Montoya Case Turns the Tables for Ex-Sen. Song

Almost 12 years ago, challenger Joseph B. Montoya drove veteran Sen. Alfred H. Song from the Legislature with a pointed reminder to voters that Song was under investigation by the FBI for suspected political corruption.

The tables turned Feb. 7 when Montoya himself was convicted of seven federal corruption counts of using his Senate office for personal gain.

Song was never charged with a crime, but he went into political oblivion. Montoya, who took Song’s seat as a “good government” candidate, may go to prison.

But for Song the irony is beside the point. He holds Montoya responsible for wrecking his 16-year-long career in the Capitol and robbing him of the credit he feels he is owed for his legislative achievements.

As for Montoya’s current troubles, Song finds it impossible either to gloat over his successor’s downfall or to express sympathy for him.

“I’m sorry for his family, but, in all candor, I don’t like Joe Montoya for what he did to me in the election,” Song told The Times in an interview in which he broke a self-imposed silence on the predicament of Montoya.

In the 1978 Democratic primary, Montoya successfully seized upon the highly publicized investigation of Song as a political springboard to attack Song’s ethics. Only days before the election, Montoya sent out a tabloid-style hit piece suggesting, as Song put it, that “I was going to be indicted tomorrow. I was dead (politically).”

Song, formerly of Monterey Park, finished a distant third in a three-way race for the 26th Senate District seat.

During the interview, the 70-year-old Song--his hair now snowy white--showed traces of his trademark cockiness as he surveyed the landscape of the past 12 years.

But he indicated he has not found peace. The father of four and grandfather of 11, Song was anxious to put forward his record, contending that his accomplishments as a legislator have been overshadowed by the attention paid to his fall from power.

“This is something like my last hurrah,” he said, handing a reporter a newspaper clipping recalling Montoya’s campaign attacks on his integrity and a sheaf of documents outlining Song’s legal and political career. Included were copies of 1978 Senate and Assembly retirement resolutions commending Song’s service.

He recalled that shortly after his first election to the Assembly in 1962 as the Legislature’s first Asian-American, he won enactment of pioneering legislation designed to protect minority voters from harassment at the polls. He called the bill “probably my proudest” achievement.

Later, he successfully carried major bills giving credit card customers greater protection from hidden costs and substantially toughening restrictions against sham appliance warrantees. He also routed through the Legislature a bill that overhauled the California evidence code.

Song has conceded making “mistakes in judgment.” But he said he did nothing illegal and attributed his fall to FBI “leaks,” news media reports, a vengeful ex-wife and ultimately Montoya.

But to this day, Song, an attorney and once considered one of the sharpest legal minds in the Legislature, insists that “I never knew what in the hell they were investigating me for.”

“There is one overriding question that I’ll never find the answer to and it has troubled me for years--that is the why of the investigation. . . . I will never know why, or what was behind it, or for what reasons,” he said.

News stories at the time reported that he received favors and expensive gifts from persons who had an interest in legislation. Song did not deny receiving gifts but insisted he never accepted anything in return for his vote or use of his legislative power. Two associates of Song were indicted on perjury charges but their trials ended in hung juries.

From news accounts, Song said, he discovered that he was being investigated for accepting a membership from a prominent lobbyist in a tony Sacramento golf and country club. He said that before the investigation began in 1977 he repaid the lobbyist in increments for the membership.

“It seemed like an almost daily occurrence that every time I’d pick up a paper or look at a television news program, there was something more about me, things I just could not believe,” he said.

Eighteen months after Song’s defeat at the polls, the U.S. attorney issued a note saying “Prosecution is not warranted.”

Since leaving the Senate, Song--who now lives in Sacramento--has worked at a variety of part-time jobs, some of them patronage appointments from Democratic Gov. Edmund G. Brown Jr. and Republican Gov. George Deukmejian.

A former chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, Song said he had figured he certainly would be in line to receive offers from powerhouse law firms. None arrived.

So, he left Sacramento and “hibernated” for a year in Los Angeles. In 1980, he returned to the practice of law, a short-lived venture. The next year, he was appointed by Brown to the Agricultural Labor Relations Board after Brown’s first choice could not get confirmed by the Senate.

In 1984, Deukmejian appointed him to the California Occupational Safety and Health Appeals Board. In 1985, Democratic Atty. Gen. John K. Van de Kamp hired him as a special consultant on nursing homes and in 1986 he was named a deputy attorney general.

Song said he once asked Deukmejian to name him the state public defender, an office that was created by legislation that Song authored. He said the signs looked favorable, but a news story recalling the FBI investigation popped up and apparently dashed the appointment.

Currently, Song is a Deukmejian appointee to the Medical Board of California, which licenses physicians, and also is a state administrative law judge, both part-time positions. But they take only a few hours a month of his time.

“I think I could be happier if I could work for 15 or 20 hours a week” to supplement his state pension, Song said.

Song, whose outwardly suave and cosmopolitan demeanor earned him a nickname of the “Korean Cary Grant” among some at the Capitol, said he has maintained cordial relations with his former colleagues in the Senate.

He said that since the conviction of Montoya they have greeted him even more warmly in the Capitol: “They say, ‘What goes around comes around.’ ”