Once a rising star of the national Republican Party, John Rowland was the target of a federal corruption investigation and faced impeachment proceedings.

01:00 AM EDT on Tuesday, June 22, 2004

BY SCOTT MacKAY
Journal Staff Writer

Gov. John Rowland of Connecticut, the Republican boy wonder of New England politics in the 1990s, resigned yesterday under the cloud of scandal, a victim of his own hubris and champagne-and-Cuban-cigars yen for high living.

What was remarkable about Rowland's crash was his unremarkable brand of corruption; a promising political career doomed by accepting small favors from state contractors -- including a hot tub and a heating system for his summer cottage -- and then lying about it.

"I acknowledge that my poor judgment has brought us here," Rowland said last night, standing on the rear lawn of the Connecticut governor's mansion, his wife, Patty, stern-faced and by his side.

Rowland, 47, becomes the first American governor to resign under pressure since Arizona's Fife Symington, who quit in 1997 after he was convicted of fraud.

Rowland's resignation, announced in a six-minute speech televised live across Connecticut, goes into effect July 1.

Lt. Gov. M. Jodi Rell, a Republican, will serve out the remainder of Rowland's term, which ends in January 2007.

Pundits and political scientists usually tap Boston and Providence as the capitals of political chicanery in New England. Edwin O'Connor didn't write The Last Hurrah about Connecticut politics. Hartford, the insurance bastion, is known as a file cabinet of a city; it never had a florid, rogue prince mayor such as Vincent A. Cianci Jr. in Providence or James Michael Curley in Boston.

"In terms of comparative corruption, this is small stuff," said John Orman, a professor of politics at Fairfield University. "It is usually New York, Massachusetts, Rhode Island or New Jersey that people think of for corruption. . . . Now they are calling us Corrupticut."

In the past several years, Connecticut has witnessed both a Republican state treasurer and a Democratic mayor of Bridgeport convicted of corruption charges, and a Republican mayor of Waterbury sent to prison for sexual misconduct with minors.

Rowland became ensnared in scandal last December, when he admitted accepting free renovations at his lakeside summer home in sylvan Litchfield in the state's Berkshire foothills -- including the infamous hot tub and new heating system -- and lying about it.

Revelations of other gifts and favors rained down on Rowland through newspaper and state investigations. A longtime friend and state contractor bought the governor's Washington condominium at an inflated price through a straw buyer.

Rowland received cigars, champagne, a vintage Ford Mustang convertible, a canoe and free or discounted vacations from employees and friends, including some with state contracts. The FBI was even looking into whether Rowland skimmed money from low-stakes poker games he hosted.

Rowland still faces a federal investigation, but news of his resignation halted what would have been the third week of public testimony before a Connecticut House panel considering whether he should be impeached. The committee plans to issue a report, but will not vote on impeachment.

Yesterday's resignation ends the career of a Republican once considered to have a limitless future. Rowland was elected as a state representative at age 23, won a seat in Congress at 27 and become governor at 37.

At the time he captured the governor's mansion in 1994, Rowland was the nation's youngest state chief executive.

He pushed for fiscal responsibility and holding down taxes, while largely shying away from conservative social issues in a state with more registered Democrats than Republicans. He started his career as an opponent of abortion rights but later changed his mind.

He cut a profile at the national level, leading the National Republican Governors Association. For a time, there was talk of a cabinet position in President Bush's administration.

His appeal was to the growing bloc of independent voters. Though Rowland grew up in the seen-better-days industrial city of Waterbury, by the time he was governor his GOP base was largely in ritzy Fairfield County in southwestern Connecticut and in the suburbs of Hartford.

Election after election, Rowland had a wide audience: he appealed to wealthy businessmen but also came across on the campaign circuit like an unpretentious guy from your fraternity house, a person with whom you could have a beer and chat about University of Connecticut basketball.

Rowland liked to pal around with business people, but he only earned about $78,000 a year as governor. He was the father of five children and had to pay alimony to an ex-wife, says Scott McLean, political science professor at Quinnipiac University in Hamden.

"A hot tub, a few cigars. It was a series of small ethical infractions, stuff that caught up with him," said McLean. "For a time he was an incredibly popular governor . . . but lately the public had really turned on him."

In a recent Quinnipiac poll, 69 percent of a random sample of Connecticut voters said Rowland should resign, compared with 28 percent who said he should stay as governor. The poll carried an error margin of about 3 percent.

No Connecticut governor in 50 years has been turned out of office by voters. The state's politics are known as being "clean but tough," says Garrison Nelson, a political science professor at the University of Vermont and expert on New England politics.

Compared with the parochial politics of Massachusetts and Rhode Island, Connecticut always appeared progressive. In the 1950s it became the first state in the region to elect a Jewish governor when Abraham Ribicoff won office. In the 1970s, Ella Grasso of Connecticut became the region's first woman governor.

Rowland's downfall has led to some soul-searching among Connecticut's political establishment, Orman said. There are several proposals pending in the legislature to tighten state laws on elected officials accepting gifts and favors.

"We're just like any other state," Orman said. "This stuff happens."'

With reports from Journal staff writer Mike McKinney, the Associated Press and The New York Times.