Downfall of a favorite son
Many in Manafort’s hometown want him to pay price
“He’s just ruining our reputation in the world and I hate that.”
Marty Valengavich
NEW BRITAIN — From Paul Manafort Drive, the landmark Capitol Lunch, and right to the steps of the courthouse, people in the hometown of President Donald Trump’s now-infamous campaign manager say he should pay the price for his crimes.
That means prison — with no presidential pardon — for the man with the multiple luxury properties, millions stashed in offshore banks, and the $15,000 ostrich-skin jacket.
In City Hall, however, there’s apparently not much of an opinion.
A week after Mayor Erin Stewart’s dreams of a lieutenant governor candidacy failed in the Republican primary, she used her staffers Wednesday to insulate herself from a visiting reporter, following the bombshell conviction of Paul Manafort Jr.
The favorite son of this post-industrial city was convicted of failing to disclose a foreign bank account, two counts of bank fraud and five counts of tax fraud, and is now a felon.
Stewart declined a brief interview or comment, but tweeted an existential arms-length assessment on the coincidence of Manafort’s birth 69 years ago in this city of about 73,000, where the voter registration favors Democrats five-to-one.
“I’m going to revisit my quote of the year ... ‘people are born places ...’ ” she posted on Twitter.
Ah, but on the other side of town — where the Paul Manafort Drive sign was edited by city officials last week to read “Paul Manafort Sr. Drive” to honor his late father and decidedly not “Jr.” — another local talked about penalties to fit the crime and the potential blowback for the president.
“If he does pardon him, it’s his right as
president, I suppose, but there would be repercussions politically, in lieu of the midterms coming up,” said Nathan Bergstrom, 42, on a lunchtime walk under the single “Manafort” street sign along the road that borders Central Connecticut State University, where he works. “Not that it matters, because in Connecticut we’re pretty blue here.”
Halfway back to City Hall, Steve Marek, 71, was dismounting his Harley-Davidson three-wheeler outside Capitol Lunch, when he predicted the eventual presidential pardon for Manafort, who attended Catholic school here before going off to college in Washington. Then it was on to the lucrative, finally dubious and then felonious career as a political hired hand, first in the United States and eventually for Ukrainian millionaires with tight connections to Russia’s Vladimir Putin.
“It’s not fair,” said Marek, a Vietnam-era veteran of the U.S. Air Force and longtime area resident who now spends most of the year in Florida. “I don’t believe in pardons for anyone.”
On the walls of Capitol Lunch are large, vintage, black-and-white photos of downtown New Britain from when its nickname, The Hardware City, was well-earned, with factories making everything from tools to toasters, from waffle makers to coffee percolators and anti-aircraft guns, now commemorated in the New Britain Industrial Museum.
The median family income is $42,000, with nearly 23 percent of the city living in poverty, according to the U.S. Census. The city’s unemployment rate is 6.2 percent, compared to 4.5 percent statewide.
Four generations ago, the Manaforts came over from Italy and made their local reputation in construction at Manafort Brothers Inc., founded by Paul Manafort Sr’s father. The company is still in business over on New Britain Avenue, in neighboring Plainville, a town of about 18,000.
While Marek knocked down a couple of trademark hot dogs with onions and chili, Marty Valengavich, 61, his wife, Stacey, and son, Steven, sat on nearby stools in the front window overlooking Main Street. The former city residents, now New Hampshire transplants, were in town visiting relatives.
Valengavich said between Manafort’s guilty verdict and the simultaneous plea from Trump’s former personal lawyer Michael Cohen, corruption has been laid bare on the steps of the White House.
“He’s just ruining our reputation in the world and I hate that,” Valengavich said of the president between bites of his hot dog and fries. He remembered growing up in the city when Manafort’s father was mayor. “I’ve always been proud of the United States and I’m not now. I hope Manafort goes to jail.”
Back downtown, Allan Nelson, 91, a World War II Navy destroyer veteran and big fan of the New Britain Bees, the struggling local minor-league baseball team, recalled Manafort’s father.
“He was a mayor,” said Nelson, a volunteer at the industrial museum. “He was all right. But the son, I don’t know nothing about. I don’t know if he ever did anything in New Britain. He probably went to school here and then he left. He went off to the big time.” Nelson chuckled. “He went with Trump and all those people.”
Nelson recalled the glory days of industrial New Britain, when the factories were in full roar.
Now, the former Stanley Works is a corporate cross-breed, Stanley Black & Decker tools, with a headquarters in the city, but not much else.
“The last I heard, they were still making push-pull rulers,” Nelson said. “They give them out at the Bees once in a while.”
A few blocks away, where local versions of justice were being meted out in state Superior Court, Todd Sandquist, an artist at Cardinal Tattoo in nearby Newington, fondly recalled dating a Manafort girl when he was a teen.
His shop, where he has worked for four years, also inks Mannafort family members, he said.
“They were nice people. To me, the family was very embracing,” said Sandquist, 42, after finishing a cigarette while waiting for his drunken-driving case to get called back inside.
“With money and politics, things happen,” he said. “A lot of things fly under the radar. Just like me. I’m here on a DUI charge. I’m the one who gets caught, but there’s someone right now driving around, completely hammered.”