Gavel Falls on Politician’s Loot

The rogue congressman’s loot went to the highest bidder Thursday -- all those ill-gotten rugs and armoires and candlesticks. Not many people seemed to care.

Randy “Duke” Cunningham is going to prison for taking $2.4 million in bribes while he was in office. But only a handful of the hundreds of people who bid at the Internal Revenue Service auction in Rancho Dominguez even seemed aware that the disgraced politician’s belongings were up for grabs: lots 61 to 95 in the auction catalog.

In fact, there seemed to be more interest in some non-Cunningham auction items, including the Rolex and Cartier wristwatches, the 3,988 heating pads, and the 156 bottles of Glenfiddich scotch, also forfeited in criminal cases.

(The IRS conducts the auctions, then splits the proceeds among the investigating agencies.)

Cunningham, 64, a conservative Republican who turned his fame as a Navy ace during the Vietnam War into a political career, was sentenced this month to eight years and four months in prison. Besides admitting to the bribes, he also pleaded guilty to evading more than $1 million in taxes.

Among other pieces of evidence, prosecutors presented what they called a “bribe menu,” listing how much money the congressman demanded in exchange for each differently valued federal contract.

Prosecutors say taking those bribes fed Cunningham’s desire to move to posh Rancho Santa Fe, one of the most exclusive communities in the country. The furnishings sold at auction were meant to adorn the new house, which was raided by FBI agents soon after the investigation began.

But all that odorous history carried little weight with most of the 772 bidders who registered for the auction.

Clutching red bidding placards and the auction catalog, they buzzed around the large, open warehouse examining the hodgepodge of items on display.

Cunningham’s booty was parked behind a row of glass cases containing some of the dowdier offerings: a woman’s handbag emblazoned with the Coca-Cola logo, a gold elephant statue, a cardboard box filled with blue wristbands and a single disposable camera.

The Cunningham collection contained eight rugs and five armoires. A row of demure nightstands with long, tapered legs sat in front of various wardrobes and hutches.

Fidel Breto placed the winning $650 bid on one of those nightstands -- a little oak number with a rose marble top, a single drawer and a parquet facade. He bid on another piece, a Queen Anne-style beveled mirror, but dropped out when the price became too steep. It eventually sold for $2,200.

Breto came to the auction hoping to buy a helicopter (he said he makes much of his living on EBay, reselling airplanes and choppers.) But Breto said he had hoped to buy a Cunningham piece and become “a part of political history.”

“I think politicians should be held to the maximum standard of purity,” said Breto, who lives in Moreno Valley. “Instead, Mr. Cunningham made his own office an auction. To own items that he’s not able to get back makes me proud, very proud.”

Investment banker Robert Ro also bid on several Cunningham items.

Ro, who splits his time between Fullerton and Ohio, forked over $10,000 for a blue, red, and cream-colored wool Oriental rug -- one of eight up for grabs that day and the most expensive item in the Cunningham trove.

“If my wife sees I bought it, I have to give it to her,” he joked. “If not, I’ll give it to my mother.”

When he arrived in Rancho Dominguez, Ro said, he wasn’t aware of the political significance of the antiques stacked in the back of the room. But after he found out, he decided to buy something owned by Cunningham.

“I’m a Republican,” he said. “I think he got a better deal when he got those bribes, but hopefully I can get as good, if not better, here.”

Many of those at the auction didn’t care about Cunningham though they had heard of him. Billy Abney and his wife, Christy, saw TV broadcasts about the congressman’s misdeeds, but that was not a factor in deciding to go to the auction.

The Bakersfield couple, accompanied by their 1-year-old son Joseph, hoped to buy a car at a bargain. But seeing the stacks of Cunningham’s luxurious rugs, Billy said, “I have a bad feeling we might be walking away with one of these rugs instead of the car we came for.”

The rugs, incidentally, accounted for more than a third of the $94,625 paid for Cunningham’s ill-gotten and auctioned-off goods.

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Times staff writer Tony Perry contributed to this report.