Best Example of Local Corruption 2008 | David Hendershott in Honduras | People & Places | Phoenix

Why is the Maricopa County Sheriff's Office in Honduras training the national police there on the county taxpayer's dime, with expenses reimbursed by RICO funds? To hear Sheriff Joe Arpaio tell it, the program — authored, planned and approved by his Chief Deputy David Hendershott — was a gesture of goodwill to the Honduran government, so that they would pony up millions of photos for the MCSO's facial-recognition data banks. At last count, the program's cost the county more than $157,000 in man-hours and RICO reimbursements. But there's more: Hendershott approved hundreds of thousands of dollars in purchases of facial-recognition technology from a county vendor with which he has unexplained ties. Hendershott even pitched the technology to a representative of the European Union, and has been caught traveling to China and staying in the same hotel as the CEO of this same county vendor while there.

Hendershott has denied over and over that he has any investments in Honduras or in the vendor's business. But that photo of Hendershott in Honduras, wearing a Panama hat and a Hawaiian shirt, as if he were in a remake of The Island of Dr. Moreau, tells a different story. That photo is emblematic of just how wacked the MCSO has become. Hendershott is at the epicenter of this corruption, a venal, power-mad Jabba the Hutt beholden to no one. Not even Joe Arpaio, whom he manipulates like a moth-eaten marionette. Hendershott is the real power behind Joe's throne. But if Joe loses in November, Hendershott'll have to account to another boss for all he's wrought. Wonder if they make striped pajamas in Hendy's size?

Since when does a developer need $97 million in incentives to build a shopping center in the swankiest part of town? Apparently, it's been since Thomas Klutznick & Company came to town, hands outstretched, and Phoenix promised the Chicago developer just that sum in exchange for a Nordstrom at the 51 and the 101. The deal was universally panned, from the halls of the State Legislature to the candidates' debates before the City Council. But nobody did anything about it — nobody, that is, until the Goldwater Institute decided to sue the city, arguing that the giveaway was unconstitutional.

The city fought back hard, and after winning on a district level, attempted to sock Goldwater for its attorney's fees. Fortunately, Maricopa Superior Court Judge Robert Miles denied that claim, calling it "inappropriate." And so the scrappy litigators at the Institute's Scharf-Norton Center for Constitutional Litigation survived to fight another round, attempting to get the appeals court to do what the superior court would not. Win or lose, we love them for trying — and, hopefully, making the city think twice before it gives away a giant hunk of our sales tax dollars.

We do wonder how many people in the East Valley have even a remote idea what the Yiddish word schmuck means. (Um, rhymes with Venus.) And we want to know how many of you, well, schmucks out there actually voted for a guy because of his last name. That basically sums up Frank Schmuck's run for the house in Legislative District 20, which featured a whole lot of white and red signs emblazoned with SCHMUCK — THAT'S RIGHT! FRANK SCHMUCK. He didn't make it out of the primary (though we gotta say, he came darn close) but, hey, it's not like he wouldn't have been in good company if he'd won the race and headed to the state Capitol.

We always loved his work as a journalist — first as a longtime reporter for the Phoenix Gazette, then the Arizona Republic, where he did everything from cover D.C. to blow the coffin lid off the mortuary business in Phoenix — but we had to laugh when we heard, years ago, that Michael Murphy had left the paper for public relations.

Murphy's a lovable curmudgeon with a heart of gold — but the guy's a first-rate mumbler. That doesn't matter so much when you're the one asking the questions, but it can thwart your success when you're trying to make a point on TV or radio, on behalf of your employer. But Murphy's initial employer, the Arizona Department of Health Services, deserves some credit. Someone knew what they were doing. Murphy spoke up and spoke well on behalf of DHS for many years. We were sad to see him go this summer, because unlike a lot of flacks in this town, he takes his role seriously and always answered our requests in a timely and professional manner.

We wish him luck in his new gig as communications director for the Maricopa Integrated Health System. Now, that's a mouthful.

We've never had one word of complaint about Toni Maccarone. Throughout nine years as a public information officer for the Phoenix City Council, and then as the director of the city's public information office for the last seven years, Maccarone has been even-keeled, organized, and professional. In Phoenix, unlike other government entities we can think of, it never mattered that we'd recently written something nasty about city officials or that we were only sniffing around potentially embarrassing information and ignoring the "good" news: Maccarone made sure that the right records were provided — in a timely manner and without a touch of attitude — and that the proper officials were produced to take our questions, whether they liked it or not. So we were both happy for her and sorry for ourselves when we heard in September that she'd been promoted to serve as Phil Gordon's chief of staff. It couldn't happen to a nicer lady; we can only hope her yet-to-be-named replacement at the PIO is just as easy to work with.

We used to make fun of the Republic, constantly. It was so boring, so ridiculously provincial, so . . . mainstream. But this year, we have to admit, we stopped sneering and started worrying. The paper's parent company, Gannett, has been hemorrhaging money, and we've seen the results in a series of editorial cuts that have sent the paper's best staffers heading for the exits. For a while, it seemed like everybody was fleeing to jobs in public relations (Judy Nichols, Robbie Sherwood, Mark Shaffer, Chris Fiscus). Now the rest of them seem to be headed to the unemployment line. The paper's far-from-generous buyout package netted another 28 losses last month, and among the casualties were some of our favorite people: Chuck Kelly, who led the Republic's Don Bolles investigation and was known as a great wordsmith and all-around nice guy. Norm Frauenheim, considered one of the country's top boxing writers. Richard DeUriarte, an avuncular presence who moderated political debates all over the Valley and used to be the paper's Public Advocate. We have to admit, had we known they were going, we might have appreciated the Republic a little more while they were there. The paper simply won't be the same without them — and for once, we mean that in a completely non-snarky, non-sneering way.

He sits on the Arizona Corporation Commission. She sits over the Maricopa County Superior Court, as chief presiding judge. Together, they run the world. Well, not quite, but damn close. As top judge, Barbara's taken no prisoners (at least, not where some less-favored colleagues are concerned) and she's earned her reputation as hard-nosed, but fair (at least most of the time). Bill is also a lawyer — in fact, he once served as Chief Presiding Judge of Chandler Municipal Court. No big deal compared with his wife's lofty digs as the big cheese at the county courthouse, but who's comparing? Bill resigned from his judgeship in the mid-'80s to run for political office; the moderate Republican served for many years in the Arizona legislature, and now on the board that regulates power, among other things. Will Mrs. Mundell follow in Mr.'s footsteps? Barbara insists she's not headed for life in public office or, perhaps, a slot as an appellate judge. In fact, she insists to pals that she'll quit public life in about two years, when her time as the chief is up. We hope someone can change her mind.

Never thought we'd say that, did you? We've been tormenting the over-caffeinated Gordon from just about the minute he was elected five years ago — and we were hardly all that enthusiastic about his re-coronation last fall. But something amazing happened on César Chávez Day: Mayor Gordon found his voice. To us, a good politician isn't one who triangulates or tries to scrape up a majority or panders to the racist jerks who increasingly dominate the political discussion here in Arizona. A good politician leads. And with his eloquent denunciation of Sheriff Joe Arpaio and racial profiling, Gordon did just that.

We used to haunt the library on a regular basis. Then, the Internet came along. So, sadly, when we hoofed it over one evening this summer, we were hard-pressed to recall the last time we'd crossed the hallowed threshold of our city's main book drag.

If you haven't been lately, either, let us tell you: The clientele has changed. We don't want to be rude, but let us just say that we were likely the only ones in the library actually doing research that night. Which might be why the library staff pounced on us when we approached the reference desk with a question about some 20-year-old congressional hearing testimony.

In the end, it took three librarians to solve our conundrum. That included a particularly energetic Swedish (we think) woman who put off her smoking break to practically dance through the aisles, searching for just the right volume, then pulling the microfiche, feeding it into the machine and even finding the corresponding day's newspaper, just in case that offered any additional information.

It did, and we left Burton Barr with a renewed respect for the library sciences. The World Wide Web did not, in fact, kill the library star. Not yet, anyway.

Before you say that you're done being bummed out by yet another sad reminder of the horrors of Nazi Germany, consider remarkable 82-year-old Romanian-born Magda Herzberger. Now living in Fountain Hills, Mrs. Herzberger survived three death camps, Auschwitz, Bremen, and Bergen-Belsen.

For nearly four decades, she has spoken about her incredible experiences, reading from her poetry and from her books, listening to musical groups perform her haunting compositions (her piece Requiem is dedicated to the memory of the Holocaust victims). She inevitably gets a lot of questions after she speaks, especially from schoolchildren, about what she endured and how she did it. The thing is, this resilient woman somehow is an eternal optimist, and her speaking style is so engaging and upbeat that it's impossible to leave the room afterward feeling less than hopeful about the human spirit, even under the most horrific circumstances. Her recent autobiography, Survivor, and her children's book, Tales of the Magic Forest, are inspirational. Mrs. Herzberger seems to thrive on speaking at public libraries. She is a bright light among us. Next time you see her listed on an events schedule, do drop in.

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