Remembering a towering figure in Maryland politics

Although he certainly did not look the part, Marvin Mandel thought of himself as a latter-day Duke of Windsor. Just as the duke had abdicated the British throne to marry "the woman I love," so did Mandel lose the Maryland governorship and even go to jail so that he, too, could be with the woman he loved. Unfortunately for him, he was married at the time, and his wife, a fireplug who went by the name of Bootsie, promptly took over the governor's mansion for herself. Mandel and a reduced retinue moved to an Annapolis hotel.

Mandel died Sunday. He was 95. The woman he had so loved, Jeanne Blackistone Dorsey, had died in 2001. They had been married since 1974. She was a striking beauty and, like the Duchess of Windsor (from Baltimore, remember?), a divorcee. More to the point, she was a Blackistone - the same family that, until the 1960s, owned the island in the Potomac where Maryland's first settlers had come ashore. Pretty, blond and pedigreed, Dorsey was the ultimate shiksa goddess. Mandel, the son of a garment cutter, was smitten.

They had been carrying on an affair for years. About half the state either knew about it or claimed later it did. As governor, Mandel would barrel down to Dorsey's place in St. Mary's County in an unmarked police car. One night, coming home at subsonic speed, his car smashed into a vehicle leaving a roadside tavern. Mandel was injured; the other driver was killed. The Washington Post dispatched me, as a former insurance investigator, to the accident scene to determine how fast the governor's car was going. I looked at the skid marks and concluded - based on what I'd seen in various movies - that Mandel's car was going fast.

A bit later, the same editor who had insanely ordered me to the accident scene ordered me to confront Mandel: Was he returning from a rendezvous with Jeanne Blackistone Dorsey in Leonardtown? I submitted my request to Frank DeFilippo, the governor's press secretary, and to my utter amazement was soon summoned to the executive mansion, across the street from the State House. DeFilippo took me up to the second floor and into Mandel's bedroom. The governor was propped up in bed. His face was a maze of cuts, some of them still oozing blood. I froze.

"Go ahead. Ask him," DeFilippo said gruffly.

I did.

"No," Mandel said.

"Now get out," DeFilippo said.

I did.

It took a while for Bootsie and Mandel to reach an agreement. She was as canny a Baltimore pol as he was, and her demands were tough. She wanted money - she demanded $155,000 a year for nine years - and a Buick Electra (fully loaded) and her portrait in the mansion, among other things. The Buick was easy. Even the portrait was easy. But the money? Hard. The governor made only $25,000 a year. He lived free - the mansion, a car, even a state yacht - but he had no cash. He had to turn to his friends, many of whom did business with the state. Mandel and his pals saw an act of kindness. The U.S. attorney saw double - a quid and a quo. Mandel went to jail. (His conviction was later overturned on appeal.)

No one has ever dominated Maryland politics as Mandel did. He ran the state - all of it. He was impossible to read, old-school, a product of the Baltimore Democratic organization and steadfastly non-ideological. Politics for him was a business. (He once had aides hide the wheelchair of a disabled state senator so that the man could not vote.) He was a good governor, possibly a very good governor, and a smart politician, possibly a brilliant one. He seemed totally without emotion.

When Marvin and Jeanne were finally able to move into the executive mansion, they unexpectedly invited me over for tea. Once again, I crossed the street from the State House to the executive mansion. This time, there was no press secretary to supervise the conversation. Marvin and Jeanne sat next to each other on a sofa, and I sat across from them on a large chair. I can't remember what I asked or what they said, but I do remember this: They could not keep their hands off each other.

I had no more questions.

(c) 2015, Washington Post Writers Group

Richard Cohen's email address is cohenr@washpost.com