Remember Leigha Genduso – the poster gal for the rampant corruption of the MA State Police.
Genduso is the Shrewsbury BFF of Lt. Gov. Karyn Polito (check out their multiple smiling photos together on line). Genduso got her badge and her gun soon after admitting in open court to being the longtime live-in moll of a drug kingpin, during which time she a) lied under oath to a grand jury, b) sold multiple kilos of hydroponic weed, c) engaged in money laundering of hundreds of thousands of dollars in drug proceeds, and d) evaded federal and state income taxes.
She was hired after a nationwide search during which none of the brave and dedicated sleuths in the MSP noticed that she was both a career criminal and the girlfriend of a major (soon to be a lieutenant colonel) in the very very ethical MSP.
Leigha’s chrome-dome cop boyfriend, 17 years her senior, retired as soon as she was busted, and is, at the age of 55, collecting a pension of $159,000 a year.
And Leigha has now penned her, uh, memoirs, on-line, and if you want a one-line review, Oscar Wilde summed it up well when reviewing an earlier work of art:
“It would take a heart of stone not to laugh.”
The title of her 70-plus page tome is “The Demons Behind Me,” which is pretty feeble, but most of the better titles have already been taken, like:
“White Punks on Dope,” or “Third Rate Romance, Low-Rent Rendezvous,” or “The Cops are Robbers” or “Drinkin’ Doubles Don’t Make a Party.”
Before her stellar career in organized crime and then law enforcement, Leigha cut quite the swath in the local hospitality industry, working in such five-star establishments as Scuttlebutts, Funky Murphy’s and Centerfolds, a sanctuary for weary businessmen.
She coulda been a contender, but she had this recurring problem: DEA agents kept showing up at whatever bucket of blood she was tending bar at. But optimist that she is, Leigha tries to see the glass not as half-empty, but as half full – with Jameson Irish whiskey, her drink of choice when she’s thinking of committing suicide. At least at a strip joint, she rationalizes, there are worse things than being under surveillance for drug trafficking.
“I guess,” she writes, “if you are going to have DEA agents following you, you may as well be in an establishment where its (sic) more of a judgment-free zone, right?”
My only regret—other than wasting an hour of life chuckling over Genduso’s criminality and illiteracy – is that in the roster of the evil men who ruined her life, I only rank a distant third.
I’ll try harder next time, Leigha.
The person most responsible for destroying Leigha’s life, she believes, is her ex-con ex-boyfriend, Sean Bucci, whom she ratted out into a multi-year sentence for drug dealing. Once Bucci (BOP #24784-038) got out of prison, her damning testimony was quickly leaked to a “white-trash blogger” – Turtleboysports.com.
And that was the end of her $150,000-a-year gig as one of the MSP’s dozens, if not scores of crooked cops, not to mention her cop boyfriend’s career, and his best friend’s, and the colonel’s….
The difference is, the erstwhile brass are all getting a kiss in the mail of at least $13,000 a month. Leigha, on the other hand, says she is making $20 an hour working at a security company – a crooked ex-cop working with a bunch of wannabe mall cops.
I picked up the Genduso story early on, especially after she was taken off the job and went to back to her old line of work, slinging booze at an all-day gin mill, in Danvers.
“Howie Carr began calling the bar relentlessly asking if I was working, when I was working, saying ‘I’m looking to buy some weed from Genduso!’ and then cackling about it the next day live on his podcast like he’s some king champ for stalking me and saying what he said.”
The same day I printed a column about the MSP Trooper of the Year’s new job, a brawl broke out when some of her thug ex’s pals showed up. Turtleboy and I reveled once more in the endemic corruption of the staties and their enablers in the hackerama, like Polito and Tall Deval (who makes a cameo in the book, petting her dog Kojak).
“My other favorite stalker, Howie Carr, jumped in on it saying he was to take the recognition (does she mean credit?) for that because of his non-stop phone calls into the bar. I was in the press once again.”
But do I get any credit? No, even though I try to keep her name in the news, mentioning her every time another statie gets arrested (which is about once a week), she complains, calling me her “favorite old-man stalker.”
Old man? Who you calling an old man, perjury gal? Oh well, Leigha, I don’t hold a grudge. My offer from last summer still stands. How much for a kilo of weed – the good stuff, hydroponic, like you used to put in Christmas gift wrap and drive to Worcester back in the day?
One last thing: whatever strip joint you work at next, Leigha, never forget the motto of the proud law enforcement agency you once represented, nay, symbolized, with such distinction.
To Protect and Steal.