course, and Friel was appointed gaming board chairman on August 11, after which he submitted a background questionnaire that was short on his personal details. So Periandi ordered his detectives to reinterview Friel and dig into his past. The detectives ran down leads but always seemed to be half-a-step behind the press, which had also taken an interest in Friel, particularly the Philadelphia media.
To keep their information secure and help the administration avoid a potentially embarrassing controversy, Periandi suggested that the state police simply make a recommendation as to Friel’s fitness to hold the position. The administration nixed that idea, and Friel remained the chairman. But when the background investigation was completed, just after Labor Day 2004, Periandi went to Miller with the grim news.
“The administration will be concerned if this Friel report gets out,” said Periandi. “I think the way to get around this is for the administration to tell Friel to step back from the appointment.”
Miller brought the suggestion to Rendell, and the reply was swift: Friel would not step aside. In addition, Rendell wanted to see the full state police report. But the allegations, which were supposed to be confidential, surfaced in the
Philadelphia
Daily News
, and Friel, who vehemently denied any wrongdoing, was forced to step down as chairman less than a month after he was appointed.
Friel’s resignation infuriated Rendell, who during an emotional press conference publicly lashed out at the media for publicizing the allegations.
“You’ve unfairly tarnished the reputation of a good and decent man,” said Rendell, with tears in his eyes. “I hope you understand what you did.”
But it wasn’t the media that drew Rendell’s wrath. Privately, he seethed at the state police and blamed the police for leaking their report. It was a fiasco that not only embarrassed the administration, but created much larger problems for future Rendell appointments. If Rendell’s first gaming appointment could easily get blown out of the water, how would other favorite candidates and appointees with checkered histories pass police muster, especially those seeking gaming licenses, such as Louis DeNaples? The solution came in a report that Greg Fajt and the Department of Revenue had commissioned from a consultant six months earlier.
Spectrum Gaming was a New Jersey firm headed by Fred Gushin, a respected gaming authority and a former New Jersey assistant attorney general. Tasked by Fajt and the Rendell administration with creating the foundation of the new gaming industry, Gushin produced a “Blueprint for Gaming.” The one-hundred-plus-page report was submitted in October 2004, and among Gushin’s many recommendations was tasking the state police with overseeing the all-important background checks. But just days after submitting his report, Gushin was told to immediately stop work and turn over all documents relating to its assignment. No one knew what was going on until December, when Gushin learned that Fajt had changed his report. Among Fajt’s recommendations was the creation of a new agency—the Bureau of Investigations and Enforcement (BIE)—that would be under the control of the gaming board, and would supplant the state police and conduct all background checks. The police role was reduced to performing low-level background checks and overseeing casino security.
Gushin was furious that the administration would pass off the new recommendation as his work product, and he fired off a letter on December 9, 2004, to the new gaming board chairman-designate Thomas “Tad” Decker, a well-connected attorney and partner with the powerful Philadelphia law firm Cozen O’Connor.
“This report does not reflect our work product and we do not concur in its recommendations and conclusions,” wrote Gushin.
The decision to replace the state police with BIE also stunned Periandi and Miller. Their relationship with Fajt had grown