The Tris McCall Report
August 31, 2004
My pal Kathryn Klanderman from ProArts sends around community bulletins. Since she's president of the biggest arts group in town, she gets herself on all of the government e-mail lists. Anyway, this public service announcement comes from Eileen Gaughan (daughter of Bill Gaughan), via Kathryn:
Call for Music Demos
The Hudson County Office of Cultural & Heritage Affairs/Tourism Development is inaugurating a monthly “coffee house” series, beginning in October, presenting folk, acoustic, and small blues and jazz groups, in an intimate setting in the rotunda of the Justice William Brennan Court House. Musical performers or groups interested in being considered for a slot in the series should send demo CDs or tapes to the: Hudson County Office of Cultural & Heritage Affairs/Tourism Development, Justice William Brennan Court House, 583 Newark Avenue, Jersey City, NJ 07306.
Now, this aggravates me. Not because I'm not happy with what Eileen Gaughan is trying to do; hell, anybody interested in addressing our shortage of performance spaces is okay by me. But consider where musicians in Jersey City have played shows this year. We've done performances on the steps of City Hall. We've done performances inside City Hall. We've done shows on the street, and in parks. We have done semi-authorized shows at 111 First Street; we have done unauthorized shows at 111 First Street. We've played at private parties, and in warehouses. We've played in art galleries that are completely unsuited for performance. We've played on the waterfront.
Where haven't we played? Well, we haven't played at L.I.T.M.; the city won't let that happen. We haven't played at the Loews -- the restorers are still struggling to get complete control of the lease, and that's a pretty huge space, anyway. We didn't play at Comfort Bistro, because those guys weren't allowed to set up a stage. No, with the exception of Uncle Joe's, we haven't played anyplace that's meant to be a live music venue.
It's great, although a little weird, that the Hudson County Office of Cultural Affairs is interested in getting into the promotion business. But rather than shoehorning a "coffee house" into a legal building, why not facilitate the establishment of an actual coffee house? Trust me, guys, there's no shortage of people running around town who would love to wrangle a cabaret license out of the city -- folks who want to set up a real club, with a real sound system, a real booking agent, and a real roster of performers. Rather than setting up another makeshift stage in a building that has nothing to do with the musical subculture, why not help out some of those aspirants? Ms. Gaughan, I can give you names if you need them.
The County Court House may be a fine place to play. But when the County Court House is the only place to play, we've got a problem. A municipal building isn't a concert stage. If the county is really interested in promoting cultural affairs, they'll recognize this, too, and they'll do what they can to coax those cabaret licenses out of the city government. We will do the rest.
Okay, two more bits of Jersey City carping before we turn the page on the calendar, and get on with September's agenda. Today's complaint (unlike tomorrow's) is relatively minor, but still telling. As many of you know, we had a well-attended Gay and Lesbian Outreach festival at Exchange Place this Saturday. The event was hosted by an organization committed to representing the local gay community: "Jersey City Pride", that's the name on the booklet. The group does a great job organizing these events, and in a city as queer as ours is, a summertime festival ought to be a given. JCLGO deserves credit for making it happen.
So what's the problem? Take a look at the list of performers. We have: a New York deejay, a New York opera singer, Cheer New York, three New York singer-songwriters, the Lesbian and Gay Big Apple Corps, a dance company headquartered on the Lower East Side, an Off-Broadway musical revue, a disco singer who has been performing "all over the New York area" (I guess that includes us), and a New York City band. Robin Renee is in there too; I like Robin a lot, but she's from South Jersey. The only performer who even bothers to mention Jersey City in her biography is the Playboy centerfold. Thanks to Stephanie Adams for coming out as a Jersey native.
It would be understandable if this town wasn't positively loaded with sexually ambiguous musicians. If that were true, there might be a (slight) justification for importing so much talent from Manhattan. But we all know that's not true. So it's legitimate to ask JCLGO why they ignored indigenous artists -- and, perhaps more importantly, why the lineup for their party reads like a travel brochure for New York City. What does it say about our self-esteem when we hire out-of-towners to perform on our most important stages? Shouldn't JCLGO make some attempt to include Jersey City voices in what is, ostensibly, a Jersey City event?
I blanch when I see a local press release in which there are twice as many mentions of New York as there are of our own town. It makes me realize how much more work there is to be done. A Jersey City Pride event ought to take some pride in Jersey City. None of us are ashamed to be queer anymore; that's great. Now let's stop being ashamed of our state.
August 29, 2004
There's been a major turn of events in our Mayoral race. Former Board of Ed Member and Cunningham ally Willie Flood has announced her candidacy. She'll be running with the support of the Hudson County Reform Democratic Organization -- the Ward F-based team that backed Cunningham. The Reverend Ed has dropped out of the race, and has endorsed Flood. Sandra Bolden-Cunningham, the former Mayor's widow, is sticking behind Ronald Buonocore.
Just keeping you posted.
August 26, 2004
One by one, the inspirations for this site are either switching over to a weblog format, getting sucky, or stopping altogether. I think trackbacks, blogrolling, and RSS feeds have done more to stifle creativity on the Internet than any government censor ever could, and I'm afraid we're beginning to see an attitude of rigorous self-policing show up in unexpected places. Like rock criticism. If the Internet is supposed to be so big, so multifaceted, and so ungoverned, why do all the music review sites now look the same? More disturbingly, why do they all have the same opinions?
It's because fashion is a more demanding master than any editor could ever be. When you read Pitchfork (which you really shouldn't), you can practically hear the footsteps of generally-accepted indie opinion hounding the writers. I'm sure Glenn McDonald heard those footsteps, too. But he was such a defiant S.O.B. that he was never going to let on that he did. Instead he delivered, week after week, independent-minded and two-fisted record reviews; defenses of stuff like Roxette and Rick Springfield alongside appreciations of Nordic metal and female singer-songwriters. His value system was consistent, coherent, and it bore no resemblance at all to any rock-crit orthodoxy.
It bore no resemblance to mine, either. I must have bought 20 records or so on his recommendation, and I don't think I liked any of them. McDonald was a big booster of some of my favorite acts (Game Theory, Marillion, Tori Amos), but he seemed to dig them for completely different reasons than I did. In tone and temperament, he often reminded not of Lester Bangs or Robert Christgau, but Winston Churchill. He was curmudgeonly like that; frostly, amusing, snippish, always ready with a memorable turn of phrase. He wrote about records -- and mass culture, too -- from a deeply personal perspective, and if his essays blurred the line between criticism and diary-entry, that was always part of the project. For 500 weeks, McDonald defied rhetorical gravity by making convincing critical statements in the guise of confession and sometimes even self-flagellation.
It may have all been an act; criticism in motion, swimming upstream in a direction that it couldn't otherwise reach. I always suspected it was -- that here was a writer with a discursive and methodological point to prove, and a character to create. The conclusion of The War Against Silence was almost too pat and circular to be true -- a writer who once, in one of the most gutsy, awe-inspiring pieces of rock criticism ever written by anybody, proposed to Juliana Hatfield in his column, finishes off by dedicating himself to the girl next door. If the incredible Hatfield pieces were the apex of McDonald's lyricism, his recent writing seemed to embrace a more mundane rhythm. He was coming out of the clouds, in for a landing; getting set to leave the War behind, and redoubling his efforts to win the peace.
We don't know what's next for McDonald. He showed on several occasions that he could report on things other than music: his occasional sportswriting led me to think that he could be the guy to finally explain soccer to Americans. He could write with great profundity about television shows and movies that weren't too profound. But hey, that's what a good writer does, right? He invests some of his own sparkle in his subjects, gets them to shine a little brighter. Where are some of his favorites going to turn now that McDonald is no longer there to take their work seriously?
I've always claimed usenet hero Kari Orr as my Internet role model. It may surprise some people to know that I consider Glenn McDonald inspiration #2. TWAS is neat, orderly and logical, and my site is a sprawling mess, but still, it's fair to say that the Tris McCall Report wouldn't exist were it not for the example of The War Against Silence. If all I'd ever seen on the Internet were blogs and standard record review sites, I don't think I would have bothered: I would have confined my personal posts to message boards, and run Friends & Neighbors reviews on some other sucker's site. But that didn't happen -- I did see The War Against Silence, and from it I learned that if you make your values manifest, and stick to them, you can establish a contrary and personal voice on the 'net. You can kick directly at orthodoxy, make your own home, stand on your own, and people will find you. Plenty of people found Glenn McDonald, and now they'll all have to figure out something else to do with their Thursday mornings. For us, today, the Internet just got a little more samey, and a little less inspiring.
August 22, 2004
While it's a big Internet, some days it feels like most of it is devoted to discussion of the national election in November. Even websites that have heretofore been apolitical feel the need to jump into the action. That's okay, I guess -- I've been trying to avoid discussing it, since there's next to nothing I can do about the outcome; people's minds aren't changing, and it's been dissected to death already. Besides, there's another election happening this November -- our Jersey City mayoral election -- and as far as I can tell, there's no website devoted to discussing it. Which seems kinda ridiculous: we're effectively the largest city in New Jersey. You'd think there'd be some energetic blogging being done about the race.
But it's hard to fault bloggers when the candidates themselves refuse to avail themselves of electronic resources. With two months left to go before decision day, not a single candidate for mayor has a site dedicated to his run, and only one (Assemblyman Louis Manzo) has a website at all. See, here in Hudson County, we're old-school -- we rely on the time-honored method of cramming mailboxes full of leaflets, and annoying the hell out of everybody in the process. I'm going to go way out on a limb here and predict that the first candidate to launch a proper site dedicated to his campaign for mayor will win the race. I'll go one further, and predict that if by October 1, there still isn't any significant web presence for any of these guys, no one will win the Jersey City mayoral race.
Suppressing voter interest and turnout is a time-honored method of making sure your coterie of diehards determines the election. I'm willing to concede that sometimes it helps an otherwise unelectable candidate win an office he deserves. But as campaign strategies go, it's pretty chickenshit. We're a wired and world-class city, and we deserve better. Therefore, for those of us who have no idea who's running or why (read: just about everybody I know, most of whom are educated and politically savvy), I'm going to do my best to share what I've gathered so far, and I encourage you to do the same.
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Here are the candidates I know are running. There may be many others, but news of their candidacy has not yet reached me:
L. Harvey Smith. Smith is the Acting Mayor and the sitting City Council President. (Our City Council, if you didn't know, consists of nine reps -- one for each of the six city wards, and three "at large" members. Harvey Smith is an "at large" member, and a large "at large" member, at that.) He became Acting Mayor upon Glenn Cunningham's death, although that wasn't an automatic ascension -- he had to be elevated by the City Council. I'm pretty sure Smith has been on the Council longer than anybody else, and has the seniority that goes along with twelve years of experience. Mayor Smith is most closely associated with public works projects in Ward F and the largely African-American area surrounding Martin Luther King Drive, but since taking the reins at City Hall, he's been a Ward E (Downtown) fixture, too. He's made many strenuous promises to local arts groups and the Tenants Association at 111 First Street, and he's tended to respond, often in person, whenever there's been a crisis at the Arts Center. Smith has also been a long-time advocate of turning the theatre lease over to the Friends of the Loew's, and is said to oppose the Tsereteli monument, too. Cunningham and Smith duked it out in typical Mayor vs. CC President style for a few years, and Smith opposed the late mayor in his run for the 31st Senate District, so the members of Cunningham's organization are almost certain to support somebody else. The HCDO has backed Smith a few times, but that hardly guarantees the Acting Mayor any support from Menendez this time around.
Jerramiah Healy. Some people expect the HCDO to endorse at-large Councilman Healy instead. (HDCO, for the uninitiated, stands for Hudson County Democratic Organization -- the powerful group of establishment Democrats headed by Congressman Menendez. While an HDCO endorsement is a guarantee of electoral success elsewhere in Hudson County, non-HDCO candidates -- including Cunningham -- have sometimes beaten the machine in Jersey City.) I think it's likely that the Organization will sit this one out, and wait until the May 2005 contest to endorse a candidate, but that's just Tris McCall finger-in-the-wind guesswork talking. Healy is a former judge, has a reputation for honesty, and is generally considered a nice guy -- by the cutthroat standards of Jersey politics, anyway. I do think it's important to remember, however, that Healy was the only City Councilmember to vote against including 110 First Street in the Arts District plan, and that his language and demeanor at that pivotal meeting did not suggest to me that the Powerhouse District was an important priority to him. Councilman Healy represents the Heights, and that's not a neighborhood known for its arts focus.
Louis Manzo. State Assemblyman Manzo (D-31) is the only candidate in the running to sport his own website -- but there's nothing on the site about his campaign. There is a pretty decent bio, though; one that offers some substance about the Assemblyman's interesting background as a sanitarian and environmentalist. Like Councilman Healy, Manzo has run for Mayor before: he was one of several Democrats who were beaten by Bret Schundler during the nineties, and he was also spanked by Glenn Cunningham in 2001. Since then, he's mended fences with the Cunningham organization, and he's generally considered the best-connected candidate in the race. At least one insider pegs Manzo as the man to beat, and he appears to have deeper citywide support than the other contenders. His headquarters is over on West Side Avenue and he grew up in Greenville, but in '01, his best district was the Heights. His opponents will be hoping that his connections and long history in Jersey City trip him up: he's the candidate closest to the controversial Gerald McCann, and his brother Ronald is currently under serious SEC investigation. (McCann, for you out-of-towners, was kingfish in Jersey City for a very long time. Although he was jailed, and he hasn't held office in years, he's still a man of great percieved influence.) If the house of cards constructed by Governor McGreevey does collapse completely, Assemblyman Manzo is the most likely local candidate to be hurt. In 2001, Manzo ran as the "better waterfront" advocate; this time out, I somehow doubt that'll be his angle.
Edward A. Allen. If anybody has aggressive beef with Robert Menendez, it's the "Reverend Ed," who recently compared the Congressman to a certain Cuban dictator. In Union City, Satan himself would outpoll Castro, and Reverend Allen will not be getting Christmas cards from the HCDO for the foreseeable future. Allen is a dynamic speaker, and he will try to make up in populist oratory what he lacks in funds -- his campaign slogan is "Jersey City for the People, and Not the Politicians." Hey, Reverend Ed, politicians are people, too. Representing himself as a Cunningham ally, he promises to champion the poor and disenfranchised and to stare down gentrification wherever possible. Allen did not embarrass himself in a 2002 primary run against the established Congressman Donald Payne, and it seems inevitable that he will draw a substantial number of African-American votes away from L. Harvey Smith. During that race, the Reverend was supported by powerful Cunningham operative Bobby Jackson, owner of the Urban Times newspaper. (Don't look for the Urban Times on Downtown newsstands, or, for that matter, on the net. It's a cheap-looking broadsheet, but it's worth reading for its fun, vicious prose -- Smith has routinely been referred to as "Uncle Harvey" -- and its occasional objective glimpse at popular opinion in Wards A and F.) But if Allen and Jackson thought that all the clout, prestige, and greenbacks of the Cunningham organization would be theirs to command in November, he might be in for an unpleasant surprise. That's because of...
Ronald Buonocore. The Jersey City Chief of Police is also running for Mayor, and Sandra Bolden-Cunningham seems poised to endorse him. (Ms. Bolden-Cunningham, an attorney, was an early favorite to take her late husband's job, but it now seems like she'd rather have his State Senate seat instead. Or perhaps she's just waiting until the May election.) Other Cunningham stalwarts, including former deputy mayor Gene Drayton, have lined up behind the police chief. Buonocore, the first Italian-American chief in Jersey City history, pledges to carry on Cunningham's work. He'll be the law-and-order candidate for sure; it's hard to imagine anybody else outflanking the city's top cop on that issue. But would Jersey City really elect a non-resident Mayor? While Chief Buonocore maintains a home in town, it's pretty well-known that he spends most of his time in rural Jersey. Expect the residency issue to dog Buonocore until November.
James J. Carroll. The other policeman in the race is also our youngest candidate: at 32, he's a relative newcomer to Jersey politics. He's yet another voice from the Heights, which might throw a little more static in Councilman Healy's prospects. In 2001, Carroll stood with the Cunningham team, and ran for Ward D councilman. Carroll finished third in that election -- winner Bill Gaughan outpolled him by two to one. Beyond that, I know nothing about him. Websearches come up empty, and his name doesn't appear in any of the local political rumour mills. I think it's safe to call his candidacy an extreme long-shot.
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Okay, folks, that's all I've got. If there's anything here that's incorrect, please write to me immediately so I can change the site and further educate myself. I'll continue to update you on the progress of the race. I hope you can do the same for me, too.
August 20, 2004
There's a Gay Pride Festival down at Exchange Place next weekend. I think Councilman Gaughan, in particular, really ought to show. He ought to know that the in thing to do in New Jersey is to come out as a gay politician. Frankly, we're all a little disappointed that the Congressman's mistress turned out to be a woman. How '98 of him.
My truth, as the Governor might put it, is that I am a man trapped in a computer's body: a TRONsexual. Ba-dum bum, tssssch! Thank you, thank you; I'll be here all week.
The first thing I notice are the decanters of sangria on the bar. They're several gallons deep, beveled, made of thick glass, and filled to overflow with wine, fruit, and mint. The bar backs are hustling in and out of the new kitchen, carrying ingredients for fresh hors doevres. Kevin Spyker has thrown on Blue Wonder Power Milk by Hooverphonic, bestowing a cool Euro-chic on the club. Yes, L.I.T.M. is decked out tonight -- owner Jelynne Jardiniano is giving us a preview of her upcoming menu. She's looking to impress, and it's working on me.
But tonight I'm not her audience. This is the kickoff to the Jersey City Artists Studio Tour season -- a six-week schedule of activities and preparation culminating in the huge citywide show on October 2 and 3 -- the curators are here to log some face time with the bigwigs of the Smith administration. During the planning for this event, we called it "Meet The Mayor," and although we hung a new name on it, we never could get rid of our original handle. It seemed to cut to the quick of it -- we'll all be meeting the mayor tonight, and everything else feels a bit secondary. An appearance by Mayor L. Harvey Smith will be tonight's main event, and it seems important to show him an arts community that is accomplished, multifaced, and unified.
That's an overarching objective. But we've all got things to do that are much more present to the moment. I've convinced prominent Jersey City jazz cat Bryan Beninghove to supply music, and Bryan, in turn, has rounded up a combo. L.I.T.M. has no backline, but I'm hoping one amplifier will suffice. I suggest to the band that they can run the guitar and the standing bass through the two inputs in my twin. They look at me like I'm insane. Oh, these jazz guys, always so reluctant to sound like crap.
There's no obvious place along the back wall for a group to set up, but as I have written elsewhere many times, this doesn't prevent L.I.T.M. from being a great, stylish room for live performance. Only the municipal government's tight grip on cabaret licenses has stifled Jelynne's ambition to turn the bar into a first-rate performance venue. L.I.T.M. sits on a block in the Historic Downtown Special Improvement District, which makes any alteration to the space especially difficult. By the entrance, the L.I.T.M. staff has set up a petition on a subject even more important to their bottom line and continued survival -- they're hoping to bend the district rules and keep the doors open (and the wine flowing) later than the restrictive Newark Avenue curfew. I'm hoping Mayor Smith can see the possibilities here that the rest of us do, and help to grease the skids.
People are filing in, and the Beninghove combo has begun to fire it up. I want to be sure the band gets beers -- this is something I always fuck up with my own group, and since the musicians are here as a courtesy to ProArts, and L.I.T.M., it's crucial to me that they don't feel jerked around. They're doing a Brazilian thing: string bass, lots of major sevenths on the jazz guitar, a big drum and South American percussion, and Beninghove leading the way on a soprano sax. I've heard him play before at Iron Monkey, but I don't think I've ever realized quite how talented he is. He's cutting through the anxiety and apprehension, and the politicking too, and rocking us.
Well, those of us who are listening. Others want to cluster by the bar and talk turkey. I recognize several members of the Mayor's staff. Several others whom I don't recognize wear the dark black suit of authority -- a suit not usually seen this far northwest of Grove and Montgomery. Hope they like the sangria. Studio Tour coordinator Arlene Wallace has invited the press, and I'm pleased to see Ahn Behrens of the Jersey Journal and new Current editor Dave Hoffman. The artists of 111 First Street have sent their contingent: I see Elizabeth Onorato, Nancy Wells, Nicola Stemmer, Henry Sanchez with his typically bright orange-red shirt, Paul Sullivan, Barbara Landes. Cultural Affairs chief Richard McAllister eases in, video camera in tow. It strikes me again how integrated into the local arts scene this bar is: how resolutely it has become a nerve center, and how it employs so many of the town's busiest performers and promoters. Waterbug Ernie de Zavala and near-Waterbug Kevin Spyker tend the bar. Middlepoet Aaron puts the appetizers together, and, smilingly, Tina from the third floor of the 111 building distributes them to the guests.
They're damn good. I sample: a little panini with soft cheese and tomato, green and Calamata olives on a skewer, an anchovy-onion bruschetta (I need to chew the mint in my sangria after this one), a slice of bread with quince and a sharp cheese. Even the requisite prosciutto and melon combination is dignified by the quality of the ingredients. I remember that the original ads for L.I.T.M. promised "global tapas." I didn't know what that meant then, and now I'm glad I do. The minute this kitchen opens for real, I'm coming back.
But an hour has elapsed, and there's still no Mayor. Beninghove concludes his set, and grabs something to drink. Guess there's no chance now that Mayor Smith will be blown away by the acoustics and the general good vibe, and whip that cabaret license out of his pocket. Damn, and I had it on good authority that he digs jazz. I suppose I should have planned it a little differently: I should have stationed a spy at City Hall, and struck up the band the minute his official entourage turned the corner onto Newark Avenue. Live and learn.
Hell, there's plenty of art talk to have. Or duck from. Hilary and I station ourselves in a booth, away from the bar; I've already disobeyed G.W. Plunkitt's rule, and had a sangria, and I'm not anxious to get crocked. As a temporary rep of ProArts, or the city (I'm never really sure which), I need to keep my wits about me. There's no local tabloid to capture me with a lampshade on my head, but Channel One is here with their cameras, and flashbulbs are suddenly popping all around me. Hey, what's with the laser show?
Well, the Mayor is here, silly turtle. He moves down the length of the bar, shaking hands and smiling. Bryan Beninghove cheekily strikes up an impromptu version of "Hail To The Chief" on the saxophone. Um, that's for the President. I try to stay out of the way of the recieving line, since I gooned the poor guy quite enough on Saturday. But hiding is really no use: Mayor Smith needs a microphone, and one of the event coordinators needs to step in and rig one up. Hmm, my take-charge guy schtick needs a bit of a dusting off. Luckily, Ernie and Kevin have a quarter-inch cable long enough to reach the back room, and, aided by McAllister, we get a SM58 in the general vicinity of the Mayor. He's so tall, though, that if he stands up I'm afraid that the cord will snap. Looks like this photo-op is going to be conducted from a seated position.
Ward E Councilman Junior Maldonado is here, too; he's not running for anything (as far as I know) but he's also shaking hands. He tells me he's a Tris McCall Report reader. I immediately leaf through my internal index, scanning for any memory of negative references. Councilman Maldonado, if you're reading this, hey there.
The lights get hotter and brighter. ProArts President Kathryn Klanderman calls for attention, gives a brief introduction, and then hands the piece off to the big man. The Mayor has a handwritten text in front of him, but he speaks extemporaneously. Again, he's strenuous in support of 111 First Street. He gets a huge rise out of the crowd by saying he wants to be the first Mayor to learn about the arts from local artists, and everybody laughs at his line about cave paintings. Smith is getting to be an accomplished hand at pleasing arts crowds. If the November election doesn't go well, I think he could give Kathryn a good race for ProArts chief.
The speech ends, and the lights go down. To his great credit, Mayor Smith doesn't leave: instead, he sits at L.I.T.M. for awhile longer, talking to Bill Rodwell, Bex Goyette, Kelly Darr. He evinces legitimate concern. If he's just pulling our legs here, he's doing a superior acting job. When he leaves the bar, he does so among friends.
Everybody's pleased. It's been another successful evening for Jersey City; another good speaking opportunity for the Smith administration, and another chance for the arts community to feel that our wishes might be heeded. But as one of the planners of the event, I want to stand up right now and say it wouldn't have been nearly as successful or as special if Jelynne Jardiniano and her L.I.T.M. staff hadn't made the bar feel like the hippest spot in Jersey City. Of course she had a head-start: L.I.T.M. is the hippest spot in Jersey City. But she's not the sort of woman who's just going to rest on those laurels, or take anything for granted. Her attention to detail, her hospitality, and her superior menu turned an event that might have been a functional backroom meeting into an elegant and memorable gathering. I continue to be impressed by Jelynne's ability to kick ass under vexing conditions. Hopefully, the municipal government will now take notice, and give her the licenses and extended hours she richly deserves.
I'm in the parking lot. I wish I could say "subterranean by my own design", but that would be especially inaccurate today, as my temporary hangout is the carpark near the entrance of the Harborside Financial Center. This is Harborside Tenants Appreciation day, and as an unlikely assistant of ProArts, I'm supposed to be doing some of the appreciating. The sun is pretty hot, but Mack-Cali (the owner/developer of the complex) has erected a nice-sized tent, under which area businesses have set up information tables. ProArts is supposed to be sharing a table with the artists of 111 First Street, but I don't see any of those guys yet. To my right, corporate employees set up hoops for a "basketball challenge." Poor guys -- they're in direct sunlight. I don't care how many episodes of Summerland you show me, it's still difficult for me to imagine that's pleasurable for anybody.
If you talk to area activists and smart growth advocates (or just dilettantes from the New Yorker), they will lead you to believe that Harborside is about one baby step up from hell itself. I know what they're saying, but it's really not that bad. The complex is nowhere near as sprawling as it looks from the river or from Christopher Columbus, the sidewalks are navigable, and there's a light rail stop right in front of the entrance. The frontage along the Hudson is open to pedestrian traffic, there's a lame but promising little mall inside, and you can cut through the building if you want and get to Washington Street or Exchange Place. The main problem with Harborside is that it's bordered on its west by carparks and chain-link fence, and thus it feels extremely cut off from the Downtown. It gives the complex a certain exclusivity, but I'm not sure anybody down here really wants to be all that exclusive.
With the hope that springs eternal in the breast of would-be restauranteurs, a bunch of new eateries has cropped up in the Harborside area. I'm not sure if they're trying to drum up foot traffic, but if they are, they better hire a marching band, or maybe a hypnotist. Not all of them seem to cater exclusively to workers taking lunch: while the hotsy-totsy Porto Leggero is clearly pitched toward the sophisticated businessman looking to treat his corporate clients, what's the target market for Fatburger? Perhaps Porto Leggero is the spot where you close the deal, and Fatburger is your destination after it goes sour.
I am predisposed toward Mack-Cali because their tower is visible from my home writing desk, and on certain days, the reflection from the plate glass windows bathes our living room in a weird yellow light. I also like the name, which is vaguely suggestive of LL Cool J. But I really do think they should give ProArts and 111 Arts First two separate tables. Well, hey, we're artists, and if nobody is using the one to our right, we'll just...um...reappropriate it. Megan Klim and Meredith Lippman are here to occupy the ProArts side, and the 111 Tenants Association has dispatched the crack posse down to the parking lot to represent. The tables are covered with CDs, postcards, t-shirts; there's really no room here for me. Ah, well, I'll just circulate.
I drift around the tent like a helium balloon that's slipped out of the hand of a little girl. The Conservancy has set up a table, as has the Hudson Reporter -- but I've seen all that stuff before. I dig the corporate clients and their power acronyms: PNC, PEPSICO, SBC. The people at the Pepsi table allow me to sample a new flavor of Mountain Dew that tastes like carbonated Robitussen. With a big smile, the pitchman tells me it hits the stores tomorrow. And it hits the bottom of the trash cans the next day, presumably.
All of the business presenters are ridiculously perky. Several are young women specializing in corporate art and design consulting, and they give me their business cards flirtatiously. I feel special for a second, until I notice they're treating everybody else the same way. Is this what they teach you in business school? A steel drum trio has set up at the far end of the tent, and they're bouncing through the usual version of "St. Thomas." Hey, I can dig it, even if I do wish these corporate jazz cats could expand their repertoires a bit.
I cross the parking lot. Over my shoulder, I can see the Powerhouse and the 111 building -- just a block over, but seemingly a universe away. Sympathetically, I watch Elizabeth Onorato attempt to convince a man in a business suit to pick up a copy of the 111 Arts First plan. It feels, superficially, like a tough sell. But as always, I'm amazed and impressed by her willingness to give it a shot. There's no reason we can't make connections with these folks. They're finance professionals, which probably means they're vaguely liberal Democrats; beyond that, they're the people who like to purchase art. In many cases, they're the people who most need art. Some of them look harried, a little defensive and flustered -- but wouldn't you, if you had the misfortune of working for Merrill Lynch?
I'm surprised to discover a farmer's market just off of Greene Street; it's a little Amish paradise, set up along the walkway that used to lead to Ginger & Spice. It's not as extensive as what they've got over in Hoboken, but it's considerably cheaper, and the produce looks decent. We're here every Wednesday, I'm told. The farmers are dressed in traditional Amish garb: beards, peasant smocks, straw hats. My guess is that this is all schtick, and that I'm looking at a family from Kearny with a connection to a good costumer. A teenage girl in a tight rustic dress and a bonnet takes the money from a few lustful older dudes who have clearly seen Witness too many times. The older farmer is no fool: he knows how to put his daughter front and center. Actuaries, artists, Amish patriarchs -- we've all got something to sell.
Today is the Puerto Rican Parade in Jersey City, and in preparation for the deluge of revelers, barricades are up all along Grove Street. At City Hall, the Cultural Affairs office has thrown up a riser. Just behind it, I notice some silly string on the ground, and flower pedals scattered on the steps. Beyond that, the grounds look smooth -- even the elaborate chalk designs on the sidewalk have been washed away. The municipal government asked the artists at 111 First Street for a thorough clean-up, and the artists did not disappoint.
Yesterday, this area was covered in tents. Makeshift ones, too: spooked about the onrush of Hurricane Charley, city workers rigged tarpaulins to protect viewers from the rain. One end was tied to the federal-style columns that front the building, the other to the Civil War memorial statue in the center of the park. The tarps looked like huge, shallow baskets suspended in the air; giant unruly cousins to the regular square tents housing activities, CDs for sale, available art, mild agit-prop.
I was on "stage" (I use the word only semi-ironically, because as I was to find out, the steps and open foyer of Jersey City Hall are a pretty great place to perform) throughout most of the setup, watching the energy and ingenuity, the decisionmaking, the on-the-fly adaptation. Nominally, I was there to help Jeff Baker and Lee Perry assemble the backline and test microphones, but Jeff is an old pro, and I wasn't really needed. So, as I did so often on Saturday, I took in the moment. Much has been written recently about how the community at 111 First Street is imperiled by huge, powerful forces beyond its control. There are good tactical reasons to take that line, but too often, it makes the tenants look like victims. Saturday reminded us all, in case we needed a reminder, that there's no more capable group of people in town.
My role, as you probably know, was Master of Ceremonies. Along with the New Jack Trippers, I was also the Finale -- which was great, but almost secondary. Enjoyable as it was to sing "New Jersey Department of Public Works" from a structure that was actually built with public money, I was, by that point, exhausted from running up and down the steps, shaking hands, reminding everybody to go to the coupon booth, attempting clever banter, hawking stuff, filling space. I am told I handle these platforms with a certain grace and self-possession, which is, I guess, the reason that people keep giving them to me. I'm grateful for the faith. But for somebody as neurotic as I am, helping to keep eighteen performers and fifteen speakers on a tight schedule was not without its cost in sweat and frayed nerves.
But we did it; we kept it coming. We started the action at 2 in the afternoon, and we kept it up until I turned my Wurlitzer off at 9 at night. We also held back the rain. It drizzled here and there, and by the time the New Jack Trippers took the stage, we were playing to a damp bunch. It barely mattered; people were here to lend support to 111 First Street and to the district, and they were willing to put up with a little discomfort. By twilight, the politicians were long gone: Mayor L. Harvey Smith made his appearance early in the day, Rep. Robert Menendez shortly afterward, Councilman Brennan at around five. By the end of the night, the crowd had swelled, but these were the hardcore devotees of the district, not the professional speakers.
The pros were great, though: really strenuous, feisty. Of course they were preaching not merely to the choir but to the choir directors, but still, there were reporters there, and their statements were very much on the record. For Mayor Smith to shout "artists have always lived where they've worked" (the slogan printed on the back of the 111 t-shirts) from the steps of City Hall is no small thing. Menendez was more Washington-measured, but in substance no less pertinent and direct. Speaker after speaker reaffirmed the commitment both to the building and the district, and, perhaps sensing an election-year opportunity, we were invited to take the show to different districts of Jersey City.
That may well happen. If it does, there's a good chance I'll be emceeing again. I didn't blow any of the introductions, or get the Mayor's name wrong, so I'm feeling a little more confident than I was when, backstage, I fixated on the moment Jimmy Carter announced Hubert Humphrey as "Hubert Horation Hornblower." Would I screw up and refer to Smith as L. Ron Hubbard? It's not like the connection between my brain and my tongue has ever been a terribly sure one.
So I'd like to thank everbody for listening, everybody for attending, and everybody for organizing this event. Keep the faith, and we'll surely see you around town.
August 13, 2004
The weather forecast is for a clear day tomorrow. We're sneaking in between hurricanes. There are other places to be in Jersey City tomorrow, for sure, but if you're in the mood to rock -- or if you just want to show love for the arts community at 111 First -- we'll be raising the roof at City Hall all day long. Again, festivities start at 2, music at 3, and the New Jack Trippers are the 8:30 finale. See you there.
August 12, 2004
Sorry, Charlie, I really don't have that much to say about our Big Gay Governor. Those of us who read nosy political message boards -- or who simply have an ear out for Drumthwacket gossip -- knew about James McGreevey's ambiguous sexuality years ago. Nobody really cared then, and I sincerely doubt that anybody but Golan Cipel and (maybe) his wife gives a damn about who McGreevey sleeps with. Gay politicians -- both open and those vaguely closeted -- are regularly returned to office all over the libertarian East Coast. There's no reason to believe that McGreevey, a political risk-taker since his days counting potholes in Woodbridge, wouldn't have liked his odds to defy the cheap jokesters, rally his base around the sympathetic story of a man struggling with his sexual identity, and win re-election. So I have to suspect there's much more to this story than what was reported on Channel 4. Since I don't know exactly what that extra business is yet, I'm loath to speculate about the full reason for the Governor's confession-resignation.
However. I would like to take a moment to address politicians who, because of their inability to keep it in their pants, jeopardize an entire party apparatus and a state, city, or nation that was depending on their protracted authority. In 1999, I surprised many of my friends by saying, loudly, that I thought President Clinton should resign. I still believe he should have. Had he, the Democratic party would have been in a stronger position in the 2000 elections: Albert Gore would have faced the electorate as a sitting president, and one with a unified party behind him. I thought that Clinton, who owed so much to the continuous indulgence and apologetics of the party, should have had the common decency to return the favor by getting out of the way once his political usefulness was spent.
Governor McGreevey finagled the dates as well as could be expected. By postponing the resignation until after the November elections, he allows Senator Codey to fill out the balance of his term. I suspect there's a little wishcasting going on here, and a desire to fix a date in anticipation of opponents who'll be looking to force McGreevey out in horror once all the details of Cipel's allegations become public. In any case, I'm satisfied that he and his handlers did the best they could under the circumstances. But that doesn't excuse McGreevey from putting all of us who are trying to build a more progressive and socially-balanced New Jersey in a terrible spot. With no heir apparent to the seat, every Democratic Senator, Assemblyman, alderman, clerk, and ward heeler junior grade is going to look in the mirror and see the next Governor of New Jersey. The infighting will be ferocious, and it's going to further rend the fabric of our already threadbare civic garment.
I cannot fathom politicians who do not realize that, by taking office, they have become public citizens bearing huge public trusts, and thus must modify their private behavior accordingly. This isn't about shutting off the voices of sexual desire. We all know those voices, an we know they're tough to master. But if you're going to pretend toward statesmanship, you need to place the well-being of the state and citizenry ahead of the demands of your own pecker.
The New Jersey Democratic Party isn't James McGreevey and a bunch of senators. The Democratic party is everybody in the state working, at a local level, for egalitarian-minded social and political change, neighborhood self-determination, and civil rights and liberties. There are thousands upon thousands of us, and until we find out that the Governor did something coercive and ugly to Golan Cipel, almost all of us are willing to defend and celebrate his right to get his jollies however he pleases. But by being incredibly sloppy about his relationship with Cipel, McGreevey showed a carelessness that is, frankly, unforgivable. He leaves his party without an effective leader, and he wastes the efforts of so many of us who were counting on him to provide leadership and direction to the state.
I oppose term limits of all kinds, and you'll never catch me saying "throw the bums out". But when we're again forced to pick up the pieces after an important elected official foolishly and selfishly chases after his own private desires, I begin to understand why people hate politicians. We have to start looking for candidates who are capable of returning the courtesy and faith we extend to them; those with shoulders wide enough to bear the immense burden of the communal trust. Public service is about sacrifice, and character does matter -- tactically, if not morally.
The museum is hopping. The artists move into the lecture-room in bunches, followed by politicians, business-suited attorneys, curiosity seekers and other folks who like a good show. Some are wearing eviction notices from New Gold around their necks. They dangle there, an implicit challenge. Most of the attendees have fluorescent Powerhouse Arts District stickers on their shirts. The City Council only meets once a month during the summer, so this is our shot for August to convince the municipal government that the time for action is now.
We're looking for a seat under the speakers. At City Hall, we could barely hear the voices in the main council chambers. The AV system in the Museum is better, but we're not taking any chances. Tough-looking guys wearing blocky t-shirts reading "Liberty Harbor... When?" and "Tax Abatements Mean Jobs" file in, hunting for seats. Yet another reason there ought to be an alliance between artists and working-class residents: I'm sure just about anybody at 111 First Street could have designed these guys a more stylish run of threads.
The artists are ready. After more than a year of meetings, they know what to do, and how to present themselves. Nancy Wells has a headdress on, made out of what appear to be eviction notices; Kelly Darr carries with her some magnificent prints of that stubborn prizefighter, the Old Gold smokestack. Nicola Stemmer sits in the center aisle where he can greet attendees with a smile. Stay optimistic, keep the energy up: that's what Nicola has always said.
Onstage, there's not much activity yet. Mayor Smith surveys the crowd cautiously, and takes the microphone. There's a capacity requirement in the room, we're told, and we're about to exceed it. Consequently, the council has moved the two "controversial" matters to the front of the agenda, and those who are here to talk about the Powerhouse District and the Sixth Street Embankment can circulate out and leave after those issues have come to a vote. Well, that's good: that means the artists are up first, and won't have to wait. My only worry is that this might be another bait and switch -- that the crowd will be encouraged to disperse, and then, away from the watching eyes of community groups, the government will get all too cozy with Lloyd Goldman's lawyers.
Ah, but see, that's the cynicism we're told we don't need in this debate. Sorry, Charlie, as a loyal Hudson County resident, cynicism is the very soul of my patriotism. Show me a Hudson County resident who isn't proudly cynical, and I'll show you a new arrival or a Manhattan-identified commuter.
We glance down at the agenda -- why are these always so difficult to understand? I never get a clear sense of what's at stake. Satisfied that our complaint seems to be covered under item G, I put the sheaf of legalese back under the seat. By the side of the stage, a woman from an organization called Talking Politics has set up a videocamera, and is trying to insure that her microphones are functioning properly. We're all expecting something so different from that which the dispassionate agenda would suggest. The rustling of paper, amplified by the microphones, sounds like rain on treetops.
Councilman Jeremiah Healy sits at the left end of the table. I don't know much about him, but I do know he's running for mayor. There's something endearing about him -- he has the faraway look of a priest. The other councilpeople begin to file in -- stentorian Viola Richardson, amiable Mariano Vega, efficient Mary Donnelly, anxious Junior Maldonado. We are told that Councilman Lipski is attending a funeral, and will join the meeting when he can. I don't see the famous Mr. Gaughan yet; maybe he's on vacation? Nope, just fashionably late. Self-possessed, he walks the length of the stage, whispers in the Mayor's ear, and sits back, deep in his chair.
Like a rock show at CBGB, the June meeting started almost an hour after it was scheduled to begin. Today's ship is run a little tighter: when the City Clerk takes roll call, it's 10:25. But before we can get down to business, the president of the Museum has a few words for us all. This seems inappropriate and self-serving, but hey, whatever; it's her party, and she'll speak if she wants to. We'd like to see this kind of crowd at the Museum when there's not a City Council meeting, she tells us. Take some legitimate stands on behalf of the arts district, and chances are, you will.
They're a motley bunch, this City Council. From our very large mayor to gangly Councilman Brennan, these are unique faces and bodies; all very Jersey in their peculiar reactions and ruffled, unpretentious personalities. They sit, a little glazed-over, as the clerk reads the liturgy: the complete agenda, item by item. It's sparkling prose. Clerk Byrnes either keeps getting items wrong, or the version disseminated doesn't correspond to the one the councilpeople are working from. It hardly matters, since nobody's listening anyway. Councilman Gaughan isn't even at the table anymore -- he's playing peekaboo from the fly, chatting on a cellphone. Why can't these guys ever cut to the chase?
Mr. Maldonado wants to. Both Mariano Vega and Junior Maldonado have, in recent days, been very public about their support for the arts community at 111 First Street. They observe every rule of decorum, but it's clear they're raring to go, and he wants the Powerhouse plan front and center. Yet the council has gotten sidetracked again. They've begun bickering with a city official about street openings that haven't been properly filled: does the government have budget to hire certified inspectors, or should they do it through NID? My God, this is not a metaphor: they are actually arguing about potholes.
As a wise Jersey City resident once told us, alphabet soup brings uncertainties. The council tries to get around to the Powerhouse District, but they 're confused about the difference between item G and item P. Item P? Well, item G includes 110 First Street in the protected district, and item P does not. G is the recommendation of the Historic Preservation committee; P is the PG-13 version of G, added to the agenda after the caucus. The unnamed city official who testified about the potholes offers that he'd be happy to start with O. Hey, don't let me stop you, buddy.
They start with O. O authorizes the city to acquire the Sixth Street Embankment, now owned by Conrail. Community groups have, for several years, been trying to convince the municipal government to take over the old railroad viaduct and convert it into greenspace. Nobody here is about to object to this preservation-minded plan. For the first time, there's polite applause. Buoyed by this, or perhaps just eager to get the show on the road, the mayor speaks up: "How about P and/or G?" My words, or letters, exactly.
The discussion begins in earnest. Mariano Vega encourages the council to adopt G, and, in the process, protect what's left of 110 First Street. The city, he believes, will be in a stronger bargaining position if 110 is brought into the district. We need to be able to hold Mr. Goldman accountable, we're told; if we extract 110, we've got nothing to bargain with. It is, he says, easier to extract buildings later than include them once they've been partially demolished.
Mayor Smith has a few questions about 110. Damn, we're finally talking about specifics. We, says the boss, were told that we had to deal with the imminent danger of a wall that has been buckling from neglect. Does he mean the top story that was removed, the parapet, or something else? In highly-suggestive language, the mayor makes reference to his well-publicized frustration with the landlord's behavior since last Friday. We all felt, says Smith on behalf of the Council, that Goldman did things that violated the spirit of our agreement. Indeed he did, Mr. Mayor.
Councilman Vega takes back the baton. He has, we're told, spent far too much time on the Powerhouse Arts District plan, just to see a "greedy" developer go back on his word. That's right, in advocating G, he uses the G-word. Vega challenges the New Gold claim about the instability of the smokestack: he heard the jackhammers, and he saw a cylinder solid as a brickhouse. The councilman extends his critique to the Goldman line on 110 -- workers have been pulling major beams out of the structure. He requests action to prevent other property owners in the district from weakening their buildings: "if somebody wants to be a wise guy, and take out a roof, then we lose one more historic gem."
That's not enough to satisfy Councilman Gaughan. He is worried that the city is rushing the process; landmarking the building prematurely. He makes recourse to two examples of ill-fated historical preservation projects -- the majestic Whitlock property in Lafayette, and a brewery in the Heights. In these cases, the city was unable to attract developers, and the government was forced to de-designate. The artists show no incipient funding for the district, Gaughan says, only high hopes.
I've heard others make a version of this argument, and I don't dismiss it. But while landmarking the warehouse district may or may not hinder efforts to redevelop it according to the ULI plan, that's not why we're really here. We're here to support an arts community that has contributed inestimably to the cultural life of Jersey City, and to defend their interests against a landlord who seems hell-bent on driving them out of a building that they've turned into a factory of the imagination. Since our ultimate interest is not with the edifice, but with the community, we're willing to use whatever tools are at our disposal to keep the enclave intact. Landmarking could be such a tool. Passing the Arts District initiative -- and giving it real teeth -- would be a Power tool.
Maldonado and Vega are ready with their rejoinders. Historical preservation has been an economic boon for the Downtown, raising property values and defining neighborhoods, says the Ward E councilman. Mr. Vega challenges the suggestion that designating a building makes it a tough sell for real-estate capitalists: the federal government, he insists, gives a 20% construction credit toward development costs on such buildings.
We're ready to hear from Robert Cavanaugh, Goldman's new attorney. Mr. Cavanaugh used to sit on the City Council; he's widely considered a close ally of Gerald McCann, and he's at home in these circumstances. He's only been on this case for a few weeks, but he's a quick study -- he repeats many of the claims that Harold Seide made infamous, and adds a few of his own. He's apparently decided that it's good strategy to suggest that it was Lloyd Goldman himself who created the arts community. This is sort of like saying that Christopher Columbus created America, or that the guy who sold the first typewriter is responsible for Western literature. But it plays well with the more gullible journalists in town, so I'm sure he's going to keep repeating it.
Mr. Cavanaugh rejects the idea that Goldman is knocking down 110 First Street on a pretext and insists that New Gold obtained a permit to demolish the entire building from the city; that they were given a go-ahead to do this work. In stark contrast to the urbane, owlish Seide, Cavanaugh's style is really coarse, arrogant. At least twice, he cuts off the mayor in mid-sentence. He's not making any friends here today. Perhaps he doesn't feel he needs any.
Mayor Smith reminds Cavanaugh that he requested that New Gold save the bricks that were taken from the smokestack so that the structure could eventually be pieced back together. The brick is being saved, insists the attorney. Now, I watched the demolition -- I saw shards of brick cast from the top of the tower, smashed on the concrete, and scraped into the mouth of a small crane. These bricks are not being preserved, and the mayor knows it: he warns Cavanaugh that his side is facing a "credibility issue." (I'll say.) A fiery Maldonado seconds the objection, and asks how bricks can be saved when workers are slugging away at them with jackhammers.
Junior Maldonado gets into a back-and-forth with Mr. Cavanaugh about whether or not New Gold had permission from Ray Meyer, the building supervisor, to tear down 110. Well, jeez, guys, you all have phones; get him on. Both Maldonado and Cavanaugh are heating up, now, and the crowd is punctuating the Councilman's statements with applause. Barely flustered, Mr. Cavanaugh addresses the eviction notices, and explains why, in his eyes, they're not a threat to the community: "in order to get you a long-term lease," he tells the 111 artists, "we had to terminate your tenancy. If you were a bunch of senior-citizens, we would have done it the same way." Wow, comforting.
The attorney appeals to the council, and suggests that their rhetoric -- and by extension, the acrimony of the community -- makes his job harder. We're supposed to be sympathetic to this? Before retiring, he takes offense at the "G" word. Councilman Maldonado, his Irish up, acknowledges (and implicitly regrets) the harshness. "But", he continues. "there are harsher words, and they are: 'redevelopment plan, property to be acquired, and eminent domain'". His cadence provokes an eruption of wild applause: it's a rare lyrical moment amidst the public discourse. Artists know how to find those, and also how to reward those who generate them.
Time to cast the ballot. Mayor Smith and Councilpeople Brennan, Maldonado, Vega, and Donnelly all vote "yes" on the G issue. Jeremiah Healy, who has been silent throughout, votes no on this item. We must afford the property owner the ability to address emergent problems, we're told. Wow, somebody just lost my vote. Not that he ever had it. Viola Richardson wants to see the documents before she votes, but she gives us a conditional "yes." William Gaughan, to my surprise, abstains.
It's meaningful to have the support of the City Council, and I walk away from the Museum feeling like Junior Maldonado and Mariano Vega are legitimate friends of the artist community. But, as always, time is not on our side. In Robert Cavanaugh, Lloyd Goldman has retained a formidable attorney with deep roots in Hudson County politics. He will surely challenge anything the city tries to do, and keep the municipal attorneys tied up in County Court from now until the legal imposition of the landmarking. In the meantime, the bulldozers and cranes will continue to chip away at 110 First, the Arts Center at 111, and the concept of the Powerhouse District.
August 9, 2004
There are rumors floating around town that a compromise has been reached between the artists at 111 First Street, the city government, and New Gold Equities. Don't believe them. Earth to the commercial papers: the smokestack is coming down. Not the top bricks, not fifty feet of it, not the part that has been deemed structurally compromised -- nope, the whole thing. New Gold has managed to squeeze a crane into the courtyard, and the machine is scraping at the bricks at the base of the cylinder as workers, high on the scaffolding, dismantle the tower from above.
Across the street, at 110 First, bricks continue to fall from what's left of the top floor. Construction workers cart out old wooden planks. A cloud of white dust hangs over the street, and the wind ushers it over to stain the northern windows of 111. The hammering contiunes from inside and outside the courtyard -- a stready drumbeat, a tattoo of demolition. Inside the corridors of 111, there are echoes of the sound of breaking bricks.
Goldman's attorneys called the structural integrity of the smokestack into question. For an allegedly decaying piece of a historic building, it's putting up a hell of a fight. The demolition crew has had to bring jackhammers up to the top of the platform, and even so, the bricks yield only stubbornly, layer by layer. The workers might be getting a little frustrated, and consequently a little sloppy. Bricks have slammed down on Nancy Wells's air conditioner, and a shard crashed through the window across from Ed Fausty's studio. If New Gold insists on seeing this stunt through until its bitter end, there's a good chance somebody is going to get hurt.
Take Wednesday off of work. Come to the Jersey City Museum (corner of Monmouth and Montgomery) at 10:00 AM for the August City Council Meeting. The City Council only meets once a month during the summer, so this may be our best opportunity to catch their attention and show them that the arts community, such as it is, is unified in its support for the tenants at 111 First Street. These meetings are public, and they're generally entertaining, too. With demolition at 110 proceeding at the rate of a storey a day, there might not be a warehouse district left to fight for by the time the Council meets again in September.
C'mon, you've taken a sick day on a flimsier pretext. You've been wanting to do something: to show your support and your solidarity, and communicate to the city the urgent need to retain the Arts Center and all that goes with it. Wednesday morning is looking like a last, best chance. See you there?
In the spirit of Ed Fausty and Shandor Hassan, here's a short photo essay about yesterday's crisis at 111:
Scaffolding surrounds the smokestack. As you can see, there's no way to demolish it by crane without destroying the building in the process. The stepladders are there so workers can get to the top and take it apart by hand.
From the Morgan Industrial Building, you can see what New Gold has done to 110 First. The top story has been sawed away, leaving nothing but a jagged parapet of bricks.
The ripped building, from the street.
First Street has been turned into a construction zone. The bricks that litter the block were cast from the roof of 110. The barricade runs out to the middle of the road, vexing traffic.
Across the street, tenants hold up a banner painted by Bill Rodwell.
The tenants are prohibited from entering their courtyard. A hand-painted sign of warning, police tape, and blue scaffolding are Goldman's contribution to the artistry at 111.
Alarms have been placed on the doors to the roof and courtyard.
An article headlined "Compromise!" ran today in the Jersey Journal. I'm not sure why the press continues to be so drawn to Cavanaugh, Goldman's new attorney, but if Paul Sullivan says the acrimony is ebbing, then we all have reason to be optimistic this morning.
August 6, 2004
A Jersey City court ruled against the artists at 111 First Street today, and the hammer blows began to fall on the Old Gold smokestack. The scaffolding rings the entire structure, and there's a platform for workers at the top of the column. Right now, the courtyard is quiet -- depending on who you talk to, either certain city councilpeople asked New Gold to cease demolition, or it's too late in the day for any major action. I'm guessing it's the latter.
In further effort to harass and otherwise frustrate the tenants' attempts to keep conditions in the building tolerable, New Gold has installed fire alarms on the doors leading to the roof, the central exits, and the courtyard. Combined with the white sheets that still drape from the roof of 111, it's an obstructionist's dream -- it's now almost impossible to get a clear shot of the smokestack without tripping off sirens. Police officers walk the halls of the building. There has been at least one eviction, and one arrest.
The artists are inviting all concerned citizens to convene at 111 tonight. Bill Rodwell has painted a sign, and has propped it up on two sticks outside the building. Across the street, most of the top story of 110 First has been removed. The awning ringing the building is littered with broken bricks.
This is crunch time. I'm re-posting the names and phone numbers of City Council members. If you were ever considering calling, now is the time to do it:
Mariano Vega 201-547-5108 * E. Junior Maldonado 201-547-5283 * Mary Donnelly 201-547-5101 * Peter Brennan 201-547-5060 * William Gaughan 201-547-6817 * Steve Lipski 201-547-5172 * Viola Richardson 201-547-5360
State Assemblyman Lou Manzo 201-309-0770
Here's the latest e-mail from the 111 Tenants Association, written with a redoubled urgency:
The 111 First Street Arts Center is being threatened NOW.
The smokestack is being demolished NOW. PLEASE come NOW to demontrate and defend the Jersey City Historic Arts District and the 111 First Street Arts Center.
IN COURT TODAY, the City's request for a temporary restrianing order to stop demolition of the smokestack was DENIED. The City has returned to court to ask for a stay pending appeal....
COME to the front of the building at 111 First Street TODAY, Friday, August 6, from now (4:45pm) on throughout this evening. ORGANIZATIONS, please pass this on to your members.
PRESS have been here during the day and more will be coming. WE NEED YOU to show the press, city government, and the artists that the community supports the artists of 111 First Street.
PLEASE ask everyone you know to come to the building TONIGHT!!!
It's six PM, and I just caught the Channel 4 story on the controversy. It was amusing to see Bex Goyette, Shandor Hassan, and Bill Rodwell get airtime, but as I more or less expected, Amy "News Is My Name" Nuzzo gave the last word to Goldman's lawyers. I'll report more nuzzo of my own as I get it.
Attention: Save The Date: Saturday, August 14
Street-party and benefit concert outside City Hall, Jersey City (280 Grove Street at Montgomery) to save 111 First Street and the Powerhouse Art District.
Release of the Twenty-seven Song Mayday Box Set CD.
Live music from 3:00 PM until 9:00 PM.
Beginning at 2:00 PM: Food, children's art workshops, face-painting, chalk drawing, a "Bizarre Bazaar" of art created at 111 First Street, and other family activities.
Public unveiling of the 111 ArtsFirst plan for the redevelopment of the Arts Center, and celebration of the Powerhouse Arts District plan.
Flush with the success of the Mayday celebration, the artists at 111 First Street have again decided to do what they do best. On August 14th, in front of City Hall, there will be an all-day outdoor party and carnival - complete with music, painting, light-sculptures, and the legendary creative energy that has made the Arts Center an epicenter of Jersey City's cultural explosion.
The most immediate reason for celebration is the release of the Mayday box set: a two-disc collection of live recordings made during the all-day May First party that threw the studio doors open to the public. During Mayday, Nicola Stemmer waxed tracks from twenty of the region's best musicians - all of whom performed at 111 First Street that day. On Saturday, August 14th, seventeen of the twenty-seven musical artists featured on the set - including American Watercolor Movement, Kevin Spyker, Julia Vorontsova, Tris McCall & The New Jack Trippers, and other regional favorites - will perform, and show their support for the the Powerhouse Arts District initiative.
Band performances begin at 3:00 PM, but the celebration opens before that: beginning at 2:00 PM, the stretch of Grove Street between Montgomery and Wayne will play host to tables offering art instruction for children, paper bag puppets, chalk drawing on the sidewalk, a Bizarre Bazaar of art and objects created at 111 First Street, face-painting, raffle tickets, t-shirts and posters, and lots of food!
For the last fifteen years, the community at 111 First Street has been a generator powering Jersey City's artistic revival. The renowned and respected artists in the building have imparted much of their character to the resurgent downtown. Their presence in the warehouse neighborhood has spurred redevelopment, and inspired the city to adopt the Powerhouse Arts District initiative. Now, 111 Arts First - a new organization of artists culled from that community - offers a dynamic plan for the redevelopment of their historic building. 111 Arts First will take this festive occasion to share their vision with the community at large, and to celebrate with all Jersey City residents the institution of the Powerhouse Arts District.
For more information on the Mayday boxed set, the August 14th celebration, or the situation at 111 First Street, please feel free to contact Nicola Stemmer or Elizabeth Onorato.
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