Ernie pointed his finger. "It is that last part, you know, that's the most difficult."
"So let's get people trained—"
"Young man," Ernie interjected, "they need a job to train for."
David blinked. "So let's get jobs in here."
"That…is the problem."
"Then let's see what we can do."
David spent April through June reading everything he could about business development in urban settings. He made an appointment with the chair of the economics department. (Being the SGC president definitely had its advantages.) The chair convinced him to look into microfinance, so David spent three weeks studying it. But...
"I don’t have a clue about how to create jobs," David confessed went back to the community development organization.
"Of course you don’t," Ernie said calmly. "You’re a politics guy, not a business guy."
"But...isn’t that what they need?" David asked helplessly.
"Don’t worry," Ernie said ruefully. "People need more than that."
"So what else can I do?"
Ernie gestured toward the door. "Why don’t you go find out? Knock on doors, talk to people in the streets, visit PTA meetings, go to the churches—wherever people meet—and find out."
David winced. "What if they don't want to talk to me? What if they think I'm some uppity outsider who wants to save them?"
"Then you'd better show them you're not."
~~~
David was knocking on doors the next week. The answers were the same, and he shuddered every time he heard them. Crime. Things for kids to do. Education. Public transportation. Big deal problems that made a big difference in their lives—and that he couldn't do anything about.
"Why do people commit crime?" David asked Ernie drily.
Ernie frowned. "Don't be a masochist."
"No, seriously, what's going to be easier—extending a community center's hours so kids have something better to do, or attracting new businesses that will hire the residents? Or should we just try instead to lower the cost of public transportation so everyone can get to the limited jobs available downtown?"
Ernie snickered. "Let's just have everyone drive," he said sarcastically. "Parking's expensive, but that's okay, they won’t find parking spaces anyway."
"Ha ha—" David looked up. "Let's just have everyone drive," he repeated. "Oh my God, why not?"
Ernie’s eyes widened. "Do you need me to explain it to you? The cost of insurance in this neighborhood. Fluctuating cost of gas. Increased cost of maintenance. Cheaper alternatives in public transportation."
"—that is becoming more expensive as the levels of service are decreasing," David said slowly. "And everything else you just mentioned is much easier to address than any of the other possibilities we talked about."
Ernie looked as if he were struggling to remain calm. "So which is easier to fix: the cost of gas or the cost of insurance?"
David thought for a moment. "Cost of insurance, but it's a toss-up."
"The boy has snapped," Ernie said out loud as David jumped onto a computer.
"No, I haven't," David said without taking his eyes off the screen. "Look." Ernie reluctantly joined him. Ten seconds later, he grinned and slapped David's shoulder.
"Now that, David, is an idea."
~~~
Quick Wheels Car Share had been the subject of a couple of high-profile news stories that had revealed some neighborhoods were being charged more than others. The company had quietly back-pedaled on their pricing, but not before a senior vice president of marketing had been quoted as saying that the different price structures were justified because those neighborhoods' customers had inflicted a disproportionate amount of damage on their vehicles. From there, it took less than half a day for people all over the city to start writing angry editorials comparing Quick Wheels to the mortgage companies who had once charged different rates for different neighborhoods. For a company that wanted to do business in an urban area, no publicity could be worse than that.
And David knew this.
His proposal: Quick Wheels would offer six cars to the residents of the neighborhood at fifty percent of the average rate for each model. In exchange, the cars were authorized to go only to certain locations, including the four largest and most economical supermarkets in the area, as well as the drugstores, medical areas, libraries and places of worship.
The plan also built in a mechanism to add more authorized locations. To propose a new site, an existing user would only have to call Quick Wheels and give them the name and location. Then a message would go out to the cell phones of every registered user who could easily text in their vote.
In addition, the plan also included a petition for users to request more cars, but they had to prove that they had used the system to the fullest—and by their calculations, a carpool showed the vehicle was being more utilized than a big trip that carried only one driver. At David's insistence, Quick Wheels set up a text service through which users could list trips they were taking that were available for carpools.
Within two months of the service's launch, over fifty percent of the trips were carpools and there were more cars scheduled to be added within the month.
It is a fact of life that people will be more lavish with criticisms than praise, and David was smart enough to know this. Still, he was shocked to open Boston.com four months after the launch and read the general manager of the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority charge that Quick Wheels—and "technocrat-in-training" David Hwang—were responsible for a fifteen percent decline in ridership for the area over the past three months.
David seethed. "What a surprise. Someone offers an underserved area a better alternative and people take it. Isn't that Capitalism 101?"
"And that is exactly what the business professor at Boston University said in the same article, so calm down," Ernie advised. "The MBTA is desperate to point a finger, and Quick Wheels has made it easy for them. This isn't about you."
But it might have been personal a few weeks later when the Globe did a follow-up story and focused on the local businesses that had been affected by the program. "I've had to lay off one employee, and I might have to get rid of another," the owner of a bodega lamented. "I've been here fifteen years and I could always pay my bills, but how am I supposed to compete with the prices at Star and Market Basket?"
"Oh, I don't know," Ernie said sarcastically. "Service? Or not letting the local drug dealer run his business on your doorstep?"
"Buy local," David deadpanned.
But the prize quote went to the owner of a local pizza parlor. "I do what I do, and people have been saying for two decades that I do it well. Well, maybe people don't want that if they can have something else. Maybe they want a different kind of clientele. We are what we are here, and if people are looking for something 'better', I think they need to take a look in the mirror and ask themselves what they really mean."
"And I have hated that twerp for the last fifteen years," Ernie said angrily. "Right...you're obviously ashamed of being a black man if you think eating in a place cited for roaches and mice is beneath you."
David's phone beeped. A moment later he groaned.
"More good news?" Ernie asked.
"The best," David answered. "Lucy Bartolome is requesting my presence this afternoon."
~~~
David was ushered into Lucy's office three hours later. She let him sit down before she asked, "Do you understand the phrase 'public relations'?"
"I believe so."
"Then please explain."
David swallowed. "It refers to the values you want associated with your brand." He paused. "With all due respect, Mrs. Hendrickson, I am not a brand."
"You are now," she said sharply, "and more to the point, for the time being you are a subsidiary of my brand."
"Mrs. Hendrickson, the Globe has decided to grind an axe into me for some reason. They have twisted everything—"
"Oh David, please. I know who pi
tched this story and why the editor approved it. Completely irrelevant, because no one except a select few who like to trade insider Boston politics stories is going to care. All anyone is going to care about is what they read in the paper. At best, you're a starry-eyed novice that let yourself get jerked around by a company desperate for good publicity; at worst you're an insipid would-be politician trying to make a name for himself on the backs of a beleaguered Boston neighborhood. I suggest you go with the former; it's easier to look apologetic when you also genuinely look like you don't know what you're doing."
"Mrs. Hendrickson, just a minute—"
"What can you possibly say that couldn't be twisted to make it sound worse?"
"How about that if people stopped using the buses so quickly it's because they're overpriced, don't run as often as they're supposed to and are rundown? And how about that people are dying—sometimes literally—for better businesses in this area and that's why they're going elsewhere now that they can?"
"Which is shorter: what you just said or 'David Hwang is a gentrifying ass'?"
David’s eyes stung. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"Yes, you did," Lucy said firmly. "You didn't think through all of the consequences. Next time you want a big change, anticipate who your enemies are and what they're going to say."
David swallowed. "So what should I do?"
"Unless you can guarantee it won't make anything worse, nothing. Now go and stay out of the papers for a couple of days, alright?"
CHAPTER FOUR
David opened Ernie's office door an hour later. "At least she didn't take that long handing me my—"
"David! We were just talking about you," Ernie said as quickly as he could.
Ernie was not alone. "I'm sorry. I should have knocked," he said to the woman in the chair. She was African American, in her mid-sixties and very well-dressed.
"That's quite alright," she said with a smile, "I was hoping we could meet." She put out her hand. "I'm Addie Green."
David shook her hand. "I hope you weren't offended by the article today,’ he said tentatively.
"Young man, I came here to thank you and that article only made me sorry that I didn't do it sooner. You have made a big difference in my church already."
"Your church?" he repeated.
"My husband is the pastor of the A.M.E. Jordan, and I must tell you, people have been talking about that car rental program for months. We've wanted something to make it easier for people to work together for years. We have two vans and we use them as often as we can, but this is easier for people. And they love it! I cannot tell you how excited people have been to make simple trips like going to the Whole Foods in Dedham. And on one trip they started reading a schedule for that fancy yoga place, and you know what they decided? We should have our own yoga classes! They spent two weeks calling around until they found a yoga school that would send over a certified instructor and some students who need to earn hours teaching. Classes start next week."
"And everyone's okay with that?" Ernie asked delicately.
Mrs. Green waved her hand dismissively. "Someone is always going to complain about something, but that doesn't mean they're right. And anyone who objects to someone in our community getting some well-deserved relaxation had better have a very good reason if they want to speak to me about it. If someone thinks 'Namaste' is an invitation for the Devil then I want to make sure I never see that person walk into a liquor store."
"Do you think," David asked cautiously, "that people are able to save more money with this? That's what I was really—"
"Mr. Hwang, as I have been trying to tell Ernie for fifteen years, the people in this community can do addition, subtraction, multiplication, division and even algebra as well as anyone on Beacon Hill. And they understand not only 'interest' but also 'compound interest'. If their answers keep coming up negative it is not because their skills are deficient but because the x's and y's are too low to come back with anything else."
"Mrs. Green has made some suggestions about our financial literacy offerings once or twice," Ernie said diplomatically.
"Because if people are signing onto something too-good-to-be-true, it isn't because they're stupid but because they're desperate," Mrs. Green responded heatedly. "Of course they understand direct deposit into a checking account is better than the payday check cashier but they need to buy groceries, put more money on layaway for their children's school clothing and pay the rent, but their paycheck is not enough. So, yes, Mr. Hwang, being able to spend twenty dollars less on their groceries and paying a little less to get there in the first place is a very big deal, and they are saving money."
"So when are we shutting down that check cashier?" Ernie asked drily.
"As soon as you can bring a credit union here," Mrs. Green answered immediately.
"Why do I get the feeling I walked in on something?" David asked warily.
"That's what you get for not knocking," Ernie scolded playfully.
"Stop teasing the boy!" Mrs. Green exclaimed. "Now, Mr. Hwang, you seemed very upset when you walked in here, and you wanted to make sure the article didn't offend me. Has someone been giving you a hard time already?"
"Oh, it's nothing," David answered a little too quickly.
"Young man, my next appointment isn't for another two hours. I've got plenty of time to stand here until you tell me, and eventually you will. So why don't we cut this short and you just tell me now?"
By the resigned look on Ernie's face, David knew that Addie was accurately describing what would happen. He sighed. "Lucy Hendrickson felt I should have controlled the situation better."
"And why does Lucy have any say in this? Doesn't she keep herself busy enough?"
"She's sponsoring a scholar's program at the university that I proposed to her. She said—and I think she has a point—that if my name is attached to hers, she has a stake in my reputation."
Mrs. Green narrowed her eyes. "What kind of scholar's program?"
"The university will sponsor families of youth in high school, and if they get into the university they'll get a free ride."
"And what do you mean by 'sponsor'?"
"Housing. Food. Public transportation," David answered after a moment. "If it's true that kids do badly in school because of insecure conditions at home, let's see if we can make it better by, well, making it better."
"And Lucy Bartolome agreed to this?"
"After some negotiations," David answered tactfully.
Addie grinned. "You convinced the shrewdest business person I know in Boston to give you money for a philanthropic project like that? Young man, I am very impressed. But I would have been impressed just because you got through her door."
"I had a little bit of an in," David said sheepishly. "I was the president of the Student Government Association and—"
"Now how does that make you any less impressive?"
David laughed self-deprecatingly. "I don't know, ma'am. If I'd been really smart I would have asked Alex Sheldon too."
Mrs. Green wrinkled her nose. "Oh no, you would not have!" she exclaimed and even Ernie stood back. "It doesn't matter how much money that man donates, he cares only about himself. He's not an investor; he divides, conquers and plunders for the spoils. You—and any family you would have tried to help—would have owed your souls to that man, mark my words."
David was taken aback. "And how do you know this, Mrs. Green?"
"One of the first things he did when he took over Gerald Hendrickson's firm all those years ago was make a loan to a local factory owner. All the man wanted to do was upgrade his equipment, but Alex Sheldon filled his eyes with stars talking about how he could expand his reach. He convinced him to take out five times more debt than he intended. Do I even have to tell you that the man was bankrupt within six years and that all of his employees—most of whom lived here—were all out of work? And do you know how much money Alex Sheldon made selling off the business, including the contracts? And after he's stripped an
ything—including fixtures that had any value—do you know what that man did? He convinced the city to take responsibility for the building as part of a 'business revival' zone! You stay as far away from that man as you can, Mr. Hwang."
David was stunned. "Please," he stammered. "Call me David."
She grinned. "And you can call me Addie. And now that we're friends, please don't worry about Lucy Bartolome. It'll all blow over, I promise." With that, she turned and walked away.
David waited until the office door closed. "What just happened?"
Ernie raised an eyebrow. "I think we are going to see what Addie Green means by 'blowing something over'."
~~~
David had already been the subject of two critical stories in the Globe. Within a month, the paper ran a week-long series on the area and what was being done to restore it. Leading and ending was the car rental program. The MBTA was put on the hot seat and forced to explain why that part of Boston had the most inconsistent schedule and the most crowded buses. The store owners who had talked about all of the business they had lost were asked why they hadn't upgraded their ventilation system up to code and why they had been written up multiple times for health code violations.
Quick Wheels could not have been happier. The next week they held a community meeting to take suggestions for program improvements. David saw someone he could have sworn he recognized from Lucy Bartolome's office and resigned himself to the fact that Lucy was going to keep close tabs on him. Unfortunately, he hadn’t noticed the Globe reporter whose story appeared the next day.
"Quick Wheels asks community: how do we increase our value? When will the MBTA ask the same question?"
The Golden Boy Returns (The New Pioneers Book 5) Page 3