What Dougherty’s prison life could look like | Inside Johnny Doc’s Trial

Greetings, loyal court watchers. After a whirlwind week, we’re back with another edition of the Inside Johnny Doc’s Trial newsletter.

Well, it finally happened. More than five years after prosecutors unsealed their sprawling indictment against John Dougherty and his allies at Local 98 of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers — and nearly three years after his first conviction — the man who was once the state’s most powerful labor leader will soon be headed to federal prison.

Sentenced to six years behind bars, Dougherty told the judge Thursday he took “full responsibility” for his crimes and apologized to the members of the union he led for nearly 30 years.

“I am guilty,” he declared, in front of a courtroom packed with family and supporters during an emotional four-hour hearing in Reading. “I’m the boss, I’m responsible.”

So, is it really all over? As Dougherty said with a shrug as he left the courthouse afterward: “We’ll see.”

Let’s get to it.

— Jeremy Roebuck and Oona Goodin-Smith (@jeremyrroebuck, @oonagoodinsmith, insidejohnnydoc@inquirer.com)

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⚖️ In handing down Dougherty’s sentence, U.S. District Judge Jeffrey L. Schmehl acknowledged all the good the labor leader had done. But, the judge told him: “Somewhere along that trip, you lost your way. You lost your integrity … And for that, you must pay the price.”

📬 More than 240 people — including former Gov. Ed Rendell, ex-Congressman Lou Barletta, and several current and former members of City Council — flooded the judge with letters extolling Dougherty’s history as a reliable father, a devoted husband, a dedicated community leader, and a man always willing to give his time and money to others.

👮 Dougherty’s lawyer requested he be placed at a federal detention camp in Lewisburg, Pa. The judge gave Dougherty until Sept. 4 to report to prison.

💰 Local 98 has asked the judge to order Dougherty and ex-Local 98 president Brian Burrows to reimburse it for more than $1.5 million in legal expenses — but the men say they shouldn’t be stuck with the bill. Schmehl gave them more time to sort it out.

🎤 Dougherty delivered an unequivocal mea culpa as he stood before the judge Thursday that surprised many who had heard him protest his innocence for years. It may have influenced the sentence he ultimately received. Many other Philadelphia notables who have found themselves in the same unenviable position haven’t been able to bring themselves to muster the sane candor.

After eight years covering his legal travails and three felony trials, your faithful newsletter writers would like to think we’ve come to know Dougherty pretty well. But last week, he proved he still has the capacity to surprise.

Few foresaw the full-throated admission of guilt he delivered during sentencing Thursday. In fact, prosecutors had predicted at an earlier hearing that Dougherty would ignore his crimes and use his opportunity to address the judge to tout his successes leading his union.

Instead, in a 10-minute speech, he flatly admitted he was guilty in both his bribery and embezzlement cases.

“I take full responsibility,” he said. “I knew better. I let the lines get blurred. I got over my head.”

He apologized to members of his union. He admitted he’d conflated himself with the powerhouse organization he’d built over decades. And he took “full responsibility” for all the mistakes he had made.

“I’m the boss,” he said. “I’ve always led from the front.”

Dougherty’s stunning statements came after countless earlier protestations of innocence, years of bemoaning what he’d described as an FBI witch hunt against him and repeated unfulfilled intimations that he might testify during three felony trials. And his admission of guilt, in front of a courtroom packed with family and supporters, rendered those in the audience silent.

His candor may also have influenced the judge. The six-year sentence Schmehl imposed was less than half the up to 14 years prosecutors were hoping Dougherty would be ordered to spend behind bars.

But despite his earlier frankness, Dougherty, as he left the Reading courthouse Thursday, hinted that he wasn’t quite ready to fully roll over yet. He still plans to appeal his convictions.

As for whether he may still have surprises to come, Dougherty told awaiting reporters: “We’ll see.”

“John Dougherty held himself out as Local 98′s biggest booster. But while he was backslapping his electricians with one hand, he was ripping them off with the other.” — United States Attorney Jacqueline C. Romero, in a statement following Dougherty’s sentencing

It will likely be months before we learn where exactly Dougherty will spend his time behind bars, but his lawyer has requested he serve it at FCI Lewisburg, a medium-security facility about 200 miles outside Philadelphia in Union County.

The prison’s minimum-security satellite camp houses about 425 male prisoners, including — at the moment — Dougherty’s former codefendants, former Local 98 apprentice training director Michael Neill and ex-Philadelphia City Councilmember Bobby Henon.

The Lewisburg campus — a storied correctional facility known as the “Big House” — first opened in 1932 and was once a maximum-security prison that saw the likes of mobsters John Gotti and Whitney Bulger, Teamsters Union president Jimmy Hoffa, and civil rights activist Bayard Rustin pass through its doors. In 1939, “Scarface” gangster Al Capone was imprisoned there for less than two hours before being released for good behavior.

In 2009, it was designated a Special Management Unit for housing some of the nation’s most violent offenders. But the U.S. Bureau of Prisons dropped that classification in 2021, and earlier this year, changed the name to reflect its medium-security status.

Wherever Dougherty lands, due to the nonviolent nature of his crimes, he’ll most likely serve time in a dormitory-like minimum-security setting.

Chaka “Chip” Fattah Jr. — the son of former Congressman Chaka Fattah from Philadelphia who, like his father, served time in federal lockup — likened his stint in similar digs in southeastern Michigan to an Old City loft.

“There are no cell doors,” the younger Fattah told The Inquirer in 2017 while serving a five-year sentence for tax and bank fraud. “Think loft-style with a desk and two lockers and a bunk bed.”

There, the self-styled mogul said he spent his time reading Vanity Fair, taking economics courses, advising other inmates on their appeals, and exchanging postage stamps for pizza-esque concoctions made on tortillas. Still, the arrangement occasionally proved taxing.

“If I say the wrong thing or sit in the wrong seat in the TV room during Empire, that could lead to a fight,” Fattah said at the time. “There’s a lot of arguments here over things that seem trivial in the outside world.”

Former Philadelphia City Councilmember Rick Mariano — convicted on bribery charges in 2006 — served out part of his 6½ year sentence at Lewisburg, where he told The Philadelphia Daily News that he spent his days walking, attending classes, eating rice and beans, leaning on his Roman Catholic faith, calling his wife, and doing a lot of electrical work.

The No. 1 rule there, Mariano told WHYY in 2021: “Keep to yourself.”

He offered advice that could prove useful for Dougherty as he prepares to surrender himself in September.

“As an elected official or any kind of politician you want to be friendly to people. Big mistake in prison,” Mariano said. “Go to the chapel. Go to the gym. Don’t tell nobody your business and stay out of the nonsense.”

As prosecutors addressed the media outside the courthouse Thursday, the embattled labor leader burst through the building’s doors behind them, sending reporters scrambling to catch up.

“I’m a big boy,” he told the clamoring news crews. “I took my beating like a man.”

Over the course of three trials and countless hours of testimony and wiretap recordings, the world has heard a lot about what it was like to work for and with Dougherty, a domineering and exacting figure who prosecutors said routinely intimidated others to get his way.

But during his sentencing hearing, a softer, more personal side of the labor leader emerged. That portrait, painted in testimony from Dougherty’s two adult daughters, offered a more nuanced picture of the man and shed light on what it was like for them growing up as a child of “Johnny Doc.”

“I know that my dad is far from perfect,” Erin Dougherty, 44, told the judge. “I certainly know he’s a convicted felon, [and] I believe in the idea of accountability.”

Still, she pleaded with Schmehl to consider a sentence of house arrest so her father could continue to care for his ailing wife.

Recounting her childhood, Erin Dougherty said she’d always known her father as “a whirlwind.” In her earliest years, he worked as a journeyman apprentice and took second shifts at a UPS facility.

“He was a busy guy,” she said, “always running around trying to hustle and make money for our family.”

And yet, she said, he never walked away from someone seeking his help. Erin Dougherty described her father’s phone ringing incessantly day and night. Calls came at all hours from union members, neighbors asking for help fixing a roof, or even people he didn’t know seeking assistance for their sick children or relatives battling substance abuse.

“Every single time he got that phone call, whether it was 3 a.m. or 5 a.m. … he would be awake and he’d make another call to ask someone to help him,” she said. “He never once rolled over. He never once ignored the call.”

Above all, his daughter said, Dougherty cares for his wife, Cecelia, overseeing her medical care day in and day out as she battles a worsening congenital brain condition that has rendered her unable to move her limbs or see.

Tara Chupka, a niece whom Dougherty and his wife legally adopted in her teenage years, described him this way: “Deep down, John is a softy.” When the Doughertys first took her in as her biological parents struggled with substance abuse, she said, they immediately bought her school uniforms and made sure she had lunch money for the year.

“I only survived because of John,” Chupka, 40, told the judge. “He sees the good in people … he embraces you, maybe yells a little bit, and then works to figure out a solution.”

The biggest question surrounding Dougherty’s fate may have been answered last week, but it doesn’t mean the case is completely over. Here’s what’s on the horizon:

📅 Aug. 13: Burrows is scheduled to report to prison to begin serving his four-year sentence.

📅 Aug. 20: Contractor-turned-star government witness Anthony Massa faces sentencing for billing Local 98 for home repairs worth more than $380,000 at the houses of Dougherty, his family members, and his fellow Local 98 officials.

📅 Sept. 4: Dougherty is scheduled to report to prison to begin serving his six-year sentence.

📅 Sept. 16: The scheduled date for Dougherty’s retrial on extortion charges alongside nephew Greg Fiocca — that is, if the government decides to proceed.

📅 Sept. 26: The deadline for Schmehl to determine the total restitution owed to Local 98 by Burrows and Dougherty, although a ruling could come sooner.

Thank you to you, our readers, for following along as we chronicled the twists and turns of this labor legal saga. With Dougherty’s trials over, for now anyway, this newsletter is taking a break. We’ve appreciated all your questions, feedback and interest.

As we’ve said, we’re no good at farewells here. So, you can still follow Inquirer reporting by signing up for free to get our morning newsletter or news alerts sent to your inbox daily.

And with that, goodbye for now. Or, is it? We’ll see.

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