WASHINGTON -- I know, Martha Stewart and Shyne are not often mentioned in the same sentence. Still, I couldn't help thinking about the latter when Stewart entered Alderson Federal Prison Camp on Oct. 8.
Don't tell me you've forgotten Shyne? Jamal "Shyne" Barrow, a rapper, was once the protege of Sean "P. Diddy" Combs. He was with Combs and Jennifer Lopez when shooting broke out at a New York nightclub in 1999. Both men were indicted, but Diddy walked while Shyne was convicted of first-degree assault and sentenced to 10 years in prison.
Like Stewart, Shyne asked for mercy at his sentencing in 2001. Saying that he fired a gun only in self-defense, he said he hoped Judge Charles Solomon would decide "not to waste my life." Stewart, convicted in March of conspiracy, obstruction and lying to federal investigators, told her judge, "My hopes that my life will not be completely destroyed lie entirely in your competent and experienced and merciful hands."
Both Stewart and Shyne were more forthright outside the courtroom. "I am not afraid of what the future holds," said Stewart in an optimistic statement on her Web site. Shyne was similarly bold on his CD released earlier this year. Jail, he says on "Godfather Buried Alive," has only made him "much more ruthless."
Stewart hired a consultant to help her adjust to incarceration. Herbert J. Hoelter advised her about getting her affairs in order before entering Alderson and apprised her of the do's and don'ts of life behind bars. Hoelter's other clients have included other white-collar wrongdoers such as disgraced financier Michael Milken, whom you may have seen making soy shakes on Stewart's TV show. I'm sure Hoelter's high-priced insights are worth every penny, although Shyne's prison behavior is likely just as instructive, not to mention cheaper. His phone privileges have been revoked and he has been banned from conducting in-person interviews because he illegally conducted business in prison, including agreeing to a $3 million recording deal. Lucrative financial transactions, no matter how tempting, are no-nos that Stewart must resist.
What the defiant rhyme-spitter and the doyenne of domesticity have in common besides a criminal record is that they both have partied with P. Diddy. Stewart may even have rubbed elbows with Shyne. She's no stranger to hip-hop happenings, having attended rap impresario Russell Simmons' wedding on St. Bart's and worn white linen to a Labor Day bash at Combs' home in the Hamptons. If Stewart is also seeking advice regarding her eventual return to civilian life, she would do well to study the moves of her pal P. Diddy, the peerless king of comebacks. The man shakes off scandal with all the grace and vigor of one of those curvy dancers in his music videos.
As different as they appear, Combs and Stewart occupy similar positions in our society. Blessed with a certain peculiar magnetism, they are also polarizing figures in our celebrity-obsessed age, able to repel and attract at the same time.
Despite their legions of admirers, just as many folks seem to regard their stumbles with undisguised glee. To the old elite, Stewart and Combs are unwelcome new-money (BEG ITAL)arrivistes(END ITAL), self-made strivers in a world where women are traditionally trophies or heiresses and black men empty the ashtrays. For those of us who scramble to pay our bills, their ostentatious glamour can make us envious. Part of us wants to see them brought to their knees, if for no other reason than to reassure ourselves that they are no better than us, just luckier.
While Combs has never blown me away with his talent and has even disturbed me with his occasionally violent episodes, I do admire his shrewdness and endurance. Stewart has never rubbed me the wrong way, either. I respect her work ethic and share her fondness for blue oxford shirts. I can't escape the suspicion that her recent trials, like Combs' and Shyne's, serve as bread-and-circus campaigns designed to distract us from more pressing concerns. Stewart broke the law and should be punished. But while lying to federal investigators is certainly illegal, it is hardly, as has been suggested, exemplary of a white-collar criminal finally getting her just desserts. Compared to other recent corporate scandals, Stewart merely cheated at Monopoly.
Still, I can't help following her tribulations with all the curiosity of a driver rubbernecking a car wreck. Celebrity misadventures, however lurid, are an occasional welcome distraction from various horrors that haunt my reverie, such as that nauseating succession of flag-draped coffins that keep arriving from Iraq.
