RETIRING JUDGE HAS SEEN IT ALL
Markey Weary Of Drug System That Doesn't Work

(New Bedford) -- The city that John A. Markey inherited when he was
elected mayor in 1971 was in real turmoil: large parts of the West End
had literally been burned down the previous year in clashes between
blacks and police that left one young man dead.

Eleven years later, after six terms as the city's chief, Mr. Markey
accepted a judgeship in the city's 3rd District Court.

Within a year, the notorious Big Dan's gang-rape case would again
bring attention to New Bedford -- and again for all the wrong reasons.

This week, Mr. Markey, 64, announced he would retire as the city's top
District Court judge, ending a public life that afforded him a unique
view of the city during some of its most volatile times.

"It was the city's image of itself that was so bad," Mr. Markey said
this week. "There was this feeling that New Bedford had been down and
was just going to stay down."

Since 1982, Mr. Markey, if he hadn't suspected it already, has seen
first-hand on a daily basis the effect that low self-image and loss of
self-esteem can have on a city and its people.

Drug and alcohol addiction, and the problems they create in his
courtroom, have in part fueled his decision to leave the bench at an
age years younger than one at which most judges would consider retirement.

Early on in his judicial career he earned the reputation as a tough
judge, imposing harsh sentences.

The image matched the no-nonsense persona he cultivated as a
plain-spoken, chain-smoking, coffee-guzzling mayor once accused of
threatening to punch a school principal in the mouth.

Seventeen years later, he looks weary and sounds tired, but talks more
like a man half his age when describing the daunting problems inside
the courtroom.

He's convinced that jail and most traditional ways of dealing with
drugs don't work, and that the system is not set up correctly to solve
the problem.

He says, for example, there are no prostitutes, per se, in New Bedford:
only residents afflicted with addiction who know no other way to feed their
habit.

The regulars -- the "pep squad" of repeat offenders he tries to extend
sympathy to with pep talks -- are victims, he said.

On Thursday morning, while he talks about his career, he is aware that
one of those regulars is waiting in his courtroom.

The man, an alcoholic, was released from custody by Judge Markey on
Monday, with a warning he would be going to jail if the judge saw him
again.

Now he is back.

"This is the Gospel truth: He's a nice guy, I like this guy. When he's
sober, he's the nicest guy in the world to talk to," Judge Markey
said. "What do you do with someone like this? Where do you send them?
These are nice people with a terrible, terrible affliction. You can
only lock them up for so long. They go from low self-esteem to no
self-esteem. How do you get people out of that hole?"

The affliction, he understands, is close to his addiction to
cigarettes, which he has tried unsuccessfully to quell for years.

In his own house, his children make him smoke away from the grandkids,
in the garage.

As he talks about the difficulties in getting meaningful treatment for
the city's troubled, he knows he will soon have to stamp out the Omega
cigarette he's smoking in his chambers, don his black robe, and send
that man to jail.

"Sometimes you feel like you're spinning your wheels."

At first it was a serious slur: the Irish Mafia.

The name applied to those city leaders with Irish surnames who
conspiracy theorists believed controlled everything from the mayor's
office, to the courts, to public housing, to the city budget.

Names like William Q. "Biff" MacLean Jr., a retired state senator; John
Tierney, former district attorney and husband of former Mayor Rosemary S.
Tierney; the Housing Authority's Joseph Finnerty: present District Attorney
Paul Walsh.

And former Mayor and retiring District Court Judge John A.
Markey.

"To me it's a joke," he said. "I never attended a meeting where we
said 'Hey, let's all us Irish guys get together.'"

Still, Mr. Finnerty was his top aide and is a first cousin, as is
Sheriff Thomas M. Hodgson.

Ethics regulations are so stringent, he insists, he hasn't been able
to attend a party or political event for years because he may be seen
as supporting one candidate, lawyer or resident.

His old private practice partner, Paul Matthieu, hasn't been in his
courtroom for years.

And for a man who's been studying law since his law school days at
Howard University, it's strange to have little contact with his
professional peers.

"You get isolated in this job," he said. "I haven't had dinner with a
lawyer in I don't know how long. Eight years? Ten years?"

But the perception by some of Judge Markey as political insider and
member of some so-called Irish Mafia persisted. And though Judge
Markey laughs that one off, other perceptions during his public life
have been more bothersome.

Sixteen years after the crime, the mention of the Portuguese community
and the Big Dan's case in the same breath angers the judge.

In that case, he said, the media seized on the ethnic background of
the suspects in the rape, distorting the story and paining the city.

"That was a media figment. Nationality had nothing to do with that
crime," he said. "It was five thugs. It could have been five Irish
thugs or whatever."

Raising the city's self-image -- or building a community "within the
community," as he says -- was a top priority when he was mayor.

The city actively promoted concerts and other events as hard as they
sought out industry and business opportunities.

"We'd have six or seven thousand people downtown on a Thursday night,"
he said. "That's something. It's something people grow to look forward
to, and it's important."

Mr. Markey saw the importance of promoting New Bedford as a tourist
destination, something dropped by administrations after him, but
coming back into favor with strength recently.

One of the first things he did as mayor was attend a high school
football game.

The marching band, with their dirty uniforms and only passing
familiarity with the instruments they were playing, caught the new
mayor's attention.

"Oh my God, I was embarrassed," he said. "They were representing New
Bedford."

The city poured money and attention into the program, which now wins
national awards and rivals well-heeled Dartmouth's own celebrated band.

The idea to spruce up what is now the historic downtown took root in
the Mr. Markey administration, as he began installing the
old-fashioned lights and other accessories that give the area its
maritime feel.

And he went after the naysayers.

When the Boston Herald wrote a column describing a down-in-the-mouth
New Bedford as "Pit City," Mr. Markey demanded a retraction and
apology and blasted the writer, who admitted he never visited the city.

He still bristles at the mention of local activists and personalities
who make sport of the city he grew up in and raised four children in.

"If people perceive there is nothing here for them, then there really
isn't," he said. "Perception is so important."

There are probably two overriding images of John Markey in New
Bedford.

One is of the mayor removing his pants at a press conference to make a
point.

During a bitter fight over contracts with the police and firefighters,
Mr. Markey accused the union of trying to strip the city.

While the cameras rolled, the mayor removed his pants and stood in gym
trunks: Go ahead, take my pants, too, he told the city employees.

The other image is from last year, when the judge was suspended for
three months.

It is the image he least wants remembered.

A state judicial board ruled that Mr. Markey improperly contacted
another judge on behalf of a courthouse janitor involved in a domestic
assault case.

It had all the appearances of impropriety: The janitor had been a city
councilor while Mr. Markey was mayor, and the two men lived on the
same street.

Never mind that he had never been inside Nelson Macedo's house and did
not ask the other judge for special treatment, Mr. Markey said.

The judicial board ruled that the mere perception of influence damages
the court.

Mr. Markey said he has been considering stepping down "for a long
time," but the Nelson Macedo affair had little to do with the decision
to give up his $109,000 post.

Instead, he says a mounting frustration with the role of judge itself,
and a desire to spend more time with his family is driving his choice.