Walsh eventually showed up to collect his back pay and to answer allegations he'd kept $500 in donations he collected at a Democratic fundraiser. A misunderstanding, he said, and wrote a check. Meanwhile, GOP legislators were again talking impeachment, and the county commissioners reduced his salary to $100 a year for what one of them called "flagrant disregard of duties."
At this point, the state attorney general's office did a little research and discovered an obscure law that hadn't been used since 1872 allowing courts to rid county offices of bozos. The AG filed suit to have Walsh bounced for "misconduct" or because he was "incapable of discharging the duties of his office."
In his response, Walsh claimed he kept track of his job "during non-business hours." That was a slight exaggeration. County records showed that over the previous two months, Walsh had signed in to visit his office on nights and weekends for a total of one hour and 20 minutes.
At his trial in early 1989, Walsh testified his absences were due to arthritis, but admitted he hadn't sought medical help. The jury took all of 25 minutes to find him guilty. The judge promptly kicked him out of office.
That wasn't quite the end of his political career. A few months later, Walsh announced he was running for the Old Orchard Beach Town Council. "I did nothing criminal," he told the Portland Press Herald. "I'd do the same thing again."
In a race for five seats, he finished 12th out of 13 candidates, edging a guy who'd recently been arrested for a sex crime.
Even Walsh must have gotten the message. The next time he showed up in the media was in an obituary earlier this month noting his May 11 death at age 78. It said he was known to his friends in Old Orchard as "The Governor."
We've had some lousy chief executives.
But still ...
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