by Jim Bouton
Craw, puckering his little lips, said there was another way to fix the problem. “Give the whole job to Dave Tierney,” a union contractor.
Obviously, another union “principle.”
“In the entire history of Wahconah Park,” I said, “nobody ever had to publicly bid the improvements.”
“They will from now on,” said Craw.
“We don’t want to make trouble,” said Kelly. “We like this project. I’m getting calls from our members saying, ‘don’t screw this up.’”
We told Kelly that things were already screwed up, that a $1.5 million project had now been cut in half, and that if the unions didn’t back off, even that would be lost.
“This will be a major black eye for unions,” I said. “People all over the country are watching. Wahconah Park is now a national story.”
“You gotta obey the law,” said Craw, his ham hock arms folded over his Buddha belly. He was one large and smug amphibian.
To prove that we weren’t anti-union, I had begun getting prices from contractors for our scaled-back plan. There were six categories of work: electrical, plumbing, demolition and excavation, fencing, concessions, and carpentry. I called every union contractor in Pittsfield in each category.
September 15: Chip and I met with Mayor Ruberto at City Hall. Among other things we talked about the carpenters’ union.
“I’ve never seen anyone more anti-union than you guys,” Ruberto said at one point.
“We’re not anti-union, goddamit!” I said, my voice rising. “Craw is the one hurting unions, with his bullying. It’s guys like him who’ve dragged unions down from 40% of the workforce to 12%. I’ve been a union man all my life and it hurts to see it.”
“Jim is getting prices from local union contractors right now,” said Chip.
The mayor returned to his mantra. “I want you guys in Wahconah Park. But you’ve got to live with the Bid Laws.”
“We’ll fold our tent before we do that,” said Chip.
Ruberto looked off into the distance and slowly shook his head.
“The Attorney General fucked us,” he said, using an expression we’d never heard him use before. “There’s nothing the city can do. Tim Craw holds the keys.”
September 16: Someone on an Internet message board (user name, BerkshireFan) asked how the Bid Protest and “the hoops you have to jump thru” in Pittsfield might affect our chances of getting a team.
Chip (user name, Chip Elitzer) replied that the “ambivalence on the part of the city has not gone unnoticed by the Northeast League, which has a meeting of team owners next Friday, September 24. It is not helping our cause.”
Someone, probably Potsy (user name, Wahconah Fan), showed it to Ruberto, who got all upset again. Even though Ruberto refused to sign the license, he maintained a public posture of supporting us.
So the mayor called Chip, who added this note to the message board: “We continue, however, to have the support of Mayor Ruberto, who will be calling Miles Wolff before the owners’ meeting to express his strong interest in acquiring a franchise in the Northeast League for Pittsfield.”
And, we discovered later, the mayor did call.
But one of the things Ruberto asked Miles Wolff was whether or not Pittsfield could get a franchise without Bouton and Elitzer.
September 17: According to a story in the Berkshire Eagle, the City Council approved Mayor Ruberto’s request for a $1 million allocation of GE funds for the Colonial Theatre. The only dissenters were Dan Bianchi, who argued that the theater was “not an appropriate use of this money,” and Chuck Vincelette, who said that the city had “done enough for the Colonial.”
“I believe that was the same meeting,” said Chip, “where Peter Arlos petitioned the council to require that construction on the Colonial be publicly bid because 70% of it was public money.”
“What happened to the petition?” I asked.
“They tabled it,” said Chip.
September 19: Chip calculated that so far we’ve pumped over half a million dollars into Pittsfield’s economy.
“It’s not just the $250,000 of our own money,” said Chip. “There’s the $125,000 from the vintage game tickets, concessions, and advertising that went to vendors, booster clubs, fireworks, rental companies, etc. What was left over went into our general kitty for things like architects, engineers, construction, and painters—all local people” (see our cash-flow summary in the documents section).
“That’s $375,000,” I said. “Where’s the other $125,000?”
“ESPN spent about $50,000 locally for things like camera platforms, the additional scoreboard, turf repair, a new announcer’s desk,” said Chip. “A fairly large crew stayed at the Crowne Plaza.”
“You’re up to $425,000,” I said.
“Then there were the 7,000 people who came to the games, a lot of them from out of town,” said Chip. “I spoke to merchants who saw a real spike in their sales. It’s not unreasonable to assume that the Pittsfield area received an average of $11 a head from the 7,000 people. There’s $77,000. And that comes to over half a million.”
September 21: In an attempt to see if we can “work something out” with the union, Mayor Ruberto invited Tim Craw, John Kelly, Dave Potts, Gene Nadeau, and Chip and me to a meeting at City Hall. Not to be outnumbered, we brought Sam Elitzer and Paula, as special advisors.
What we needed were mind readers. Before the meeting began, as we waited for the mayor to join us in a conference room, Tim Craw and John Kelly were conspicuously smirking at us. Craw, sitting diagonally across the table, made a concerted effort to catch my eye, grinning and nodding as if he were trying to send me a message. I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was trying to say.
The mayor entered the room looking sweaty and harried. He began with his usual pitch about why Chip and I should live with the Bid Laws, and we repeated the reasons why that was impossible. And that’s about how it went until Tim Craw helped make our point. Inadvertently.
I was telling the mayor about the estimates I was getting from local union contractors for our scaled-back plan.
“That’s against the law,” said Craw, jabbing his finger at me across the table. “You’ll have to re-bid it.”
“Why?” I asked, irritated by the interruption.
Craw had a sarcastic little smile on his face.
“You didn’t use biddable drawings, and you didn’t have a walkthrough,” he said, arrogantly.
“The drawings are good enough for our purposes,” I said, addressing the mayor. “None of the contractors seem to mind. In fact, they’re even making suggestions for how we can save money.”
“You have to re-bid it,” said Craw.
Craw and Kelly were clearly enjoying themselves. Kelly even looked down a few times to stifle a smile. The mayor, looking tense and nervous, followed the exchange closely.
“And you broke the law when you hired the architect,” said Craw. “Before you do anything more, you have to bid the architect.”
What about the work we had already done at the ballpark?
“Against the law.”
Our completed engineering?
“Against the law,” said Craw. “You have to bid it.”
Bid it. Re-bid it. Ribbit.
After delivering his tutorial on union law, Craw leaned over and informed Ruberto that he and Kelly would be leaving, since it was obvious there was nothing more the union could do and it was now up to the city. Whereupon Ruberto, as if on cue, solicitously escorted Craw and Kelly from the room.
When Ruberto returned, about ten minutes later, he looked even more frazzled than he had before.
“Now I’m begging you,” he said. “Please go along with the Bid Laws.”
The mayor sounded desperate. As if he had already made a decision not to sign the revised license, no matter what.
But how could that be? He had just witnessed what our lives would be like under Tim Craw. Didn’t the mayor understand what he was risking? I remin
ded him what we had achieved in just a short period of time.
“The 1791 document, the Hillies, ESPN…”
“You just got lucky,” said Potts, who had been quiet until then.
There was a brief silence. Then Paula exploded.
“Lucky!” she turned on Potts. “Lucky!!! How dare you say that!”
I tentatively reached for Paula’s knee.
“No,” she said, pulling her knee away. “I’m sick and tired of being quiet! I’ve had enough of this.”
I withdrew my hand.
“Luck had nothing to do with it!” Paula shouted. “You think you could have gotten that story on the front page of the International Herald Tribune? You think you could have gotten ESPN to come here and give you four hours of airtime? You think you could have come up with the concept, designed the uniforms, printed the materials? You damn well couldn’t have!”
Potts was stone faced. The mayor was bug-eyed, transfixed.
“That wasn’t luck!” Paula raged, her voice starting to crack. “That took a helluva lot of work—from all of us, 24/7! And what were you doing? Undermining us every step of the way, that’s what you were doing.”
By now, Paula was crying.
“Don’t pay any attention to these tears,” she said, wiping her eyes with her fingers, annoyed with herself. “It happens when I get really angry.”
I leaned over to comfort Paula, but she shrugged me off. That meant she wasn’t finished yet. And I had no desire to stop her.
“What is wrong with you people? You get something good happening and you crap all over it with your complaints—the tickets are too expensive, it’s the wrong beer, the wrong singers, you’re not getting paid!”
Paula shifted her focus from Potts to Nadeau.
“And then 5,000 people show up, have the time of their lives, a magic night, and you can’t even spring for a $3 ticket?!”
Paula had a look of utter contempt on her face, as she paused to catch her breath. Then she looked at Ruberto.
“You asked Jim to stop promoting his book,” she said, “and he did that for you.”
“Yes, he did,” said Ruberto, relieved to find something soothing to say. “He kept his word.”
“But that’s how we earn our living!” Paula interrupted harshly. “You stop promoting a book and it dies. Did you give any thought about how we were to earn our living while we were putting money into your city? We are now personally $100,000 in the red for the benefit of Pittsfield and you can’t even give us the support that you promised when you invited us back? What is the matter with you?”
Total silence.
“You think we’re made of money? All this talk of how blue collar you are. We didn’t grow up rich, either. We worked just as hard for our money as you have for yours. And what do we get for our blood, sweat, and tears? Nothing but backstabbing and extortion and obstacles and complaints. I’ve had it with Pittsfield and the Parks Commission and the newspaper and with all of you! No more. I want out! Let’s go home.”
There was an awkward silence in the room. Nobody knew what to do or say. When Paula stood up, the rest of us stood up too. That seemed to be the signal that the meeting was over. Without a word, the group made its way to the door. In the flow of bodies, Ruberto gave Paula a hug.
For me, I felt lucky to be married to her. In five minutes of unscripted fury, Paula had delivered a super nova of truth to a room full of people who needed to see it. Including Chip and me. I wasn’t sure what would happen next, but I knew at least the air would be cleaner.
September 22: I sent the following email to Chip, which he forwarded to the mayor, along with his own comments:
> It just occurred to me that the carpenters’
> original complaint had to do with the
> ‘language’ of the license agreement, and that
> none of the cases they cited said a city-
> owned facility must be publicly bid --
> BECAUSE THERE IS NO SUCH CASE. The carpenters
> want Wahconah Park to be that case and they
> believe a vulnerable mayor will give it to
> them. Ruberto has to call this strategy for
> what it is: massive overreaching that will
> retard development across the state. Which
> will not be good for the Attorney General
> when it gets traced back to him.
September 23: Chip and I met with the mayor again at City Hall. He said he had a new idea.
“What if we did a Fleisig deal?” said Ruberto, with his old enthusiasm. “Two years at $75,000 a year! That at least gets you into the ballpark. And you can make improvements whenever you want.”
“Fleisig lost money on the Fleisig deal,” Chip quickly reminded him. “Our business plan calls for upgrading the ballpark. We can’t do that with a two-year deal.”
The mayor looked deflated.
Then, after some thought, he hinted at his real Reason For Not Signing the revised license agreement.
“The revised license won’t get past the AG’s office,” said Ruberto, suggesting he either knew or believed that the Attorney General would not approve it.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “The AG wants the city to revise the license. He doesn’t want to set a precedent that would destroy private investment in all public buildings in Massachusetts!”
“We believe strongly that he will approve it,” said Chip. “And we’ll put our belief to the test. If you’ll sign it and send it to the AG, we’ll close on our financing, go ahead with construction, and take our chances on a favorable ruling. That’s how confident we are.”
The mayor looked troubled.
“I can’t do it,” he said.
September 24: Paula woke up in the middle of the night, feeling anxious.
“I want to move away from here,” she said, in the darkness.
“Where would we go?” I mumbled.
“New Zealand.”
“We’d be too far away from the kids,” I said. “And the little ones [our grandchildren] would have trouble finding us on the globe. They’d think we were going to fall off the bottom.”
“That’s what it feels like now,” said Paula.
Why did Chip and I continue? Because we still had that dream of what it could be like at a renovated Wahconah Park—especially now, with the Hillies. I remembered what Paula had said at the July 3 game. “This makes it all worthwhile.” I imagined her saying that again.
And we also wanted to understand what was happening.
September 26: Miles Wolff called and offered Chip and me the “eighth team” slot in the Northeast League for 2005. Unbelievable! Here was the call we’d been waiting for since 2001, and we couldn’t really enjoy it.
“Now we have a team and no ballpark,” said Chip.
“This is like trying to mate a pair of elephants,” said I.
September 27: I continued to get estimates for our scaled-back plan, which was pricing out as follows: demolition and excavation ($182,300); electrical ($103,400); plumbing ($69,600); painting ($35,000); fencing (24,000); concession sheds ($22,000); and carpentry ($17,000).
Except for the painting and the prebuilt concession sheds, almost the entire job (91%) would be done by local union contractors. And all of it put at risk by the carpenters over a mere $17,000, or 3.7% of the total job! But, as Craw had said, “It’s a matter of principle.”
Or maybe a favor for an old friend.
We had just learned from City Councilor Chuck Vincelette that Tim Craw used to manage the Brewery, the bar owned by ex-Parks Commissioner Bob “Smitty” Smith, drinking buddy of ex-Mayor Gerry Doyle.
“I think this whole thing is motivated by more than a coincidence,” Vincelette said.
“Tim Craw could be the instrument for all those guys who hate us,” said Chip.
“Okay, so Craw gets the ball rolling with the Bid Protest,” I said, playing detective. “But he’s not keeping the mayor from signing the li
cense. That’s coming from somewhere else.”
“Higher up,” said Chip. “Craw is just the henchman.”
“Who’s higher up than the mayor?” I asked. And we both laughed at the possibilities just within walking distance of City Hall.
September 29: Backed by a league invitation and union contractors, Chip and I decided to give democracy one more shot. We would ask the Parks Commission and the City Council—on October 4 and 12 respectively—to recommend that the mayor sign the revised license and send it to the Attorney General. To get a feel for our chances, I asked Parks Commissioner Garivaltis what he thought of our strategy. He wasn’t optimistic.
“Minds will be made up before the meeting,” he said.
“Before we even make our case?” I said. “Would they vote against public sentiment?”
“They’re not alone,” Garivaltis said. “They know the banks are against you. Some of the big lawyers in town. The Eagle. And the mayor’s stand is a major barrier—he gives them cover.”
September 30: Our largest Pittsfield investor agreed to speak on our behalf at the October 4 Parks Commission meeting. She also offered some thoughts on the problems we were facing.
“I understand there are a couple of goons involved,” she said.
October 1: Chip and I were guests on the Dan Valenti Show. We explained our strategy and asked the listeners to make their wishes known to the parks commissioners and city councilors. We said if we struck out with them, the game would be over.
After the program, Valenti told us something strange that his news director Len Bean had told him.
“About a week ago,” said Valenti, “Len said that Tim Craw had told him there wasn’t going to be any baseball played at Wahconah Park in 2005.”
“Did Craw say why?” I asked.
“That’s all he told me,” Valenti said. “And Len’s not here right now or you could ask him yourself.”
“We’ll check it out later,” said Chip.
“Jeeez,” I said. “Maybe Ruberto meant it when he said ‘Tim Craw holds the keys.’”