Downtown hath no fury like a cheerleading mayor scorned.
The scene: Martinis with the Mayor, an after-work meet-and-drink that Oscar Goodman periodically hosts to give constituents some face time. Host building for the evening: the Holsum Bread Factory, a half-century-old carbohydrate mill set for a $5 million-plus reincarnation as lofts for the slew of upwardly mobiles expected to begin moving Downtown a-n-y … m-i-n-u-t-e … n-o-w.
What Mayor Maverick said (I'll get to that) may not be as important as what he said says about his tenure, his vision (I'll get to that, too).
Things started well, the mayor schmoozing amid the boozing. He greeted me amiably enough, "I'm glad you got the balls to show up," but wasn't so kind to media-no shows. Where are all the reporters, he asked, when things like this—events promoting Downtown's reemergence—occur? (I'm paraphrasing to sanitize his, um, colorful, language). Why don't they share his vision?
Maybe they couldn't get to the place. More than a few people, including myself, had trouble getting here. Tried to enter on Charleston. No luck. Drove up a block, only to be greeting by rough-looking guys lounging in the back of a beat-up truck. Zoomed up to the Wyoming. Circled to Industrial. Bypassed two strip clubs. Motored down a dark-as-night street. Finally, in a cul-de-sac abutting Charleston, life. On the curtain leading to a hollowed-out portion of the 36,000-square-foot factory hung a Goodman caricature: bulbous-nose, cheeky smile, martini in hand. Inside, hundreds eyed eight panels depicting the loft project—which will include a café, office space, gallery and showroom. Goodman quieted the band, then commandeered the microphone and stroked Downtown.
"Start of something big." "Great vision." Icehouse this, Arts District, that. He's got no love for the Downtown doubters—"for those that don't know, the haters." (Goodman the rapper?)
But he saved his best venom for the media: "Reporters don't have guts to be here," and they don't' realize "Downtown is great," to which some guy sitting on a couch yelled, "Screw Summerlin." Oscar heaped more castigation on journalists for insinuating a cozy relationship between him and neighbor Sharon Segerblom, the demoted-then-fired-then-rehired-if-she-accepts-a-demotion-with-similar-pay former Neighborhood Services Department director who oversaw double-dipping employee-lawmakers Wendell Williams and Morse Arberry (who retired from the city in 2001). Rather than show up at events promoting Downtown, Goodman says, these reporters "sit on their fat asses," typing with their "fat fingers" and waiting to collect "fat checks." He wished divine justice on Sun pundit—and frequent Goodman critic—Jon Ralston: "I hope God strikes him dead."
The crowd laughed.
"I mean it," he said.
More laughs.
(Calls to God seeking comment on the striking-Ralston-dead issue weren't immediately returned.)
Given his passion for Downtown, it's understandable that Goodman takes perceived disinterest as a slight—I say perceived because the media has covered Downtown redevelopment ad nauseum. Understandable but not defensible. And I wonder if that mouthy persona, which has succeeded in hyping interest about our town, will eventually wear thin? If it hasn't hurt us already—calling Energy Department Secretary Spencer Abraham "that piece of garbage" certainly didn't help our cause to have a nuclear-free future—can it do so in the future? Will it?
While Goodman gives you reason to have a smidge of civic pride—he's our defender when the world talks behind our back, our biggest cheerleader when the camera's on, an attraction in a city built on them—that unpredictable mouth keeps him one word away from being our biggest detriment.
I don't presume to speak for every journalist, but there are reporters who do want to see Goodman succeed, who want a Downtown that's livable, has recreational and entertainment amenities and a good quality of life. Until that Downtown surfaces—and it's on it's way with hundreds of millions already invested and another billion-plus in the offing—our mayor's going to have to live with the coverage he gets.
Addressing attendees, Jeffrey LaPour, principal of the Holsum loft project and president of LaPour Partners, reiterated Goodman's Downtown-is-great spiel. "I'm a big believer in Downtown and a big believer in timing. There is no better time to come Downtown. This is not our last project here."
"Jump in now," Goodman added, "the candy store is only going to stay open for some time."
Among the crowd, talk turned to the Goodman's anti-media rant. It had as much kick as the martinis.