Former county commissioner trying to make best of things after prison

Moments into Mary Kincaid-Chauncey's speech Thursday before the Christian Businessmen's Network, I was reminded of one of the reasons I liked her.

Even at 70, after decades in local politics and two years in the federal lockup, she still manages to convey the image of the girl next door from a Jimmy Stewart movie.

Except, of course, that now our girl next door has a rap sheet to go along with her singsong voice and Christian witnessing. Our wholesome, thoughtful former Clark County commissioner not only can't ever run for public office again, she can't even vote.

Listen to Kincaid-Chauncey for a few minutes and you're tempted to believe her bribery conviction and 30-month sentence at a minimum-security prison in Victorville, Calif., was God's way of teaching her how to turn lemons into lemonade. It was that earnest-sounding rhetoric that rocked a few journalists to sleep in recent interviews. (Kincaid-Chauncey's revisionist history was thoroughly corrected in Jane Ann Morrison's Thursday column.)

Knowing a few of the facts -- that accepting $19,000 in cash from former topless mogul Michael Galardi and passing it on to relatives still counts as extortion -- it's easy to be cynical about Kincaid-Chauncey. She makes it tempting to launch into a barrage of lounge-comic ridicule when she fails to admit she was guilty as charged. Even an appeals court has failed to overturn.

But you can't attend a luncheon sponsored by the Christian Businessmen's Network without a certain suspension of cynicism. The friendly group hadn't assembled to listen to federal wiretaps; they had come to learn more about Kincaid-Chauncey's journey as a Christian through a time that would challenge anyone's faith.

And so I paid my $15, grabbed a seat upstairs at Big Dog's, and tried my best not to sweat the fact she never mentioned that a jury nailed her on 13 of 14 felony counts in May 2006.

As I listened to her tell of overcoming her fear of her fellow inmates and winning new friends for herself and for Christ, I came away convinced she's trying to make the best of a terrible turn of events.

The former commissioner was intimidated by "Miss Ruby," the camp matron, and shed a bucket of tears. Who could blame her? She was 68 years old, a grandmother who had raised a busload of foster children, and apparently still had no idea what she'd done to deserve 30 months in the federal slammer.

"When they started the strip searches, I really started crying," she said. "It was a very humiliating experience that I never, ever dreamed I would go through."

It was even more humiliating, I thought, than being captured on wiretap securing a comp at a topless club for her son and his buddies.

Soon Kincaid-Chauncey's tears were replaced by the welcoming embrace of her fellow inmates.

She said, "I kept thinking, 'When does the first beating start? Who's going to hit me first?' I had been watching way too much television. ... It was so different from what I expected. They gave me so much love and so much care that I couldn't believe it."

She even met the daughters of her commission district constituents while away at camp. I had to smile at the realization that the same warm, friendly communication skills that served her so well in 27 years in politics also made friends behind bars.

Kincaid-Chauncey ministered to her fellow inmates, joined with a woman nicknamed "Blue Sue" in a prayer circle and Bible study group, and emerged as a mentor to the mostly younger inmates.

"She gave me the courage," Kincaid-Chauncey said. "She reminded me that God is in charge."

She learned from her experience that many prisoners come from bone-poor poverty and abusive homes. "I will never again look at prisoners or homeless people the same way," she said.

I think she meant it. And I gave her the benefit of the doubt even when she told the audience about the time in prison when she asked God, "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

The beauty of Mary Kincaid-Chauncey's soul and her many good works surely are known to the Lord, as well as her family and friends.

As for the legal stuff, well, the U.S. District Court keeps a transcript.

John L. Smith's column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call (702) 383-0295. He also blogs at lvrj.com/blogs/smith.