PROVIDENCE, R.I. — Greetings, well wishers, from the capital of the Ocean State, where I am reminded of some of the best academic lessons I had the good fortune to experience.
During my undergraduate pursuits, a Philosophy of Journalism course delved into some of world history’s deepest, most timeless thinkers, including passages by Chinese, Greek and French theorists. Coursework centered on discerning the thrust of the philosophical passages, then applying them to modernity.
Another selection originated with a high-level Italian bureaucrat who knew the levers of power and how to raise and lower those fulcrums: Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli — better known simply as Machiavelli, whose book The Prince was our responsibility. Among his top lessons is divide in order to conquer, a key method of navigating and quickly understanding power structures.
Several years ago, a commuter train pulled into this capital city’s rail station and shortly after stepping off, I ambled into the gift shop where I couldn’t miss a prominently displayed book: The Prince of Providence, penned by a former editor with The Providence Journal. My question about that biography’s protagonist to the cashier womanning the register was immediately answered with pure praise for the notorious, entertaining felon whose colorful charisma made him an entirely likable cult hero credited with overseeing a remarkable urban upgrade, considered by many a renaissance for the city. He reputedly loved the citizenry, enjoying a warm welcome when stopping by uninvited to events both public like ballgames and private like backyard barbecues.
Who was that central character? None other than the now-late Vincent Albert Cianci, better known as Buddy, who served jail time for a corruption conviction.
Cianci, early career, was a state prosecutor, according to the book. One organized crime case took him to Maryland’s Prince George’s County where he probed whom the book termed a ‘lying priest’. Renowned as an agile, skilled orator, Cianci once reportedly found himself physically situated between two political rivals — one old, the other young — during a mayoral debate. Those awkward opponents were swapping allegations of dipping into a city fund for their personal use and when a silence ensued, Cianci astutely remarked: I am caught in the crossfire between the Big and Little Dippers.
Incidentally, my journalism pursuits included a memorable stop in Prince George’s County, which prompted me to contact the book’s author because he misspelt the county name and in response to my informing him the parcel of land was bestowed to the royal subject thus Prince George’s rather than Prince Georges, the author told me he’d have the publisher implement the change in time for release of the hardcover.
As a reporter, my cop check calls periodically included the same incredulous reply if a spokesperson informed me ‘all quiet’ or no crime news fit for print: you’re telling me the county nearly half the size of the state of Rhode Island is now enjoying no criminal activity?! And when posted to the courts beat, I spurred a pointed remark from an attorney seated a couple rows behind me in a courtroom because he saw emerging from my back pocket the same paperback edition of The Prince by Machiavelli from my undergraduate days.
But, alas, I digress.
On to graduate school, where one political course included probing The Prince and the professor pointed out what remains another of my top lessons from academia.
The Renaissance-era diplomat with the Florentine Republic stated there are three ways to do battle: the way of the fox is via trickery; the way of the lion is by force; and man embarks on negotiation within the scope of the law. A fourth method is in play, which is walking away from conflict though that is contrary to engaging in a fight thus Machiavelli does not cite this method.
These travels to this capital city are for professional purposes as I attended a seminar. But reminiscing about academia, politicos and journalism are enjoyable pastimes as well.