Editorial:

The long-awaited testimony of former State Sen. Vincent J. Fumo has produced some amazing insights into how public officials shouldn't operate.

For example, they shouldn't treat ethics laws like the fine print on a candy wrapper.

They shouldn't pay for political work with taxpayer dollars.

And they shouldn't shower themselves with expensive power tools from a "nonprofit" they funded by shaking down an entity that has business before the state.

Fumo, on the witness stand after 16 weeks in federal court, admitted in varying degrees that he did all of those things in his 30-year career. Some of his admissions came on his own side of the case, before Assistant U.S. Attorney John J. Pease even got a crack at him.

After hearing the legendary legislator's defense, the first question that comes to mind is: That's all Fumo's got? Is he really arguing that he may have crossed the line here or there, but that the line is trivial? When part of your defense is that your butler really should be called a "personal assistant," you're in trouble.

The man who once served on the Senate ethics committee compared ethics laws with regulations against spitting on the sidewalk. His attitude was, why bother to enforce either? Here's betting his service on the committee was invaluable.

Yes, Fumo testified, it was "probably wrong" to allow his Senate staffers to perform campaign work in his district office in South Philly. If he had prevented it, he would have cleared the "microscopic scrutiny" that prosecutors have made him endure.

In other words, he's the victim here. The guy who bragged about living off "other people's money" is being persecuted.

It's that kind of oblivious attitude that encouraged legislators to give outrageous bonuses to staffers, allegedly for campaign work. According to a grand jury investigation in Harrisburg, the illegal practice became a routine waste of taxpayer money.

Truth will out, Shakespeare wrote. So will arrogance, and Fumo has shown plenty of it. He'd have the jury believe that no legislators pay any mind to ethics rules and that his extracurricular activities were a gift to his constituents.

"My only obligation as senator is to go to Harrisburg and vote," Fumo said.

With all due respect to the defendant, that was hardly his only obligation. He had an obligation to serve his constituents, to uphold the high standard of ethical conduct expected of public officials, and to respect the public trust he'd been given. His office was a privilege, not a birthright.

And despite Harrisburg's deserved reputation for corruption, there are plenty of legislators who serve honorably and ethically, never seeking personal gain. Fumo would probably call them wimps and suckers.

He didn't think it was a "big deal" to ask Senate staffers serving the most powerful Democrat in the state to fix his Xbox, or clean his house, or install a stereo on his boat. Of course he didn't. That's what happens to politicians when they serve too long, gain too much power, and develop a bloated sense of entitlement. They ignore where the lines have been drawn.

One of Fumo's arguments is that Senate rules aren't clear about these potential transgressions. Yet somehow, other legislators manage to navigate that boundary without trouble.

This is Fumo's defense: To get things done, he needed power. To get power, he did pretty much whatever he needed to do.

"I did what I did," he said blandly.

That's hardly a compelling defense.