back to Niagara Falls Reporter archive
Many consider him a bully, a third-rate street thug, an insufferable brute. The federal government accuses him of being an extortionist who heads a union that serves as a criminal enterprise. A real jury and the jury of public opinion will ultimately decide those issues.
But let me suggest the radical. Michael J. "Butch" Quarcini, the powerful head of Laborers Local 91 now facing federal racketeering charges, can also be bright, loyal, committed, kind, generous, caring, fun and -- dare I say -- even charming.
Michael, as I usually called him, did not rise to power and hold his union post for 40 years solely by breaking heads, slashing tires, and intimidating those who got in his way, as his indictment suggests.
He played politics and did it with a degree of cunning, to say nothing of persistence.
My first meeting with the deposed labor leader was revealing in tone and substance. The time frame was about 1973.
So this is the great Butch Quarcini, I thought. He was in my face -- belligerent, boorish, confrontational and clearly ill-tempered.
"Hey, I hear you're a friend of this John Hanchette guy," he snarled.
"Yes," I said. " So what?"
I knew full well why he was asking. John was with the Buffalo News then and he and the late Ray Hill had just finished a blockbuster series of reports about problems in the $40 million construction project for the Niagara Falls Convention Center.
The reports exposed huge cost overruns, change orders galore, the state's unusual financing scheme, and big problems on the job invariably linked to disputes with Laborers Local 91.
The Canadian-based company, Pigott Construction, was having trouble understanding the way "things were done" in the Falls.
The reports detailed these struggles and how the Laborers pressured the contractor to make sure they got plenty of cushy watchmen's jobs and were able to pick the foremen who ran the pace of the work.
The series, in many ways, uncovered the practices cited in the federal indictments handed down nearly 30 years later. The reports were thoroughly documented and, for a time, state investigators pursued a case, but they apparently lacked the persistence their federal counterparts later showed.
My first encounter with Butch was at a Niagara Street bar, at a rally for some long-forgotten politico. Pete Dorgan, a Democratic committeeman from the South End, introduced me to Quarcini.
I knew him by reputation, but had never seen him before, and was surprised to find a blond with piercing blue eyes. He looked more Slavic than Italian. He was burly, with big hands. His nose was somewhat dislocated, perhaps the work of a well-directed fist at some time, but overall he was a handsome man.
Between sips on his V.O. on the rocks and puffs on a Lucky Strike, Butch proceeded to tell me, up-close and personal, that he didn't like me, my politics, my friends or anything about me. Dorgan tried to be the peacemaker, but Butch was on an intimidation roll and kept ranting. He didn't really dispute anything Hanchette had written about Local 91 and the strong-arm tactics the Laborers reportedly employed.
Butch probably thought that kind of thing polished his image. But what really infuriated him was Hanchette's mention of his arrest record. Again, no dispute on the facts, but Quarcini thought it wasn't relevant, and he didn't want his kids reading about his run-ins with the law.
Over the years after that first encounter, my relationship with him evolved from confrontational to nonaggressive, and eventually to a degree of friendly civility.
Throughout my life, I've often associated with people whose politics and personalities are far different from mine.
Some of my regular readers might be surprised to know my usual, steady companions and friends are pure capitalists and conservative rock-ribbed Republicans. Life and conversation are far more interesting hanging out with people whose views don't reflect your own.
Quarcini had a lot of friends at City Hall and he served on the powerful Zoning Board of Appeals. But that wasn't unusual in those days. The business agents of nearly all the building trades held some kind of city position on everything from the civil service commission to the urban renewal agency. They were all politically active, most of them Democrats.
But Quarcini's taste in politicians was distinctively Republican. For a number of years, he also served as a part-time, paid "labor consultant" to the New York State Senate.
Senate Majority leader Earl W. Brydges from Niagara County made that appointment, although I know Brydges' son, Jerry, and others close to him did not feel comfortable with that association.
Quarcini's political reach didn't stop at City Hall, Lockport or the state capital. It went right into the White House. Here's how.
Quarcini's favorite politician of all time was Russell Rourke, the longtime chief of staff for Niagara County's congressman at the time, Henry Smith III. Smith decided to retire and Rourke ran for his seat. He was an energetic, personable guy, who already had a lot of friends and political IOU's back in the district from his years of running the congressman's office in Washington.
If you needed something done, you'd call Rourke, leaving the patrician-looking Smith to pose for pictures with school-kids.
Rourke had a lot going for him, and Quarcini put everything he had behind his candidacy, but the year -- 1974 -- had everything to do with the outcome. That was the Watergate year, and Democrats won open seats all over the country.
The Democrat John LaFalce beat Rourke and has been in Washington ever since. Quarcini's dislike for LaFalce goes back to the '74 election.
But Rourke, as always, landed on his feet. Gerald Ford had become president after Nixon's resignation and, as the Republican leader in the House, he had known Rourke, and the defeated congressional candidate ended up on Ford's staff.
Quarcini was delighted to have a friend in the White House and regaled people with stories of the times he and his boys would visit Rourke and wander through the West Wing. They once ran into Henry Kissinger outside the Oval Office. Butch liked that.
Quarcini was part of a group of local business people who managed the city's parking ramp. My colleagues on the City Council and I awarded the deal to the only local group that bid on it, and I didn't really care that Quarcini was involved, in spite of our political differences.
I think he appreciated that and his hostility toward me faded. I still never sought or got political help from the Laborers. My support in the construction trades came from the plumbers, electricians, bricklayers and operating engineers -- often the adversaries of the Laborers.
One Friday evening in July, 1975, I was having a drink at the old Hilton Hotel with Harvey Albond, who was the acting city manager at the time. It had already been a terrible day.
Two people were killed in a fire early in the morning, and in the afternoon, three people drowned when the raft they were on flipped over in the lower Niagara.
We ran into Quarcini and one of his union staffers, Ron D'Grillo. We were drinking and chatting when Albond got a phone call informing him that there had been an accident at the construction site for the city's new waste water treatment plant.
Butch knew his men were on the job, so we all shot over there. It was raining and we quickly got the grim news. A tunnel under construction had flooded and five workers were trapped below. They didn't have a chance.
We stood over the shaft looking down and grasping the tragedy. Butch was anguished and tears flowed on his rain-soaked face. The drowned Laborers were his friends, and he was helpless to do anything to save them.
Then, and for years to follow, Quarcini helped and supported the families of the victims. He never forgot.
Butch was no stranger to personal tragedy. His brother drowned on a fishing trip in Canada and the loss profoundly touched him.
The tough-guy labor boss could often be spotted at Mass at Sacred Heart Church. He'd sit in a back pew, alone with his head bowed -- a strangely different pose than taking a swing at someone in his way.
Quarcini kicked the cigarettes and now prefers his own wine to V.O., but that doesn't mean he's mellowed.
He's done things his way forever and shows no signs of changing. He's had serious health problems and could have retired to play more golf and spend more time with his family.
But he chose the power and glory he found in being boss of "his" union. Michael, I wish you had faded gracefully. There's no glory in your forced retirement.
| Niagara Falls Reporter | www.niagarafallsreporter.com | May 28 2002 |