by Jim Bouton
I actually did things today. I ran errands. I hung out with Chip. I got angry at stuff that hardly matters. I was able to feel good about recent triumphs. And I laughed. It doesn’t seem right.
“I didn’t know whether to remind you of the approaching date or not,” said Paula, “because I knew that you had the presentations on Monday and Tuesday.”
Am I being disrespectful to Laurie? I don’t think she crossed my mind when Chip and I were involved with the Pittsfield nonsense. Or maybe she had crossed my mind—sometimes something will remind me of her, and I’ll have a flash thought, and then it will disappear. Then I’ll recall it later, when I’m home and it’s safe to remember.
I try to follow a friend’s advice about not marking the death, only the birthday.
“Consciously marking is one thing,” said Paula. “But the body always remembers the anniversary. So I absorbed it for you. Last night I was back and forth to the bathroom and my heart was pounding, just like that night when we drove down to the hospital.”
Paula said couples who are close can do that. She says things like this to ease my mind.
“Laurie would want you to be excited, Babe,” said Paula, putting her arms around me. “She would have had the most fun with this, cheering you on. I can hear her now—‘Go for it, Dad.’”
AUGUST 16
THURSDAY
“I would never do anything just to get a vote,” said Gary Grunin. He said this to Chip and me over breakfast at Carol’s restaurant. “If I feel strongly enough about something, I’ll come out with it.”
The three of us continued eating as if we actually believed what had just been said. In fact, we all knew that this meeting was nothing more than a charade—a political move one makes before changing horses. “I personally inspected their gums,” Grunin could say, “and they look healthy.”
We didn’t make it easy on him.
“As vice president of the City Council, why didn’t you ask Fleisig any questions at the presentation on Monday night?” I said. “Stand up and ask why a guy who’s been looking for a new stadium suddenly wants Wahconah Park.”
“We can’t say anything at those meetings,” said Grunin. “The Council can’t do anything. What can the Council do?”
“You can refuse to approve a lease when it’s offered,” said Chip. “Send it back.”
“But it would be too late by then,” said Grunin.
“You could use the Council as a bully pulpit,” said Chip.
“That’s why I want to be mayor,” said Grunin, “because I think I have the leadership ability.”
“Can the Council act between meetings?” I asked.
“Not as a Council body,” said Grunin, “but individually we can. I’m going to have an off-the-record meeting with Nilan.”
“Why off the record?” I said. “That’s what these guys want. They like off the record. That’s how they hide.”
“We’ve been hearing that the fix is in,” said Chip.
“I’ve heard the fix is in, too,” said Grunin. “Gerry Doyle can do whatever he wants. He doesn’t care. The Parks Department doesn’t care what happens to Pittsfield.”
“But they have to live here,” I said. “They shop in town. They’ve got kids in school.”
“They don’t care,” said Grunin. “People in Pittsfield have short memories. Besides, the stadium vote was against the government, budgets, streetlights, the firehouse.”
“And the vote for,” said Chip, “was people afraid of losing baseball or just happy to have something positive happen in Pittsfield.”
“We’ve got to get the public involved,” said Grunin.
“Then why don’t you call for a public meeting,” I said, “where people can ask questions?”
“I’m going to try and put something together,” said Grunin. “You know a lot of people think I’m on the inside, but I’m not. This is a bold move on my part. Most of the other candidates are sitting on the fence waiting until after the Parks Department makes a decision and then jumping on board.”
And that’s how it went, until Grunin boldly looked at his watch and realized it was time to go back up to Pittsfield.
“So what did you think?” I asked Chip on the way home.
“Unsatisfying,” he said. “His heart is still not in the right place, and the only reason he’s going to talk to Cliff Nilan is because he’s running for mayor, plain and simple.”
“And it’s going to be off the record anyway,” I said, “so no one will even know what was said, if anything.”
“Grunin accepts how things are,” said Chip, “and then says there’s nothing he can do. He’s not outraged about it.”
I decided to call Dan Bianchi. Bianchi, who wears wire rimmed glasses, has the look and manner of a high school math teacher.
“I spoke to Bob Smith today,” said Bianchi, “and he said, ‘We got three good proposals here.’ I said, ‘No, Bob, you got one proposal. You’re a Parks Department guy.’”
Bianchi was reminding Smith that his first obligation is to Wahconah Park, and not some other agenda like a new stadium.
“Bob is a guy who will only do something if there’s something in it for him,” said Bianchi.
I asked Bianchi what he thought were our chances of convincing the other commissioners.
“Massimiano is an honorable guy,” said Bianchi. “He’s concerned about his image. Jim Conant’s got to be concerned because he’s running for the City Council. And I don’t know that much about Sue Colker.”
Sue Colker is listed as one of the five park commissioners, but we have yet to see her at any of their meetings.
“Cliff Nilan hangs out at DelGallo’s bar with the guys who think they’re running this town,” said Bianchi. “It’s a political Mecca. Great decisions are made there,” he said sarcastically. “But the only thing great is the pasta fagiole made by Mrs. DelGallo.”
Then we veered onto the larger subject, the elephant in the room that nobody else wants to talk about: the new stadium.
“I listened to Andy Mick go through their proposal seven times,” said Bianchi. “It was so stupid. I thought I was missing something.”
I told Bianchi about my toxic waste theory—that a new stadium might be a Band-Aid over a toxic waste dump. Maybe PCBs.
“I don’t know if we’re ever going to know the truth,” said Bianchi. “This is a GE town. Maybe a ballpark can cover a lot of sins.”
“In any case,” I said, “it’s pretty clear that the people of Pittsfield are behind our proposal. And the park commissioners know it.”
“That’s what it’s going to take,” said Bianchi. “To make it so embarrassing they have no choice. They’re not looking to fine-tune your agreement; they’re trying to find reasons to reject you that look acceptable to the public. And I just heard a rumor that they’re going to delay the decision.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“Mischief,” was all I could think of to say.
“I think it’s a good sign,” said Bianchi. “It means they’re feeling the heat and they need some time.”
As soon as I hung up with Bianchi, I called Parks Administrator Bob Mellace to see if it was true about the delay.
“It’s being pushed back a week,” said Mellace. “They’re going to look into it a little bit more.”
“What are they waiting for?” I said, trying to hide my annoyance.
“One question they’re looking into is the lease,” said Mellace.
“Just out of curiosity,” I said, “how long did it take the commission to negotiate the previous lease with Gladstone?”
“About a month,” said Mellace.
“Since time is of the essence on our proposal,” I said, “why don’t they take the ten days between now and the twenty-seventh and start negotiating a lease?”
“Because they haven’t made up their minds yet,” said Mellace.
“They don’t have to make up their minds,” I said. “The lease can be subject to
us being approved. Meanwhile, we might be able to work out any problems during the negotiations. The point is, why wait?”
“That’s the way they want to do it,” said Mellace, with a hint of resignation in his voice.
“What’s really going on here, Bob?” I asked. “Are they just going to announce a decision without even sitting down with us?”
There was a long pause.
“I feel awkward,” said Mellace, “because I see what’s going on. I ask questions myself, but my job is to facilitate.”
“Speaking of that,” I said, “whatever happened to the public hearings you said they were going to have?”
“I spoke to Cliff,” said Mellace, “and he said, ‘I don’t want to have to talk to everybody and defend what we’re doing. Everybody’s just going to have to live with it.’”
Sounds like a slogan for Pittsfield. Something you might see on a bumper sticker. Or on one of those signs as you come into town.
“Pittsfield: Everybody’s Just Going To Have To Live With It.”
Speaking of slogans, Grunin for Mayor headquarters faxed out a press release this afternoon with the headline “Grunin Backs Bouton Wahconah Park Proposal.” The one-page release said, among other things, that “public input remains the most important factor in the decision making.” It also said that “Grunin gave his assessment following the Bouton partnership’s responses to a series of questions raised by Grunin at a subsequent meeting he requested.”
No mention was made of Grunin’s responses to questions raised by the partnership.
Shortly after Grunin’s fax arrived, I got a call from Jonathan Levine, editor of the Gazette, who had some thoughts on Grunin’s endorsement.
“I thought you should know,” said Levine, “that Grunin has been going around town saying that the new stadium isn’t dead. He said it to a fellow mayoral candidate just the other day.”
“Jeeez,” I said.
“Mr. Weasel himself,” said Levine. “He’s been saying privately—not publicly—‘I will get that thing built.’”
“Maybe he changed his mind this morning,” I said. “Or he could work behind the scenes to sabotage us.”
“He’s capable of anything,” said Levine. “But he’s also a realist. He might be thinking ahead to future budget meetings—with Fleisig, there are going to have to be cash outlays.”
“What do you think is going to happen?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said Levine, “but the Fleisig group was at the mayor’s office at 6:30 on Monday night. They were in the hospitality suite for honored guests.”
When I finally caught up with Chip, who had spent the afternoon visiting his dad, I filled him in on my conversations with Bianchi, Mellace, and Levine.
“The roller coaster is headed back down again,” I said.
“Not really,” said Chip. “I don’t get that sick feeling in my stomach this time.”
“On the plus side,” I said, “Grunin is calling for public input. On the downside, Jonathan Levine is calling him a weasel.”
“Grunin may be a weasel,” said Chip, “but he’s our weasel.”
“Now that he’s endorsed us,” I said, “he’s actually more like a wolf in a Wahconah Park T-shirt.”
“That makes three different animals so far,” said Chip. “We’re going to need a field guide just to keep track of him.”
“Whatever happens,” I said, “it sounds like the decision is going to be made at DelGallo’s.”
“We should go to DelGallo’s,” said Chip. “I love pasta fagiole.”
“We can sit with our backs against the wall,” I said, “and get somebody to taste our food.”
“We can bring a hamster,” said Chip. “If he dies, we don’t eat.”
“Or we can invite Grunin,” I said, “and switch plates with him.”
AUGUST 17
FRIDAY
I woke up at 6:30 this morning to the sound of the fax. Chip, the machine gunner who refuses to leave his post, was at it again. This time he was firing back at Cliff Nilan, who was hiding in the pages of today’s Eagle.
In a story headlined PARKS BOARD DELAYS MAKING BASEBALL PICK, Nilan gave two reasons for the delay: “Wahconah Park’s floodplain might have to be looked at again,” and the board “may have to contact the city building inspector to see if the [Not-So-Luxury Box] idea is possible.” Then, out of nowhere, Nilan said, “But I want our youngsters to be able to use the park for football and soccer.”
What can you say to such nonsense? The flood plain hasn’t changed in eons, our Not-So-Luxury Boxes are not crucial to our plans, and no one is saying youngsters can’t use the park.
All of which Chip explained in his faxed letter to the editor, stating once again that “we seek to negotiate an agreement that is fair and acceptable to the city.”
It’s this sort of non-dialogue between us and Parks Chairman Nilan that may explain why there are no public hearings.
Meanwhile, Jamie Akers’s renderings look fantastic. He made a pair of color sketches that are absolutely magical. One features our Taste of the Berkshires food court, and the other shows where our Not-So-Luxury Boxes would go and what they would look like. What’s more, the drawings are alive with kids and adults wearing Pittsfield Rocks! T-shirts and Wahconah Park hats, walking under the new (but retro-looking) arched entryway, relaxing on benches in the enlarged plaza area, buying stuff at the concession stands, and otherwise enjoying Wahconah Park as never before.
“Wait until people see these drawings,” I said to Chip. “They’re going to go nuts.”
“We should have thousands printed up,” said Chip, “and do a leaflet bombing.”
Instead, we settled for printing fifty copies to hand out and twenty posters to put in store windows. Then we emailed electronic copies to our Wahconah Yes! and Wahconah Media group lists.
The only sad note of the day came from the Internet.
“The Tribute to Fleisig has disappeared,” said Chip. “No more horse’s ass. Someone must have had them take it down.”
“Too bad,” I said. “I hate to lose one of our animals.”
AUGUST 18
SATURDAY
Chip and I are not the only ones on a mission. Paula and Cindy are working hard to make this year’s fund-raising gala for Fairview Hospital even more spectacular than last year’s. Like buddies in a Thelma and Louise flick, Cindy calls Paula “Chick” (phonetic for CIC, meaning Commander-in-Chief) and Paula calls her “Quindy” ever since a Scrabble game in which one of us was going to get stuck with the Q, and Cindy was taking forever to make a play. “Whose turn is it?” Chip had asked. “It’s Quindy’s turn,” I said.
Tonight Paula asked me to spend a few hours practicing our dancing in the living room, as a tune-up for the gala. It simply would not do to have me stepping on the chairperson’s toes. Or, just as bad, getting that blank look on my face when I’m doing a step that doesn’t exist. “What are you doing?” Paula will ask with a strained smile, as we move across the floor. “I have no idea,” I say, smiling back. “Just hang on until I do something familiar.”
AUGUST 19
SUNDAY
With the Parks Commission decision due a week from tomorrow, it is now a public relations battle. Wahconah Park versus a new stadium. The “South County Trio” versus Jonathan Fleisig, Mayor Doyle, and Miles Wolff (or, higher up the ladder, Dean Singleton, Andy Mick, and Larry Bossidy). Democratic process versus “Everybody’s just going to have to live with it.”
So far, it’s a battle we seem to be winning, in spite of the odds. With the Eagle out to get us and WAMC out to lunch, Chip and I have had to fight a guerilla PR campaign. We plot strategy in the hills of South County and get out our message via fax, email, web site, and word of mouth. Every few weeks we raid the Council chamber for three-minute bursts of open mike. We’re a two-man, low-budget, kick-ass public relations machine, winning hearts and minds with the power of an idea.
The best evidence that we’re
winning the PR battle comes from Jonathan Lothrop, a candidate for City Council, who sent this email:
> In my travels, knocking on doors and talking
> to people, every person is in favor of your
> proposal. The only doubters are in the
> political class, so to speak. There are
> rumblings that if a Fleisig lease were to come
> before the Council and actually get approved
> a new petition drive could be mounted. Of
> course that does not get you a lease, but it
> is a strong signal.
Meanwhile, our opponents are drawing boos. Sandra Herkowitz, ear-to-the-ground political activist, had this to say in an email:
> As a resident of this city, I am becoming
> embarrassed and angered by the treatment
> your group has experienced here by the
> political network. It disgusts me. I had
> no idea it was this bad.
Unfortunately, it’s not enough to merely have the support of the vast majority of Pittsfield citizens, which we believe we have. We need to prove it. And how do we do that? Back to our phone poll idea.
“We’ll invite our competition to a public hearing,” said Chip, “and have it televised. At the end of the evening, we’ll take the poll and announce the results.”
The phone poll makes me nervous. I’m not so in love with the new technology. It never lives up to its hype and it’s always more complicated than it needs to be. When the instructions say “easy installation” or “three simple steps,” that’s the tip-off it’s going to be nearly impossible. Then they won’t let you call in for help because they can’t afford the customer service reps it takes to guide you through the “three simple steps.”
Computer programmers with far too much time on their hands are always sitting around saying, “Let’s see if we can make it do this.” That’s why everything is all geeked up. Machines are so complicated today that they can’t do the simple things they were intended to do.
My television set, for example, lies in wait for me to insert a video, after which I’m unable to watch TV without a channel’s call letters, in green no less, blocking the screen. And don’t try to remove those green letters unless you’re not interested in watching television for about a month. Once, before a World Series game, I looked funny at the remote and all I could get after that was snow and a hissing sound. When I pushed a button to see if I could retrieve the picture, our toaster went on. I had to call Mark at Tune Street—whose home number I had from a previous emergency—and he talked me down.