The story may impress Vellucci's supporters with the extent of his political connections, but to many current observers it smacks of a style of political wheeler-dealing that was supposed to have vanished decades ago. When the Boston Phoenix ran the story in Vellucci's own words last June, it only gave credence to the impression some people had of the mayor: that despite his self-proclaimed independent label, Vellucci is a politician born and bred in the ways of the precinct clubhouse. Vellucci, of course, denies the assertion. "I was given that job, sure, but I had to qualify for it. I had to pass the Civil Service test. It was no real gift," he says. But the impression has lingered, and the Globe report only strenghtened it.

Vellucci, however, has made a career of capitalizing even on his bad breaks, of making political hay out of the worst turns of fate. And this year, in what he says is his last campaign, Vellucci proved true to form--his handling of the near-scandal, he insists, will actually gain him votes in the long run. The key word is publicity, and Al Vellucci obviously knows how to use it.

Pointing to the crowds jammed into his son's insurance-office-turned-campaign-headquarters, waiting for marching orders, the white-haired field marshall boasts, "These people never used to come out to work for me, but they do this year. They used to take me for granted, but now when they hear maybe they shouldn't, they come out." The publicity, he maintains, had a reverse effect from what most people expected. "It just generated a lot of people to come out. I just couldn't generate any interest the past few years. But now I'm getting a lot of moral support, and I think it's going to turn into votes."

Vellucci's logic may or may not be true--certainly, most of the campaign workers in his office that night cited the mayor's stand for rent control and against condominium conversion, instead of an urge to defend his integrity, as motives for supporting him. But other Cambridge politicians are obviously conscious of the possible ill effects of trying to promote the scandal, and it has not become a campaign issue. Cambridge Councilor Walter J. Sullivan, a long-time Vellucci ally who has now turned against the mayor, urging voters not to vote for Vellucci for any of the spots on the City Council, sums up the mood best. "That's a personal thing with Al. There's no sense in making a big thing out of it. I wouldn't do that to a guy when he's down--that's not my type of business," he says. Needless to say, it is also not good politics--kicking a man when he is down has traditionally been one of the best ways to get kicked back on election day, and Sullivan and the others know it.

And so Vellucci keeps campaigning, confident that he has put the Globe story, the furor over his past, and even the fact of Antonelli's suspension, behind him. Shrewdly generating the confident image, he greets reporters with left hand extended--"bursitis, shaking too many hands with the other one" has claimed his right arm, he says. Predicting "a bigger vote than last time, for sure," he dismisses newspaper reports of his impending political death as greatly exaggerated. "The newspapers know nothing about politics. This is street politics, and they don't teach that at the School of Government at Harvard," he boasts.

Vellucci might be wrong in his political predictions, but he is certainly right about one thing: the press has not been able to hurt him as badly as most people thought. Whatever the merits of the Globe report, he managed to neutralize its impact with a strategically timed resignation, letting columnists on both side of the issue keep his name in the spotlight with harmless but well-read arguments about innocence or guilt.

Milking the press for all it is worth; win or lose, that is a game Al Vellucci plays very well.