by Jim Bouton
SEPTEMBER 28
FRIDAY
As Tim Gray had suggested, I spoke with Vinnie Curro, the “mayor” of Lakewood, who now lives down in Florida. Among other things, I asked him about his cancer map.
“I know hundreds that died of cancer,” he said. “Bladder cancer, lung cancer, pancreatic cancer. My younger brother has cancer. His son passed away at thirty-two. He played in the yard with forty-five parts per million [PCBs]. It’s hard to believe, but if you’ve been involved you know what it’s like.”
I gave Curro some background about our far less important struggle for Wahconah Park. He was familiar with the characters.
“Tom and Gerry sold us down the river with General Electric,” said Curro, referring to Hickey and Doyle. “They have their local group that has their hands in it somehow and it’s always been that way. They’re all in cahoots together. You sound like a wacko when you tell somebody this.”
I asked Curro if he knew anything about the property that the Eagle wanted to donate as the site for a new stadium.
“That area is all contaminated,” said Curro. “Tons of automobile oil. They would have filled it in and gotten away with it.”
“What would it cost to clean it up,” I asked.
“A hundred and fifty to two hundred million,” said Curro. “There are other chemicals, too—benzene, lead, resins—that are just as dangerous.”
Still no word from Gray on those test borings.
“By law, the owner has to report contamination,” said Gray. “But if they don’t do it voluntarily, the DEP has no way of knowing.”
What are the odds that the Eagle would report contamination on its own property? Especially when it lobbied against cleaning up the Housatonic.
“The Eagle ran editorials and free ads,” said Gray. “‘Don’t clean the river,’ and ‘Don’t go Superfund’—that’s the hammer that allows the EPA to go for triple damages. Then they printed a letter, signed by Doyle and some CEOs, saying they didn’t want to go Superfund. Jeffrey Cook was one of the big signers. He and the guys at Cain Hibbard all take work from GE. Those are some of the saddest people I know.”
Sad and conflicted. One of the signers of the letter was Jim Wall, who preceded Andy Mick at the Eagle. Wall even traveled to Washington to lobby Ted Kennedy to urge the EPA not to put Pittsfield on the Superfund list. The city never got on the list, and the story of Wall’s trip to Washington never got into the Eagle.
“The good-old-boy network has been entrenched for thirty-five years,” said Gray. “Doyle and Hickey are the front men. They need to get those people out of office and wipe the slate clean.”
“What about Andy Nuciforo?” I asked. “Has he been any help?”
“On the surface he seems supportive,” said Gray. “Privately he says, ‘You’ve done a wonderful job for Pittsfield.’ But he hasn’t spoken out on the matter. He’s a good fence sitter.”
“That’s what we discovered,” I said.
“The truth is,” said Gray, “what success we’ve had is only because GE employees came forward to tell me their stories. That brought the national press—the Boston Globe, the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times.”
I asked Gray if he ever feared for his life.
“I’ve had a lot of people telling me they were afraid for my life,” he said. “The good old boys hate my guts in the same fashion that they’re against you.”
“That’s how you know you’re on the right track,” I said.
“I’m just a small guy who wanted to clean up the river,” said Gray, “and I ran into politics. All those guys, the mayor and GE and the staff at the Berkshire Eagle—I’ve never run into a bunch of scoundrels like this before.”
SEPTEMBER 29
SATURDAY
With Paula still in Amsterdam, I’ve been sleeping at odd hours. Which is how I happened to be on the computer at seven in the morning to receive the following email from Jonathan Lothrop:
> The Berkshire Eagle was a stunner this a.m. You
> appear to be back in the ballgame, with a much
> stronger hand, although you know that the Parks
> Commission still will not give you guys a break!
> We need to plan for the public meeting on Monday.
I wondered what the hell “back in the ballgame” meant. Because I don’t know how to initiate an Instant Message without accidently downloading half of Venezuela, and I didn’t want to call the Lothrops in case they were still asleep, I went to the online version of the Eagle.
And there it was.
Big front-page headline: BOSSIDY WON’T BUY A TEAM. UNDER THAT WAS A SUBHEAD: INSTEAD HE’LL GIVE $I MILLION FOR PARKS.
The story, by Bill Carey, said Bossidy was abandoning his effort “after being informed that state funding needed to build a new stadium cannot be assured.” The story quoted Mayor Doyle as saying that he was “stunned” by Bossidy’s generosity.
I must admit the news got my heart beating a little faster than usual at that hour in the morning. But I had mixed emotions. Half of me was glad to see Bossidy out of the picture. The other half thought his million dollar “gift” looked an awful lot like a deposit.
The story went on to say that the Parks Commission, at the request of the City Council, will hold a “public hearing” Monday at 7:00 p.m. at Reid Middle School on the future of Wahconah Park, and that they are expected to recommend one of the two remaining proposals on October 2th or 4th.
Finally, as if for comic relief, the story quoted Mayor Doyle as saying that while he favored the Fleisig proposal, he would nevertheless “abide by the Parks Commission decision.”
I can just see Doyle, lying awake at night, wondering what his hand-picked commissioners might do.
I immediately scribbled a fax to Chip: “Are you up? Bossidy is bowing out! State $ not available. It’s us vs. Fleisig and the P.C.”
Then I checked to see what Ever-Scrib might have to say. As usual, he did not disappoint. Under the headline BOSSIDY GIVES UP THE GOOD FIGHT, Ever-Scrib had written:
Larry Bossidy’s decision to abandon his plans to bring a New York–Penn League team to Pittsfield is another blow for the struggling city, and not just because it means an end to the city’s long history of affiliated minor league baseball and the probable end of any hope of building a much-needed stadium in the community.
The decision of Mr. Bossidy, a Pittsfield native and internationally renowned businessman, to walk away from a city that treated his attempted generosity with characteristic suspicion sends a clear message to the business community far and wide that they are not welcome in Pittsfield. And that is very bad for a city that needs all the help it can get…
But state money or no state money, the poisonous political climate was working against the Bossidy proposal. The insistence of many civic leaders that crumbling Wahconah Park can somehow be “renovated” and played in indefinitely is an example of the city’s inability to come to grips with reality. It would cost millions of dollars to bring Wahconah Park to any presentable standard, money better spent on a new stadium that can offer the wide variety of activities that Wahconah Park cannot.
Beyond the city’s paralyzing Wahconah Park fixation is the even more disgraceful suspicion that greeted Mr. Bossidy’s efforts…. The City Council’s Three Amigos—Daniel Bianchi, Joe Guzzo, and Richard Scapin, the latter of whom appears to regard himself as council president material—David Potts, Anne Leaf, and the rest of the modern day Minutemen, the paranoiacs who dominate council open mike sessions, all treated Mr. Bossidy over the past year as if he were a corporate raider here to rip off Pittsfield. Many of these same people clamor continually that Pittsfield needs “jobs,” and they can be assured that the businessmen who provide jobs noticed how the city treated the CEO of Honeywell.
Mr. Bossidy’s parting gift to Pittsfield is $1 million to help it deal with its budget deficit. Given the way Mr. Bossidy was treated the gift is remarkable, and given the way he was treated the city s
hould have the grace to decline the money. But it will take it, undoubtedly checking suspiciously for attached strings.
The most peculiar thing about Ever-Scrib is his apparent lack of awareness as to the source of his continuing pain.
His problem stems from his refusal to accept that the people of Pittsfield simply do not want a new stadium, no matter who builds it with what money. Rightly or wrongly—forget for a moment that they happen to be right about the economic limitations and liabilities of new stadiums—they prefer to watch baseball at Wahconah Park. That is their right, in a democracy.
But Pittsfield is not a democracy, in large part because its only daily paper is not a free press. And so we get Ever-Scrib’s ridiculous notion that the city is being “paralyzed” by three city councilors and a handful of open mike “paranoiacs.” As if that underfunded band could defeat a majority of citizens, backed by the city’s only daily paper, its largest bank, and its most powerful law firm.
The truth, of course, is that it’s the bank, and the law firm, and the daily paper who are against the majority of citizens—whose only voices are the three councilors and some open mike “paranoiacs.” That’s the only alignment that could produce paralysis.
It is Ever-Scrib’s “inability to come to grips with [this] reality” that causes him to project that failing onto others, leading ultimately to a world in which a vote against a new stadium is characterized as disrespect toward Mr. Bossidy and a “not-welcome message” to the business community, while true disrespect toward three local businessmen supposedly sends no such message.
If the Eagle believes Pittsfield “needs all the help it can get,” the best thing it can do is stop pushing for a “much-needed stadium” and begin seeking a much-needed change of ownership.
SEPTEMBER 30
SUNDAY
Today Chip and I got tired of doing nothing.
Chip woke up in one of his open-letter moods and drafted a three-page Update to Our Proposal. It’s addressed to the Parks Commission, but the real target is the public, who, the commissioners know, will be watching. Our best hope is to make our position crystal clear and thereby reduce the wiggle room for the commissioners. To that end, we wanted to address the two issues most likely to be cited as reasons for choosing Fleisig over us—our long-term contract requirement and our team situation.
We’ve decided to go with my idea for a two-year contract, “renewable annually thereafter at our option as long as we are in compliance with the performance terms,” wrote Chip.
Then he listed the performance terms:
1. Provide season-long professional baseball every year.
2. Spend a minimum of $100,000 annually—on a cumulative basis—for maintenance, repairs, and capital improvements.
3. Make Wahconah Park available for all reasonable uses, including current uses, such as high school sports.
“By way of comparison,” Chip wrote, “this arrangement would be four times more favorable to Pittsfield than the lease that the Spinners [New York–Penn League team] have with Lowell [Massachusetts] for the use of their new stadium.”
Next, Chip reviewed our team opportunities. Namely, that “the Atlantic League has asked us to play the 2002 season as their eighth team,” and that “we are negotiating the terms of an option to buy a permanent membership in the league in the event that (A) a short-season division currently under consideration is created, or (B) we have not purchased a franchise in the Northern League.”
Finally, Chip reminded everyone what is so special and revolutionary about our proposal:
“Pittsfield has an unprecedented opportunity to do what no other community has done before—take control of its baseball destiny. Instead of having a league or team owner dictate to the city who will play there or what terms must be met for them to stay, Pittsfield can—by granting us the Wahconah Park contract—ensure that an all-Berkshire group will negotiate with both leagues to secure the best possible deal for the city.”
Then he closed with our boiler plate: “As always, we remain available to answer your questions or address your concerns.”
Maybe the park commissioners will ask their questions and state their concerns at tomorrow night’s open hearing.
Arlos called this morning.
He said that Curt Preisser had called him. Preisser, whose oversized head and skinny body puts one in mind of an extraterrestrial, is the mayor’s man in charge of spreading false rumors.
“He said, ‘They have no money,’” said Arlos. Preisser meant Chip and me. “Then he tells me you wanted $3,000 to speak to the Boy Scouts.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said.
“That’s what I figured,” said Arlos.
This pissed me off. I’ve never spoken with Curt Preisser. He’s never called to check a fact or ask a question. He just skulks around. These people don’t have the guts to confront you face to face.
“What’s the payoff for these guys?” I asked, still annoyed.
“Nothing,” said Arlos. “They hate the people who were against the Civic Authority and those are the people who are 100 percent behind you. That’s the whole thing.”
Revenge. The big boys sit back and let the peons like Preisser fight a grudge match.
“People won’t go to games if Fleisig owns the team,” said Arlos.
“You should say that publicly,” I said.
Arlos seemed to give that some thought.
“You should call Sara Hathaway,” he said finally.
I paused for a few seconds.
“No Peter,” I said politely. “It’s not our job to lead Pittsfield. That’s your job. The new leaders have to start leading now. If I were Sara Hathaway, I’d be rounding up council candidates to help make our case on Monday night. Because you’re going to have to live with whatever the Parks Commission decides. And, frankly, if the new leaders can’t lead, why should Chip and I even want to be in Pittsfield in the first place?”
There was a long pause on the other end.
“You’re right,” said Arlos, with a sigh in his voice.
“And I told Katy Roucher the same thing,” I said, “when she asked what we were planning to do tomorrow night. I said we’re just going to show up.”
CHAPTER 13
“We’re gonna give ya a fair trial,
and then we’re gonna hang ya”
OCTOBER 1
MONDAY
Paula flew in from Amsterdam this afternoon, but I sent a car to pick her up at the airport. I didn’t want to miss tonight—the only public hearing on the future of baseball at Wahconah Park in the history of Pittsfield.
Reid Middle School is an old brick building that doubles as a town hall and voting place. Its auditorium, with two aisles sloping down to an elevated stage, seats about three hundred. Tonight the overhead stage lights illuminated a long utility table, behind which the five commissioners and Bob Mellace sat facing the audience.
It wasn’t the packed house we had been hoping for. In fact, there weren’t more than about seventy people, scattered randomly in groups of two and three. Why only seventy? Could have been any number of reasons: Lack of publicity. Short notice. Ballpark fatigue. Lost cause-itis. The good news was that they were all Wahconah supporters, the only strangers being the new faces that are regularly added to the club.
The meeting was called to order by Chairman Cliff Nilan, who quickly set the tone for the evening. “This will be a public meeting,” he began, “and the Commission, after some discussion, has set up somewhat of a format and we would hope everyone would adhere to that format.”
Nilan hadn’t even warmed up yet, and the public hearing had suddenly become a public meeting. But it didn’t really matter; in Pittsfield, these are interchangeable terms that can mean whatever city officials want them to mean. Under no circumstances, however, does either of them mean that the public will be allowed to engage the officials in a dialogue or be privy to the thinking that goes into a decision.
“Everybody will have th
ree minutes to speak,” Nilan went on. “You will state your name and your address and then you speak on the proposal you are in favor of. This is not going to be a dialogue or a debate. If you have any questions that you want the Commission to answer, or you have to ask of the Commission, please submit them in writing before you leave, and give that to Mr. Mellace. I’m sure the commission will consider them in their discussion and their deliberations, whenever that may be.”
The public meeting had now been downgraded to an open mike session. This raised the question of why anyone, the audience included, needed to be there in the first place. If questions could be submitted in writing, why not the same with comments, and save everyone the trouble of coming? The Commission’s actual “discussions and deliberations, whenever that might be,” would presumably take place out of state so as not to be in violation of the Massachusetts open meetings law.
Lest the open mike session drift out of control, Nilan had a few more rules.
“This is not going to be a political rally,” he cautioned. “We are going to try and keep it polite. There will be no getting up and saying who’s in favor of this proposal, who’s in favor of that proposal, please raise your hand. We would like to just to discuss the Commission [sic] and try to stay with the format. We thank everyone for coming, we appreciate your input. We would hope to get out of here at a reasonable hour.”
Nilan was more in control than I’d ever seen him, almost tic free. His usual collar tugs, ear digs, and nose wipes seemed to have been retired in favor of the tie pull, which itself had been scaled down to the gesture of merely reaching for the tie—as if his wife had told him not to do that anymore, and he’d catch himself in time.
Nilan then stated that Chip and I could have three minutes apiece, but that since Jonathan Fleisig had to rush back to New York, he would go first. Fleisig, wearing a sportcoat, a blue dress shirt over a T-shirt, and an wry smile, strolled down to the podium.