In prison, 22 months is no easy walk in the park

So, our old friend John Merla, the corrupt former mayor of Keyport, was sentenced to 22 months in federal prison last week.

And just in time for Halloween, too. If you're a Keyportian, you couldn't ask for a better addition to your Fright Night goodie bag. Much better than a toothbrush, or even a nice, big Butterfinger.

The sentence was particularly satisfying for me, since the former mayor and I have a history. Since he was first arrested in February 2005, I've written a number of columns that have been very critical of his felonious behavior. And while I've hammered the culture of corruption in Monmouth and Middlesex counties and been critical of many of the individuals indicted as a result of Operation Bid Rig and related investigations, I was especially hard on Merla, because he was so maddeningly arrogant about the whole thing.

He wouldn't step down as mayor, wouldn't take any responsibility for his actions. He acted like the numerous charges against him were nothing but harassment cooked up by the feds and the media to make him look bad. He swore he was going to plead not guilty, take the case to trial and be found innocent. When that happened, he promised that we'd have a "conversation" about the poor treatment he'd received at my hands.

Guess we'll never be having that conversation now, unless he gets phone privileges in the slam.

In the days since Merla's sentence was handed down, I've talked to people who think he got off easy, and some of those people are the mayor's former constituents from Keyport. Obviously, a lot of people in that community feel particularly betrayed by Merla's behavior (consider that the judge in the case said he'd never received so many presentencing letters from people asking him to throw the book at someone), and I can understand their anger.

Initially, Merla was facing eight counts for corruption, a long time in jail and a whole truckload of money in fines.

He made a deal in which he pleaded guilty to taking one $2,500 bribe from an informant and admitted to taking a total of about $24,000.

On that single count, he faced 24 to 30 months in federal prison, so 22 months is a little light. And the $20,000 he'll have to pay in fines doesn't even add up to the amount he's admitted to taking in bribes.

But no matter how you cut it, 22 months in federal prison is no walk in the park. Twenty-two months is about 97 weeks, or 679 days. That's 679 days when the last thing he'll see at night and the first thing he'll see in the morning are bars. It's 2,037 meals in the prison cafeteria (unless he trades with fellow inmates for extras).

It's almost eight full seasons of having his life controlled every second of every day by people with Mace, guns and shackles. It's a couple of calendars filled with holidays when - instead keeping company with an institution full of felons like himself - he could have been with his family if he'd only behaved honestly. It's never being able to vote again, never being able to walk the streets of his hometown without feeling the looks of former neighbors who now know exactly what he is - a crook who abused their trust and lined his own pockets with bribe money.

That's got to sting a mite.

But even though we're talking about the former mayor of a small town in Monmouth County and not a big fish like former New Jersey Senate President John Lynch (currently serving a 39-month sentence for corruption), here's a message for you, Mr. Merla. Most of us think you're going exactly where you deserve to be.

That apology you made at the sentencing? We don't accept it. And besides your family and a very few close friends, nobody believes it was sincere. You're sorry you got caught, and that's about it.

At least you'll have 22 months to think about where you went so very wrong. • • • Usually, at this time of year, I find myself writing a column about how nasty the local election campaigns have been. This year, however, across most of our coverage area a curious thing happened - politicians spent their advertising money talking about issues instead of attacking each other's personalities.

In Millstone, for example, where they usually have to buy extra mops to clean up all the blood spilled during the campaign, it's like the Nice Police have taken over and candidates are focusing on important issues. The better climate might be because someone figured out how to muzzle John Pfefferkorn, who usually stirs things up out there, but it might also be because candidates figured voters were sick of negative campaigning.

There are exceptions, of course.

The Karcher-Beck battle for the 12th District Senate seat has been brutal and at this point, neither of the candidates sounds very likeable. In that race, the candidates have spent too much time going after each other for farmland tax abatements and driver's license suspensions, and not enough time talking about what the candidates have done, or plan to do for their area.

Granted, Beck, who spent her first term in the state Assembly without getting a single law passed, doesn't have much to hang her hat on. And unless there's a really, really remarkable explanation for all those license suspensions, she doesn't deserve to hold public office, because getting your license suspended that many times is just plain dumb.

The race between Republican attention hound Robert Kleinberg and inexperienced Democrat Jon Hornik for the mayor's job in Marlboro has also been bitter and personal. Good luck to Marlboro voters trying to make a choice in that one.

Good luck also to voters in Sayreville, where politics has been ugly all year long and the campaign was no exception.

And good luck to anyone trying to make sense of the campaign between Seema Singh and Bill Baroni, who are battling for a seat in the state Senate from the 14th District. That campaign has been so nasty that if None Of The Above was on the ticket, good old NOTA would be the only reasonable choice.

Talk about having to hold your nose when you vote. In the 14th District, you'll also have to wear latex gloves, so none of the campaign slime will rub off on your hands.

Gregory Bean is executive editor of

Greater Media Newspapers. You can reach

him at gbean@gmnews.com.