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: August 11, 2004

: 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. 

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