without criminal charges, and the top leaders of the Legislature held onto their positions of power.
She described it as a rather dark period in her life, a situation that was worsened by attempts by political operatives to discredit her. Woodliff said e-mails were circulated in political and media circles that appeared to come from her but in fact, she discovered, originated at the Legislature.
"The reason I was willing to accept the personal risk ... was because I truly, deeply cherish my democracy more than the security of my state paycheck," Woodliff said recently. "I couldn't bear the fact that while I worked there, I was being paid by taxpayers to commit crimes against their democracy."
Within months of the published allegations, Woodliff's bold gamble began to pay off. Five months after the first stories ran, the Legislature agreed to shut down the caucuses. A year after the State Journal stories ran, the first criminal charges were filed.
Former Sen. Brian Burke, D- Milwaukee, was the first to be charged in the case in June 2002. In October of that year, charges were leveled against former Senate Majority Leader Chuck Chvala, D-Madison; former Assembly Speaker Scott Jensen, R-Waukesha; and former Republican Reps. Steve Foti of Oconomowoc and Bonnie Ladwig of Mount Pleasant. All but Foti resigned from leadership - a near-complete shakeup of the power structure at the Legislature.
Quit in disgust Idealistic, conservative and a self-described "black-and- white" thinker, Woodliff said she knew her first day on the job that there was something "drastically illegal" going on at the Assembly Republican Caucus, one of four legislative caucuses ostensibly set up to provide partisan research, publicity and other help to lawmakers.
Woodliff ended up working there for eight months as an administrative assistant, before quitting in disgust in March 2001. Woodliff then turned over hundreds of pages of documents to the State Journal, detailing the daily campaign work done by herself and other state workers during the 2000 campaign season. Woodliff's disclosure was bolstered by statements from other former caucus staffers, who said campaigning was rampant at all four legislative caucuses.
The records provided by Woodliff showed that the Republican Assembly Campaign Committee (RACC), run by the Assembly's Republican leaders, was operating secretly out of the taxpayer-funded caucus office on Fairchild Street near the State Capitol. She said workers used private e-mail accounts and cell phones to mask their campaign work.
The records showed staffers recruited candidates, set up TV commercial shoots, designed and wrote campaign literature and radio spots, wrote press releases, distributed fliers, provided "talking points," lined up endorsements and plotted and carried out political mud- slinging using "opposition research."
"My bosses were telling me 'Don't let anyone know what you're working on. If you get caught, we will get in trouble,'" she said.
Some staffers left Madison for weeks or months in 2000 to run campaigns in La Crosse, Milwaukee, Green Bay and elsewhere, claiming partial leaves of absence to hide their full-time campaign work.
Although the accused lawmakers initially denied they used state staff and resources to run campaigns, they now argue in court briefs that such work was a legitimate part of their duties as legislative leaders.
Proof was lacking For years, rumors about private campaign work done by caucus staffers had circulated beyond the Capitol. Some media organizations and good- government groups tried to expose the system but lacked enough proof to bring the scandal to the forefront.
The Wisconsin Democracy Campaign's Mike McCabe said Woodliff was the first person to lay the system bare - so much so that regulators and law enforcement were forced to act. After the State Journal series ran, the Ethics and Elections boards declined to investigate but pressured the legislative leaders to shut down the caucuses. They closed on Jan. 1, 2002.
"It's one thing to suspect something is amiss," said McCabe, whose own organization shed light on the caucus system in 1999. "It's another thing to have some proof - to break it open and ultimately get the problem fixed."
Woodliff said she's glad she came forward but wishes more had changed in Wisconsin politics. She's disappointed that more lawmakers weren't held accountable.
"Most elected leaders have neither 'fessed up nor decried the caucus scheme publicly," she said.
Woodliff believes that a caucus-related trial might be a good thing for Wisconsin, and Heck agreed, saying such a high-profile event could prompt voters to demand reform of the money-driven political system in Wisconsin. But many political observers expect that a plea deal appears more likely for the pending cases.
Woodliff isn't sure what she'll do next. She toys with the idea of going to law school, adding, "I would like to somehow do something meaningful with my life."
But McCabe said that if she does nothing else, Woodliff already has made history by helping abolish the legislative caucus system. "The people of Wisconsin owe people like Lyndee a debt of gratitude," he said.
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