by James Duffy
. . .
Both The Times and The Post-News described Governor Foote's indignant voice as she had read out her letter to Eldon to a loud, crowded press conference. But their editorial page reactions were, predictably, quite different. The Times's editorial began:
As of yesterday afternoon, this city had one Banana Republic toomany. The proliferation of trendy clothing stores with that namewas joined by a different type of banana republic—situated in theoffice of Governor Randilynn Foote. Her strange actions in suspending Mayor Eldon Hoagland and threatening to remove himfrom office are nothing short of incredible. No such course of conduct has ever been followed in this state before. And for good reason. Suspension and removal are the ultimate means of dealing witha corrupt or criminal or massively incompetent public official.
Mayor Hoagland certainly has not covered himself with glory inrecent weeks. But his conduct, however misguided and inept, doesnot rise to the standards of misfeasance or malfeasance that surelywere meant to govern the governor's nearly unfettered removalpower.
Governor Foote's bizarre maneuver can only be seen as political—rapping the city as a means of shoring up her image upstate,and in the process targeting perhaps the only politician in the statewith the ability to stand up to her.
Her actions are worthy of a banana republic where democracy isill understood.They have no place in New York, city or state.
The Post-News took a different tack:
A breath of fresh air swept through New York City yesterday, wiping away memories of last week's traffic-jam gas fumes, as well as thedubious odors emanating from City Hall. It came in the form ofGovernor Randilynn Foote's announcement of her courageous decision to suspend Mayor Eldon Hoagland and initiate proceduresto remove him from office.
That the governor has the power to do this is undisputed. Thatuse of this power is unusual goes without saying. But what is important is that our governor had the guts to do what she did—to suspend a mayor who has become a subject of ridicule around theworld, and one incapable of leading our city any longer.
Eldon Hoagland stepped in it when he became embroiled in thatdisgraceful dog incident in August. Now our governor has givenhim a push, which surely will lead to his departure from City Hall.None too soon.
Eldon read the morning papers at a leisurely pace, even though The Post-News's editorial made his blood boil; there was, after all, no pressure to get to the office.
Midmorning, he received a call from Noel Miller, who asked if he could come by the mansion. Eldon readily agreed, assuming that Miller wanted to talk about legal strategy in the battle with Governor Foote.
"How do you size up the legal situation?" he asked his corporation counsel, once they were seated in the mansion parlor.
"It's not great, Eldon. There's not much hope of challenging the suspension; the governor appears to have the absolute right to do it. Then, when she brings formal charges, you'll have the right to be heard—by her. She's the judge and jury, all by herself. Maybe a court would find that she's being arbitrary and, if she is, that her removal power may be limited. But it is less than clear. I assume, though, that you'll fight her, to the extent you can."
"Damn right."
Miller was nervous, his left leg jiggling ever so slightly. Then it became apparent why.
"I'm glad to hear you're going to fight. I wouldn't have expected anything less from you. But there is one thing. I may as well be upfront about it. I'm afraid that as the corporation counsel I can't be your gladiator in this one. Eldon, old friend, I've been thinking about my situation almost nonstop since Randilynn's announcement. Fact is, I was up most of the night pondering it. And I've come to the reluctant conclusion that I must remain neutral. That my first loyalty is to the city itself. I can neither defend you nor assist the governor in her ouster efforts. There's no real legal learning on the subject, but this is the position I'm afraid I have to take to maintain the integrity and objectivity of my office."
"I'm disappointed, to put it mildly. We've known each other for years, we went through that election campaign together, and I thought you were my ally. And friend."
"I'm both those things, Eldon. But I have to call this one as I see it. What you need is a high-powered attorney to formulate and execute a real battle plan."
"How on earth do I get a private lawyer?"
"I have some suggestions for you."
"More to the point, how do I pay one?"
"That's a problem, I'll admit. If you prevail, it seems to me clear that the city would pick up the bill."
"And if I don't, I pay?"
"That would appear to be the case."
By now Eldon was eager to get rid of his visitor, to see him out before he himself exploded in a mixture of contempt and anger. "Well, you've certainly put another straw on this poor old camel's back, Noel. I'd like to say I respect your decision, but in all honesty I don't."
Once Miller had gone—he all but ran for the outer door—Eldon slumped in his chair, very discouraged. He had been responsible for Miller's public career, a nice capstone to a lifetime of successful, if mostly anonymous, private practice. So what was his reward? Having his appointee back away when he was most needed, obviously more eager to protect his own reputation than to march side by side with Eldon. It was particularly galling, since Miller had become a rich man; he was not at all dependent on his city job and could well have risked criticism for acting on Eldon's behalf, even if forced to resign for doing so.
Then there was the matter of money. A first-rate lawyer would be expensive, probably inordinately so. The only resources to pay such a person were the pension he had accrued during his years of teaching, a small farm he and Edna had purchased in Minnesota and Edna's modest savings and 401(k) accounts. Would it be wise, or even fair to Edna, to dissipate these assets to pay for his defense?
He would have to ponder that. After lunch and a nap. He might even have a Bloody Mary—unheard of on a weekday when he was performing his duties as mayor. He must try to enjoy as much as he could the enforced vacation Randy Randy had imposed upon him.
. . .
Eldon was awakened from his nap by a call from Jack Gullighy, the only one he received during the afternoon. Gullighy, who remained at City Hall but without access to the acting mayor's office, filled his boss in on developments.
Despite the suspension, the ALAers were loudly heralding their next demonstration. Gullighy reported that police intelligence, confirmed on the ALA Web site, reported that a planeload of sympathizers from England—protestors against genetically modified food—were expected for the event.
"They tell me the Brit crowd makes your ALA friends look like pussycats, if I may be permitted that term. True fanatics," Gullighy said. "A conservative Buddhist group from California also promises to show up. To show their concern for all forms of life."
"Plants, too?"
"I suppose so."
"How's Putter doing?"
"Haven't talked to him. But I was told, if you can believe it, that he showed up this morning with a golf bag."
"Hope he doesn't damage the furniture."
"I'm also told George Hayes has been with him most of the day."
"No surprise there."
Eldon told Gullighy about his visit from Noel Miller.
"That's what I like," Gullighy said. "Courage in the face of adversity. What are you going to do, Eldon?"
"I don't know. I'm going to talk everything over with Edna tonight. Call you tomorrow. And Jack?"
"Yes?"
"You'll stick with me until this is over, won't you? Not pull a Miller?"
"Boss, you can count on me. We'll go down together," he said, then added quickly, "Or triumph together."
"Yes."
. . .
Not being interrupted, Eldon spent the rest of the afternoon reading, and thinking about what he read: The Federalist Papers, particularly James Madison's essay on the dangers of factions in No. 10. It was the first serious study he had done in mont
hs and the tonic effect was good. But by dinnertime he felt like a subject under house arrest.
"What are we having for dinner?" he asked Edna.
"Julio is doing his special chicken fricassee. To cheer you up."
"Thanks, but no thanks. Let's go to Massimo's."
Massimo's was a tiny Italian joint near the mansion, narrow and probably once a shoe store before it's latest incarnation. The food was good, the staff genial and the dour owner usually not in evidence. Eldon and Edna often sneaked off there when Julio's food had become intolerable. The staff treated them like mere mortals, leaving them to themselves at a back table.
The place attracted a mixed crowd of the young and the old, mostly neighborhood types on cook's night out or, like the Hoaglands, escaping for a brief respite from home.
Eldon had noticed before the polyglot composition of the staff at this "Italian" spot—a genuine thirtyish Italian as the maitre d', but a Korean cashier, a girl behind the wine-and-beer bar who was Brazilian, a carrot-topped pizza maker who couldn't possibly have been Italian (probably Irish), a variegated wait staff and busboys Eldon referred to (almost correctly) as "Incas," plus a teenage black delivery boy for the place's considerable take-out business.
Eldon recalled fondly the night their waiter, Mickey, had suggested that they have the lasagna Bolognese. "The regular chef is off," he explained, "and his substitute on Tuesday is a lasagna expert. Always have the lasagna on Tuesday."
"Is he from Bologna?" Eldon had asked.
"Oh, no. He's Chinese!"
As they started drinking their bottle of middle-range Chianti, Eldon looked about, saw the restaurant's miniature United Nations once again, and smiled—a rare smile in his first day of suspension.
"You know, Edna, this place is amazing. A half dozen nationalities, three and a half different colors, all with the rather nice objective of efficiently serving up some decent food. It's a miniature New York City—or what New York City should be."
"That's true, dear. We're lucky to have it."
"I only wish my little restaurant were humming along in the same way. These people can pay attention to what they're doing. They don't have The Post-News and half the world's dog owners looking over their shoulder."
It being Tuesday, Edna ordered the "Chinese lasagna."
"Oh, he's not here tonight, Dr. Hoagland. He's off this week."
"You don't mean you actually have an Italian chef?" Eldon asked.
Mickey (himself an Asian) laughed. "No, nothing that simple. The substitute's from the owner's place downtown. He's Jamaican."
"All right, then the Jamaican lasagna."
Eldon decided to have the same. He then told his wife about Noel Miller's visit, and his concern about "objectivity" and "integrity" in the corporation counsel's job.
"As governor of Judea, you mean? You think he's ever heard of Pontius Pilate?"
They dissected their former friend some more before focusing on the troublesome question of hiring a lawyer.
"It could bankrupt us, Edna. Take away every bit of security we've got. Such as it is."
"Maybe you could raise a defense fund."
"That's so sleazy. And probably put me in the debt of people I'd rather not owe for the rest of my term, if not the rest of my life. Besides, I'm not sure I have a whole helluva lot of steadfast friends at the moment, if Miller's any example. My telephone wasn't exactly ringing off the hook today with expressions of support."
"It's your unlisted number."
"I'm afraid the result would have been the same if I had an eight hundred number that was on a billboard in Times Square."
"Jamaican lasagna!" Mickey announced.
The food was good sustenance. They ate without conversing, until Eldon asked his wife, speaking rapidly, "What should we do? It seems to me Randy Randy has me cornered. I can fight, pawning our retirement in the process, or I can resign.
"Randilynn is my judge and jury, and we know how she's going to come out. I can contest the dog charge—at best I committed a misdemeanor, something about 'overdriving, torturing and injuring animals' if I recall correctly what the cowardly Miller told me. Not exactly high crimes and misdemeanors, is it? Then there was the massive traffic tie-up—no crime there, and the voters can always punish me for that. If I were foolish enough to run again. And the bigamous marriage, in which I was a totally innocent party. But can I trust Sue Brandberg to tell the truth—that I didn't know? Or is she still on the warpath about that damnable dog of hers? Ready to say anything to get even?
"And what if I have a high-priced, scorched-earth defense and prevail? Can I govern after that? Can I get people to listen to an inebriated dog killer when I talk about serious issues? I don't know the answers, do you? You should. You're the one who told me to leave the comfort of Minnesota for Columbia, when there was no guarantee I'd get tenure here in New York. Who told me I could be an effective department chairman, able to handle that bunch of politically correct kindergartners. Then had the guts to tell me to step down when they overwhelmed me. Who, after some persuading, encouraged me to run for mayor—'Less talk and more action,' you said, without ever complaining what the change did to both your personal and professional life. So, Edna, what do I do now?"
"Eldon, dear, let me say two things. First, you're in a maelstrom you did not create—well, maybe you did a little bit, but you understand how unfair circumstances have been. How you respond is up to you. That brings me to my second point, which is, whatever you decide, I'm with you. We haven't been married for forty-one years for nothing. If you want to fight, I'll be right there beside you. For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, et cetera, et cetera. But if you want out, that's fine with me, too. Your mind is full of ideas about things to write—which will never happen while you're cutting ribbons or jollying people up at ethnic dinners. I'm with you whatever you decide."
Edna's impassioned speech had deterred Mickey the waiter, who now approached with an offer.
"You've finished your bottle of wine. Have another glass on the house. We're all friends here and we'd like to cheer you up, Mr. Mayor. Be our guest."
"Mickey, you're great. The answer is yes. And when are you going to run for mayor?"
"No way, sir. This restaurant is complicated enough for me."
Edna and Eldon drank from their refilled glasses. He didn't say much but was touched by Mickey's unsolicited concern. And his wife's reconfirmation of 41 years of loving support.
"You know, Eldon, what our plans have always been. To retire back to Minnesota, with you taking a teaching job if one's available and me starting a modest practice, if there's any demand for it. Would it be so bad to carry out our plans a few years early? I wouldn't mind. You can still smoke there without being thought of as Typhoid Mary. Which reminds me, I need a cigarette. Let's go."
They paid the check and left, shaking hands with the supportive staff as they made their way out. Polanski and Leiter, the new bodyguards, joined them outside—no one had seen fit to terminate the suspended mayor's security arrangements.
"It's an incredible night for this late in October. Let's walk home."
"No, Eldon. You might run into another peeing dog. And besides, why not enjoy our elegant Chevrolet while we can?"
. . .
Eldon slept badly, weighing his options as he tossed and turned. By 5 a.m. he had made up his mind. He would resign. He would not give Randilynn Foote the satisfaction of prolonging his public agony. And he would do it right away, before the next ALA demonstration. He woke Edna and told her his decision.
"I love you," she told him.
By seven o'clock he had awakened Gullighy. The press secretary was exhausted, having listened until very late to a new date's tale of her unpleasant divorce, before bedding her by way of solace. But ever the good soldier, he agreed with Eldon to arrange a press conference that very afternoon at Gracie.
Eldon worked on his statement through the morning, ignoring the newspapers altogether. He read it aloud
to Edna and Gullighy, both of whom pronounced it brilliant. At one o'clock, even as the TV trucks were setting up outside, he called Randilynn Foote to tell her of the announcement he was about to make. Her own behavior may have been incredible, but it was not going to deter him from what in normal circumstances would have been common courtesy between two elected officials. The conversation was brief and cool, without so much as "You're doing the right thing" crossing the governor's lips.
He also called Putter, on what had been his own private line until two days before.
"As of midnight tonight you'll be the mayor of the City of New York," he told him. "I wish you luck, Artie, all the luck in the world. Don't forget we ran together in the last campaign. I backed you then, and whatever our differences, I'll support you any way I can now."
"Thank you for that. I'm sorry things turned out this way. But you can't fight the power, not when Randy Randy's got it all. You had no choice but to step off the train. But I sure hope I can call on you for advice, that you'll help me get it all together. I'm going to try my damnedest, Eldon, I really am. Going to try to be the best mayor I can—twenty-four/seven/three-sixty-five. I promise you that."
"We should sit down and talk, whenever it's convenient."
"Yes, we should. Maybe tomorrow or the next day."
"I'd appreciate it if you could come up to Gracie. I think I've seen the last of City Hall."
"Sure thing. What exactly are you going to do now, do you know?"
"Go back to Minnesota. Settle down on that little farm we've got back there. Maybe write some, maybe teach some."
"God be with you, Eldon. Is there anything I can do for you now?"
"Well, yes, there are two things. We didn't keep our apartment, so I'd like a week or so to move out of here, to pack up our stuff. And remember those two bodyguards of mine—Fasco and Braddock? I'd consider it a personal favor if you'd reinstate them to their jobs. They're first-rate, loyal guys and will serve you well. The animal righters will probably give you some static, but I'd really appreciate it."
