In the meantime, he receives $2,100 from Tri-Met and $1,000 from the federal government each month.

Officially, Hamel gets the money because he has a medical disability. He says he suffers from a sleep disorder, as well as back and knee pain.

Unofficially, say critics, he gets his monthly Tri-Met check for a different reason. They say it's because he was a problem employee Tri-Met wanted to get rid of. More important, they say, it's because he is a close friend of Ron Heintzman, who for 12 years has been president of the Amalgamated Transit Union, Local 757.

This claim, and others like it, are coming most strongly from Wally Feist, who in the past 12 months has struggled with Heintzman for control of the union. Feist has alleged that Heintzman has shafted retirees and quashed internal dissent. More recently, a Feist supporter claimed that Heintzman has engaged in tax fraud ("The Nasty Battle Inside Local 757," WW, Nov. 8, 2000). Heintzman has disputed all charges.

BUS DRIVER Wally Feist is trying to unseat Local 757 president Ron Heintzman (pictured), a former Tri-Met cop, for what would be the second time in eight months. His first victory, in June, was overturned.

Now, Feist is unveiling a new allegation: that Heintzman plays favorites, going to the mat for his friends when they get in trouble with management--but doing little for some other members.

Although Feist has an agenda, one thing is indisputable: In the past three years, two of Heintzman's close friends received generous settlements that even a Tri-Met official calls "extraordinary." In an interview with WW last year, Heintzman denied any favoritism. When contacted last week to respond to specifics, he said, "We don't speak to anybody from Willamette Week."

At a minimum, the cases shed light on the little-known world of behind-the-scenes union wrangling, an area where Ron Heintzman is a master of pushing things to the limit--and, some say, beyond.

Loren Wyss, the former chairman of Tri-Met's board, says that during his nine years in the position, he came to believe that "Heintzman had become more powerful than the board."

Even Frank Hamel himself would agree that he was a different type of Tri-Met driver: flamboyant, funny and rambunctious.

The problem for Tri-Met was that Hamel's personality rubbed many people the wrong way.

From 1990 to 1997, Hamel received more rider complaints than almost any other driver. He received 103 in one five-year period, more than 20 per year. Most drivers generate an average of three complaints per year.

Over the course of his career, many riders claimed that Hamel's driving was a menace, that when others on the road did something to anger him, Hamel would flash his brights, honk, tailgate, flip them off, even speed by them, cut them off and stop the bus.

When Standard Insurance cut off disability payments to bus driver Frank Hamel for lack of medical proof, he complained to Tri-Met. "I thought we had a signed, agreed contract of my payoffs [Standard included]," he wrote.

Other complainants said he made lewd comments, threw tantrums, mimicked foreign accents, made loud wolf and dinosaur noises into his microphone, flashed his interior lights "on and off like a 13-year-old," and flirted with young girls.

"He is rude and insulting to riders and is a very scary driver," one rider complained on June 25, 1996. "On the fifth of June two women got on and the Driver stated, 'Why are you two smiling? Have you got something stuck somewhere?'"

In August 1996, Tri-Met officials attempted to rein Hamel in, asking him not to drive recklessly or make offensive comments. The agency also required him to take a sensitivity course to learn how to avoid making comments that "were offensive and unappreciated," according to a memo from his boss, Bob Davie.

One week after the course, however, a rider complained to Tri-Met that Hamel was "the most obnoxious and annoying person she has had the misfortune of riding with." Three weeks later, he was accused of sounding his horn for more than a block while crowding the rear bumper of a motorist.

Hamel told WW the complaints against him were either false, distorted or "in the eye of the beholder."

"Tri-Met should have rewarded me for being one of the best public-relations drivers they had," he said. A small minority of riders "just didn't appreciate Frank and his humor.... People either hate me or love me."

Apparently, Tri-Met felt that too many riders were in the former category. Back in August, the agency had begun pondering a solution to Hamel's continued problems. That job fell to Mike Savage, Tri-Met's labor relations director.

A former private-sector labor negotiator, Savage came out of retirement to work for Tri-Met. His duties included resolving disputes over employee discipline and compensation.

TRI-MET GENERAL COUNSEL Brian Playfair says the agency factors in potential liability and litigation costs when it considers whether an employee's separation agreement is a good one for Tri-Met.

On the other side of the table from Savage was union president Heintzman. Typically, Heintzman gets involved later in the process, such as when the union files a grievance protesting employee discipline. In this case, however, Heintzman got involved early on. Feist claims that this was because Hamel was Heintzman's personal friend and "sidekick" and served on the union's executive board starting in 1992.

Asked whether Heintzman gave the case special attention because of their relationship, Hamel says, "He could have. I don't know."

On Aug. 26, 1996, according to an email written by Savage, Heintzman said Tri-Met could resolve its concerns over Hamel's behavior by simply agreeing to retire him on permanent disability on the basis of his medical complaints.

Under the union contract, however, such retirements are only granted to employees unable to perform their duties; the standard payment is $610 a month. In the past five years, 49 Tri-Met employees have retired early with medical disabilities for causes ranging from stress to psychological disorders.

In Hamel's case, however, Savage was skeptical. In an email to human-resources director Trudy Toliver, Savage wrote, "Ron even suggested that we could solve the [discipline] problem by placing Frank Hamel on permanent disability status!"

Toliver emailed a response later that day: "I'd rather fire Mr. Hamel than ever agree to put him on permanent disability."

The subject was dropped for a time, but the complaints against Hamel continued. On Jan. 20, 1997, Savage reopened negotiations with Heintzman over what he and Toliver had previously considered objectionable--a permanent medical disability retirement.

Three days later a complaint came in that, while it alarmed Tri-Met, might have actually helped Hamel's cause. A mother reported that Hamel stopped his bus at Northeast 143rd Avenue and Rose Parkway, not a regular stop, and offered her 9-year-old son a ride. It appeared that Hamel "may have been trying to get the boy inside the bus for some other reason," she told Tri-Met.

Hamel denied that, telling WW that the boy "looked like he was lost.... I had a witness on the bus."

Tri-Met transportation director Clyde Earl was not swayed, and on Jan. 29 he fired Hamel. In an apparent acknowledgement that the firing may have been premature, Earl told the ATU he would reduce it to a five-day suspension if the union appealed.

When the union wants to challenge a termination, the normal process is to file a grievance--which it did. In addition, though, Heintzman went straight for the jugular: Tri-Met's sensitivity to bad publicity.

Heintzman told Tri-Met he would hold a press conference on the firing and vowed to "do everything I can to stir up the workforce," Savage recounted in a Jan. 30 email. "Ron then made reference to what he was going to shove up various bodily parts of various Tri-Met managers."

Savage argued that, due to Heintzman's clout and interest in this case, Tri-Met's hand was forced: The company either had to grant Hamel a disability retirement or allow his behavior "to continue another 23 years," Savage wrote. "Ron has an interest in Frank Hamel, so there will always be a technicality."

On Feb. 10, Tri-Met capitulated. The agency agreed to give Hamel the standard $610 a month permanent disability, plus another $695 a month on top of that--plus a check for $40,000 to further sweeten the deal. Since then Hamel's monthly Tri-Met payment has climbed to $2,100.

When Hamel turns 62, these payments will stop and he will tap into Tri-Met's pension plan. There, thanks to credit for his time on disability, he'll earn at least $1,900 a month.

Asked about the deal, Hamel agrees that Tri-Met's motivation was "just to get me out of their hair." But he says his medical condition is legitimate: "I had two back surgeries and I've had knee surgery, I've had a stroke, I've had sleep apnea, and they said, 'You've become a danger to yourself and others driving.' I said, 'Fine, make it worth my while'--so they did."

Brian Playfair, Tri-Met's general counsel, denied that the deal was excessive, saying, "You have to analyze each situation on its own merits."

Others say it was an unusual arrangement. "I don't think we've had any other deals like that since Hamel," says Savage.

The disability payments to Hamel were funded by Tri-Met, because Tri-Met is largely self-insured, meaning it uses its own money to pay settlements. There was also an additional weekly disability payment of $150 that was to be funded by Standard Insurance--up to $7,500.

In August 1997, however, Standard cut off payments to Hamel because it felt that he was not legitimately disabled. "The medical information [Standard] received does not support Mr. Hamel's claim for disability," wrote Tri-Met benefits administrator Leith Dist in an Aug. 19 email. That email also makes it clear that Dist thought Standard made the right decision.

For his part, Savage says the medical condition was real; as far as the settlement goes, "It was the best out of a lot of unappealing options."

Feist, however, says there's no question that the settlement was too much. "To this day I don't know why he got $40,000," says Feist, adding that he doubts whether Hamel should have received a disability at all. "He was an embarrassment to the agency--that's why they bought him off. But if I'm an embarrassment, and I'm not a favorite son [of Heintzman], I'm fired. Frank had been warned I don't know how many times."

Asked whether Heintzman goes to bat for his cronies, Tri-Met general manager Fred Hansen says, "Why do certain cases get brought forward that get pushed exceedingly hard by the union and why do others not? I can't answer."

If Hamel got a sweet deal, some say Stephen Orr, a Tri-Met cop, got an even better one. Prior to signing on with Tri-Met, Orr was a Portland cop working narcotics. In 1975 he was fired for receiving stolen goods from an accused burglar.

Two years later, Orr joined the Tri-Met police force. His job was to patrol transit lines and respond to incidents. In 1988, Tri-Met got out of the policing business and entered into a contract with the Portland Police Bureau to provide security.

At the time, the police bureau offered jobs to four of the five transit cops who worked for Tri-Met. The one they didn't want was Orr, citing the 1975 firing.

Orr, however, had a powerful friend in Heintzman. The two had worked Tri-Met security together, and in 1987 they set up a bartending school headquartered in Orr's Northeast Portland home. The business, called Service Industries Inc., offers the certification required for bartenders to work in Oregon. (In 1991, Orr became a member of Heintzman's ATU board.)

According to arbitration documents, Heintzman unsuccessfully attempted to force the Portland bureau to take Orr in 1988. When that failed, Tri-Met created a special administrative job for Orr as Tri-Met's "security coordinator."

On Aug. 7, 1997, Tri-Met suspended Orr for three weeks without pay for insubordination. The agency claimed that during the previous year Orr had refused to carry out certain tasks, was frequently late and fell asleep on the job.

Tri-Met does not keep stats on unpaid suspensions, but they are "very rare," says spokeswoman Mary Fetsch.

Two weeks later, Heintzman's attorney, Susan Stoner, presented Tri-Met management with a draft press release claiming Orr was being punished not for being a lousy worker but for having blown the whistle on waste in Tri-Met's contract with the Portland Police Bureau.

Attached to the draft was the promise of further hassles for Tri-Met: a not-yet-filed unfair labor practices complaint, as well as an unfiled Bureau of Labor and Industries complaint.

In response, Tri-Met hired an outside consultant, Human Resources Specialties Inc., to investigate Heintzman's allegations. In an Oct. 30 report, the Lake Oswego firm found no basis to the claims. Rather, Orr's discipline addressed "inappropriate behavior unacceptable to any reasonable employer [i.e., arriving late to work by several hours and lying about his whereabouts]."

"There was no retaliation against Steve whatsoever," Tom Walsh, then Tri-Met general manager, told Willamette Week, adding that Orr's discipline was "performance-related."

The report didn't satisfy Heintzman. On Dec. 4, 1997, Stoner, his in-house attorney, sent a letter threatening to sue Tri-Met.

In this game of chicken, Tri-Met blinked first. Two weeks later, Walsh personally negotiated a separation agreement with Heintzman. Orr was given a seven-year leave of absence and paid $1,040 a month during that time. On top of that, for 45 months he would receive the monthly sum of $2,333 in pension benefits. Then, on Jan. 1, 2005, Orr would be placed on full Tri-Met retirement.

Police know a good separation settlement when they hear one. Told of Orr's terms, several Portland officers expressed shock. "Oh my gosh!" said Lt. Mike Hefley, the bureau's spokesman, then burst into laughter. "I can't believe that. What a deal!"

Told that his case was being held up as an example of a sweetheart deal, Orr told WW, "What a joke." He declined to elaborate, citing a confidentiality clause in his settlement.

"I'm not aware of any other deal like this," says general counsel Brian Playfair.

In Feist's view, the Orr deal is just more proof of Heintzman favoritism. "I have plenty of members that can't get a leave of absence," even when they have good reasons, he says.

Heintzman, for his part, contends that there was nothing special about the deal negotiated for Orr--or, for that matter, Hamel. "It does happen to turn out that Steve Orr and Frank are friends," he said in an interview late last year, "but I would offer that in the last 12 years there have been at least 20 agreements that are like that." When contacted recently to elaborate, he declined.

Mike Savage, Tri-Met labor relations director, says, "In no case has there been anything similar to either one of them, to my recollection. These deals were extraordinary."

At the same time, former GM Walsh defends the Orr deal as being "in the best interests of the agency." To terminate Orr with a less-than-airtight case, he says, would "run the potential of lengthy litigation" and Tri-Met "paying a whopping settlement."

As for Heintzman, Walsh says he believes the union leader marshals all the facts at his disposal. "In some cases they were good facts, in some cases they were moderate facts, and in some cases they were masters of creative fact," Walsh says.

Wyss, the former board member, says it was Walsh's tendency to "give away the store" on settlements like this that made him resign from the board in 1995. For Tri-Met management, he said, "It was a lot easier, and you avoided public criticisms and bad publicity, if you did whatever it took to get the union's cooperation."

A lifelong Democrat who grew up in a union household, Wyss says his concerns are not kneejerk anti-unionism--it's just that Heintzman has too much clout with Tri-Met: "I just found it shocking that anyone would so pervert the way government in Oregon is supposed to work."