The Tris McCall Report
December 29, 2004
I'm in the 12th floor of the Wyndham Hotel on 17th and Race in Philadelphia. The room windows point north and east, so all I can see from here is the towers of Drexel University, and long, flat urban Pennsylvania rolling on for miles from there. Somewhere behind those brownstones is the Delaware River, over that is Camden and Cinnaminson and south Jersey towns I've heard about and referenced, but never been to. Even close to home, there's so much I haven't seen and haven't done.
There's Vineland, for instance. On every Jersey map I own -- and I own a lot of them -- Vineland is marked yellow, urban, just like Hoboken or New York City itself. It's a blotch of inexplicable color on the atlas, an irruption, a mistake. What is this mystery metropolis in the middle of the coastal swamps and pine barrens? Is Vineland an undiscovered eastern city, a destiny? Before I really thought about it, I imagined that Pynchon's Vineland was about our Vineland, and that it might shed some light. Of course it isn't; it's about the Vineland of the Vikings, the forgotten foundations of the new world, and the erased discovery.
As a kid, I wanted to visit every town in New Jersey. This was before I realized that Denville might not be that dissimilar to Dover, and that the dividing lines between town and country, suburb and inner city, and wealthy enclave and slum might be much blurrier than I thought. I imagined each spot on the map as distinct and indissoluble, and each town as a sealed microcosm -- each possessing its own unique and closely-guarded set of traditions, architectural features, subcultures and languages, primed for discovery. I looked at the map of Jersey with the same wonder that another child might trace the distances between the stars.
But even after realizing that there might not be a meaningful distinction between tract housing developments in Morris Township and Willingboro, I found that if you looked carefully enough, the outlines of my imagined map were still there. New Jersey has 535 municipalities for a reason: people believe in the singularity of their communities and the specificity of their own problems and issues, and they don't want people from elsewhere telling them what to do, or flattening out distinctions between their block and their neighbor's block. Because every street is unique and different -- in subtle, quiet, foundational ways, if not in the bold, kaleidoscopic way I imagined it as a child. I have come to understand the recognition of those differences as the Jersey cosmology -- the Turnpike metaphysic -- and I have come to defend it as the best metaphysic. Just as you can't tell me anything about my experience by generalizing from your own, you can't govern my city according to the same logic that you govern yours. In order to tell us what to do, you've got to be one of us.
If you expected the events of 2004 (and yes, this is my summary statement for the year) to teach me the limits of the Jersey way, bear in mind that I've been running up against those limits my entire life. The fight to get outsiders interested in the plight of the Arts Center didn't feel dissimilar to earlier efforts to interest Jerseyans in regional solutions to the sprawl problem, or to urban design. They didn't go anywhere either, because you can't convince a Jersey guy that it's ever acceptable to ask the government to intervene in somebody else's property dispute. No matter how righteous the paladin or how noble the intention, it feels unacceptable. It cuts into our guts.
So I never expected a miracle. I hoped against hope, and crossed my fingers, I had my heart broken and kicked around, sure; but all of that is nothing new. If I'm happy to accept the Jersey weirdness, the under-the-radar majesty that you find hiding in basements and abandoned buildings, I need to accept the flip-side: that nobody in power cares when that majesty is crushed. We just scatter, move on to the next spot, do it all over again. I'm ready to go. Frankly, I can't wait.
December 28, 2004
When I was a high school student visiting Philly, my friends and I used to go down to South Street. We had Greenwich Village as our frame of reference, and South Street, we were told, was the Philadelphia version of Bleecker and Houston. It sort of was, and it sort of still is. At the time, I considered South Street sort of horrible, and I was always eager to return to the genuine article. What I didn't realize then -- and what I didn't fully understand until today -- is that South Street is the most uncharacteristic neighborhood in Center City Philadelphia, the only one that has nothing to do with the city's vibe, and the only one that sucks.
While denying myself the pleasures of Philadelphia, I've also allowed myself to get the wrong impression of the City in general. What strikes me most now, walking these streets from the Schuylkill to the Delaware and taking them in on a freezing day, is how old this city is. Imagine block after block of two-story eighteenth-century brick buildings akin to those in the lower Battery. But these aren't museums: they're actual residences. The solid, lined blocks of Italianate and Greek Revival brownstones that those of us in Brooklyn and Jersey City consider the hallmark of historically-preserved residential architecture would be, in some of the coolest Philly neighborhoods, comparably new development.
Take Rittenhouse Square. South and east of the park, you can get lost in a maze of pedestrian-only streets. Forget about trying to park on these blocks -- you couldn't even get a SUV down the road without knocking the side-view mirror off. And there are businesses on these streets, too -- in the WeWo district, there are little pedestrian-only bars and restaurants tucked away in alleys like secret meeting-houses. How do they supply the bars? Evidently, they've figured out a way.
Just south of Market Street, the architecture is just ridiculous: one engrossing structure after another, rich with detail and colored brick, blue signs announcing historical designations all over the streets. Philadelphia bleeds history. Unlike NYC, where the march of commerce has pretty much obliterated any trace of the city's colonial past, you can actually imagine what it would have been like to be here during the Constitutional Convention. Development seems to have taken a much more staggered course here, too. Most of the neighborhoods seem to exist in a halfway state -- instead of entire blocks of vacancies or brand new retailers, empty storefronts and freshly-minted establishments sit side by side in almost every neighborhood I've visited. There is big money here, and big poverty, too. It's a fascinating city. New year's resolution for 2005: investigate Philadelphia more.
December 26, 2004
Night after Christmas. No snow is falling, though it's supposed to, soon. I am looking at the fluorescent light in the Mack-Cali tower, out the living room window, straight north toward Hoboken, Weehawken, the George Washington Bridge, Albany, Quebec City, over the tundra to Nunavut and Prudhoe Bay, and the mother of all ice. 2004 is nearly in the books now, and under a sky as pink as this one, it is possible to the next year is crouching behind that tower somewhere, ready to spring.
I came into 2004 with one big objective: I wanted to find a platform for credible writing about New Jersey and Jersey City independent music, so we wouldn't have to pole vault over the intellectual barrier that runs parallel to the Hudson River in order to have our projects taken seriously. What never occurred to me was that this website could be that platform; that in some important way, it was better equipped to be that platform that any alternative source I could join or dream up. Somewhere along the elusive months of '04, the Tris McCall Report ceased to be a personal website, and turned into something else: not exactly a public space, and certainly not a source of reliable journalism, but an ongoing document of ongoing events, different than all of these things, taking on a gathering momentum and growing larger than I ever expected it to.
At this time last year, I hadn't met anybody at 111 First Street yet. I hadn't met any of the City Councilmembers, I only knew Jerramiah Healy as a guy who'd lost to Schundler in '95, and L. Harvey Smith was, to me, a pretty obscure City Council President giving Glenn Cunningham static. I hadn't walked around in Ward F, I hadn't visited the inside of City Hall or the Council Chambers; I didn't know what the Waterbug Hotel was. I didn't know anybody in ProArts, and my experience of the Studio Tour was confined to a few drive-by visitations of galleries. I hadn't posted anything at NJ.Com, the people involved in Chilltown and Take were unknown to me. I hadn't read the WALDO ordinance or the ULI report -- I'd never seen a Jersey City redevelopment plan, and I really had no idea what the Powerhouse Arts District initiative was about. I didn't know the parameters of the Warehouse District. When I calculate the distance I have traveled over the past 365 days, the speed of my own education bewilders me, and makes me wonder if my engagement has been superficial. But that distance was into the heart of something, and traveling into the heart of something is always a quicker trip than a voyage to the perimeter. I was working with gravity. I learned what so many have learned before me: Jersey City always pulls you deeper.
We went down to the Mothership yesterday morning to sing and show our respects. It wasn't anywhere near as moving as it should have been, since we ended up singing Christmas music rather than the Christmas carols that the building deserves. But 111 has been blessed many times before, and by voices more powerful and persuasive than mine. By the last week of January, the demolition of this building may have started. Even if it hasn't, Judge Theemling may have thrown my new friends out on the street: Shandor Hassan, Elizabeth Onorato, Barbara Landes and Paul Sullivan, Ed Fausty and his amazing photographs, Nancy Wells and Bill Rodwell; all of them. Should they leave Jersey City, I'll miss them all terribly. Their building -- their community -- was the center of my 2004. I got aboard this ship pretty late, when it was already running low on fuel and scorched by enemy fire. But it was a hell of a ride, and when the Mothership dropped me off, I found myself someplace I never thought I could reach: at the emotional and sociopolitical center of a city. No matter what happens to the ship now, I'm here, for as long as I can manage to stay. I will never forget how I got here, and whatever 2005 brings, I will carry the Arts Center with me.
December 22, 2004
This just in. It sounds like something out of The Dark Is Rising. For once, I will have a real reason to sing these songs:
Everyone's invited to an informal gathering on Christmas day at 11:30 a.m. outside of 111 First Street in Jersey City's Powerhouse Arts District.
Neighbors and friends will sing Christmas carols and carry homemade signs to show their support for this endangered historic building and the community that's holding down the fort there. We hope it will lift the spirits of those who've been involved in the turmoil and will attract the attention of the media.
Please pass the word around to any groups (church, civic, or other), individuals, or press contacts you may have.
As far as I know, "Where You At -- the whole city behind us" is not a generally recognized Christmas carol. Let's make it one.
December 20, 2004
Last Christmas, I tried to encourage everybody to shop at Space 27D. That didn't work out too well. This December, I've been flogging Hudson County Art Supply, and I'm hoping that initiative does a little better. But really, there are lots of struggling independent retailers all over Downtown Jersey City, and over the next few days, I'm going to try to talk up as many of my favorites as I can. It's the season for giving, and I'd like to give what I can: publicity.
One local establishment that isn't having a merry holiday season (yet) is Vintage by RuthDavid (68 Mercer Street). Vintage clothing stores are a tough go, and this one -- a place that's become an integral part of "cool" Jersey City -- is very much on the ropes. If you haven't shopped at Vintage by RuthDavid yet, make it a point to check it out before Christmas. It's well-lit, comfortable, and it has a great array of cool, funky old clothes. Even if you don't think you're interested in vintage clothing, pass the word on to somebody who might be. You'll be helping to keep a great little store -- and a valuable community resource -- afloat.
Ruth Anne Wrenn of RuthDavid sent me her hours for this week. They are:
Monday -- Thursday: 1PM - 9PM
Friday -- 11AM - 5PM
Frequently when discussing local politics, old codgers will say "you can't tell the players without a scorecard." But who has a scorecard? Now you do. Here's the official Tris McCall scorecard of Wednesday's City Council meeting.
Your councilpeople.
His even keel and patient demeanor was appreciated as always, as was his faith in the new Mayor and his sincere commitment to the arts. Yet, for once, Vega looked a little foolish when speaker Elizabeth Onorato pointed out that buildings honcho Ray Meyer (who Vega eloquently defended) had acted on the word of Lloyd Goldman's engineer over the city's own hired expert. And Charles and Annie Kessler were much more persuasive about why this isn't the time for patience or half-measures. B-
Brennan's first City Council meeting after his move to an At-Large seat was a lot like Brennan's City Council meetings representing Ward A: he mostly just sat there and looked bored. Brennan didn't really animate until the Comedy Central section at the end of the meeting when the council began voting on (or unanimously rubberstamping, depending on how you look at it) the political appointments of people they all knew personally. Back when he was the Ward A councilman, I never minded when Brennan didn't speak -- now that he's representing the city as a whole, I think he needs to pipe up more. C-
L. Harvey Smith (Council President)
Much more comfortable now that the weight of executive office is off of his shoulders. Smith even seemed relaxed at times, cracking jokes about the "Robert" of Robert's Rules of Order, and interjecting a few well-timed holiday wishes to speakers who'd gotten off the reservation. This was the likeable Smith of the debates: personable, funny, the possessor of a certain ironic detachment. The bad old Smith did show up, though, just to remind everybody of how bullish he can behave: at the end of the public hearing, he got involved in a ridiculously petty squabble with Steve Lipski over whether or not Carol Lester could have two minutes to speak. He said she could, then he took it back, then he gave it to her, then he took it back again. Finally she spoke. B
The newest Councilperson looks about fourteen years old. I found it refreshing, too, to see a young woman's face up there, even if I did think Henry Sanchez was a little obsequious about it in his public statement. Curran didn't say anything besides "aye" during the meeting, but she did watch the proceedings intently, and I got the sense that she was paying attention. C
Mary Donnelly (Ward B)
The frequently talkative Donnelly had next to nothing to say on Wednesday -- even when a speaker (Annie Kessler, I think) asked the whereabouts of her son David, and what his role is in the Healy administration. Turned out Vega fielded the question, and promised the audience that he'd find out, but momma should know, right? If David Donnelly has been stripped of his portfolio by Mayor Healy, that'd be a pretty tough break for everybody in the arts lobby. I liked how the Ward B councilwoman appeared to be taking care of Curran, but all of her comments to her new collegue were off mic. C
Always smart, but always tough to follow. Lipski seems to know more about public finance than anybody else on the council, but he speaks too fast, and his arguments are difficult to grapple with. I believe Lipski has an important contribution to make to the public discussion of tax abatements (he is unabashedly in favor of them), but he's going to have to clarify his rhetoric, because for now he's just bewildering people. His comment about wishing he could give a tax abatement to everybody in town left most of the folks in chamber scratching their heads. B-
I can't help it; I am beginning to really like this guy. He is an absolute bulldog on behalf of his constituents: he hijacked the public discussion of the light rail for about twenty minutes to make sure to get language in an ordinance giving locals on Congress Street recourse to complain about train noise. Gaughan was also very good and very clear about the plight of New York Waterway -- he succinctly explained the county position, the political situation, and the company's financial shortfall. When an item is tabled or struck, he's the one who asks why. He still seems to glaze over when the arts district and 111 are being discussed, but he always votes the right way. I would not mind having an advocate this strenuous representing me. B+
Junior Maldonado (Ward E)
Oh, wait a second, I do. Some people are annoyed that Maldonado chooses to stand during these meetings. I see it as a gesture of engagement. Maldonado talks more than anybody, is usually patient with public speakers, and will sometimes even bother to reformulate technical language so it's accessible to the general public. Certainly I would have liked to have seen Maldonado take a more aggressive stance on behalf of the Arts Center, but he's done that plenty over the past year. I still trust him, even if he does look exhausted. A-
Richardson arrived fifty-three minutes late (she had another engagement), and voted "aye" before taking off her jacket and sitting down. She continues to evince visible signs of frustration, sometimes rolling her eyes at Smith, sometimes walking away from the table. At one point, while Smith and Lipski were bickering over procedure, she went over to the speaker's desk and audibly asked if anybody had any gum. I share Richardson's displeasure with the pacing of these meetings, but I think her behavior is now bordering on uncollegial. She added next to nothing to the public discussion. C-
Representative public speakers.
The star: Elizabeth Onorato. Unpretentious and direct, the veteran 111 tenant and community leader made several excellent points. She asked the Council to look into money that Goldman owes the city for code violations, and she challenged Councilman Vega's rosy assessment of the municipal position on the Arts Center.
The good: Meredith Lippman. The new chief of ProArts opened her era at the helm of the advocacy organization with an emotional, impassioned, and often inspiring defense of the community at 111 First Street.
The dramatic: Bex Goyette. She read from anti-war poet Daniel Berrigan, she showed the Council her "Healy For Mayor" mug, and left a stack of "save 111" pins with Clerk Byrne, asking Councilmembers to wear one if they felt they really deserved to (nobody did).
The funny: Dan Falcon. The webmaster of the JCList site spoke out against tax abatements at Newport with a layman's bewilderment, many pregnant pauses, and a few pithy lines that had the entire chamber -- including some of the councilpeople -- laughing.
The ugly: Yvonne Balcer. The public access television host nearly had a conniption fit on the microphone, railing against abatements. She certainly has a point, but her stridency made her easy to dismiss, and while her vision encompasses all of Jersey City, it often seemed like she was only interested in complaining about her property taxes.
Okay, how did you score it?
December 16, 2004
In case you're undecided about whether or not to come to the Hook, perhaps Jed Smith himself can persuade you.
About the interview: I'm into having sex (with synths), I ain't into making love (with keyboards). So come give me a hug, it might end up getting rough.
December 15, 2004
The municipal courthouse is a cheerless building. It's right next to the Brennan, but it shares nothing with it: it looks like an overgrown inner-city elementary school. I'm here right now, staring out over the wooden pews at Gallipoli's vacant bench, waiting for Judge Gallipoli to show. There's a pretty good turnout from ProArts: Charles Kessler, Annie Kessler, and Kathryn Klanderman are all here. But at least in the early going, there aren't too many 111 artists. Morale in the building cannot be too high right now, and I suspect the tenants may be saving their energy for City Hall tonight.
Bex Goyette is here, though; she pointedly shows me her Healy For Mayor cup. I don't know what to say. Today, even the New York Times is reporting that the city government has abandoned its commitment to the Arts Center. The Jersey Journal reports that the mayor won't intervene in the dispute -- instead, he's going to allow the courts to decide. None of this is exactly unexpected to me, but it still feels horrible. I hate to think it could end like this: in a grim courtroom with linoleum tiles and fluorescent light, on the coldest day of the year.
The New Gold team is looking smug. I remember seeing that same look on Mr. Cavanaugh's face from the City Council meeting where he convinced then-Mayor Smith to table the landmarking ordinance. I had a bad feeling that day; today, I'm feeling ten times worse. A court clerk calls the lawyers on both sides (and a few city lawyers whose side I can't determine) into a side chamber. Once again, everything seems to be taking place behind closed doors.
Waiting, with nothing to do, I stare at the plastic light panels on the ceiling. I can't figure out if the ceiling design is a terrible mistake, or some kind of freakish aesthetic choice. The overhead light shines from behind forty-five large square plastic grates, and another twenty or so partial squares. There's no divider between the panels, and they're probably meant to be continuous. But they aren't; they don't fit together properly. The irregular composition of the lattices allows light to stream through jagged apertures. God, am I bored. Can they get this show on the road?
Joan Pranski emerges from the side room. Judge Gallipoli has never seen 111 First Street - he's decided that he wants the engineers, attorneys, Ray Meyer the building code impresario, and representatives of the building to look at the elevator shaft and help him come to a determination. We're to meet back here in two hours, and then he'll render his decision. Okay, then, that sounds vaguely promising. Nothing to do now but wait.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Back in the courtroom, two hours later. I've been to the bathroom twice, and informed by public notices and individual items on the stall walls that all major gangs (crips, bloods, Latin Kings) take it in the ass. An instructive place, this courthouse. I liked the summary statement, written at the very top in relatively fresh ink: we all take it in the ass.
The New Gold lawyers are gathering in a huddle. Okay, on two, Michelle Berliner runs a slant pattern, Robert Cavanaugh makes a buttonhook at the thirty yard line, and Daniel Horgan does a reverse fake. No sign of Joan Pranski, though; she's probably in with Gallipoli right now, giving him hell. I hope. Ira Karasick and George Aviles are here, though -- and I'm reminded again that Karasick was the first guy I ever worked for when I came to Hudson County. I volunteered for his campaign for Mayor of Hoboken, way back in 1992. Fairport Convention said it in '67 -- it all comes 'round again.
Karasick leads all the attorneys into a back room, and addresses the assembly: everybody who is making money off of this deal is going in here to talk this out, he says, cheekily. Damn, more action behind closed doors. Tyrone Thomas, who runs the 111 First Street website, mentions to me that the city is in a state of budget shortfall while Lloyd Goldman owes $7 million in code violations to the city. Why not take some of that money and apply it to the municipal debt? That sounds like a good question, and leads to a larger one: why does the City seem incapable of prosecuting Goldman for any of his infractions?
Minutes pass. Paul Sullivan stands in the aisle and gives us the news -- the attorneys and judge won't be back for another hour at least. The waiting game continues.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
So here's the deal: New Gold doesn't get to tear off the roof. Thank goodness for small favors, right? They're not allowed to touch any of the fire escapes, either. But they are going to be able to remove all of the bathrooms in the shaft on the First Street side. That will mean invasive construction throughout the building. Considering what's going on over there right now, the tenants may never notice. But it's another indignity atop a mounting pile of indignities. Today's legal proceedings lasted from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon. All that time, the Tenants Association attorneys were on the clock. The municipal government isn't paying for this -- the tenants are. Forcing the artists -- many of whom don't have two dimes to rub together -- to shoulder the burden of the legal fees to protect the city's Powerhouse district feels unfair at best. Tomorrow, there will be a new controversy, a new expenditure. If the municipal government doesn't help out here, the Tenants Association is going to run out of dough. We all take it in the ass. Good night.
December 14, 2004
So Ray Meyer, who handles building code for Jersey City, has signed off on an emergency permit to partially demolish 111 First Street. Neither Robert Cotter nor Jersey City Historical Preservation were able to stop him. Mayor Healy has made it clear that he isn't going to override Meyer, so our only hope now is that Judge Gallipoli intercedes. I don't see him doing that, but you never know. Tomorrow morning, in court, we're going to find out whether or not this is the tragic end of the story. I will be there with my laptop: live at the witch trials, like Mark E. Smith. If you haven't abandoned ship, tune in tomorrow for updates.
December 13, 2004
The 2004 Pop Music Abstract is completed and posted. For those of you who are new to the site, or who only read this page, every December I stockpile witticisms, and then I go through the Z-100 and Hot-97 playlists and write a few words about each of the songs. I suppose it won't mean much to you if you don't listen to the radio, but the performers I write about here are popular enough that you've probably heard of many of them even if you don't follow music closely. It's sort of a way for me to blow off steam, and get a sense of what my radio has been telling me this year. The Abstracts take about two (very enjoyable) days to do. If they seem like an exercise in discursive overkill, they've also been the most popular feature on this site since I've launched, so I feel justified in having my fun. Remember: if it wasn't for after school programs like Pop Music Abstract, I would probably be out there knocking over liquor stores.
Oh, and if you haven't read the Christmas Abstract yet, do. It's the best thing on this whole sprawling site, and 'tis the season, anyway.
December 10, 2004
In case you don't know, there's an art sale and fundraiser for 111 First Street at Victory Hall next week. I'll be there. Here's the flier, courtesy of Kevin Mayer (I think Ed Fausty did the design):
December 9, 2004
So Kathryn Klanderman has stepped down as president of ProArts, and Meredith Lippman has taken over for her. This might seem like a minor item to you, and about as worthy of comment as a typical bureaucratic shuffle. There's a new fire chief in town, for instance; why not write about that? I suppose I would if I knew anything about it, or about fire departments, or if I cared about fire departments one way or another. My community leaders are the men and women who've managed to organize our local creative types into a formidable pressure group. ProArts is the largest arts advocacy organization in town, and its Presidency has become a important civic position. Consider that former ProArts presidents continue to be extremely politically active and influential on municipal policy decisions.
I don't really know anything about Meredith Lippman. When I met her at Harborside Tenant Appreciation Day last year, she struck me as somebody who would be President of ProArts sooner or later. I've never heard her speak, so I can't say for certain what her position is on the Arts Center. Klanderman often said that an arts district without the 111 community in it would feel hollow. It's anybody's guess whether or not Lippman will be as effective an advocate for the Arts Center tenants as Klanderman was, but I think there's strong evidence she will be. She co-organized the highly polemical What Have You Got To Say? show at Grace Church, and that suggests to me that she believes there is a place for artists at the barricades. Her Urban Complex show in the Brennan Rotunda prominently featured work by 111 artists. It was also a beautiful and well-theorized exhibition. If nothing else, we have chosen a ProArts President with really good taste.
December 8, 2004
We're putting out another Jersey City magazine. This one is completely different in tone and scope from the other one I worked on last spring, and the cast of characters has changed, too. I find myself in the unenviable position of editing the thing, too. I don't really mind, but it's been taking up lots of time; ultimately, the effort will have been worth it, I'm sure. I believe in our team. The magazine hits the streets in the first week of January. It will be called Chilltown, and a prominent JC artist and poet will be on the cover.
It's funny: all I ever have wanted to do is secure a platform from which I can preview local shows and review releases by Jersey City musicians. In the course of trying to find that platform, I feel like I've ended up doing everything but. I can't complain -- 2004 has been one hell of a ride, and when I look back on all the things I've gotten involved in this year, it's hard to believe they all happened within the last twelve months. But as we flip the calendar to '05, I am no closer to my original goal. There's still no reliable arts publication in Jersey City, and local musicians still have to cross the river to have their records reviewed. I am hoping that the release and circulation of Chilltown will mean that I've finally accomplished at least part of my mission. But this is Hudson County, and nothing here is ever simple. We'll see what happens.
December 6, 2004
Mia Scanga and Yvonne Balcer do a public access show on local cable channel 51 called Talking Politics. Over the past few years, they've used this platform to discuss Jersey City issues in much greater depth than the Jersey Journal and Reporter ever bother to do. Balcer and Scanga are tigers on tax abatement and public finance issues, and are constantly scrutinizing municipal expenditures. I am sympathetic to a certain strain of green-eyeshade fiscal conservatism, and I have found both Balcer and Scanga persuasive in the past.
That is why I am so disappointed in Balcer's latest installment of Talking Politics. Here, Balcer takes on the Powerhouse Arts District, and does so in a manner that is journalistically slipshod, misleading, and potentially inflammatory. Unlike the mean-spirited Pat O'Melia from the Jersey's Talking radio show, she rarely displays open hostility -- she is best described as flinty and perturbed. Yet ten minutes into the program, it's clear she is no more critical of New Gold's bullyboy tactics than O'Melia is -- and she's no friendlier to the people who have found themselves on the firing line during this controversy.
Balcer's central point is one that we all recognize: the P.A.D. is going to cost money. Eminent domain actions will be expensive, building owners will attempt to sue the city, and some properties in the district will recieve tax abatements. But by presenting the plan of district wholesale as if there's an immediate mandate to seize all the property in it, Balcer makes it seem like the Jersey City government is poised to swallow the entire map and stick local homeowners with a $300 million tax bill. That isn't going to happen. Right now, it's an open question whether the municipal government is even prepared to use eminent domain against New Gold at 111 First Street. The refashioning of the warehouse district by eminent domain is going to be a slow process -- if it happens at all.
It's also irresponsible to alarm property owners in the rest of the city. The use of eminent domain in the warehouse district does not mean that the municipal government will fall into the habit of exercising wanton and reckless extensions of its power elsewhere. Mayor Healy and Bob Cotter are not interested in taking your house away. One eminent domain action will be plenty for Jersey City to digest. I'll tell you what: let's wait until the municipal government uses eminent domain once before we roll out the old jackbooted government thugs argument.
Besides, as I'm getting tired of repeating, 111 First Street and the Powerhouse Arts District are separate entities. The Arts Center is in the district, and, arguably, the District is meaningless without it, but it is altogether possible to support the landmarking and redevelopment plan without taking a stand one way or another on the tenants' cases. Balcer shows us the "infamous" 111 building, but doesn't explain what the relationship of its infamy could be to the P.A.D.; afterward, she flashes to footage of Robert Cavanaugh testifying before the City Council about the eviction notices. Never mind that Cavanaugh's testimony was later exposed as a smokescreen: what on earth does this segment have to do with whether or not the Powerhouse plan should have passed? Is this supposed to be visual evidence supporting the claim that the arts community has been unreasonable and uncooperative?
Balcer doesn't say. Instead, she seizes on the initial marketing period mandated by the P.A.D. plan and distorts its intention: she makes it seem like the provision requiring advertisement in New York papers is cosmo favoritism, kowtowing to out-of-towners. My Jersey loyalism would be offended too if this was true. But it isn't. Jersey City artists will have just as much opportunity to take advantage of the initial period as Manhattanites will. The demands for widespread advertisement are there to enforce a good-faith effort to attract as many artists as possible: something that did not happen at 140 Bay Street. If the arts district takes hold, we'll certainly get our share of NYC transplants, and we'll welcome them. But the vast majority of the arts housing available is going to go to people who've already made an investment in Jersey City.
But the real question is: why is Yvonne Balcer airing these objections now? The debate over the Powerhouse District occupied the municipal spotlight for most of 2004. Wasn't the time to register resistance and doubts before the plan was passed by the city? Before the Council's unanimous vote, I definitely could have been persuaded that the P.A.D. would have been too costly. Now that it's on the books, there is no way I'm going to stand by and allow the arts community to get steamrolled. I know I'm not alone in this feeling -- there's no place in Jersey City for reservations anymore. We took this step together, and it would be far more damaging and demoralizing to reverse it in 2005 than it would have been to modify or reject it outright this summer.
The show closes with an unmistakable ultimatum: Balcer insists that the P.A.D. should be a campaign issue in the upcoming mayoral race. This is the part that disturbs me the most -- the moment at which this program looks less like an intervention in a contemporary debate, and more like the opening salvo in an upcoming political barrage. Balcer and Scanga have had Louis Manzo and Gerald McCann on their show several times. If the Lou Manzo show does go into its fifth rerun in Spring '05 -- as I expect it will -- we might have just watched the preview clip. It would not surprise me at all if he decided to demonize the arts community outright and run hard against the P.A.D. in May. I don't know about you, pal, but I'm getting ready for a fight that's going to make October '04 look like thumbwrestling in kindergarten class.
December 3, 2004
Some folks hate the cold; to me, this is a beautiful night. I've taken the PATH train into Journal Square, but I really didn't need to: the walk to the Courthouse from Grand Street isn't more than twenty minutes, and I'm bundled up against the chill in my big puffy black coat. The Brennan building sits atop a grassy hill; illuminated by floodlights, it's the closest thing we have to a national monument. I'm walking down Pavonia Avenue, on my way to rock with the County Executive and his staff.
There's nobody on the steps of the Courthouse, but from the minute I get inside, I can tell that the night is going to be a success. Coffeehouse tables and chairs have been set up on the danceflo-, er, the middle of the Brennan rotunda, but at eight o' clock, it's SRO. Pastries are for sale at tables along the side of the chamber, and it seems like the attendees are doing a good business. There are black velvet curtains draped across the back of the chamber, and the musicians play facing the entrance. It's been set up to resemble the Bottom Line or Gerde's Folk City: candles on the tables, coffee brewing, a hypercaffeinated kid behind the spotlight. I don't suppose people had to go through metal detectors to hear Dave Van Ronk, though.
It's like a City Council meeting in here. I see Councilman Gaughan, Councilman Brennan, Councilman Mariano Vega and his wife. Jim Testa, wishing he brought his acoustic guitar for the upcoming open mike, tells me that Mayor Healy was here but left just as the music started. I recognize the faces of a few Freeholders; Richard McAllister fronts the JC1 crew. The politicians wear slick suits; they circulate, smiling and shaking hands. It occurs to me that the only guy who isn't treating this show as a political event is DeGise. Dressed in a checkered flannel shirt, he sits upfront, apprehensive as any New York City promoter, hanging on every note.
In the set break between Gene D. Plumber and headliner Terence Martin, DeGise gives me a CD mix of Phil Ochs songs. Hey, thanks. Again, his behavior reminds me more of Steven Matrick than Robert Menendez. In the board room or council chambers, he might be a tiger; tonight, he's a music fan first. The acoustics in the rotunda are pretty remarkable -- the marble walls lend an authoritarian reverb to every utterance. I don't think you could put a rock drumkit in here without doing major seismic damage to the Journal Square area, but a weird folk act like Pothole Skinny or PG Six would probably sound amazing. I need to return the favor by burning a few Perhapstransparent CDs for the County Exec.
A Perhapstransparent audience this ain't. Crowdmembers sit quietly at their tables, absorbing the music; laughing a little at Martin's between-song banter, and applauding enthusiastically at the end of the songs. I'm reminded of the sedate but quietly intense folk shows I used to see at the Iron Horse in Northampton -- there are different rules of engagement for this type of music than the ones we rockers are used to. Could we do a show in the Courthouse and behave ourselves suitably?
I suspect some of us could, and some of us couldn't; I wonder if I could. I get a little wild up there, in case you haven't heard. Martin is called back for an encore, thanks the crowd, and retires to the back of the chamber. I'd like to stick around for the open mic -- the amazing Ray Green is here -- but I have some tree-trimming to do at home. Back out on Newark Avenue, the air seems to have warmed up a little. I take the long way home: past the Phillipine Bread House and Dickinson High School, down the ramp and past the roadside graves (the real ones, not the band), under the Turnpike Extension, by firehouses and storefronts, and tinsel-decked windows of the Pecoraro Bakery.
As I approach Jersey Avenue, I notice some commotion over at the Gallerie Hudson. The door is open, and the room looks warm and bright; I can see some musicians playing. Hey, how come I didn't know about this event? I cross the street, and notice that one of the players has a saxophone. Then it occurs to me -- not only do I know what going on here, I set it up. Arlene Wallace, the coordinator of the Studio Tour, wrote to me yesterday and asked if I could supply her a jazz trio for an event she was holding. I was running out to My Teenage Stride practice, but before I did, I quickly e-mailed Bryan Beninghove and Shaun Towey, and told them to get in touch with Wallace. I didn't think anything would come of it, but apparently they were able to get an act together. Wow. Sometimes your handwriting really is inscribed on the surface of town. I should remember that the next time I feel too lazy to make that extra phone call or fire off that extra message.
December 2, 2004
I'm going to do a Jersey City walkaround holiday special later in the month, but really my campaign this December is to encourage everybody to do their Christmas shopping at Hudson County Art Supply (381 Monmouth Street, right off of Christopher Columbus). Not only do they have a great selection, but they're in the midst of a giant sale. Everybody needs art supplies. A box of pastels or watercolors makes a beautiful gift.
December 1, 2004
Some early evidence that we made the right choice -- after months wandering in the lo-tech wilderness, the City of Jersey City finally has a website up. It's not going to win any design awards, but it's very informative. There are good lists of city employees and municipal schedules. It's a start.
Another website that is always worth checking out: Mike Cimicata's Hoboken Rock City. Cimicata is a Hoboken loyalist, and writes about local music there. He's been involved in the music biz for years, too, so there are interviews with Pat Benatar alongside reviews of Spiraling. It's a trip.
That said, my current favorite site on the web is this one.
The month before that.
The month before that.
The month before that.
July, the month before that.
The month before that.
The month before that.
Scumbaguette stood in for the month before that.
The month before that.
The month before that.
The month before that.
One year ago.
The beginning.
