For Titans in Trouble, Playing Stupid May Be Smart

I suspect that every scoundrel in trouble these days has a tape of an old Steve Martin routine from "Saturday Night Live." Part of it goes, "You say, 'Steve, how can I be a millionaire and never pay taxes?' " Easy, says Steve: "First, get a million dollars. Now you say, 'Steve, what do I say to the tax man when he comes to my door and says, 'You have never paid taxes'? Two simple words ... 'I forgot.' "

Then, it was funny. Who knew the defense would be the one of choice for powerful politicians and corporate pirates accused of breaking the law. Often coupled with the perennial, "they left me out of my own loop," it now pops up in nearly every scandal. These defenses ought to be as laughable as that old routine. Problem is they may be working.

Take House Majority Leader Tom DeLay. No one messes with Texas' master of influence peddling, who grants favors to those who give and punishes those who don't. The allegation is that his political action committee raised hundreds of thousands of dollars in illegal corporate contributions for a cause close to DeLay's heart: winning control of the Texas Legislature so that it could redraw congressional districts to try to oust five Democrats (he got four). DeLay's current position is that he was only an "advisor" who did not have time to get involved in day-to-day operations.

With three of his closest associates indicted, that defense is getting harder to make. DeLay might not oversee the coffee machine, but he's an in-your-face nitpicker. The very idea that the Hammer's operatives would go off on their own to extract money from corporations for his pet project is preposterous.

Subpoenaed documents show that DeLay passed along at least one check and was in direct contact with lobbyists for some of the country's largest corporations, trying to get donations. Thank God for e-mail.

But even DeLay can't beat Bernie Ebbers, who built and then destroyed the $100-billion WorldCom empire. Once heralded as the most brilliant telecom operator of the '90s and paid hundreds of millions of dollars to run the conglomerate, he now tells us the two things he knows nothing about are technology and finance. He was always a little bit of a dope. In college his "marks weren't too good," and he bounced from one undemanding job (milkman, coach, warehouse manager) to another. The guy's long-term memory is shot. He can't recall a thing, especially meals with his chief financial officer during which they allegedly talked about how they were going to pull off an $11-billion fraud. Despite being such a detail man that he got rid of free coffee at headquarters to save money, Ebbers claimed he was shocked (but with more sincerity than Claude Rains mustered over gambling at Rick's in "Casablanca") to learn of billions in buried expenses.