Foul Ball Page 10

  It’ll be interesting to see what Grunin has to say at the meeting tomorrow morning. He’s also vice president of the Chamber of Commerce. The guy is everywhere, like kudzu.

  In my speech tonight, I told the California mortgage bankers that they were just the people I wanted to speak to because, what with interest rates going down and all, Paula and I were looking to refinance and what’s more, a house in Massachusetts would give them some needed geographical diversity. They laughed, in a fiduciary kind of way.

  Then I headed for the airport.

  JULY 13

  FRIDAY

  The plane was early and I arrived in Pittsfield before the coffee shop where Chip and I had agreed to meet was even open. So I sat on my luggage and waited.

  When he finally showed up, I told him I had actually arrived last night and that I had slept in the hallway. For a moment he believed me—such is our fanaticism for this enterprise.

  “If we can get the Chamber of Commerce to endorse us,” said Chip, downing a blueberry muffin, “that will send a strong message.”

  The meeting was held in a small conference room at the chamber headquarters on North Street. Seated around the table were about twenty people, including chamber president David Colby and Gary Grunin. Chip and I handed out copies from our growing stack of color-coded documents.

  The first words, surprisingly, were spoken by Gary Grunin.

  “I thought it would be a good idea to invite you here,” said Grunin, as if it had been his idea to have us come and speak.

  Chip and I took turns making our pitch, focusing on the need for the business community to break ranks and get behind our proposal. Unlike at the Parks Commission meeting, we got lots of questions, the answers to which were contained in the documents before them, which we quoted as they followed along, in “the blue one” or “the beige one.”

  It seemed that we were getting through but who can tell in this town whose leaders are always looking over their shoulders? Or through their eyebrows.

  On the drive home from Pittsfield, Chip told me about his new email correspondent, Bill Everhart—the editorial page editor of the Eagle. The relationship began when Chip emailed his “Salting the Earth” piece to Scribner and Everhart answered it. And he was none too happy.

  “As the author of the majority of the Eagle’s editorials on ballpark issues over the past few years I am angered, though certainly not surprised, by the snide assertion that our editorials are ‘following a political agenda,’” Everhart wrote. “Andy Mick? I never consult with Mr. Mick on editorials. Dean Singleton? I doubt if Mr. Singleton knows me from Adam…. Your letter, which cannot run for obvious reasons, suggests you have contracted a case of Pittsfield paranoia…. You have a right to make your case to the city. So make it! No one is stopping you.”

  This was interesting because we had always assumed—like most people in the Berkshires—that Scribner, who is listed as editor in chief, writes the editorials. Especially since Scribner’s column is indistinguishable from the editorials. We wondered if Scribner just approved Everhart’s editorials, or were they so philosophically entwined that it didn’t matter who wrote and who edited?

  “So what did you write back?” I asked Chip.

  “I said I welcomed the dialogue,” said Chip, “and I asked him for a reasoned rebuttal to our proposal for Wahconah Park.”

  “Did he do that?”

  “No,” said Chip. “But he did give me some background on the new-stadium concept. He said it had originated with the editorial department and that when Andy Mick arrived they sold it to him, and he sold it to Singleton.”

  “No wonder it doesn’t make sense financially,” I said. “It was dreamed up by writers.”

  “Everhart’s expertise is that he claims to have visited every minor league ballpark in the Northeast,” said Chip. “He says he’s talked with fans, and team officials, and ballplayers, and community leaders, who all think new stadiums are a great idea.”

  “Did he say he’d spoken to any taxpayers,” I asked. “Someone who might rather have more school supplies or a fire truck?”

  “No,” said Chip. “But he did admit that there was room for only one minor-league franchise, and that if Singleton’s new-stadium advocacy could be seen as blocking our proposal for Wahconah Park, then our proposal could be seen as blocking a new stadium.”

  “Precisely!” I said. “The difference is that the people have voted for Wahconah Park three different times. Not once for a new stadium.”

  “That’s what I told him in my follow-up email,” said Chip. “I also said that we’re prepared to answer anybody’s questions and concerns at length, and do it publicly, and that the Eagle should sponsor a debate.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “He never responded to the debate idea,” said Chip.

  “They don’t want to debate,” I said, “because they know they’d lose. They’re chicken-shit. They’d rather just lob a few grenades and then run.”

  By this time, we had pulled into my driveway and I was home at last, after five days on the road.

  “It’s so good to have you back,” said Paula, as we wrapped our arms around each other. “Even though Chip got to hug you first.”

  “But I never get the two of you mixed up,” I said. “I know you’re the curvy one.”

  JULY 14

  SATURDAY

  Chip is amazing. At precisely 3:07 this morning, he sends an email to Bill Everhart, in response to a Letter to the Editor in yesterday’s Eagle from someone named Frank Bonnevie. I don’t know if Chip stayed up late last night or woke up early this morning. Or if he simply doesn’t sleep at all.

  In any case, this guy Bonnevie had written a letter that touched on nearly every issue raised to date about a new stadium versus our proposal for Wahconah Park, as follows:

  I cannot believe the nerve… this group wants a lease on Wahconah Park and it doesn’t have a baseball team… they wanted the citizens… to help them buy a team.

  Is there still a hockey team coming? Who is going to build the 6,000-seat hockey arena? Why can’t Elitzer, Bouton and Margenau share Wahconah Park with a collegiate league team?

  The citizens… voted down the Civic Authority because they didn’t like the powers it had. But by moving the ballpark around, the ballfield will fit in between the people that want to sell the land and the people that don’t. There is no need for eminent domain…. This is the only project that has a chance of being built.

  It’s a very brief letter, so carefully crafted it’s almost like Haiku. A little too carefully crafted, we thought—and a little too angry—for just a regular citizen.

  So Chip is on the hunt for one Frank Bonnevie. Or his alter ego.

  “Dear Bill,” Chip’s 3:07 a.m. email to Everhart begins. “After reading the letter by Frank Bonnevie, I am struck once again by how difficult it is to correct Eagle-fostered misinformation. Any chance you could publish my July 12 letter responding to your editorial of that same date as an op-ed piece?” Then Chip adds a P.S. “I would also appreciate your assistance in contacting Mr. Bonnevie to supply him directly with this same information. I can’t find his name in the phone book. Thanks, Chip.”

  At 9:18 a.m., after I wake up but before I brush my teeth, I send Chip this email:

  > They should call YOU the Bulldog.

  At 2:52 p.m., Everhart emails Chip:

  > Dear Chip: Mr. Bonnevie has a right to his

  > opinion and has an unlisted number, which he

  > doesn’t want divulged. A letter from you

  > making your case for Wahconah Park is welcome,

  > but not one that offers speculation about the

  > motives of Mr. Singleton that you can’t

  > support with evidence. Bill.

  At 3:44 p.m., Chip emails Everhart:

  > Dear Bill, I’m attaching the email letter I had

  > previously sent that I was asking you to publish.

  > It is the dispassionat
e and information-packed

  > one, not the “conspiracy theory” one.

  > I do think it would be helpful to your

  > readership, including folks like Mr. Bonnevie,

  > if you would print it as an op-ed piece.

  Then he adds this bit:

  > Verizon does not have any person with the

  > last name Bonnevie with an unlisted number.

  > (They don’t divulge such numbers, but they do

  > say whether or not they have them.) Do you

  > know for a fact that “Frank Bonnevie” is

  > using his real name and that he resides in

  > Pittsfield? Everyone is entitled to his own

  > opinion in a letter to the editor but he also

  > has an obligation to identify himself

  > correctly. Thanks, Chip.

  At 4:26 p.m., I send Chip another email:

  > I’m laughing out loud right now about your

  > wonderful tenaciousness. In a very polite

  > way, you simply will not let go of Everhart’s

  > leg. I have never seen anything like it.

  At 7:06 p.m., Everhart emails Chip:

  > Frank Bonnevie is a veteran letter writer

  > from Pittsfield. And our computer system is

  > not set up to read attachments. Please send

  > your letter/op-ed piece in a different format.

  > Thanks, Bill.

  At 6:35 the next morning—a Sunday morning—Chip sends the letter/op-ed piece in a different format, with instructions about which parts should be underlined and asking whether or not they plan to run it and when.

  Whew!

  Chip is one of those guys you would want to have with you in a foxhole.

  Which is where the two of us might be living shortly.

  JULY 15

  SUNDAY

  Our friend, Alex Bloomstein, an attorney and dance choreographer (I’m not kidding) who is part of a family of friends that Paula and I hang out with, told us something weird today. He said he was driving in his car last week, listening to WAMC, and he heard David Scribner tell Alan Chartock that Chip and I were “carpetbaggers.”

  “I couldn’t believe it,” said Alex. “I almost drove off the road.”

  Alex is a neighbor of Chartock’s.

  “Did Alan ever call you about that?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  Given WAMC’s reputation for journalistic integrity—equal time and all that—maybe Chip and I will be invited to discuss the subject that Scribner was referring to with his “carpetbagger” remark. Especially since Chip had just sent Alan a copy of his “Salting the Earth” article with a note that said, “Might it be timely to have a Vox Pop debate?”

  Not timely enough. Chip said he bumped into Alan this morning at the Farmer’s Market in Great Barrington.

  “He didn’t want to talk about it,” said Chip.

  Meanwhile, it’s important to understand that Scribner’s carpetbagger accusation has less to do with geography than it does with class, as in class warfare.

  There are three distinct sections of Berkshire County—a vertical rectangle that covers the westernmost eighth of Massachusetts. The South County part—defined by Lenox, Stockbridge, and Great Barrington—is the rapidly expanding, artsy-craftsy, weekender, big-city transplant, celebrity-sighting, sushi-eating area.

  North County has two different sections: The northernmost tip—consisting of Williamstown and North Adams—is the theater festival, MASS MoCA (Museum of Contemporary Art)-attending, ski weekend, college-town area. The rest of North County—the heart of which is Pittsfield—is the declining, industrial, blue-collar, county government, hill country section.

  To understand how these areas relate, just follow the traffic pattern, which flows north and south, between South County and the northernmost tip of North County, through and around—preferably around—Pittsfield.

  Given these cultural and geographic divides, and the New Englander’s legendary reputation for xenophobia, you might expect that the natives and the transplants do not get along. But this is not the case. For some reason, maybe because it’s been “discovered” slowly over the years, Berkshire County works pretty well as a community. Million-dollar houses sit right next door to $100,000 fixer-uppers or working farms. This makes it tough to get a mortgage—appraisers have trouble finding comparable sales in the immediate neighborhood because there are few comparable homes.

  Your wealthiest neighbor might be driving a pick-up truck, and it’s not a fashion statement. In fact, fashion is out. Even among transplants, there is a definite disdain for “chic.” When Paula and I first moved up here from New Jersey, she noticed women going out to restaurants with naked faces and undyed hair. What stands out to us now is the make-up and the dyed hair of the tourists, which looks artificial and out of place. They don’t call the Berkshires “the un-Hamptons” for nothing.

  Accordingly, the term South County, as used in Scribner’s column or in the Eagle’s editorials, can be a double-edged sword. It’s either one of the “enlightened communities” to which Pittsfield has “foolishly surrendered,” or it’s the home of “carpetbaggers” who have no business being in Pittsfield.

  Both are perfect for wrapping fish.

  JULY 16

  MONDAY

  Today is Media Day for the South County duo. First up, a program called Perspectives on Pittsfield Community Television, hosted by Councilor Joe Guzzo, one of the famous Three Amigos.

  Joe looks like a character from a children’s story book. He’s short and round with a scruffy beard, a bulbous nose, crinkly eyes, and a mouth that looks like it’s saying, “heh heh heh.” In short, Joe looks like a gnome, a lawn ornament come to life. This morning, in Bermudas and flip-flops, he looked as if he had just stepped out of someone’s flower garden.

  Chip and I were wearing sports coats and slacks with open-necked dress shirts—casual cool. We brought a list of questions for Joe to ask us in case he needed any help. Tough questions, the ones our opponents are asking in the media and behind our backs in a way that implies there are no answers. The ones they would ask us in person if they wanted to fight fair.

  Questions like this:

  • You want a thirty-year lease on Wahconah Park. Why such a long time?

  • You’ve been accused of not having the money to pull this off. What do you say to that?

  • Why can’t you share Wahconah with a collegiate league team?

  • Why should you get a lease if you don’t have a team?

  And then a few softball questions:

  • What plans do you have for fixing up the park?

  • How does independent league baseball compare to the New York–Penn League?

  We gave the sound-bite answers required for television. Chip tackled the financial questions. I took the baseball ones. And Joe handled it all like a pro—which came as no surprise, since Joe for many years had his own radio show. Until it was censored, that is.

  On May 1 of this year, Joe quit his radio show, City Talk, after WBEC’s management ordered him to stop talking about the Civic Authority. WBEC, which once stood for Berkshire Eagle Communications and used to be owned by the Eagle, still uses that paper for its news gathering. Clarence Fanto, managing editor of the Eagle, reads the news on WBEC just as David Scribner does on WAMC.

  The day after Joe walked out, WBEC replaced him with a more impartial commentator. A fair, open-minded individual. Fellow by the name of Doyle. Gerry Doyle. The mayor. Or “Tony,” if you will.

  I defy anyone to dream up stuff like this.

  And what did Joe Guzzo think about it? “I think it was a planned thing,” he said.

  From the Joe Guzzo TV show, we drove over to the Larry Kratka radio show at WUPE. Larry seems to be one of our supporters—at least until he gets replaced—and we had a good hour chatting and taking calls. Too bad the mayor didn’t show up. Larry had invited him to share the mike with us, but he
declined.

  After the show was over, Chip and I stopped by the office of Larry’s boss, station owner Phil Weiner, who said he had heard of our proposal for Wahconah Park. We told him about the problems we were up against and asked for his help.

  “What we’d like to have,” said Chip, “is for some reputable group or organization to sponsor a debate, open to the public, where we can take on any and all questions, and where we in turn can question our opponents.”

  “Maybe WUPE could do it,” I said, “in cooperation with another radio station, or Pittsfield Community Television, or even the Eagle. It could be held in a small theater or a school auditorium.”

  Weiner, an agreeable-looking man who appeared to be in his late fifties, listened carefully and nodded as we spoke.

  “I have to call a few people,” he said, finally.

  In Pittsfield, we’re discovering, everyone has to check with someone else, so they know what to think.

  “Well, that might be good,” I said, on our way to the car.

  “Not if he’s calling Andy Mick,” said Chip.

  Here’s how far gone we are. Chip went on the Internet to search for Frank Bonnevie and came up with a guy by that name who either owns or runs a karate and kickboxing school in Pittsfield. We had the address of the school. Why not stop by and see if he’s there?

  We rang the doorbell at a seedy-looking, one-story building along a highway. A rugged-looking, square-jawed guy of about forty, wearing jeans and a tee shirt, answered the door.

  “Frank Bonnevie?” asked Chip.

  “Yeah, what can I do for you?” he said, eyeing us warily.

  We introduced ourselves, said we had seen the letter in the Eagle, and wondered if he had a few minutes to talk. A look came over his face that said, “I don’t get it, but I’m curious,” and he invited us in.

  Frank Bonnevie looks like a guy who has a black belt in something. A strong silent type who seems less like a letter writer than a mouth puncher. Needless to say, we were very polite. You don’t mess with a fellow who can wipe out a horde of barbarians with a few well-placed kicks.