The Brother Bulger

Bulger has been working on an introduction to a forthcoming James Michael Curley biography. He says he also has plans to write a “continuation” of his 1996 memoir, While the Music Lasts. The book was praised by the likes of economist and JFK adviser John Kenneth Galbraith, though critics lambasted Bulger for either being delusional or fabricating whole scenes to settle old scores. (“I did it for the money,” Bulger says. “Our friend Johnson said only a blockhead writes for anything but money.”) The follow-up, he says, will deal largely with what he learned during “the season of Romney,” which began when the governor, hoping to score points as a reformer, drew a bead on Bulger after Bulger’s faltering testimony before the House committee. It was the first power struggle in decades where Bulger came out on the losing end.

Bulger’s tenure at UMass is widely seen as a success, though when he came into it he had so much baggage that even the New York Times felt the need to run an editorial warning “Boss Bulger” not to turn the school into a patronage mill. He did bring in a lot of old associates while he was there, and famously moved the president’s office to an opulent $1-million-a-year downtown space that’s since been vacated by the university, but by and large he did very well in his eight years in charge. Over the course of his tenure, SAT scores of accepted students rose an average of 36 points across the five UMass campuses, with the biggest jumps at predominantly working-class Boston, Lowell, and Dartmouth. The school’s endowment went from $40 million to $150 million, and revenues from licensing UMass research increased from $754,000 to $20 million. Bulger also helped launch UMass’s online distance-learning program, a national leader. More importantly, say people who worked with him, he brought stability to an often fractious system and bridged the gap between the blue-collar, business, and academic worlds. Says UMass Amherst professor Ralph Whitehead, “The image I have of Bulger is of him talking to one of the guys on the yard crew while five or six campus bureaucrats are waiting for him to follow them.”

“I had a lot going on,” Bulger says of his years at the university, “a lot of people helping me. I thought we were making progress, jump-starting the institution—we did all kinds of things. But I also know that my brother’s thing is juicy.”

Bulger says he never met Romney face to face, a claim disputed by the current presidential candidate’s camp. “I inquired about seeing Romney with one of the people who work for him, but he said, ‘He’s a businessman, he says you’re an exploitable commodity, he’ll never let up because you are useful.’” Whatever the case, Bulger remains startled by how hard Romney came at him, at one point even threatening to appoint Dershowitz to the UMass board. “He comes to town and he can steamroll over everybody. And I’m an easy mark,” Bulger says. “I wasn’t expecting that. I’ve worked with rich people before, but they knew me. And almost anyone that I knew, I was okay with.”

When Bulger was finally rousted from his post in August 2003, he negotiated a $960,000 severance package, which amounted to 80 percent of what he had left in his contract. That came on top of the staggering state pension he was already in line to receive, thanks to his $309,000 annual salary at the university. Still, Bulger fought for three years to get a paltry $29,000 housing allowance categorized as part of his income and added to the pile. In 2006 the state Supreme Judicial Court at last ruled in his favor, and his pension rose to just over $197,000 a year. Bulger partisans agree with him that the push was a matter of principle, after his shabby treatment at the hands of Romney. His foes claim that the motivation was not so high-minded—he was just plundering the joint and stealing the china on his way out. “Why does a dog lick its balls?” quips one longtime observer. “Because it can.”

Looking back on it, Bulger’s decision was a curious one: Here’s a politician who, in the words of Marc Landy, a political scientist who taught with him at BC, possesses “the most remarkable combination of shrewdness and theoretical understanding I’ve ever run across.” He was just coming off a stint at UMass that had bolstered his reputation, a boost that wasn’t diminished when he left, considering how many people thought Romney had bullied him. And then he gives that up for what he knew would be perceived as petty avarice. Bulger remains convinced it was the right thing to do. “At the time, we discussed it and said, ‘We’re going to get killed for this.’ But I said, ‘I’m not going to walk away. They’re not going to say anything good about me anyway.’” Certain that the housing allowance fell under his overall compensation, and that it belonged to him and his family, he wasn’t going to forfeit it just because he had a target on his back. Even if as little as $100 was at stake, he would have done it, just “to stand up to that little twerp at the Treasury,” Tim Cahill, who fought him bitterly on the increase, and who also chaired the board that rescinded Jackie Bulger’s pension. “I felt as though they must think that I’m so hurt, that I’m just going off,” Bulger says. “I wanted to show that I was unafraid of them. And asserting myself in that way was good. I like that.”

Suddenly, Bulger lights up. “Oh, Jesus, there’s Michael Barnicle!” he exclaims, looking over my shoulder, and it is. Over walks Barnicle, the former Globe columnist, radio host, and occasional sub for Hardball’s Chris Matthews on MSNBC, looking a little grubby in an oversize, worn-out T-shirt. Before he was forced to resign from his job at the Globe amid allegations of plagiarism and fabricating sources, Barnicle was derided as an apologist for the Bulger brothers, perhaps the last person in town who still bought the myth of Whitey as a latter-day Robin Hood delivering turkeys to the poor and helping old ladies cross the street. Late last year, he turned up as a member of an investment group weighing an irony-laden purchase of his former paper.

Bulger makes a big show for the room. “Will you put him out of here?” he calls to the laughing waitresses. “Would you please get him out? Do we have anybody here who can get him out? This place is going to hell. This used to be a nice restaurant! I guess I’m going to have to go back to the Four Seasons!” Big laughs. He turns to Barnicle and asks how he is.

“I’m doin’ well,” Barnicle says. “Same old, same old. Just get up every day and get back in the batter’s box.”

“You’re doing very well,” Bulger tells him. “I like your spirit. It’s real.”

“Well, I like yours, too.”

“Bet your life.”

Barnicle points out another Globe reporter sitting over in the corner. Bulger nods, then says, “Can you do me a favor? Tell him to get out.”

“Wait’ll we buy it,” Barnicle roars, as he walks away. “We’re gonna buy it!”

“Okay.”