A Prayer for the City

by Buzz Bissinger

  When Cohen was asked how he felt about Rendell, it wasn’t at all surprising that he used almost exactly the same words as the mayor had used about him. “We are best friends, but we are also like brothers. He’s like my father. I’m like his father.” It was around 5:00 P.M., and he sat in a chair in the corner of his empty office, the walls adorned with dozens of jutting hooks where the pictures had once been. It had all the pleasantry of a minimalist stage set for some avant-garde play about hell and the deprivation of the bureaucrat, but he didn’t seem to mind. He still had a phone. He still had a credenza on which to read the final trickle of memos and letters. If that’s all that had been afforded to him at the beginning, it wouldn’t have mattered. It was only when he was asked if he had grown to love the mayor that he became uncomfortable, a slight pause and squirm as if the question didn’t seem to make the slightest sense, an emotion that had no place in the pragmatist’s repeated journey from point A to point B. “I love my family,” he said.

  But in the world of politics and power, a world that almost inevitably turned affection into hate and regard into scorn, it was more than just loyalty that had made him so indefatigable on behalf of Ed Rendell. He might not be able to express it, and his pragmatist’s religion would never allow him the liberation of saying it, but it was abundantly clear that he did love the mayor, just as it was abundantly clear that the mayor loved him. In the endless war for the survival of the city, they had pulled off perhaps the greatest miracle of all. They had remained true to each other. They had remained intact. “We have been to hell and back,” said Cohen as he sat in that chair. “There’s an intensity of what we have been through that is unique.”

  At about 7:00 P.M., after one final meeting, it was time to go. He was having dinner with his family and his best friend, Arthur Makadon, at a Chinese restaurant and there was no point in being late, particularly since everything had come to a standstill. But the phone rang, and it was the mayor on the line asking him about a letter. Cohen of course knew exactly what he was referring to and said he would bring it right over. He went with his usual purpose to his secretary’s desk in the outer office, but he had gotten confused and the letter on the desk wasn’t the one that the mayor wanted. He searched the empty corners of his own office, then went to a series of clunky beige cabinets, then to an accordion file, and he could not find it.

  He went over to the mayor and said it wasn’t there, and the mayor told him not to worry about it, and then he went back to his office and searched the very same places again. A police officer had come to put his remaining possessions into his car, and now he was running late for dinner, and he finally seemed poised to leave and turn the lights out for good. But then he went back to the accordion file and looked all over again, combing through the same crevices he had just combed through moments ago, but still, still, he could not find it. And then the strangest thing happened, and David L. Cohen did something he had never before done until the very last minute of his very last day. He left without finding it, descending the curved stairway of City Hall with the familiar echo of scuffed sole against stone that he had made a thousand times before, but with the unfamiliar step of someone who no longer served the city.

  Acknowledgments

  A book such as this is truly a collaborative effort, and there are dozens who helped. Michael Carlisle, my agent at the William Morris Agency, played so many roles in this book that I finally lost track—cheerleader, editor, therapist, slayer of panic attacks. His care and compassion were just unique. Jon Karp, my editor at Random House, was wonderful. He worked inexhaustibly, with an invigorating meticulousness that kept me on my toes at all times. He both listened and gave criticism in proper measure, and was wise far beyond his years. Jon’s bosses, Harold Evans and Ann Godoff, were at all times supportive and enthusiastic.

  Within the Random House team, there were so many who went out of their way to make this book special: Sean Abbott, Deborah Aiges, Dennis Ambrose, Gabrielle Bordwin, Bridget Marmion, Tanya Pérez-Rock, and Robbin Schiff. Special mention must go to Abigail Winograd for making me realize that copyediting truly can be an art form, particularly with writers who clearly ignored their grammar lessons in school. Sorry, Abigail.

  Within the labyrinth of the mayor’s office, there were many who graciously put up with me for four years. I have never seen a trio work with better cheer than Marge Staton, Donna Cisowski, and Annie Karl. The mayor had a variety of schedulers, three of whom deserve Purple Hearts for ultimate grace under pressure: Eden Kratchman, Karen Lewis, and the saintly Susan Segal. Robin Schatz, who headed constituent services for the mayor, had a gift for compassion that was inspirational. Within David Cohen’s office, Ginnie Lehoe and Yvonne Reed could not have been nicer.

  I am indebted to Anthony Buchanico for getting me to the thick of the action time and time again. I would also like to thank some of the other police officers who, in addition to their daily duties protecting the mayor, made my life incredibly pleasant: Joe Adams, Rudy Braxton, Jr., Ron Clemins, Mike Gulkis, Ernie Kiefer, Tony Pino, Jimmy Previti, Joe Rimato, Deborah Sheeron, and Reggie Wilkins.

  Among others who worked for the city, special thanks should go to Ted Beitchman for his spirited opinions on government, the media, baseball, and bars; Joe Torsella for his engaging ideas on how to energize cities; and Greg Rost for being both kind and wise.

  I simply could not have written this book without the help of three other people who were connected to the city. One is Kevin Feeley, who not only put up with every pain-in-the-neck request I made but also became a valued friend. The other two are David Cohen and Ed Rendell.

  David Cohen and I basically shared an office for four years, to the point where I put up a little picture of my children in his bookcase as a way of claiming turf. I utterly invaded his personal space, and he didn’t protest once. As for the mayor, what can I say? The pressures on him at all times were relentless, but he never took them out on me. By year two of my presence, I would have understood completely if he had pulled me from the little leather couch where I sat and tossed me into the City Hall courtyard. Instead he went out of his way to give me the best, most unfettered view possible into the heart of the city.

  I also could not have written this book without the incredible cooperation of four individuals who gave of their time tirelessly—Mike McGovern, Jim Mangan, Fifi Mazzccua, and Linda Morrison. They truly are heroes, not only because of their passion for the city, but also for putting up with me.

  On a personal note, I would like to thank Matt Purdy for reading the manuscript in its most bloated form and offering smart suggestions. I would like to thank Rick Hole for keeping me both sane and properly medicated when it didn’t ever seem like this book would get written. I would like to thank E. Ann Wilcox, then the librarian at the Maritime Museum, for her help in locating crucial documents about the navy yard. I would also like to thank Ian Keith. I had intended to make Ian, a schoolteacher in Philadelphia at the time, one of the voices in the book. He had a rich and resonant story, but I was never able to find the right home for it. We spent hundreds of hours together, and I made frequent demands on his time. I do not believe the time was wasted, because it was in the process of our encounters that we developed a friendship and respect far more lasting than any book.

  I would like to thank my children, Gerry, Zachary, and Caleb, for their patience and understanding during the five and a half years it took me to do this. “We should say thank you to God for printing such a heavy book,” remarked Caleb, who is five, and truer words have never been spoken.

  I would also like to give thanks and love to the incomparable Kim. She came into my life at the right time, she listened to my rants of self-doubt with remarkable attentiveness, and for some reason that must have to do with miracles, she is still here.

  A Note About Sources

  In writing about the events of City Hall, I based almost 90 percent of this book on personal observation. In instances where I was not present, I relied in most cas
es on reconstructions provided either by the mayor himself or David Cohen. Because of the nature of the research, I spent thousands of hours with each of them over the course of four years. I was also given permission to view thousands of pages of documents, many of them confidential.

  I had dozens of encounters with Michael McGovern, Jim Mangan, Fifi Mazzccua, and Linda Morrison in researching and writing about each of them.

  Because so much of the book is based on firsthand accounts, interviews for the purposes of reconstruction were not necessary in many instances. During the course of research, however, lengthy interviews were conducted with the following individuals: Ted Beitchman, Anthony Buchanico, Mark Carter, Larry Ceisler, Richard Chlan, Rhonda Cohen, Jack Collins, Alan Davis, Father Edward Deliman, Michael DiBerardinis, Posquale Dudley, Isadore Epstein, Dwight Evans, Kevin Feeley, Terry Gillen, Gaynell Gillespie, Mayor W. Wilson Goode, William Hankowsky, Peter Hearn, Ronald Henry, Rev. Clarence Hester, Robin Hynicka, Ken Jarin, Barbara Kaplan, Sam Katz, Ian Keith, Bill Keller, Alan Kessler, Hank Klibanoff, Carol Koren, Bennett Levin, Ted McKee, Mary Pat McGovern, Daniel McElhatton, Arthur Makadon, Tony Mazzccua, Peter Moor, Jon Morrison, Neil Oxman, Samira Pitts, Bill Reil, Kathy Reilly, Midge Rendell, Nellie Reynolds, Governor Tom Ridge, Phil Rowan, Len Rubin, Sarah Rubin, Jonathan Saidel, Robin Schatz, Michael Smerconish, Joseph Torsella, Fred Voigt, F. John White, and Ed Zubrow.

  In the course of my research, I read numerous books on cities in general and Philadelphia in particular. There were several that were particularly helpful: The Philadelphia Negro by W.E.B. Du Bois; A Nation of Cities by Mark I. Gelfand; Crabgrass Frontier by Kenneth T. Jackson; American Apartheid by Douglas S. Massey and Nancy A. Denton; The Private City by Sam Bass Warner, Jr.; and The Declining Significance of Race by William Julius Wilson.

  Prologue

  I accompanied the mayor from Philadelphia to Washington on June 3, 1992, when he testified before the Senate Finance Committee, and was with him both before and after his testimony. The quote about how “everything that goes on is a power struggle between black politicians and white politicians” was said in my presence on June 5, 1992, in a telephone conversation with a member of the governor’s office.

  I was personally present at both Lankenau and Hahnemann University hospitals the night of November 16, 1993, when the mayor responded to the shootings of three police officers in different parts of the city. Information about the U.S. Conference of Mayors’ emergency meeting on violent crime on November 15, 1993, came largely from a memo about the meeting that was sent to the mayor by a participant.

  Information on the shootings of police officers Robert Hayes and John Marynowitz on June 16, 1993, was compiled from interviews with Mayor Rendell, David Cohen, and Anthony Buchanico as well as from accounts of the incident in The Philadelphia Inquirer and Philadelphia Daily News. The speech the mayor gave to the Red Cross the morning after the shootings was viewed on tape.

  Chapter One: Ego and Id

  The account of David Cohen on January 5, 1992, the day before the inauguration, came from personal observation. Background on Cohen as a law student and young lawyer came from interviews with Cohen, Rhonda Cohen, Arthur Makadon, and others who knew him during this period. Background on Rendell came from interviews with the mayor and Midge Rendell. I also drew on an excellent profile of him, “Acting on Impulse” by Marc Duvoisin, that appeared in the Inquirer Magazine on January 12, 1992. Rendell’s description of the reaction to his speech before the Democratic National Convention when he was the city’s district attorney was related in an interview on July 10, 1992. The account of Rendell after his loss in the 1987 Democratic mayoral primary came from interviews with the mayor, Alan Kessler, Arthur Makadon, Neil Oxman, and Midge Rendell, as well as personal observation, since I was a reporter at the time for the Inquirer.

  The account of Rendell’s campaigning for mayor in 1991 was based on personal observation. The account of the Inquirer delving into Rendell’s personal life for possible acts of sexual harrassment was based on a telephone interview with Cohen on December 11, 1991. All the details concerning the mayor’s inauguration on January 6, 1992, were based on personal observation. The memo from Neil Oxman at the end of the chapter was personally viewed.

  Chapter Two: The Number

  The account of the night at the beginning of 1992 when the city discovered it had a budget deficit of $1.246 billion came from interviews with David Cohen and F. John White. The account of the night of February 19, 1992, when the five-year plan was finished, came from personal observation, as did the entire account of the following day when Rendell met with labor leaders and gave his televised speech about the budget.

  I was personally present at dozens of private meetings in which the city’s budget was discussed. Other information about the budget and the city’s financial and social conditions came from the City of Philadelphia: Five-Year Financial Plan and numerous stories that appeared in the Inquirer and Daily News. A particularly good account of the city’s dire financial straits was written by Inquirer reporter Matthew Purdy for the 1994 regional almanac that was published by the newspaper. The list of firsts for the city was based on information that appeared in Philadelphia Architecture: A Guide to the City.

  Statistics about the state of the cities from the 1950s to the present came most heavily from A Nation of Cities by Mark I. Gelfand, Cities Without Suburbs by David Rusk, and a reprint of the testimony before the Senate Subcommittee on Reorganization and International Organizations on July 24, 1959. That is where Professor Raymond Vernon of Harvard uttered his memorable quote about cities, but he wasn’t the only one to issue dire warnings. At least a dozen public officials issued similar pleas for help. The testimony in general provided shocking proof of how deeply entrenched the problems of America’s cities were forty years ago and how little corrective action was taken. The testimony also shows that the concept of regionalism, which some academics and public officials embrace as a novel concept, is hardly new at all.

  The events of April 1, 1992, when the mayor debated whether to appear with Mickey Mouse, were all personally observed. So were the events of the next day.

  Chapter Three: The Yard

  Much of the historical information about the yard came from the library of the Maritime Museum (it is now called the Independence Seaport Museum). The library contained rare documents about the yard and transcribed interviews with workers who were once employed there. The library’s interview with Pat D’Amico was the basis for the material that was used about her in this chapter. Other sources of information about the yard included the yard’s own files as well as clippings in the Inquirer and Daily News. The mayor’s comments about the futility of the suit that was filed to block closure were made in my presence on several occasions during 1992 and 1993.

  Information about Sovereign Oil came from private memos, clippings in the Inquirer, and personal observation of events that took place on May 14 and 16, 1992. The account of the visit by a delegation of Japanese officials to Philadelphia came from the book Diary of the Japanese Visit to Philadelphia in 1872 by Henry B. Ashmead.

  Chapter Four: The Racial Trifecta

  The account of the twenty-four-hour period on July 19, 1992, in which Robbie Burns was killed and the neighborhood reaction, came from press accounts in the Inquirer and Daily News as well as confidential memos from the police department. I was present when the mayor called the cardinal by phone on July 20, 1992. I rode with the mayor that night to the gymnasium in Kensington and personally observed all the events described in the chapter. The history of Kensington came from a variety of written sources, the two best of which were Whitetown, U.S.A. by Peter Binzen and Voices of Kensington by Jean Seder. The mayor’s comment about Passover was made in my presence on April 6, 1993.

  I was present at the private meeting on July 21, 1992, in which Latino leaders claimed they were being treated unfairly. I was also present at the private meeting between the mayor and black ministers on July 22, 1992, that
resulted in the walkout. I was present on December 14, 1992, when the publisher of the Philadelphia Gay News asked the mayor about underrepresentation of lesbians in the administration. I was present on August 21, 1992, when Italian-American leaders threatened to march in protest unless the head of the city’s art commission was fired. I was also present on January 15, 1993, when State Senator Hardy Williams claimed a conspiracy in the failure of a police officer to get a promotion. Information on the police department’s internal review of the officer’s record was supplied eleven days later by the mayor.

  Chapter Five: “Watch Out”

  The account of the trial of Commonwealth v. William Taylor came from personal observation of the trial on August 20 and 21, 1992, interviews with Michael McGovern, court and police records, and press accounts. I was present on August 21, 1992, when the mayor held the press conference announcing that the Miss International U.S. Beauty Pageant had been salvaged.