|
A Day In The Very Public Life Of Jersey City's Chief Executive
Originally appeared in the New York Times
JERSEY CITY, N.J.
So by the time the Mayor sat his
outsized self down at a folding table
in the basement for his weekly three-hour open house, half a dozen people
were waiting with their complaints.
"Full house," whispered Timothy
Sheridan, Mr. Schundler's director
of constituent services.
It was problem day at City Hill.
Officially, this is Constituent Service
Day, the Mayor's answer to the nagging question that follows him
around Jersey City like a bee in his
ear. When people ask: "Can we
talk?," he can tell them to come by
any Tuesday afternoon from 2 to 5,
more or less, first come, first served.
Anything goes, even just a handshake. But people who stop in are
usually fed up about something.
"I'm fed up," said Frank A. Magnani, the first person to talk to Mr.
Schundler for Tuesday's open house.
"I just need an answer," said Judy
Bryant, the second person through the door.
And so on. When he is out there,
waxing Republican in Republican
bastions of white colonial houses and
two-Bronco garages, talking up privatization and school vouchers, sitting on podiums with Gov. Christie Whitman, the 36-year-old Harvard-educated Mayor of this quintessential working-class, Democratic city may be the G.O.P.'s darling/wunderkind/Second Coming, more popular than the 1966 Beatles. When he is
here, he's the last resort.
"I've tried talking to everyone else," Mr. Magnani said.
Things went a little easier for the second visitor, Ms. Bryant, who wanted to know why her applications for the job of library director have gone unacknowledged since 1986.
"We'll see," Mr. Schundler said.
The afternoon moved at a fair clip. Ali Blake, director of a mobile health service in bankruptcy, wanted the Mayor to send a letter to the health service's bank and to privatize city health services like immunization. That took 20 minutes. Hasanat Ahreed wanted to know why taxes on a house she obtained after her divorce are so high. "It doesn't seem right," Mr. Schundler agreed. (Five minutes.)
A man whose car was repossessed and sold by the city wanted to know what happened to it. (Ten minutes.) Celestina Quintana, who owns a new fast-food restaurant in town, wanted the city to let her open a walk-up window (10 minutes). One woman had a private problem. (10 minutes, one-on-one.)
It took 25 minutes for Lad Glover and three other members of the Community Empowerment Organization, a group of 300 minority contractors and trades people, to have their say about where minority contracting jobs are going.
"I have an idea," Mr. Schundler said. He described how buyers for long-abandoned properties are eligible for Federal funds, but that he needs someone to look for the buyers.
"That's fine," Mr. Glover said finally. "But what about jobs now?"
Mr. Schundler fielded 14 issues -- (four insurance agents and the four contractors count as one problem each) -- in about three and a half hours. He hardly sweated. Three people said he was terrific. The four insurance brokers, who wanted him to ask Gov. Whitman to support a bill requiring insurance providers to do business locally, sang his praises. Mrs. Quintana, the owner of the fast-food restaurant, said to stop by any time. "I'm watching my weight," Mr. Schundler said. "Get the diet special!" she said.
His last constituent, ushered in with the warning that the Mayor had very little time, was perhaps the easiest. After wondering how a friend from church could be on a waiting list for subsidized housing for five years (the answer: easily), she offered to work on his re-election campaign.
"Well," Mr. Schundler said, perking up. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
|
