The Art Modell Awards

Art Modell is a remarkable human being, a man who combines incompetence, depravity, and shamelessness -- all the ingredients we so thirst for in a civic leader.

Alas, he has left our fair city, and can only return under armed escort. Yet his legacy lives on, and we can still celebrate those who continue to follow his teachings.

So we present the third annual Art Modell Awards, which were announced last night at a black-tie affair underneath the Detroit-Superior Bridge. (Special thanks to Arnie Theopolous for donating the Jim Beam and finger sandwiches.) While competition was fierce -- we were forced to exclude such luminaries as Bob Taft, FirstEnergy, and the Laurel teacher who knocked up his 12-year-old student -- we believe Art would be proud of those honored in his name, if only he would return our phone calls.

So without further ado, we present the 2002 Modells . . .

Ross Perna Jr.
Statesman of the Year

In 1998, Ross Perna Jr. was convicted of embezzling $69,000 from Bethany Lutheran Church in Parma, where he served as treasurer. Due to Cleveland's economic malaise, few churches were hiring new embezzlers. So Perna naturally turned to politics.

For years, a West Side Senate district had languished under the stewardship of Dan Brady, a man regarded for his intelligence and honesty, which made him wholly unsuited for elected office. In Perna, the Democratic faithful saw a fresh, new candidate who could bring home the bacon, since the state has way more money to steal than a church does.

When Perna's conviction was disclosed, he showed the nimbleness of all great statesmen, cloaking his candidacy in virtue. "I decided to run to show the court I am serious about turning my life around," he said.

Unfortunately, no one was buying. So Perna deftly struck a pose of humility, allowing that his ex-wife had actually masterminded the church caper, and that he nobly "took the fall" because "I thought my daughter needed a mother."

It was a beautifully orchestrated Blame It On The Ex-Wife Maneuver, but his nuanced performance was apparently lost on the unlettered West Side. Perna surrendered the race, and a great statesman was lost.

Joanna Connors
Journalist of the Year

Daily newspapers have long been criticized for their tedious columnists. George Will, for example, is used by the Colombian military to interrogate suspected rebels: Confess, traitor, or we will force you to read Will's thoughts on the International Monetary Fund! Closer to home, parents invoke Sam Fulwood's musings on spam and Martha's Vineyard to keep their children from misbehaving: Johnny, don't make me come over there and open up a can of Fulwood on you.

All of which left young readers to view dailies as the print version of being cornered at a party by a human resources specialist. What they really wanted was something relevant, hip, with attitude -- like, say, a column devoted exclusively to a middle-aged lady and her kitchen! So was born Domestic Bliss, by PD reporter Joanna Connors.

J.Co, as she likes to call herself, soon became the rage of the city. Her wacky, harrowing tales of the various Christmas trees she's owned set the standard for foliage-related memoirs. Her shocking column on how she wouldn't be making holiday cookies was gritty and honest, a taut thriller. Yet her finest work was her 68-part series on remodeling her kitchen. "A tour de force on cabinet space," gushed the Pulitzer committee.

In fact, Domestic Bliss has become so popular that The PD plans to launch a similar, male-oriented column, tentatively titled A Crane Operator Named Bob. Expect it to feature wacky tales about the time Bob forgot his lunch, and a multi-part series about routers he's owned over the years.

Roger Synenberg
Philosopher of the Year

There was a day when it was all but impossible to achieve the label "courageous." One had to storm a beach under enemy fire, take a bullet for the president, or serve as legal counsel for Wilma Smith's plastic surgeon.

Then came Roger Synenberg, philosopher king.

We begin our tale with Synenberg's client, Frank Gruttadauria, a stockbroker who keenly understood that rich people have money, and it would be fun to take it. So he did. By schmoozing up to his many elderly clients, playing the role of devoted-son-they-never-had, Gruttadauria was able to steal hundreds of millions of dollars. Then, when he was about to be discovered, he took it on the lam before finally turning himself in.

At an initial hearing, Synenberg urged a U.S. magistrate to grant bail. "Frank Gruttadauria is a courageous man, and because he's a courageous man, we stand before you today and tell you he does not pose a risk of flight."

The earth shook, for it was a dramatic shift of paradigms. Under previous rules, a guy who stole from old people would have been formally designated a "scumbag." Likewise, Gruttadauria's pathetic attempt to flee might be regarded as "candy-assed."