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THE Naw joURNAL c
TheNewJournal
Volume 32, Number 1 September 10, 1999
FEATURES 6
Mixed Signals WYBC has many groups to please, but can all things be considered? by }ada Yuan
n
Shots in the Dark: Conventional Wisdom by Whimey Grace
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Labor Days Labor Ready finds jobs for New Haven's down and out, but whose interests does it really serve? by Daniel Brook
22
Boys Under the Hood The obscure origins ofshiny rims. by Bill Bascus
STANDARDS 4 Points of Departure 2.5 Essay: Very Like a Whale by john Swansburg, Jr. 2.8 The Critical Angle: Murder Under the Elms by Anya Kamm~tz r~vi~wing Blu~ Blood: An Ivy League Mystery, Pamela Thomas-Graham 30 Endnote: Jilted Joe DiMaggio by Ian Blecher
T• NIY JouRHAL is published fi,·e rimes during me academic year by THE Nrw jouRNAL at Yale, Inc., P.O. Box )4}2 Yak Station, New Ha.·l'll, CT o6s2o. Office address: >s> Park S.~ttt. Phone (203) 4)2· ~AI ~reno copyright 1999 by TH£ NEw jouRNAL at Yale, Inc. All Righu Rosen~. Reproduction either in whok or in pan wimour wrinen pcrmiuion of me publisher and editor in chkf is prohibited. this magaune is published by Yale College students, Yale Universiry is not responsible for its contents. Seven thousand five hundred copies of each issue arc disrribured !itt ro members of the Yak and New ~ COtllmuniry. Subscriptions arc: a>'2ilable to rhosc outside the area. Rates: One year, sr8. Two yeats, $)1. THE Nrw joutNAL is printed by lmprinr Printing, North Ha..,n, CT; boollccping and billing set· ~""'provided by Colman Booldccping of New Ha.'Cn. THE Nrw joURNAL encourages kners to me editor and comments on Yak and New Haven issues. Wri<e to EditorWs, )4)2 Yak Station, New Haven, ~:zo. All kncrs for publication must include address and signarure. We resc""' the right to edit all letters for publication.
Money for Nothing Since its conception, the mall planned for Long Wharf has been a rich source of controversy. Those responsible for attracting the mall and engineering the many official contracts and unofficial political deals necessary for its construction say that the 150-store complex will be a boon to New Haven's economic future. They project that the mall will be the source of 3,000 new retail jobs and a multi-million dollar increase in tax revenue. Some, however, predict that the construction of the mall will sap the vital flow of commerce away from New Haven's downtown area, forcing many retailers out of business, leaving behind blighted streets full of empty storefronts. The planners' provision for $25 million (funded by the issuing of bonds) for development of New Haven's existing commercial areas, therefore, would seem a good conciliatory measure. Instead, this provision proved to be the most contested issue in gaining the approval of the Board of Aldermen, perhaps even violating some of the principles underlying the existence of the board. When aldermen met on August 2 to vote, item by item, on the motion to approve the plans for the mall, most items passed with little opposition. But when the board arrived at the issue of the money for downtown, a long and contentious debate erupted. The debate centered on an amendment to the item proposed by Ward One alderman Julio Gonzale2 (cc '99) and Ward Two alderman Jelani Lawson (Me, '96). This amendment would have reduced the S25 million to s6.5 million in the first year, with subsequent additional funding dependent upon a careful account of how this money was used and the effectiveness of this use. The effort to attach the amendment was ultimately unsuccessful; although the item passed, over one-third of the aldermen present voted against it, by far the largest aldermanic opposition to emerge against any of the plans for the mall.
4
Gonzale2 and Lawson support the central parts of the mall deal; in fact, they were instrumental in engineering a development agreement that emphasi2es corporate responsibility, requiring the employers at the mall to provide such provisions as child care and a living wage. They opposed the $25 miJlion bonding issue, says Gonzalez, because it was fiscally ill-conceived and because the path to its approval was procedurally wrong. In the early '9os recession, New Haven acquired a debt load significantly higher than similar cities, largely because of the number of bonds it issued. Although the
r
"at the time of the vote, the DeStefano adm inistration presented a budget with only six line items, all of them laughably vague, such as 'public improvements' and 'community."'
J
city's debt is no longer growing. it still spends approximately 10 percent of its tax revenue just to pay the interest on its existing debt-the average for comparable cities is between 5 and 6 percent. The proposed $25 million bond issue will push New Haven into even greater debt, which, accounting for interest, will eventually cost s46 million to repay. The city will pay off its debt at a rate of s2 million per year with some of the projected tax revenue from the mall. Instead of burdening New Haven's citizens with more debt, argues Gonzalez, the city government should use taxes from the mall in a more direct method of financing. For example, if the city used S4 million of this new revenue for downtown improvements over seven years, it would eventually add up to s28 million dollars in aid, without the problem of increasing New Haven's debt and paying millions of
dollars in interest. The procedural objections that Gonzale2 and Lawson have against the $25 million bond issue stem from the differences between how it was agreed upon compared to the other issues. The development agreement, for example, was discussed at length and in detail, resulting in a satisfactory agreement on corporate responsibility. Before the official vote by the Board of Aldermen, the en tire motion regarding the mall was brought before the Committee of the Whole, which includes all the aldermen, but acts as a more informal forum for discussion and preliminary votes. At the time of the committee meeting. however, the mayor's office bad not proposed a budget for the use of the $25 million dollars to the aldermen, preventing any kind of review or discussion of the use of this fund. Finally, at the rime of the board vote on August 2, the DeStefano administration presented a budget with only six line items, all of them laughably vague, such as "public improvements" and "community." A staff of only five aldermen and five employees of the mayor's office will administer this almost unbudgeted fund. The procedure by which the S25 million bonding measure gained approval seems to defeat the purpose of New Haven's Board of Aldermen. Since the city is divided into 30 tiny wards, each of which elects one alderman, its board is large and can cause the legislative process to be cumbersome and lengthy. The reason for representation on such a local scale, despite its drawbacks, is that it ensures a much more thorough representation of all interests and opinions than a system of larger and thus fewer districts. When a proposal with such a potential impact on the financial future of New Haven and its residen ts is pushed through the approval process without full opportunity for review, this democratic ideal of full representation loses any chance of fulfillment. In allowing the shakiest part
THE NEW jOURNAL
of the mayor's pet project to pass with only lip service to proper procedure, the silent members of the Board represented the interests of one: Mayor John DeStefano. - julia IV:trrum
Bidding Love Goodbye From her first-year suite in Vanderbilt Hall on Old Campus, Joyce Maynard carried on a notorious love affair: Maynard, tben 18 years old, traded letters and eventually moved in with then-53-year-old J. D. Salinger-who was known as much for his reclwiveness as for The Catcher in the Rye. Though the relationship lasted little more than a year, its last vestiges-the ownership riptts of the fourteen letters Salinger wrote to Maynard-were not laid to rest until this past summer, when Maynard auctioned them off at Sotheby's New York to raise money for her children's. college tuition. Maynard first gained public attention with "An 18-Year-Old Looks Back on Life," her cover story of the April 23, 1972 issue of the New York Times Magazine. Two days after the story appeared, Maynard received a letter postmarked Cornish, New Hampshire, the hamlet where Salinger had ~ted when his writing propelled him into the public eye. The letters continued throughout the summer and Maynard's 6rst semester at Yale. Maynard and Salinger ercbanged thoughts but more importantly, perhaps, they exchanged telephone numbers and shared their excitement about possibly meeting each other in the near future. That meeting took place in early 1973, after which Maynard dropped out of Yale to move in with Salinger. The relationship became strained shortly thereafter. "I struggled to meet his expectations that I detach myself from worldly things and from the clamor of voices around me." Maynard wrote in a confessional essay for the Internet publication Y-Lifo Magazine in September 1998. "I communicated with SI!PlltMBBll
10, 1999
almost nobody but Jerry Salinger." In March 1973, Maynard moved out. Though the two still corresponded, the letters became less frequent and decidedly chillier. In his last letter, dated August 17, 1973, Salinger ended the relationship. Maynard did not discuss her love affair with Salinger publicly for nearly 30 years. But in her 1998 memoir, At Home in the World, she exposed to the public the details of the relationship. Maynard received a great deal of public criticism for breaching the sanctity of her relationship with Salinger by exploiting the details of it for financial gain. Furthermore, Salinger's reputation as a recluse swayed public opinion against Maynard. In the years prior to the publication of Maynard's memoir, Salinger had fought to keep quotations from his letters to friends out of a biography and to stop the screening of an Iranian film adaptation of his book Franny and Zooey. He succeeded both times. When Maynard announced early in 1999 that she intended to auction off the letters she had received from Salinger, however, the author took no steps to prevent her from doing so. Since the letters were not to be published, and since the applications of copyright and invasion of privacy laws are limited, Salinger could not take legal action. The auction, scheduled for June 2.2., presented the biggest threat to the shell Salinger had hidden in for so long. Fortunately for Salinger, someone understood his need and wish for privacy. Software magnate Peter Norton purchased the batch of letters for $1S6.soo. nearly twice the pre-auction estimate. Soon after, Norton returned the letters to Salinger. "I share the widely expressed opinion that the work should be bought by someone sympathetic to Mr. Salinger's desire for privacy," Norton said in a public statement. With all parties contented, a love story whose legend had long outlasted the love itself came to its long-awaited end. -Alan Schomfold
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PHRAM LuSTGARTEN (PC 'oo), the General Manager of the Yale Broadcasting Company (WYBc), swears by his company manual. Within its pages, he has found solid ideals on which to base his vision of the radio station. "I would quote the mission," he urges me. "It's very important." More important than I might have thought. The future of Yale's radio station may hinge on how closely it adheres to its official mission in the next few years. The company gospel lists three basic purposes for the station's existence: to serve the interests of the student body, to train its members in the field of radio and to bring students and the community together for the betterment of both. Juan Castillo, the tall, 48-year-old black-Hispanic man who serves as WYBC's Director of Community Affairs, has witnessed the station's near-collapse in its attempts to adhere to all three statements. These days, he believes in a slightly different goal: "Our mission," he says, "is to stay alive." For most of its existence WYBC has struggled just to remain in operation. While most non-profit and college stations hold telethon fundraisers and receive grants from their parent institutions, WYBC, as one of only three commercial, non-profit radio stations in the country, must rely solely on advertisements to generate revenue. At the same time, WYBC's status as an undergraduate organization prevents it from hiring an advertising director, so the station must rely on the efforts of student volunteers already busy with classes. Yale University, WYBC's parent institution, has proven less than sympathetic to the station's financial troubles. While the stations at Quinnipiac College and the University of New Haven receive gel)r erous grants from the schools' undergraduate organizations' funds and communications departments, Yale lacks both a communications department and the desire to support a vocational endeavor. "Yale breeds doctors, lawyers, and investment bankers," says Kathy Choi (BK 'oo), current Program Director for WYBC. â&#x20AC;˘They're not interested in creating a breeding ground for broadcast enten;ainers." The university does offer WYBC rent-free use of its current space in Hendrie Hall, but the station itself incurs the rest 9f the significantly larger operating expenses. Yale Broadcasting save$ some money through its governance by the aU-student fucutive Board, but still has to provide salaries for the full-time Director of Operations and part- time Music Director tnd D~recror of Community Affairs who oversee the operation of the statio1,1 during the day while students go to class. In addition, the s~tion has to pay for utilities and for the maintenance of its transmitter and stu... clio equipment. The Executive Board carefully budg~ the advet; rising revenue, but any mismanagement can throw the entire-station into debt. According to Castillo, in 1988, perhaps the st:ation's worst fiscal year, "They told us in a month we were closing. We were only making $2o-25,000 a year and our expenses were $so6o,ooo." Out of desperation, the station borrowed $56,000 from the university, a debt which it has yet to pay off in full. In 1994, to ease its financial worries, the Station signed a joint sales agreement with General Broadcasting of Connecticut, Inc. (also known as 99.1 WPLR.) in which WPLR agreed to sell advertising time and collect advertising revenue for WYBC. In return it allocated WYBC enough money from that revenue to continue operations. The agreement has lightened the wYBc management's work load, but the terms of the arrangement hardly seem fair. According to Jason Knight (ES '00), head of WYBc's Gospel department, selling advertisements for WYBC costS WJ>LR. vittually nothing. wvsc pro-
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6
vides the announcers and the studio, while WPLR simply instructs its sales representatives to offer advertising time on 94.3 WYBC, currently the number one urban station in New Haven, while selling ads for WPLR. From this joint sales aggreement, WPLR makes $1.5 to $2 million a year-nearly aU profit-$300,000 of which goes to WYBC. Knight contends that $300,000, even budgeted well, barely covers basic operations, let alone one-time events or equipment purchases. This month, Knight says, "the Gospel department sponsored the largest concert in aU ofNew Haven and I was hard pressed to find the $850 we needed to print up 250 free T-sbirts to give away at the event." When WPLR refused to support the project, WYBC was forced to rethink its budget. "It's a shame that we had to take away money from other pans of our budget to do that," Knight says. "We had to sacrifice other goals." The joint sales agreement has also forced WYBC to sacrifice some of its programming decisions and its dedication to innovative programming. Six years- -ago, WYBC boasted 13 distinct formats, from indie rock to Italian folk. After the signing of the agreement in 1994, that number had dropped to around three besides the urban contemporary, hip-hop and R&a which catered to a largely community-based listenership. A college rock program called "Frequency" enjoyed a prime time slot from 9 PM to 2 AM, Monday through Friday, but its positioning directly after the highly rated, hip-hop-centric "Spectrum" alienated urban listeners, and ratings consistently dropped at nine. Problems came to a head in the spring of 1998 in a highly publicized campus controversy. WYBc's General Board had recently elected Emad Abdelnaby (oc '99) as its
Program DirectOr. Abdelnaby, an ambitious student straight off an internship at a large-market station in New York, responded positively to WPLR's requests that the station abandon the eclectic programming typical of college radio nationwide and adopt a single, market-friendly format geared towards attracting a specific audience--particularly New Haven's captive black urban populace. Few people know what transpired behind the Executive Office doors, but Abdelnaby and Michael Corwin (sM '99), the station's General Manager, decided that WYBC would eliminate folk, jazz and "Frequency" from its programming, leaving only urban-contemporary, hip-hop and gospel. The decision, in effect, would cut all but a handful of student DJS from the roster, leaving a cast of mostly black New Haven residents co dominate the stttion. In an unfor~ runate slight, though, the Executive Board neglected co tell the DJS
THE NEW JouRNAL
1
that they had been cut. Most showed up at the station to do their shows, only to find that they had been locked out of the station and that their access codes had been deactivated. Later, the Executive Board offered a select few an explanation for its actions. "They told us we were cut because we were unprofessional," says Rajeev Muttreja (SM 'oo), a former "Frequency" OJ and current OJ and Music Director of WYBvAM 1340. "They said that the product that was going out over the air wasn't ~lored to the YBC image and that no one was listening. We know people were listening." The Executive Board's heartless action, combined with extensive coverage in the Yale Daily News and a sympathetic response &om the Yale College Council, prompted the DJs to act immediately. "A lot of students thought everything that happened to us was terrible," Muttreja says. "We sent out a petition for 3 days and got some 1.,000 signatures." Four months later, in April 1998, the DJS held an impeachment hearing for Abdelnaby, carrying the motion by an overwhelming 45-1. vote. However, by-laws stating that a certain percentage of the members had to be present barred his actual removal. In response to the student uproar, WYBC moved to buy a second frequency dedicated to free-form expression. With the newly urban contemporary and hip-hop 94¡3 JIM rargetting New Havens ~ously untapped black market and generating unprecedented . ~gs and revenue, the second station, AM 1340, could operate on rdacively low budget supported by the PM station, and thereby be from market restraints. Unfortunately for the tender relations between the students
WYBC has many groups to please, but can all things be considered? be a racist." During negotiations, WYBC made clear at public meetings that its aims for the AM station included not only expanding student programming. but also maintaining some talk shows and religious programs previously aired on WNHC. The station has since kept its promise and now airs shows such as "Teen Talk," "Youth Action Christian Communication" and a five-hour gospel broadcast on Sunday afrernoons to complement the PM station's 1. AM to 11. PM gospel show. In addition, the PM station donates, as it did then, 25 percent or S250,ooo worth of commercial time to local, non-profit and community service organizations. That averages to about 12. minutes of donated space per commercial block (WPLR's main competitor, 101.3 WKCI, donates 10 minutes a day), making WYBC the station most dedicated to public service not just in New Haven, but in the e11tire state. Despite such d emonstrations of the station's commitment to WNH:C programming and to community affairs, and despite the undesirability of the alternative, WYBc's purchase of AM 1340 in June 1998 met with stark opposition. Community members seemed unable to sepuate their negative image of Yale from their image of the sration o nly loosely associated widl it, and many joined a hellbent, but wildly misinform~ Reverand A1 Sharpton to protest Yale's theft of the community voice. NEW HAVEN RSSIDI!NTS view as the community voice can be found ~arly in the WYBC office. Doc Percival, or Doc P. as he's known in the disc jockey world, has been coming to work at the FM sration nearly every day for the past three years. Doc is only one of many New Haven residents who, either following their dreams- to become professional disc jockeys or simply wanting to express th~ir views, make their way to WYBC for training and ajr time: Wofking towards its goal of "bringing students and New Haven residents -together for the betterment of both," the station opens its doo~to all and provides the kind of professional training that othe.nvise would cost its members thousands of dollars ar the Conneticut School of Broadcasting. Joining Doc at WYBC F.M are prominent public figures, ambitious Yale OJS, and a mix of black and white youth. Doc's dedication, though, sets him apart from them all. On weekdays, Doc actives 3 or 4 hours early to work as the paid, part-time Music Director. He's on the air every weekday from 5 to 7 PM during commuter "drivetime" and every Friday with his best friend, Stevie D., on their show "Friday Night Dance Party," which is the most popular show in the city from 9 PM to 2. AM. Doc and Stevie use their air time to promote the SM Crew, or Sound Masters, an organization of "socially-minded disc jockeys" that Doc founded 2.0 years ago. The group, which releases p6sitivdy-charged mix tapes and singles for underground distribution, includes Stevie, who also works as Community Representative to the WYBC Executive Board, and Castillo, who struggled through his own involvement in drugs and gangs. This spring they released a
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and the community members at the station, the AM 1340 frequency pursued by WYBC had previously belonged to WNHC, the only lllinority-owned and operated station in the city. According to Corwin, who was still managing WYBC during the AM 1340 takeover, WNHC "wasn't serving the community that well. They had IOine syndicated home shopping nerwork, some urban programming. which is usually not successful on an AM sration, and some talk shows that were biased and nor professionally done." When lrNHc declared bankruptcy in the spring of 1998, WYBC saw a solution to its problems and jumped at the chance to enter the bidding ~. WYBC's main competition came from Bucldey Broadcasting. 1tbich, Corwin says, made no commitment to broadcast local shows and which has "a history of trying to put on syndicated talk shows throughout the state, one of which is Bob Grant, who is known to
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song entitled "Stay in School," which received extensive airtime on WYBC. While the station eventually decided to discontinue its promotion, according to Doc, the community loved the song. "So many parents came up to me and said, 'Thank you for doing th is,"' he says. "I'd be out and about in the community and kids would come up to me and say, 'Stay in School.' It's a great feeling." This month they have released a new song entitled "Believer," aimed at promoting spirituality through following the adventures of Chicken Bone Jones, an "Mro-centric, God-fearing superhero" who eats symbolic chicken to gain spiritual nourishment and to fight the "negative forces that hold us all back." Doc's path towards becoming a musical performer has been fraught with obstacles. He first discovered his love of music as a boy while visiting his father's West Indian family in Brooklyn, and by the time he entered the University of Hartford in l983, Doc was already an accomplished disc jockey. During his freshman year he met Stevie D., a slight-framed man from Bethany, Connecticut, and the two quickly became friends and busineSs partners. The combination of Doc on vocals and Stevie on music proved a success, and according to Stevie, gigs came easily. "At the end of freshman year," he says, "we were number one as far as DJ-ing." After college, though, survival in the recording busineSs proved extremely difficult. "We went through years of being lost, not knowing how to apply everything we learned in college to the real world," Stevie says. "We've gone to record labels, had doors slammed in our faces. For six years we stopped DJ-ing. Doc moved back to New York, and I moved home. We had no where else to go." Three years ago, the two met up again in New Haven and began to check out other DJS on the club scene. Disappointed by what they saw, Stevie and Doc stepped back into DJ-ing, touring urban clubs. Their efforts paid off when Doc went to WYBC to record a commercial for a club and got picked up by the station. WYBC began broadcasting live from their club and soon gave Doc and Stevie their own show, the "Friday Night Dance Party," which they still host. O n stage at the Alley Cat, Doc P. takes his own message to heart and raps like a man possessed. When he arrived earlier at the dub on Crown Street, the 34 year-
old Doc had limped inside and complained that he felt like an old man. Even as he grabbed the microphone, Doc winced and favored his lefr leg, which stiffened with the gout that has plagued him for years. His slow trip landed his 6-foot, 250-pound frame on a balcony directly above the 94·3 WYBC promotional banner and above a dance pit of over 100 people pulsing to the beats of Jay-Z and Lauryn Hill. Doc leaned heavily on the banister and then motioned to Stevie D. in the OJ booth for the show to begin. "Where my party people at?" Doc screamed into the microphone, sweat pouring down his face. "This is the Great Doc P. and Grand Master Stevie D. representing 94·3 WYBC. We're the SM Crew and we have a few rules for the night. Rule #1," he said, holding up a hand-written poster, "No Frontin'. If you ain't gonna get it on, get your dead ass out. Rule #2, Positive is the Attitude. If you came here to fight, if your attitude is bad, if you're an unhappy camper tonight, just go home." The crowd roared its appreciation. Doc rapped to them in return.
D
OC AND. jUAN HAVE BEEN WORKING
on giving the community something in return for the support and listenership it has provided them. For the eight years he has worked at WYBC, Castillo has worked on a program called Bear the Odds, which gives scholarships to local high school seniors. The candidates are picked by other kids from the Anti-Crime Youth Council and must follow the examples of Castillo, Doc and other positive role models who have overcome adversity to gain success. This, along with the Stay in School campaign and Safe Nights, which brings music and food to bad neighborhoods, demonstrates that WYBC's interest in the community has not waned in the face of controversy and change. In addition, by stepping up its commitment to student interests on AM 1340, WYBC is experiencing a virtual renaissance on campus. During its initial year, the station has tried to create name recognition through its remote broadcast in Commons and through its sponsorship of college events, such as the freshman dance last week. When the AM station secured funds from its Board of Governors last April to bring Yo La Tengo, a popUlar indie band, to Yale, it established itself as a legitimate
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source for musical entertainment. "It was the biggest thing WYBC has done since I was on campus," says Muttreja, who helped spearhead the effon. "We put on the Yo La Tengo show and 2,000 people came." As the new semester approaches and time fades the memory of the station's old controversies, the two stations of WYBC become more entrenched in their polar identities as 94·3• "The Rhythm of the Ciry," and "Yale Radio" AM 1340: The AM station already has a large student OJ base and a significant listenership dedicated to the eclectic mix of college rock and student talk shows. Community OJS now have nearly full control of the PM airwavesKnight estimates that fewer that 7 students work on 94·3· Both sides, though, seem relatively content that WYBC is attending to their needs, and past contentions seem almost irrelevant. This calm, however, may only mask deeper problems within the station. New Arbitron ratings have listed 94-3 FM as the number three station in New Haven and the number one station for its target urban audience. "The community members have proof by way of ratings that the PM is making all the money," says Knight. "The kind of listeners the AM generates will not make it financially viable." Recendy, community action groups have begun to lobby for IDore say in station operations, hoping to pin funher community representation on tbc: Executive Board and on the Board of Governors, as well as adequate financial COmpensation for irs high-grossing OJS, S!J>TEMBER IO,
1999
whose positions, like those of all other on air-talent at WYBC, are volunteer. The group contends that WYBC, by airing African-American disc jockeys and by targetting an African-American audience, is exploiting the entire Mrican-American community. "There comes a point when you make fewer and fewer mistakes, when your program starts generating money for YBc," says Knight, whose position as the only student in the gospel format has brought him closer to community affairs. "It's at that point when you should stan being compensated. Anything less is slavery." Knight sees this issue as just another symptom of the increasing polarization between the revenue-making PM station and the financially-dependent AM station. "I would not be surprised," he says, "if 10 years down the line WYBC becomes disassociated with Yale College and becomes a free-standing commercial station. Then Yale will have to confront the issue of whether to fund a free-form station." By creating both a vibrant student forum and a vibrant community forum, WYBC has succeeded in fulfilling irs mission, but the two stations' growing conflict suggests it may have succeeded too well. 111) ]ada Yuan, a smior in Branford co/kg~. is on th~ staffof TN].
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S
T. BRENDANS CONVENT IS A SMALL BRICK BUILDING ON A HILL, sheltered from the daily noise and activity ofWhalley Avenue. It is home to six women, formally called the Sisters of Our Lady of the Garden. They came from Argentina, Paraguay, Italy and India. They devote their lives to one mission: "to work courageously, energetically, and perseveringly, bringing Christ's love and spirit to those to whom they are sent." They are proud of the work they do, and of the lives they touch. They walk the halls of St. Brendan's Convent, pointing with pride to delicate portraits of their founder, St. Anthony Maria Gianelli, and of their namesake, Our Lady of the Garden. They generously open the doors to their chapel and to the elementary school they have been running in New Haven since 1974¡ These women are not foreign to the curiosity with which most people see them. One sister laughs as she describes children too young to be polite, who gasp when they see that Sister Natalfn lives in a house and sleeps in a bed just as anyone else does. Just like anyone else, these sisters go grocery shopping. They watch television. They even take care of a dog named Toby. , Sister Natalin is eager to guide the camera to the most "normal" aspects of her life. Again, she says with a laugh, "I take all kinds of these pictures with my students." The Sisters of Our Lady of the Garden put their energy into teaching their young students, and travelling the world in order to recruit women to join them in their mission. They do not concern themselves with the reasons why their lifestyle or their mission may seem puzzling to outsiders. Instead, they welcome these outsiders without a second thought. As one sister says, "What we do here is nothing strange. It is simply a matter of faith.,,
Labor Ready finds jobs for New Haven's down and out, but whose interests does it really serve?
D
UANE'S FATHER, AN .ARKANsAS SHARECROPPER, came tO
New Haven to escape the hopeless economic prospects back home. An unskilled worker, he was able to find a steady job as a metal worker in a union shop in the North. Today he is retired with a pension. Ironically, in present-day New Haven, Duane faces the same economic desperation his father faced down South. I met Duane at 5=30 in the morning at the new Labor Ready branch on Chapel Street. At that hour, even the Dunkin' Donuts on the corner had yet to open. Labor Ready is a national chain of temp agencies specializing in unskilled and low-skilled workers. Duane was one of the hopefuls who went there looking for work the morning I dropped by. At dawn, seven days a week, workers show up in front of the store. Most are young African-American men like Duane, though a grandmotherly looking black woman and a number of Latinos were there that morning as well. The man behind the counter was white and wore the unofficial uniform of all middle managers--a dress
:¡
x6
THE NEW jouRNAl.
by Daniel Brook
lbirt, tic and a pair of Dockers. Duane and the others signed in at S:JO AM in the hope of getting an opportunity to work for an averIF of $6.30 an hour (about $SO a day before taxes), minw twO to cbrec dollars for transportation and two dollars for required equipment (like gloves). At the end of the day, cashing checks at the ATM in the office will take another $1.50 out of the men's pay and back into Labor Ready's coffers. The glossy management newsletter gives updates on which branches have the highest percentage of workers llling the ATMS, interspersed with inspirational quotations from 1Vas Robcns' bcstsdlcr u44ership SÂŤrns ofAni/4 the Hun. Duane had worked through Labor Ready for the past few days doing demolition work at the old SNET building downtown, but he llill had to show up at six to notify the manager that he was willing ID work again today. Labor Ready hires only one day at a time and ~~quires all workers to arrive by six so they can get to work on time. That Duane's work was only a ten minute walk from the store did 1a0t merit an cxccption. Employment is stricdy daily and, as far as t.bor Ready is concerned, the day StartS at six sharp and ends with
s..n.ou
10, 1999
a paycheck. "I call it the economic principle of beer," CI!O Glen Wdstad told For!Hs magazine, believing that most of his loyal employees work solely to pay for their nighdy alcohol fix. "Work Today, Paid Today" is the company slogan. At least the one they display to workers. To potential clients the slogan is "Temporary Labor-On Demand." Labor Ready recruits its clients through telemarketing. asking companies large and small whether they have need of readily disposable workers. Labor Ready's branch managers say they start cold calling at s AM each day; in company literature, CI!O Wdstad promises that "if you arc not 100 percent satisfied with the work performed by an individual, notify Labor Ready within the first two-hour period-you won't be billed for their time and we will assign you a replacement worker.â&#x20AC;˘ Labor Ready ac:ts as the direct employer, making it liable for payroll taxes and workers' compensation should anyone get hurt. (A sign at the Chapel Street office proudly proclaimed that it has not had an accident in 39 days.) Clients simply pay Labor Ready a fcc, at least twice what each 17
5:15AM Even though Labor Ready officially opens for buslneas at six In the morning, the real line, as veterans will tall you, begins outside at 5:30, sometimes even earlier. At 5:15, there are already six names on the list of.thosa willing to work. The lucky first, Sean, arrived today at 4:30. But even Sean Is not guaranteed a job. In fact, he will sit hera today almost as long as I will. The drill at any of Labor Ready's hundreds of offices nationwide Ia the same. After putting your nama down on the sign-In sheet, all you can do Is walt. And the walt, as you learn, Is what saparatas those who will work today from thosa who will not. Today Is my third cllly at Labor Ready. Having come twice In the last - k without getting one of the scare. work assignments the Chapel Street oflloe receives dally, tw come even earlier, but ptOapecta look doubtful. Already, saveral people are Nated lmpetlantly. Jn the waitIng area. Two hope~ are asleep; others pass the time by watching the 1Y In tile comer, drinkIng old coffee, reeding the stray newspaper left In the office from yesterday, going In and out of the office for cigarettes. Luckily, the TV offers ample amusamenta. WTNH, ABC's N- Haven affiliate, broadcasts live n-• for the first hours of the waking day. Dr. Mal, the station's chipper meteorologist, cornea on (as promised) every ten mlnutea with an updated forecast. Sho-rs, It seems, are the order of the day.
8:57AM Behind the Imposing gray desk alta Chris, the Chapel Street office manager, taking each Infrequent phone call with the same monotonous greeting: " Thank you for calling Labor Ready, working savan days a weak." Besides me, he Ia the only white person In the room, somehow out of place In his shirt and tla among the dingy and dozing. He Ia like a machine. Bearded, stout and sickeningly comfortable In his rolling chair: the object of our simultaneous hope and despair. He an.-rs the phone alertly, regardle. . of the hour; dodges evan the most respectful Inquiry Into the day's proapecta; tells us to finish the pot of coffee before he will head to the supply room for another filter. As the hours pus, Chris's 7:28AM On any glv.en day-Labor Ready's work weak "begins on Saturday and ends on Frlday"-two or three new faces will appear among the regulars, who can be expected to show up at 5:30 on the dot, regardleaa of thalr dally claims to be finding steady' jobs. And yet, w. are all, n-comers and regulars alike, dressed atmllarly: feded, paint-stained pants, worn work boots, baseball caps, white and gray khlrts. We form an odd chorus line. rocking back and fOrth In the plastic white patio chairs arranged In rows, gossiping about new work ......,._,ts, looking nervously over our shoulders at the boss' every movement.
rehearsed -Jcome becomes a kind of deceitful mantra, promising hope to the Ng8l' llatanara hanging on every wo'"but ~ t.w jobs In return. Working aevllft_.,dliya • -et, ng saven days a wealc. f Charles GlbiiOn and ot.nne S8wyaf from Good Morning Af1!lll!Ca ara-cltacU. .Ing a rMent study by the Yale School of Man.gement
tf.at
shoWs an unprac:edel\tad wave of~ anger. Charlie looks lnt~»'h ~ ~ confidence, holding my gaze. Such findings, according to him, are surprising, arriving alongaide an all-time low In unemployment among Amerlean workers.
Temporary Insanity
worker gets paid, and tell the workers what to do. According to branch managers, most New Haven clients are small businesses, though larger ones, like Yale, which uses Labor Ready workers for housekeeping, come calling as well. But where do all the workers come from? New Haven is home to two of Labor Ready's over 6oo storefronts. One is located on Grand Avenue right down the street from a homeless shelter. The second-the Chapel Street location-was opened to attract those who spend their nights on the Green. The official corporate literature covers up their workers' situations with statements like "Whether you're off for the summer, worlcing part time, or just want to make a few extra dollars on evenings or weekends, we can make it happen." This list of categories did not appear to fit any of the workers I saw. Labor Ready's public relations department may have the luxury of harboring such intentional misconceptions, but the local New Haven management do not. As former branch manager Norm Slifkin put it, "the majority of the people working here are hand-to-mouth." The new Chapel Street branch manager, Chris 18
Peterson, put it even more blundy. "Ifl need 100 people here on an hour's notice, I can do that," he said proudly. "How?" I asked. "Easy. Call the battered women's shelter." Along with using such vulnerable people comes the temptation to exploit them--even beyond the fullest extent of the law. A recent Department of Labor investigation of a Labor Ready branch in New London resulted in nearly s1o,ooo in fines for rune violations, including failure to pay wages on time and charging illegal transportation fees. In only the first half of this year, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration has investigated eleven accidents at Labor Ready and filed 23 reports on the company. Despite facts like these, which might suggest to the uninitiated that Labor Ready treats its workers-or "raw material" as a recent Forb~s company profile put it-like, well, raw material, the: branch managers I spoke with claim quite the opposite. According to Southern Connecticut District Manager Bill Welch, "Other operations that do what we do treat their workers like din. They have bulletproof glass up and the workers push the paperwork
THE NEW JouRNAL
1:31AM
Mr flrat visit, I !WC811 now, was "rlly similar, gettklg me little other than tour hours In en uncomIDrtable ch8lr, bed c:oltM .net some angry convwutlon. After showing two forms of Identification, and completing the brief openbook Nfety quiz from a bulky Ubor Reedy binder-with Instructions c:orwenlently In English .net Spenlan-c:.m. my flrat Introduction to the clrMded Labor Ready walt. Mit's 811 a game," a long time temp expl81ned: wean you walt longer then the nigger sitting next to you?" Quntlonlng the walt, It ...ms, Is fu111e: Rule 11 of the tour cardln81 Labor ANdy ruleâ&#x20AC;˘Don't tell me how to do my )ob"-iMans that pllllntive Inquiries about Job sites, wortt . . .lgnments, end availability, will not be tolerated. Still,
Reymond, the man sitting to my rlgh1, yells over
Ills shoulder: "Yo Chris, -
gonna work today or whet? Shltl" Hours or prospects do not change here at Labor Ready, only the day. As Chris him-
Mit will tell you-ftpe8tedly-4he jobs are not his lo -.lgn. All he can do Is respond to the calls he Neelves.
10:09AM Controversy. An office manager In Hamden has called and asked for thr. . workers to come and move furniture. A mlnu1e later, he calls back, and his mind has changed: unhappy with the Labor Reedy workers he employed the previous week, he only wants two now. S..n and another man stand up and pick up their belongings, eager to begin work, only to IMrn that Chris has chosen two men who came In later. Donning their extra-
large blue Labor Ready t-shlrts, the two lucky ones walk hastily out of the room. Frustrated and tired, - all sit back down, not quite surprised. Chris has been known to choose his own personal favorites over those with, say, bad breath or hostile attitudes. On Llvef wfth Regia and Kathie Lee, Miss T"n USA, a recent high school graduate from Del-are, announces to the world that she strives to combat teenage drug use and, eventually, help bring about world peace. She plans t o
12:01 PM Besides me, two other people are left. AI, a prematurely graying man In h is early forties with whom I've been taking smoke breaks outside, says he's had it. "Fuckln' A, man. Same shit everyday. I've had It, you know what I'm saying? These people rob you, you know what I'm sayIng? I've had it. I'm going to Hamden, get me a real job." I nod my assent, end try to forget that this Ia the same speech, nearly verbatim, that AI gave me yesterday. We walk back Inside, and AI goes to the rear to retrieve his bike, which he says Chris only reluctantly allows his to leava In the office. Only one parson, Sean, still remains, nodding oft every so often and then shaking awake wilh a violent jerk. I take one final look around the office, holdIng the door open for AI, surveying the colored signs lining the otherwise plain office: " Are you a Premium Worker? " one asks. Most alarming Is a sign adjacent to the fingerprint-smudged six foot mirror, from which I can see a blurry reflection of myself: " Wou ld you hire this parson?"
study economics next year.
by Ronen Givony
under it. We're concerned about our workers. We give away free cof-
fee and provide an open, airy space." Still, the walls of the open, airy, bulletproof glass-free space are covered in signs with respeccful words of encouragement like "You are terminated if you tell me how to do my job." I understood why this m ight be such a common problem only when I saw the manager assign work seemingly at random, completely disregarding the order in which people showed up and signed in. Another demeaning sign rests above the coffee maker: "If you cannot clean-up after yourself then you will not be able to consume food or beverages here in the building. labor Ready provides coffee for you the workers, it is a privilege that can be taken away if you can not [sic] clean up after yourself [aic]. There will be no excuses, if you have any questions please ask a member of the Labor Ready staff." Despite the errors, the worken pour their coffee with paranoid care, their backs to the manager, never knowing whether he's watching or not. It is interesting that a company which demands that its workers sh ow up every morning at six makes such a big deal out of its generosity in bestowing cofSltPTEMBER 10, 1999
fee and non-dairy creamer. Other signs are merely short, emphatic Statements, such as "INJURED WORKERS WILL BE TESTED FOR DRUGS AND ALCOHoL!" If Labor Ready were as concerned about its workers as it claims it would test them before sending them out-and not make the safety quiz open-book. D espite its meteoric rise, Labor Ready remains out of sight and therefore out of mind to all but the poorest and wealrhiesr among us. While its C hapel Street storefront is only half a block from the Yale campus, it is well-known to the homeless bur rarely noticed by studen ts. Hedge fund managers, though, have taken an interest in Labor Ready, known as "LRw" on the New York Stock Exchange. Of late, Labor Ready, Inc. has become the darling of rhe business press. A glowing article appeared in Forb~s last year declaring "Labor Ready finds work for felons, drunks and homeless people. No,' it's not a charity. It is a real business." Businesswuk likewise hailed the company-though in a more restrained manner-with the parenthetical praise that it was "(nonunion, needless ro say)." And just last month, Fortune named Labor Ready the seventh fa.nest19
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growing company in America. Peterson too seemed aware of his company's corporate prowess. "This company reminds me a lot of McDonalds," he said with pride. Indeed, the xo-year-old Tacoma-based company employs over half a million people each year, easily making it one of the largest private employers in the country. By contrast, its better known Seattle-Tacoma area neighbor (and fellow Chapel Street resident) Starbucks employs only 26,ooo. Labor Ready, which anticipates revenues in excess of $1 billion next year recently jumped from the NASDAQ to the NYSE, where it has been a favorite ofWall Street. It was recently picked by Kiplingn-'s as a "Smart Move for 1999" because, as a stock analyst told the publication, "the trend toward outsourcing continues to be very powerful." The quotation echoed a Labor Ready manager I talked to who bragged that "we're growing and everyone else is downsizing. And if you get downsized, where else can you go?" What is so cunningly twisted about Labor Ready is that it both feeds off this trend and contributes to it. A firin that finds its worlters in homeless shelters depends on a lack of decent jobs for unskilled people, and yet, simply by existing it helps eliminate any remaining decent jobs for the unskilled. In fact, Labor Ready's corporate literature all but tells companies to downsize their least-skilled employees. "We pay all taxes and insurance," a Labor Ready brochure crows. "You are no longer obligated for: Health Care Premiums, Life Insurance Payments, Pension Plan Deposits [or] Paid TuneOff." The brochure does not say "you will not be obligated for," but rather you will "no longer [be] obligated for," assuming that until Labor Ready is called in these workers have health coverage, pensions and the like. Needless to say, Labor Ready will not provide these benefits for the employees. No one will, and therein lies the savings. As more and more people are downsized and replaced with Labor Ready temps, the ranks of homeless and impoverished-the very people Labor Ready places in day jobs--grow. The only way homeless people or battered women will escape their situation is through decent jobs which give them the financial independence to better their situation. Labor Ready both makes sure such jobs become fewer and fewer and THE NEW JouRNAL
uses the desperate populations the destruction of such jobs creates. This cycle is unstoppable, as Peterson explained: "Say the government starts requiring employers of more than ten people to provide health care." This proposal is not so hypothetical: a similar one was part of the 1992 Clinton healthcart plan. Presumably this policy would be enacted to counter the corporate war on worker benefits which Labor Ready is at the forefront of fighting. By passing such a law, the government would provide health care for millions of uninsured workers at large companies. At least it would on paper. "How do you get around it?" Peterson continued. •catl up Labor Ready," he says-and replace your full-time staff with temps. It was easy to see how this theory was put into practice when I spoke with James, another young black man at Labor Ready. James had first come to Labor Ready six months ago. The company placed him in a temp job with a company that liked his work and decided to hire him. Only six months later he had been downsized and was back where he started, at Labor Ready, working one day at a time for low pay and no benefits. With a service like Labor Ready around, many companies have no reason to give out steady jobs. Still, those companies deserve our deepest sympathies, according to Peterson. "It's hard for companies to make money. It really is," he told me as he looked out over a room of people who had been waiting for three hours to find a day's work. But Labor Ready is not one of those companies in dire straits. Its unique ability both to contribute to and benefit from the economic and social degradation of America's cities has kept its profits growing and its stock price rising. Senator Phil Gramm once observed that "if America is to be saved, it will be saved at a profit." That may or may not be true. What Labor Ready makes certain, however, is the reverse: ifAmerica is to be ruined, it will be ruined at a profit. li1J
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21
SEATrLE-pudgy and midsprang for a shiny new pair of MOMO .....,;~~ ••,.....,"' wheels for his otherwise run-of-the-mill Acura. I usually ignored customized cars, despite the countless times I'd watched some souped-up Honda or Mazda fly down Elm Street, determined to get through the Yale campus as fast as possible. Those cars, with their noisy mufflers and deeply tinted windows, were worlds apart from my neighbor, with his prim house and trimmed hedges. Customizing a car seems to take a considerable bit of inside knowledge. I can't just go down to Sears and pick up a couple of racing wheels while my tires are being rotated. So what's the appeal? Wheels are wheels, as distinctive from one another as pots in a kitchen: ·some are shinier than others. Customized cars seem tacky and self destructive; my high school classmates and I had watched in horror as a friend "raced out" his Honda Accord by lowering it, drilling holes in it, painting the whole thing silver and plastering it with decals. · Looking for an explanation, I found myself in a tiny tint shop at the corner of an empty lot in Hamden. It drew me in because it also advertised motor-sports, and I was hoping to find, afrer a little exploration, a performance Civic being tuned, or a giant gold-plated Cadillac having a new muffler installed. But it was a small place. A really small place. I stepped inside and found myself in the garage, where two men with spray bottles were installing tint on a two-door Dodge Neon. Though it was a garage, someone with domestic instincts had tried to create a waiting area, setting out two chairs and some magazines by the door. This small space was filled by two young girls, poured into striped tops and tight black pants. Apparently, the one clutching the huge set of keys with the glow-inthe-dark key ring reading "sEXY" owned the Neon. NEIGHBOR BACK HOME IN
CUC:-at~~ed.·-JUSt
BOYS UNDER THE by Bill Bascus 22
THE NEW joURNAL
I had a feeling that the tint shop was not the type of place I was looking for, although tint was a good start. The place sold alarms, 10 I asked to have a look at some systems that could speak, thinking they would be a pretty good addition to a souped-up car. One of the installers, still holding a spray bottle, started to show me, but jUSt then, a man in an overcoat carrying an armload of stereo boxes stuck his head in the door, and asked if we could "use anything today." My guy with the spray bottle took a look at the man in the overcoat, looked at me, and then said back, "Sorry man, not today." back on the bus to Lanman-Wright before I realize why a stereo, alarm and tint store would not want the man's stereos.
rm
S
lNCE THE BASS-PUMPING SPEAKERS of these cars can often be heard before the car is seen, I checked out a real stereo shop farrhcr up Dixwell, with a little more success. Sam, the owner of the shop, was an excitable guy who had been installing stereos for a lrhile, but was most proud of installing a bomb detecting system in a car years ago. I was a little disappointed that the only project in the shop's prage was a Dodge Caravan waiting for a radar detector. Still, he showed me pictUreS of cars he had worked on, some of which were downright impressive. He flaunted a photo of a Honda Prelude whose back seat had been replaced with speakers twice the size of Illy head. The trunk was filled with amplifiers and other stereo equipment, all mounted and displayed under plexiglass. The amps &ot so hot that they had to have their very own ventilation system. I found what I had come to see when I convinced Sam to take llle into the demo room where I could listen to some of those siant speakers. Sam preferred to play jazz, but at my ~uest, we sampled a CD of his entitled "12. Bass Hits."
OOD ~BERI0, 1999
That's how I learned that even a song called "The Bitch Role" (as in "everyone's gotta play the bitch role") could be beautiful if it could be played loud enough. The glass walls shook violently until Sam jumped to move a speaker. In sound competitions, he told me, people have to hold the car windows in with towels to keep them from exploding from the pressure. ETROIT HAS TO WORRY ABOUT HOW THEY SELL A CAR. but just about anything you do to your own car is completely legal," said an amateur racer who had come to eat at the restaurant where I parked cars. He was more into NASCAR-type competition, into horsepower, engine noise and size. He drove a Mustang that had apparently been souped-up quite a bit. I decided that it must have been in the early stages of enhancement since I had a hard time keeping it running while I parked it, so I don't know if I completely trust the advice he gave me. I was skeptical when he suggested I paint a scuffed bumper with a can of spray paint. I did, and although I followed his Miyagi-like instructions (sand, wash, sand, wash, ad. naus~am), I came out with a runny, bubbly mess that only vaguely resembled the shape and color of my bumper. I ended up having to get the whole thing repainted, which cost far more at that point than it would have had I taken the scuffed bumper to be fixed. So I cettainly didn't believe the racer when he said putting a tank of nitrous oxide in the trunk of a car not only makes the car go faster, but is also legal. Nitrous, which gets you higher than a kite at the dentist's office, did turn out to be legal. Still, it was hard to find car-
(( D
customizing hobbyists and good informacion in conventional car places. I was sure the people who spent their working days under hoods would have something to say about customizing cars. Instead, at Brandfon Honda in New Haven, the Service Rep looked around funively before talking to me-as if hearing me talk about having my car lowered would make every customer want their cars lowered, too. No, he couldn't help me, but if I really wanted to know about performance cars, he knew what magazine I should get.
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Super Strut: The Compact/Import Performance Car Magazine, while rather technical in some areas ("We extract x.oG h~dlirtg from an '89 Civic," April '99), could still interest the beginner. It was the kind of how-to magazine that made me thirlk that maybe I should add an aftermarket steering wheel, or pull out my back seat to save weight. What I realized while flipping through the pages of custom wheels, tires, exhaust manifolds and driving lights was that while I hadn't found a place where normal cars went in and sleek customized cars came out, these pages of equipment were the source of these cars. It W¥ kind of old fashioned; the hand-made parts are mail-ordered and hand-installed. To create a car like this took time, space and a lot of knowledgeable friends. So I hadn't been completely successful in my search. I decided to chalk myself up as the hopeless outsider who would never understand completely this world of cais. It was kind of ironic-the cars were so loud, so flashy-yet so hard to find when you ·''"set out to look for them. 1111
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THE NEW JouRNAL
Very~ Like a C
\IV hale
by John Swansburg, Jr.
Greek orator, in our century this man proSome days ag<rvided poets and the students of poetry with never mind how many precisecoffee. Approaching this familiar locale, ly-having a little money in however, my eyes met with quite a surmy pocket, and a little time on my hands, ~ -- ¡ prise indeed. I knew the familiar sellers I thought I would go purchase a coffee. It is of coffee in New Haven: the aforemena way I have of driving off the spleen, and tioned Atticus; Duncan Donut, merchant ~ating the circulation. Whenever I find of a simple but tasty beverage and inventor of a myself growing grim about the mouth; whenevpiece of fried dough, circular, with a hole in the mider it is a damp, drizzly September in my soul; when I find myself involuntarily falling asleep while the sun 1;:.s. . . . . . . dle and a handle for dipping; and Willoughby, a Connecticut Yankee with a blend as strong and bold as his business DOt far past its noon pinnacle in the sky, and especially when the sense. But I cannot well describe my surprise when off the starboard weight of my responsibilities becomes so great a load that I feel even side of Atticus' walls I spied a name I knew well: Starbuck. the shoulders of Atlas himself might buckle under such a pressure, I was familiar with the exploits of this Starbuck from a fascithen, I account it high time to get a coffee. With a philosophical nating account of his actions as first mate aboard a ship, named the ftourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly imbibe a cup Pequod, by one Herman Melville. Truly a fascinating document. of java. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, Why, then, stood I so transfixed by the name I saw there in a green almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very contrasting Atticus' vermilion? Well, Mr. Melville has the good nearly the same feeling toward that magical bean with me. Circumambulate the city of New Haven of a rainy Tuesday Starbuck drowning with the rest of the Pequod's crew at the end of his vast and exhaustive account, the victim of Moby Dick and the afternoon. Go from the comer of Elm Street and York and from Captain who hunted that huge white whale. there southward, to another corner, that where College and Chapel I resolved to research this Starbuck and his biographer Melville. Stteets converge. Go eastward to Whitney Avenue and, a step or It seems that the man I took to be so meticulous a chronicler in fact two to the south again, to Audubon Street. What do you see?made many grave and outrageous errors in his account. hundreds upon hundreds of men filling the sundry coffee purveyThrough the perusal of several pertinent documents-docuors in the city, indulging in caffeinated reveries. Some holed up in ments perfectly available to Mr. Melville, documents left untouched dark corners sipping still darker brew, some, beturtlenecked, sitting by him either out of incompetence or indolence-! discovered, with mannequin stillness in a street side window, some reclining astonishingly, that the albino whale chronicled by Melville haunted like Romans on deep sofas, some walking and quaffing simultanenot the Atlantic, but rather breached and spyhopped off the coast OUsly, risking a stain and a sting if a wave of that scalding beverage of Chile. So remiss is Melville that he even mismonikers his whale: breaks like a swell over the side of dueling cardboard cups. the whale's name was not Moby Dick. No, for when first that white It was in an effort to emulate these masses that I encountered fluke saluted a pair of human eyes-surely sending the owner of that most impudent and curt retort with which I began, and now I those eyes nearly over the side of his crow's nest in stupefaction-it find myself quite unable to shake its din from my ears when thinkwas off the coast of the Mocha Islands. The crew of that ship had ing on coffee matters: Call me back. Yes, these were the words, the honor of naming the white whale Mocha Dick. This mistake uttered in a most frustrated tone, by one I had heretofore esteemed appears all the more egregious when one considers that Melville visquite highly. It happened thusly: I had been endeavoring to begin ited Chile before writing what I had taken for an accurate account, this, my latest coffee consumption, making my way to a renowned but which was in fact so rife with incongruities that it could be Idler of the bean, a seller by the name of Atticus. Named for the ALL ME BACK.
Iierman Melville had his eye on Starbuck's exploits long before we did. SIIPTEMBER 10, I999
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called a yarn, a yarn worthy of any of the in the store proper. He gave me the num&quod's company. ber and a quizzical look that I resented. Convinced of Melville's incompeThinking his demeanor unfitting of sometence, I was thus assured that New Haven's one in the retail business, I decided not to newest coffee trader was indeed the former purchase a coffee and quickly exited so as first mate of said P~quod as I had suspected, to expedite my telephoning of Mr. though I was unable to turn up any docuStarbuck. ments which confirmed that he had Made all the more curious by my visit escaped watery peril, either via rescue by to his shop, I telephoned Starbuck forththe Rach~/ or otherwise. To learn of his with. A harried voice, sounding a bit escape and investigate his strange switch younger than I had expected, answered the from harpooning to percolating, I resolved phone: "Starbucks New Haven." to visit Mr. Starbuck. "Good day, M r. Starbuck," I cheerily Entering Starbuck's new digs, I mused began, "I do not mean to take up too much that perhaps the switch was not so strange of your valuable time, but I am what you at all; coffee is an exotic libation, growing might call a f.ut of yours. I wondered if you most prosperously and deliciously in the cou1d recount for me how it was you climes a veteran salt knows well. Knowing escaped the sinking of the P~quod. That Mr. Starbuck to be saltier than . . . . . . . . . . . . . .: Melville character sure has the story wrong. And I am fas.Lot's wife, I was not awed by the fact that his nautical cin ated by what has life seemed to be brought you to stamped upon his become a seller new one: even the of... " emblem of his cof"What?" feehouse features a "I have read ship's masthead. of your exploits, The selections of Mr. Starbuck, in coffee, their names Herman Melville's spelled out above rather shoddy... " the store's counter, "My name is read like a whaler's Billy Hawthorne, I am passpon (had whalers carthe owner/operator of ried such documents): Starbucks New Haven. If "Columbia Narino Supremo," you are interested in finding ... " "Arabian Mocha Java," "Sumatra," and "I can understand your desire to use a even one named after that bane of the pseudonym, to put your past behind you, ancient mariner, "Siren's Note Blend." By Mr. Starbuck, but ... " far the most prevalent word to be seen on "My name is Bill, bud, not Starbuck." the menu, however, was "mocha." "You are not Starbuck, former first Starbuck, though now safe on land, clearly mate of the P~quod?'" was still haunted by that fateful attack by "Listen, I am a very busy man. I would Mocha Dick. I pitied the man. be happy to talk to you about our new At that moment I was jarred from my Starbucks location in New Haven, but ruminations by the green-aproned young you're going to have to call me back, I am man behind the counter, whose name tag late to a meeting." showed that he, like the coffee, had foreign "New location?" origins, though Pierre's were presumably "You're going to have to call me back.â&#x20AC;˘ more European. "Can I help you with any"But you are not ... " thing?" Pierre asked. I asked him if it might "Call me back." be possible to speak with the proprietor of And with that he hung up the phone. the store. "Why, is there something wrong, Call me back! Why, Hagar's son would sir?" the young man responded, apparently have felt more welcome in the tent of troubled by my request. I assured Pierre Sarah! My astonishment as a result of his that I merely wanted to meet the man. impudence, his absolute disregard for my Somewhat reluctantly he informed me that inquiries, was only outdo~e by my shock at the store's owner was most easily reached the fact that this man was not Starbuck at via telephone, and that he was usually not all, but just some money grubber looking
THE NEW }OUllNAL
to double his ducats using the good name of that honest sailor. The imposter! The charlatan! The confidence man! For quite a while I was rendered immobile by my discoveries, but soon my ire spurred me into action. I had to know more about this Starbuck's operation. New ~ location? Are there others? Why nad no one discovered this fraud? What I discovered knocked me to the deck. There are nearly 2,000 Starbucks in the United States alone. The corporation is larger than Mocha Dick himself and is stalking complete control over the coffee trade as obsessively as Ahab himself pursued that whale. And just as a humpback whale, utilizing that mysterious wall, the baleen, devours millions of krill in one fell swallow, so has Starbucks consumed its competition. The irony! to use the first mate's name to conceal the captain's heart! It is a subterfuge both sickening and dark. We must not let them succeed. Some cities have resisted: Nantucket and New Bedford have not succumbed. Let us once again follow the lead of those bustling pon cities! Muster up a militia Willoughby! Form a phalanx, followers of Anicus! Koffee? turn your interrogative into an exclamation! I have done my pan. In the darkest hour of the night-Jonah! it was· darker than the innards of the Leviathan-! drulked to Starbucks' storefront and nailed a sky-hawk to that false masthead. May Starbucks' share of the coffee trade sink like the ill-fated Pequot/ and may Starbucks llleet poor Starbuck's fate. IIIJ Czwat LectQr: Whik the statistics cited in tl,is artick art true, the convma1Wns art imagined. Do not malte the sa1m mistake the 114rraror tbes: Pierre and Bi/Jy Hawthorne ~fictitious characters. -]RS Jr. }.hn Swansburg, a senior in Saybrook Colkge, in an associate editor ofTNJ.
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~ERIO,I999
27
Murder Under the Elms Harvard author Pamela Thomas-Graham takes a stab at writing a Yale murda mystery. by Anya Kamenetz
Blue Blood: An Ivy League Mystery Pamela Thomas-Graham (Simon & Schuster, 1999), pp. 285.
P
THOMAS-GRAHAM employs an intellectual setting to lend gravitas to a thin plot, in her book Blue Blood: An Ivy League Mystey. She exploits popular attitudes about the Ivy League: a mixture of envy and admiration. But Yale students looking for a trashy, escapist read will find that Blue Blood won't take them very far. Harvard BA, MBA and JD Pamela Thomas-Graham demonstrates limited knowledge of both Yale and mystery writing in her caper. This book is only the second of what she plans as a series of whodunits, each set at a different Ivy League school. Our victim, conservative Yale Law School professor Amanda Fox, young, blond and gorgeous, like so many of our faculty, is found stabbed ro death in a poor black neighborhood. One of her black students is immediately thrown in jail. Our heroine, Nikki Chase, a Harvard economics professor who like so many of her colleagues is young. black and beautiful, rushes to comfort the victim's husband, her old friend Gary Fox, dean of Branford College. C hase hasn't been cured of her habit of interfering in official police investigations after successfully resolving a case at Harvard only months before. Here in gloomy New Haven, she quickly finds ... things are not as they seem. Agatha Christie it isn't. Not even Sue Grafton. The novel's victim, Amanda Fox, owes her fame to being "a beautiful, smart, AMELA
truly conservawoman tive being as rare as a canine who can speak." The same could be said of the author's own success. As the jacket photo and bio attest, Thomas-Graham is an attractive, young African-American woman who holds multiple Harvard degrees and is the first black woman to be named parmer at McKinsey and Company, the world's largest management consulting firm. Her accomplishments are so impressive that evaluating the book on its own merits seems mean-spirited. Nevertheless, it must be observed that as a writer of prose or architect of plots, Thomas-Graham makes a damned fine management consultant. Her penchant for cliche dictates her choice of diction, character, situation and setting. The plot points of the mystery can be summed up in a few well-worn phrases which all appear in the text. The murder investigation quickly becomes a "racial powder keg" ignited by a charismatic local minister, "a masterful imitation of Al Sharpton." Was Amanda Fox a victim of a "random street crime"? Or was it a "coldly calculating strategy session" by the "Barbie .. .lacrosse-titute" who was sleeping with her husband? Was it the "twisted revenge" of a spurned lover? Or perhaps she was a "pawn" in the "power game" played by the eccentric "low-class
hillbilly millionaire brothers on the Yale Board of Trustees to cause her husband to commit "career suicide." T he possibilities are limited. "For a H arvard professor, you've been incredibly stupid," the m urderer tells Nikki in the final confrontation, and the reader has to agree. Her method of crime-solving involves going places alone with suspected murderers and annoying them by talking about the crime until they hand her clues on silver platters. She then repeats these pieces of information to everyone she runs into, as though they were revelatory. For example, we get to hear four or five times that a typed suicide note is probably forged, and that a white man wearing makeup could appear to be black. Who knew? The police, meanwhile, ignore these obvious pieces of evidence because they have a black man in jail, apparendy with no lawyer. A common story of race and justice in America. To her credit, Thomas-Graham aims higher than the gut in this novel, raising questions of prejudice and social division. The Yale-New Haven setting provides pertinent examples of the uneasy relations between the overprivileged and the underprivileged. The author plays up the ironies Yale students encounter every day as we hurry past two or three homeless people on our way to Sterling. THE New jouRNAL
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The book's social message, however, is gloued over by the general shallowness of the writing. Despite an overheated riot ICale on Cross Campus (broken up by tear ps!), very little seems to be at stake. There ia nothing in the novel to chaUenge those who consider themselves reasonably enlightened on the subject of race or class. Thomas-Graham misses the opportuaity to throw w off the trail of the mystery by violating our liberal assumptions about who is innocent and who is guilty. We bow the cute young football star will wind ap cleared of his professor's murder, and dae zealous minister, though fiercely prolleetive of his parishioners, is ultimately on the side of justice. All the good guys have CIDrrect racial attitudes, and all the bad guys • theN-word to telegraph their malice. l;anhermore, Nikki's race never hampers ~ investigation; in fact, she is able.to use it as a kind of backstage pass to get the truth out of both wary New Havcnites and University liberals. The author's reliance on easy, positive l'lcial stereotypes as substitutes for characterization is grating at times. Nikki receives Yital assistance in her investiption from Pearl and Marva at the beauty parlor; l.taggie, her chicken-frying landlady; and lay, the wise West Indian cop. The entire 'West Indian dialect used by the author CIDftlists of a single syllable: "Mon." Nevertheless, the most offensive lllaeotyping the reader will encounter in this mystery is of Yale and New Haven lbemselves. In the book's acknowlcdgllents, Thomas-Graham thanks seventeen people by name who helped her create an llltbentic picture of Yale. In an interview IIOicM on the Barnes and Noble website, llae states that she spent an entire semester ~ng down to New Haven and "poking -.nd." This extensive research yields -.ny correct references, from Atticus to 'tVoH baked ziti. There is also a hilarious llaJ confrontation with the murderer set at ie top of Harkness Tower.
s..n..au 10, 1999
But like the Cantab she is, ThomasGraham can't resist the opportunity for an unAattcring comparison or disparaging remark: "At its heart, Harvard's campus exuded an all-American simplicity, functionality and optimism, whereas this place, in its soul, seemed quintessentially European: sophisticated, ornate and worldweary." It is hard not to take umbrage at backhanded comments about the "oppressive grayness and squalor of New Haven," with its "constant rain," "rows of boardedup buildings" and "deserted streets." These arc the kinds of characterizations that determine the university's public perception. Parts of the book, in fact, seem to be taken dirccdy from news coverage of the murder of Suzanne Jovin. There is the same shock, anxiety and feeling of invasion expressed by Yalies, the same deluge of accusations and speculation by the local press, the same unwillingness by the Yale administration to comment on anything related to the murder. The existence of our own real-life murder mystery has no doubt been a boon to sales of this book. In an online interview given in June, Thomas-Graham works this connection to the fullest. She cites the 1991 murder of Christian Prince as one of her "inspirations," rubbing it in with the remark, "unfortunately, they [Yale] have had several episodes of students being crime victims." She brought up the Jovin case as well, mentioning "some incredible parallels with my book, even though my book was written before it occurred." In fact, the parallels, other than timing and setting, arc hard to see. For those of us who experienced the Yale community's grief last spring over the loss of one of our own, mentioning the case seems offensive and exploitative. Linking Blu~ Blood with any real tragedy, despite making a good angle for book publicity, lends the book more substance than it deserves. 1111 Anya Kszmmaz, a sophomo" in Davmport Col/eg~. is Circulation and Subscriptions Manag" for TNJ.
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by Ian Blecher
A
tO the late Joe DiMaggio last March, a nation's tabloids were already training their suggestive gaze on his home life. The Yankee Clipper's death practically resurrected Marilyn Monroe. And for what? My friends, it was to stand in judgment of an American hero's sexual stamina. It seems poor Joltin' Joe couldn't make much of a spark in the bedroom. Scores of papers dredged up Oscar Levant's 1955 quip on Monroe and Dimaggio's one-year marriage: "It simply proves that no man can be great at two national pastimes." DiMaggio, for his part, longed for a more traditional family where the woman didn't work (or require sexual satisfaction); he despised Marilyn's many gentlemen admirers. DiMaggio's tolerance for wives had apparently declined since his marriage to actress Dorothy Arnold (though she at least had quit her job). But even that hadn't lasted long, either. As Time described it in 1946, "Four and a half years, two trips co Reno, and one child." And what a child! A sweet little mama's boy named Joseph Jr., whom everybody calJed "Joey D." A kid who would have traded all Joe Sr.'s titanic exploits for a real father. Yes, I'm afraid the Clipper was almost always out to sea. As theN~ Yt1rk Post put it, "Although [DiMaggio] was baseball's brightest star, he never had time to play catch with his kid." And as usual, amidst eulogies for his father and replayings of "Mrs. Robinson," :ilmost everyone forgot about little Joey. If it had not been for the vigilant bribery of /nsitk Edition, the public would never have heard his side of the story. Deborah Norville scooped it straight out of a trailer park. Joey was barely 57. but he looked old enough to be his father. His nose glowed red against his white crew cut and pale cheeks. He was sitting on a stool outside his mobile home, next co a pile of trash. And though I don't recall exactly what he said, his voice quavering. it was something along the lines of, "Surprisingly. I'm pretty happy here." That alone might have been impressive enough. But what really hit home was what he refused to talk about. His estranged wife and her two daughters, for one. His father, too, for the most part. Joey D. had been a pallbearer at the funeral. He'd loved his father, he saidbut they hadn't seen each other much. He supposed Joe Sr. was disappointed in him. What was he doing. the heir to a fortune, working in a trash heap? "I don't rt"ally want to talk about it." Only then did Deborah throw us a real curve: this junkyard dog of a man, it turns out, attended Yale College. What happened? There was never enough room for Joey in the mansions of his youth. He was born in 1941, the year of his father's 56-game hitting streak. His parentS were divorced by the time he was three, and even before that, they hadn't been much of a family. After the break-up, little Joe was sent off to boarding school, then military school, and
30
S A NATION TURNED ITS LONELY EYES
back to boarding school. He finished at New Jersey's prestigious Lawrenceville Academy and entered Yale in 1961, where he seems to have had a relatively unremarkable freshman year. In 1962., feeling inadequate, he dropped out and joined the Marines. During this period, h.t and his new step-mom, Marilyn Monroe, became almost indecently close Qoe Sr. is said to have been jealous-which was almost certa,inly the desired effect). Joey called her collect practically every day. They s~ke three times, in fact, the day before she died. Her death devastated Little Joey, according to the Post. It completely foiled his uncommonly strong Oedipal complex; he'd failed to keep his mother alive, and his father's giant stature still loomed above him. In 1968, he reluctantly accepted some help from daddy and surrendered to domesticity. Joe Sr. set him up in the polyurethane foam business (one word, son: plastics). Soon afterwards, Joey married Sue Adams. Still crippled by self-doubt, he failed at both marriage and business with prodigious speed. He was drinking a ton, and occasionally indulged in speed. He would come home drunk and beat Sue bloody. He soon struck out in the foam business, and was divorced in 1974Even when Joe Sr. was dying. he refused to visit him. Big Joe's cousin SteUa told reporters Joey wanted to go, would have gone, even, if only his father had invited him. But the Yankee Clipper did not invite him. He died without saying good-bye to his life's greatest disappointment. Joey didn't emerge again until Jnsitk Edition found him early this year. Joe Sr.'s death seemed to reopen the possibility of life for Joey D. He was talking about maybe going back into business, quitting alcohol, and putting his life back together. Things were really starting to look up for Joltin' Junior. But Joey D. was unable to exorcise the specter of his father. A few months after he resolved to resuscitate his ambitions, he was still living in a trailer park. still drinking and still reclusive as ever. That was where be died, on August 9th, scarcely five months after Joe Sr. The causes were "natural." Acute asthma, the doetors said. But as his ex-wife told the SAn Diego Union-Tribune, "I think he just gave up." With Joe Sr.'s death, Joey D.'s existence was finally his ownand aJ1 he could do was give up. He ruined his own life, one suspects. as an elaborate revenge against a distant, intimidating father. A lonely death was all that was left to him. He'd refused his old man's "traditional family." In this, at least, he was a srunning suc-cess. 1111 Jan Bkcher, a senior in Davenport Co/kg~. is a managi~g editor of TN].
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