Volume 32 - Issue 2

RageAgainst the Machine Jim Newton wants to clean up Cl.tY hall , but is his . own house in order?

PuBLISHER

David Slifoa EDITOR- I N-CHIEF

Michael G"lmMANAG I NG EDITORS

Jan Bkcher; Daniel BTr)()k DESIGNER

Nicholas }itkoff PRODUCTION MANAGER

Eric Rnthfodn BusiNEss MANAGER

Navin Manglani PHOTOGRAPH Y EDITOR

AndmuYoun

AssociATE BusiNEss MANAGER

Makiko HIITUnari AssoCIATE EDITORS

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Advisors Richard Blow • Jay Carney • Rich:ud Conniff Ruth Conniff • Elisha Cooper • Lawen Rabin Stnen Weisman • Daniel Y<tgin

Frinu/s Sreve Ballou • Anson M. B<ard, )L • Blair< Bcnncu Edwozd 8. Bcnncu, j L • Edwozd 8. Bcnnm !U Paul S. Bcnncu • Gerald Brudc • 8atban Burrdl Jay Carney • Daphne OIU • Josh cmn jonothan M. Oark • Constane< Clement • Elisha Cooper Ptter 8. Cooper • Andy Coun • Jcny and Rx Cowt M.asi D<ruson • Alben j . Fox • Mrt. Howard Fox David freeman • GcoftTcy Fri<d • Anwo Gandan Sherwin Goldnun • David GJCCnberg • Tom GOg$ Sorphcn HeUman • )one Kamcnsky • Broob Kdlcy 1\op Kirwood • And«W j . Kuzncslri, )L Lewis E. Lehrman • jim ~ • E. Nobles ~ Hank Marui>adt • Manha E. Neil • Ptter NciJI Howard H. Newman • Scan O'Brien • ju!K Pttcrt Lewis and Joan Pbu • josh Pbu1 • julio Pmcon Lawm Rabin • Faitfax C. Rancbl • Rollin Rigs MMk Rindb • N'JChobs X. Ri>opoulos • Snwt Rohm Arleen and Arthw Sos<r • OX:k and Debbie Scart Ridwd Shidds • W. Hamp<oo Sides • U.. Silw:rawl Elizabeth and Wdliam S. . . • S...,..

Elizabeth Tate • Alex and 8cuy Tordlo • Mdiooa T AIIcD and Sanb Wucldl Daniel Yergin and Ang<la Srmt Yap

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Gecko · 239 Crown Street · Downtown New Haven 203.865.2400 • www.geclconightclub.com Must be 21 · Prope, ett/,., please

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THE NEW JoURNAL

TheNewJournal

Volume 32, Number 2 October 15, 1999

FEATURES 8

Cop/Killer c...An FBI rtport suggests two mm w"e framed by a local drug bossand a poliu tkuctive.

by Jessica Bulman

12

Out of his League (jeorge W. Bush was expected to go to Yak, but did it live up to his expectations?

by Seth Brown

16

Analyze This In a city with so many th"apists, why is it so hard to see one?

by Ronen Givony

20

Newton's Principles c..:J,1ayoral candidate jim Newton restores competition to New Havm politics.

by John Swansburg

25

Shots in the Dark: Common Folk

by Shruti Adhar

28

Breaking the News 71Jhat the News sus fit to print?

by Anya Kamenetz & Jada Yuan

STANDARDS 4

Poiau of Departure

34

Essay: Crystal Oear by Carty Knecht

36

The Critical Angle: WWJD? by Alan Schoenfo/J rtvitwint For Commo11 Thi11fS, Jedediah Purdy

38

Eadaote: Lcam-o-toons by Matt Wittk

1ia Na Jouuw. it publiahcd 1M ttma dwinc cbe ac:adanic yo~ by Tto Nnr jouuw. at Yak. Inc.. 1'0

Bos )4J> Yak Sarion, Nnt tu ..... CT o6sw. Offia add.-: >S2 M SauL Phoee (ao,) 4J1' :t'~ All cotu~na coprricJI• 1999 by Toa N., jouaNAL • • Yak, Inc. All Jtichcs Racrd. R.:producrioo eirbn 10 tobok or ia pan without wrinm punusAon of cbe publitacr and a!itor ill chief it prob.biud.

- - dais mapzin< is publish«~ by Yak Colkv srudcnu, Yak UIIJ>'Uii!Y is no< raponsibk for irs co11tmts. ~n thousand 1m bwadml copies of ach ~ aft distribured free m mm~bat of cbe Yak and Nnt ~ commun•IY· SubKnprioDS Oft amiable to thOK ouaide cbe ua. Raca: OM yo~, SJ8. Two S)1. Tm N'"' joUIN.U is prinred by Imprint Prinu"Co Nonll H.a.al, CT; bonkhcpinc and biDU.c an· ~rt P'O"i<l«< by Colman Booldccepi.Dc of New Haven. THI Nll'W jouuw. ~couraccs letters to cbe ed•tor and co~JUMJ~u on Yak and New tbVCII iuucs. Wnte to Editorials, )4)> Yak Sation, Nnt HaVCII, ~10. All lencro for publ~aoon must ind~ addrao and tiputurc. Wt mcn'e cbe ricJit to edit all letters for publication.

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High and Dry In the early morning ofTuesday, August 31, Richard Guy, a physics major at the MassachusettS Institute ofTechnology, was found dead in a friend's dorm room. Guy had been inhaling nitrous oxide from a garbage bag when he passed out and feU face first into the bag. After continuously breathing in pure nitrous oxide for several minutes, he asphyxiated himself and died.

The two friends with whom Guy spent that morning--one an MIT senior and the other a recent graduate--currently face charges of possession with intent to distribute marijuana, amphetamines, psilocybin mushrooms and nitrous oxide. These charges could land them in prison for the better part of their lives.

In the wake of Guy's death, controversy has ensued in Cambridge.

In "oAMJT-Orugs at MIT," a pamphlet published and distributed on the MIT campus shortly after Guy's death, an anonymous author decried MIT's drug policy and called for a new awareness of student drug use and the creation of an open dialogue on the subject. Citing a recent case in which a student was left unconscious at the emergency room door by students fearing repercussions from university authorities, the author writes, "Neither of these events should ever have occurredpeople need to know how to be safe if they choose to use recreational drugs, and people need to not fear legal repercussions if they're saving the life of someone in danger." The author goes on to detail the chemistry, effects and dangers of the most commonly-used recreational drugs, ranging from cocaine to cough syrup.

The events at MIT reflect a drug policy debate that is raging on college campuses across the country. At Yale, however, that debate appears to be virtually nonexistent.

The absence of dialogue on the issue is all the more troubling in light of the University's liberal and open approach to alcohol use and abuse.

The contrast is most evident in the curriculum of the freshman orientation program given to every Yale student upon arrival in New Haven. During the first days of school, in the midst of nightly fraternity 4

parties and widespread binge-drinking, every freshman sits down with other students and spends several hours listening to their counselors, security officials, peer educators and various other arbiters of their innards. The most prominent aspect of this curriculum is alcohol.

Yale avoids preaching about University policy and focuses on trying to promote safety and responsibility when students drink. Binge drinking, date-rape and alcohol poisoning are included with various other alcohol-related issues. Counselors and other officials continually emphasize that there is little reason to fear disciplinary action by the University if a student drinks responsibly. This virtual immunity even extends to students who are taken to University Health Services because of overconsumption.

This tacit approval of alcohol consumption, and even occasional over-consumption, comes as no surprise. Drinking is ingrained in the very fabric of Yale life, from social-drinking on the weekends to Tang, Mory's and other classic, uue-blue traditions. The University's realization that students will drink regardless of rules allows for a constructive dialogue which transforms the issue from a legal one to a medical one. Policy is designed accordingly, aimed at promoting responsibility and ensuring the safety of students who drink.

Yet even a well-informed freshman counselor had little to say on the topic of drugs. It was absent from the mandatory orientation programming, with the exception of a list of Connecticut drug laws in a xeroxed packet. The Und~rgraduate &grtlations say nothing about illegal drugs other than that "the unlawful possession, use, or distribution of illicit drugs on University property or as part of any University activity is prohibited."

Obviously, these materials educate freshmen in neither the health-related nor disciplinary consequences of drug use at Yale. Questions such as how a student is treated if taken to UHS for a drug overdose were never even brought up, let alone answered-and ignorance of these issues can only lead to problems.

Despite the unbalanced treatment of alcohol and other drugs in freshman orientation, University officials take similarly liberal, medically-oriented stances. "Our concern is with the health of the students and it is the same with drugs as it is with alcohol," said Dean of Student Affairs Betty Trachtenberg. "If a student has a drug overdose and is taken to the hospital, the main concern is with the health of the student-same thing with alcohol." While Trachtenberg recognized the legal impHcations of drug use, she continually emphasized that the University's policy on drugs focused more on the student's well-being than on punishment. "It's a grave health issue, and it's a grave legal issue, but we are not running a police state." Unfortunately, the benefits of this approach to drug use lose their effectiveness when virtually no one knows the policy. In the eyes of students, the omission of drugs from the orientation program implies a forbidden status, forcing the issue out of the realm of open dialogue.

Little will come of the University's drug policy if it remains veiled in secrecy; omitted from orientation programming as if taboo. As events on coUege campuses across the nation have shown, draconian drug policies and srudent ignorance do very little in the way of prevention or safety. For Yale students, a liberal underlying policy is in place. Unfortunately, only University officials seems to know that.

-Dan Kurtz-Ph~lan & judy Mi/kr

A Spiral in Time Freshman year, Andy Simon (BK 'oo) wrote an EngHsh paper that became an analysis of the author's geometry of time. A budding math major, he realized that all of his classes, regardless of subject matter, were variations on one theme. He and roommate Teru Thomas (BK 'oo) likened the unpredictable, yet steady patterns formed by their education at Yale to the spiraling of a solenoid-the geometric shape of a slinky.

"We had no idea what shape our revolutions would take, just that we had to keep the wheels turning," Sinton explained.

THE NEW JouRNAL

.==~:] "' Their sophomore year, as items were moved from Berkeley to Swing Space in preparation for the college's renovation, Sinton and Thomas found an old Berkeley printing press block with tablet type placed to read Spira~ Lucis ~ritatis, Sodalitas So/enadiorum Colkgii &rltkiani, or "The Spiral of Light and Truth, The Berkeley Solenoid Society." Finding no official documentation of its existence in Berkeley College records, let alone any indication as to what the Solenoid Society was, they surmised only that members must have sought truth outside the Yale curriculum's offer* ings.

The new Berkeley Solenoid Society continues the tradition of providing a forum for students and faculty to discuss interestS they pursue outside of class.

In an armosphere very much like that of a master's tea, and indeed sometimes unintentionally catered by Yale dining services-like when members swiped brie from the Berkeley rededication ceremony--guest speakers discuss whatever interests them, ranging from international politics to the physiology of scuba diving.

Other eventS include Yale's largest independent student art show and the society's trademark: Thursday games of midnight croquet.

"The game has no rules," said Ashley Adams (BK 'oo), the society's Director of Spacial Manipulations. "You're supposed to play it, but it's more about the conversations than about winning or losing." The unstructured aspect of the game became a problem last year in determining the outcome of the society's one "away" game. In a less publicized and much darker Harvard-Yale game against the crimson â&#x20AC;˘Mr. J's Midnight Croquet," each team claimed victory. Thomas won the game, but the Cantabs boasted greater all around strength. Sinton shrugged. "It was an illdefined game," he said.

In its search for other opponents, the

Berkeley Solenoid Society has come up shon. While the Elizabethan Club is reputed to play a fierce game, their style of croquet might not mesh well with the late hours and makeshift course of the Berkeley team. And the Solenoid Society is not prepared to compromise. Between the hour!> of twelve and one on Thursday nightFriday morning-participating members do more than complete a game of croquet. "Our course is more solenoidal," Sinton explained.

"Every week we complete one cycle in the infinite solenoid of life."

Last year, Sinton and Thomas did not miss a game, braving blustery New Haven winters, late-night downpours, and even some less-than-natural disasters. There was, as Sinton told me proudly, the occasional bitter cold night when the hearty mallet-wielding gamesmen were accosted by sprinklers. They played every time, though Thomas did admit that such obstacles gave new meaning to success in croquet. "Basically, it meant we didn't stumble or pass out," he said.

The core members of the Solenoid Society-Adams; Thomas, the Society's Moral Conscience; Sinton, the Director of Revolution; Chris Hillar, the Director of Mathematical Proof; and Andrew Faehnle, the Director of General Mischief-are Berkeley seniors, and thus far no one has stepped up to fill their shoes. But the Berkeley Solenoid Society, according to Sinton and Thomas, transcends time.

Decades from now someone might learn of its existence, and reestablish it just as they did two years ago. And the possible break in the weekly croquet schedule? Not a concern. As Sinton pointed out, "The Solenoid Society doesn't need to manifest itself in croquet. It just does for us."

-Sydnry uavms

Phone Home With a new coat of baby blue paint on the living room walls, all looks well in a house on Crown Street occupied by five friends.

It takes time to notice one peculiarity: the inordinate number of power sockets in the house--16 in the living room alone. In the basement, there is a phone board with 14 phone lines, with names such as Ed, Poky and Clam scribbled on it as well as the cryptic phrase, "Nice job, Cush."

"I personally think the house was something... fascinating,'' says current resident Brian Mullin (oc 'm).

Alexandra Cox (BK 'm), also a resident, heard something more definite.

"People have come up to me and said, 'I heard your house was a brothel.'" Cox also noted that when she called SNET about their phone service, they told her that the house's account was tremendously long536 pages to be exact. Mullin speculated that the house may have been used for phone sex.

This year's residents are not the first Yalies to live in the two-story white house. -.

Students have lived there for the past four or five years, according to the house's landlord Frank Maselli. However, last year's residents never heard any rumors about the possibility of the home being a brothel.

Dargie Anderson (BR 'oo) thought the house had been an office, and Ellen Gilman (sR 'oo) heard it was a nursery.

In December of 1991, Maselli bought the house along with the neighboring property, which now houses his auto care shop. At the time, Yale's School of Epidemiology and Public Health (EP&H) was renting the house. According to Maselli, EP&H soon outgrew the building and moved out about a year after he acquired it.

Roberta MarineUa, who has worked in the epidemiology business office since 1988, confirmed that her department had used the house and moved out a few years later.

"We rent off-campus space for some non-lab research, conducting phone research and surveys," says Marinella. The particular house on Crown Street was used

5

to call pregnant women and ask them about their habits with regard to alcohol and caffeine., with the go~ of documenting the brutal effect of these habits on their babies. In other words, they made good use of 14 phone lines without ever once having phone sex.

So: case closed?

"Yeah, it was a whorehouse," says "John," an employee of Yale University Dining Services. "Let's just say, if you had some ladies, and you needed a place, that house was somewhere you could go."

Yale students did not move in until at least the fall of 1995, leaving four years unaccounted for.

But if it was a brothel, it certainly was a quiet one. During the four-year period, the New Haven police were called to the house only once. In the middle of a March night in 1995, someone had tried to remove the front stairs of the house. According to the police report, the suspect tried to move the stairs so that he could remove -a vehicle that had been towed earlier that day by Maselli's business.

Whether or not prostitutes frequented the house on Crown Street is unclear. But what is clear is that whatever did happen was certainly weird.

-Alexander Dworkowitz

Dances with Indians On September 14 at the Shubert Theater, Peter Buffet debuted Spirit, his ambitious musical that attempts to blend many types of Native American powwow dancing with contemporary Western dance, music, and themes. Spirit follows one man as his alienation from an impersonal modern society compels him to take a journey into the spiritual world of Native Americans. The show spans from precolonial North America to the arrival of Christian missionaries, and culminates in the main character's understanding and reclaiming of his Indian heritage.

Chief Hawk Pope and four Native singers complement the journey with the pounding drums and songs of powwow music. Each dance in the musical symbolizes key historical developments; the choir that accompanies one of the dances symbolizes the influence of Christianity, while the sudden mixing of dancers or change of musical styles represents cultural blending and assimilation. As this man becomes 6

more involved in the dances and finally accepts the invitation to JOln the omnipresent drum, the musical score blends modern bongos and percussions, electric and bass guitars and electronic keyboards.

While Spirit emphasizes a journey to rediscover the Native American experience, the show uses both Indian and European dance and music. This blending provoked interest from several Native American students at Yale. Sophomore Nelva Cervantes and I, both Native Americans, attended Spirit to see how well it captured the Native American experience.

Cervantes, a Mescalero Apache, said, "I think it was billed as being tr-aditional Native dance and music and it was represented as that. But they made these overwhelming generalizations encompassing all Native peoples, and it was silly. I hope people don't think of Native American culture as being one thing, as something that's static and stuck in the past." ¡ Cervantes asks why this nineteenth century image of the stoic Native is not updated. She wonders why natives need to be transported into the past in order to be better understood in the present. "[The show] uses powwow dancing, which is contemporary," said Cervantes, "but Spirit portrays an Indian identity in this Plains Indian stereotype ¡ that all Indians rode horses and lived in teepees. Spirit has a lack of understanding of the diversity of traditional Native cultural beliefs."

Ironically, Spirit opened at the Shubert only two days before Schemitzun, the East Coast's largest annual powwow and gathering of diverse Native communities from Indian nations across America, Mexico and Canada. This event, located at the Mashantucket Pequot Reservation near Ledyard, Conn., attracted drummers, singers, dancers, artists and rodeo cowboys, as well as Native and non-Native Yale students.

For two long days of competition, hundreds of the world's best powwow dancers competed in categories for each style, age group and dance type. Nearly fifty drum groups representing their nations surrounded the grass dance arena and provided rhythm and song for the different dances. Each day's grand entry, which customarily acknowledges the tribes represented, featured several hundred dancers entering the arena to the beat of

resonating drums.

The image of Apache dancers captivating a crowd with their talent and fluidity stood in stark contrast to Spirit's flashing spodights, loud electric guitars and oversimplified narration which condensed Native American philosophy into simplistic sentences. The crowd at Schemitzun of several thousand during the two days ranged widely in age and ethnicity, but shared an outward appreciation for Native culture by respectfully acknowledging moments of prayer and traditions.

Last April, Yale hosted its own authentic celebration of Native American culture, a po~ow, organized by the Association of Native Americans at Yale (ANAAY). There are approximately 30 Native American students involved in ANAAY. Corning from upbringings ranging from reservations to urban environments, these students have histories and personalities that are as diverse as those of students in any other ethnic organization on campus.

The powwow, which attracted dancers, singers and vendors from the entire Northeast, accomplished one of the current goals of the Association-reflecting the diversity and complexity of today's Native American culture. The powwow made students and community members aware of authentic Native culture and, of ANAAYS growing presence on campus.

The Yale powwow and Schemitzun both recognized that the Native American experience cannot be condensed into a musical narrative of history. The Yale powwow brought authentic songs and dance competition to the school community and Schernitzun represented scores of nations as unique groups and cultures in their own right. On the other hand, it lacked an indepth perspective by broadly sampling Native elements of dance and music. These two authentic powwows show how the Native American experience is more complicated than its representation in Spirit.

Perhaps Spirit misrepresents Native Americans because it assumes that there is only one true Native sputt.

-jordltn Gonzaks

Snoop Dogs Watching 1V and moviQ, it is difficult to pinpoint the ethos of the police dog. Could a dog as wrinkly as Hooch really help solve a caper? Can the acute nose of the Basset

THE NEW JoURNAL

Hound help in a high-speed car chase, and

if not, why did Flash ride shotgun with Roscoe P. Coltrain? Would Scooby have worked such long hours if it were not for Scooby Snacks? The Canine Training Center, located at the State Police Compound in Meriden, is where dogs learn to take a bite out of crime and where the layman can learn all there is to know about canine crimefighting. The walls of the compound are lined with plaques, trophies and pictures of graduating classes of officers and their quadrapedal partners.

Interspersed with portraits of officers from all over the country, are pictures of units from across the globe: Greek German Shepherds, Egyptian Labrador Retreivers, and Chilean Sabuesos de Sangre.

Training is held twice a year, in the fall and in the spring. The 540-hour course is attended daily by dog and handler. About 108 teams attend each training session.

Currently, 63 State Police and 37 Local Police teams are being trained. Hades has its Cerberus, and when training is over the Department of Corrections will have 20 new (one headed) employees. Yet, due to its intense nature, 50 percent of the dogs will not make it through the course, nor will 30 percent of the humans, making a Yale education look like a cake walk---94 percent of Yale students graduate within five years.

Currently in their fourth week of training, the dogs are practicing obedience skills and beginning to learn specific ~ponses to situational stimuli. For example, in an exercise for patrol dogs, the dog is taught to chase a threatening person and pursue them into a building, by recreating the situation and giving the dog feedback for his behavior. This exercise is specific to patrol dogs, the most visible type of police dog. Patrol dogs, which were originally Bloodhounds but are now primarily German Shepherds (the breed featured in the Jim Belushi great, K9), are trained in areas such as "obedience, obstacle work, tracking, building search, handler protection and evidence recovery,'' boasts the Canine Unit's informational materials.

The Center also trains specialty dogs for seem work. Dogs are trained to sniff OUt narcotics and explosives, and can be USed in search and rescue operations, along 1rith disaster work. In fact, the Connecticut Stare Police Canine Unit recently responded to a call about a lost four-year-old girl and promptly found her at the bottom of a

OcroaER. 15, 1999

nearby pond and rescued her. Labrador and Golden Retrievers, initially bred to retrieve dead ducks, are most commonly employed for this type of rescue.

The dogs are all pure-bred and are of varying ages and sizes, though they are predominantly male, since males have proved to be more suited to this type of worksadly there's not a Lady for every Tramp.

The dogs are obtained in a variety of ways.

Local breeders donate som e of the dogs, as do overwhelmed families (Benji was certainly a handful now and again, as was Beethoven). Some dogs enter the center at age eight weeks, some at age four years, but the age range in the training session is about two to four years old. Dogs can work until they are about ten years old before they are compelled to retire. The brochures didn't mention a pension plan.

The bond between the handler and his dog is a unique one. Here fiction and nonfiction overlap: few would deny the powerful link between Lassie and Timmy, Columbo and Dog. The handler is taught to address the dog in either very high, positive tones of encouragement or low, negative tones of reproach. Hand motions are also used to give orders. Dogs see everyone but their masters as civilians, and are highly defensive of their handler. Any action seen as aggression toward the handler is responded to immediately with growling and what the trainers call "bite hold." This is a defense mechanism in which the dog sinks his teeth into the aggressor and holds him there until he is told to release.

With this kind of close contact, one would expect dogs to be injured often, yet the opposite is true. Dogs are rarely killed in action and seldom harmed. Moreover, the dog provides a preemptive defense for the handler. Handlers are less often confronted or endangered while on patrol than other officers. Dog and handler work together in a union as sacred as that of the tragically short-lived relationship between the Fox and the Hound.

But this relationship is not for any dog-or for any human. To be qualified even to enter the rigorous training program, an officer must serve with the state troopers for 2 years and pass the same testS of health, mental well-being and physical strength that dogs must-but they have to do it on only two legs.

-julie Saitman

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J

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Seychelles 1020 Chapel Street New Haven 498-2626 across from old campus lOam to 6pm M toW & Sat lOAM to 7PM Th Noon to 4PM Sun MCNisa/Amex

7

An FBI report

su~~ests

two men were framed by a local drug bossand a police detective.

0

n October 11, 1990, a bullet to the head killed Ricardo Turner. His lover, Lamont Fields, was killed by two shots in the back. Within 15 minutes the police discovered the bodies. Within seven months, Scott Lewis and Stephan Morant were convicted of the double murder and began serving rime for a crime they say they did not commit.

Certain facts of the case are uncontested. The shootings, which occurred sometime after 4 AM in Turner and Fields' 634 Howard Avenue apartment, were a result of New Haven's thriving drug scene andits economy of competition and debt. A former city alderman, Turner had started dealing cocaine when he lost his seat in the rnid1980s. According to friends, he believed someone in his Hill neighborhood drug circle was stalking him and feared for his life in the months leading up to the murder.

On October n, his fears were realized. A neighbor recalls hearing muffied voices arguing. followed by what she inirialJy took to be someone hammering nails, and then the footsteps of at least two people running from the building.

Authorities maintain that these footsteps belonged to Lewis and his accomplice Morant, but Lewis continues to proclaim his innocence from a cell at the Cheshire Correctional Institution, where he is serving a 12.0 year sentence. Unsurprisingly, the state and Lewi~ tell very different stories about Lewis' activities on the day of the murder.

The state's account is based primarily on the testimony of dten¡ teenage drug dealer Ovil Ruiz: around midnight Lewis, Morant and Ruiz were loitering on Clay Sueet in Fa.ir Haven when Frank Parise approached them. An Italian drug boss, Parise ran a thriving cocaine operation our of Branford and hired young blacks and Latinos--among them Ruiz, Lewis and Morant-to deal for him on the street. Parise spoke to the men about Turner and left, at which time Morant yelled, "Get the guns. We're going to the Hill."

Before driving to New Haven's blighted Hill neighborhood, the uio smoked marijuana and drank in an after-hours bar. Around 4 AM, they arrived at Turner's apartment and Lewis and Morant entered with revolvers, while Ruiz remained in the car. Gunshots sounded, and Lewis and Morant ran from the building with a Puma gym bag and a bank deposit bag. As Ruiz drove the men back to Clay Street, he heard them comment that they had done "what they had to do."

Lewis does not deny that he dealt cocaine for Parise. But he tells a different story about his activities on October u: Lewis says 8

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an all-night =h job ft>< the company" "' Minuteman Press, and witnesses suppc\rt his account. j s, an athletic black man, 2.4 years old at the time, loved Jhf work at the printing press, even though it Raid only $Wah e had learned the trade at Eli Whitney Techri1C3f5di00t'in New Haven and had worked for several presses before Minuteman hired him in the late 198os. In 1989 Lewis found a job that paid much better, earning up to $4000 a week, or sometimes even in a single day: dealing cocaine. But Lewis continued printing--he enjoyed the work and believed it kept him "legit."

Jeffrey Rochler, the owner of Minuteman, has called Lewis "a dependable employee who did a better than average job as a printer." And, Rochler says, Lewis was at the press when the double murder occurred. According to Rochler, the only rime Lewis left Minuteman Press on October n was at 1 AM when he went home to eat. Upon his return at 2., Lewis stayed at work until 7 that morning. Other co-workers confirm this account.

But the jury didn't believe Lewis when be took the stand and relayed this timetable of events. They believed the state. Lewis was, after all, a drug-dealer with prior convictions for robbery and narcotics possession. Why would the jury members believe his account he

H

THE NEW JouRNAL

over police statements, believe his testimony over that of a state witness?

The jury might, however, have asked why Lewis's co-workers at the Minuteman Press were never interviewed by police. Rochler asked to make an official statement, but police never acknowledged his request. RochJer did receive an unofficial visit from Police Detective Vincent Raucci who said not to mention their meeting.

Or the jury might have wondered why the state never tested blood found in the hallway in Turner's building. Though police initially said the blood belonged to the killer, they later dismissed it as the victims' and ran no tests. The State also f.Uied to produce any fingerprints or other tangible evidence implicating Lewis.

The jurors might have asked themselves why they judged the prosecution's principal witness-<irug dealer and convicted criminal Ovil Ruiz-more credible than Lewis. Ruiz had a history of lying-he lied to get a f.U<e 1.0. and used various aliases, even with the police. While in jail Ruiz was heavily medicated on antipsychotic drugs, including Thorazine and Haldol. He told authorities that he saw a devil in his cell and heard voices, a complaint he later said he fabricated to be kept in sqlitary confinement. It is unclear ..,hether Ruiz was mentally ill or merely a masterful liar. Either way, he was hardly an ideal witness.

Finally, the jury might have wondered why the initial prime awpect in the murders was let go so easily. In November 1990, a trusted street informant told Police Sgt. Francisco Ortiz that Michael Cardwell was responsible for the double murder. Cardwell did indeed sell drugs with Turner and apparently owed Turner $48,ooo. But the police conducted only a perfunctory investigation of Cardwell. When he skipped town, authorities did not pursue

him.

Taken together, these faets cast significant doubt on Lewis and Morant's guilt. Why, then, were they convicted in a quick twoweek trial? Lewis has a theory, one supported by an FBI report released by the Connecticut State Attorney this September. Lewis and Morant were framed: framed by Parise, to punish Lewis, one of his dealers, for debt; and framed by Parise's partner-former New Haven Police Detective Vincent Raucci.

Born and raised in Fair Haven, then 34-year-old Raucci had police work in his blood. Upon graduating from high school, he followed the careers of his father, grandfather, uncle and great uncles and joined the North Haven Police Department. In 1981, New Haven police welcomed Raucci to their force. Raucci was an lgressive, street-smart cop who prided himself on using intellect and instinCts, not just intimidation. Well-liked in the community and praised by the police chief, Raucci was named Officer of the Year by New Haven's Cirywide Block Watch Association in 1986.

But in 1996, Raucci lefr the force, facing charges oflarceny and 0crosER 15, 1999

domestic abuse. While on the police force, Raucci received federal money to work as a security guard at a Newhall ville housing projeer for the elderly. During these hours he was actually meeting his girlfriend at the Hamden Howard Johnson's. The state found out the true nature of Raucci's "overtime work" and pressed charges.

Raucci was also arrested for abusing his ex-wife. Further police investigation revealed that he had been doing cocaine and frequenting drug houses. On April n , 1996, Raucci chose to retire and receive a disability pension of $2.8,ooo a year rather than fight the charges against him. But the charges haven't disappeared.

This past July, FBI agents arrested Raucci on the outstanding Connecticut warrants for larceny and domestic abuse. The first time the FBI came to his New Mexico mobile home, Raucci hid.

The second time, he surrendered afrer a four-hour standoff, and the FBI dragged Raucci back to New Haven, ostensibly to clear up the outstanding charges. But they had another motive: along with local cops, FBI agents planned to question him about the 1990 double murder.

Lewis had sparked FBI involvement in the case in 1996, while incarcerated at the Cheshire Correctional Institution. Federal agents spent a year investigating and conducting interviews, traveling as far as Arizona to speak to witnesses, resulting in a provocative report about the murders.

But the report gives no easy answers. Michael Fitzpatrick, Morant's attorney, says, "It's obvious the title 'report' is a misnomer.

It is really a series of interviews stapled together with a cover page."

To construct a coherent account of the murders, the reader must extract necessary information, piece together discrepant statements, and keep track of a cast of characters with names like "Bullet" and "Mac Tonight." Despite its ultimate inconclusiveness, the FBI report contains powerful evidence, evidence that could possibly free Lewis and Morant and land Raucci in jail for life.

Take, for example, the claims of several wimesses that Raucci coerced them into giving false statements. New Haven cocaine dealer Hector Ortiz says Raucci forced him to give a statement against Scott Lewis in return for protection from another criminal charge. Ortiz gave the statement in Raucci's police car, with Raucci turning off the tape recorder to coach him. Raucci also pointed out the pieture Ortiz should seleet on the photoboard of suspectsScott Lewis'. On the stand at Lewis' trial, Ortiz refused to repeat the statement Raucci had taken, declaring that Raucci had coerced him. But the jury didn't believe Ortiz. He was, afrer all, a youpg drug dealer wanted on other charges.

Ortiz was not the only wimess pressured to give false testimony. Another man tells a similar story-Raucci, he says, forced him to give a fabricated statement implicating Lewis, which he delivered, with coaching. in Raucci's police car. And a young woman 9

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She never would have walked Howard Avenue at 4 AM. A teenager at , time, the young woman signed the false statement because Raucci intimidated her.

The FBI report teems with other information casting doubt on Lewis' guilt.

Friends ofTurner say Lewis and Turner did not know each other, and five witnesses vouch for Lewis' alibi. These employees of Minuteman Press confirm that Lewis was with them on October n for the phone company's rush job and voice their surprise that police never officially interviewed them. They do, however, recall that Raucci unofficially interviewed Rochler. One employee recalls Raucci ceiling Rochler that he would keep the visit a secret "if he knew what was good for him."

A motive for the framing emerges from other interviews. Parise, now serving a zo-year sentence for dealing cocaine, states that Lewis owed him $18,ooo in drug debts, and Lewis says that in January 1991 Parise told him, "Vinny wants his money."

Lewis had heard that Raucci was a "dirty" cop, but he didn't know Raucci's first name and thus did not equate Raucci with "Vinny." At his arrest in April 1991, Lewis says Raucci taunted, "You should have never stopped selling drugs in Fair Haven."

The most compelling statement, however, is that of the state's star witness, Ovil Ruiz. When FBI agents interviewed Ruiz in February 1996, he initially repeated the story he had told at Lewis and Morant's trial. However, after some prodding, Ruiz admitted that he "had not been completely truthful in his testimony." He tearfully disclosed a great fear of Parise, and an even greater fear of Raucci. When FBI agents said they weren't aftaid of Raucci, "Ruiz began crying more forcefully then, losing his composure." Finally, Ruiz. said he had been "living for five years with a terrible secret which he could no longer contain:" Lewis and Morant were innocent.

Ruiz maintained that the details of his testimony were crue, save for one key substitution-he had changed the names of the murderers. Frank Parise had set up the double murder. Lewis and Morant had nothing to do with it.

10

dence to implicate Raucci and set Lewis and Morant free.

Local authorities disagreed. Following a brief interview with Raucci, Police Chief Mel Wearing denounced the FBI's investi" ~cion and stated his confidence in Raucci's . ; "" innocence. The U.S. Attorney's office in Connecticut argued that the new evidence wasn't strong enough to implicate Raucci. yJ Ruiz lied once, they asked, why should his recantation be trusted? Indeed, this question seems justified by the final page of the FBI report, which contains an interview with Ruiz a year later, in February 1997· In this statement Ruiz recants yet again. He declares that Lewis pressured him to lie to the FBI, and he did so out of fear. Ruiz maintains that his initial testimony-that According to Ruiz, Parise and his drug which he gave at the trial of Lewis and circle punished debtors differendy from Morant-was the cruth. other drug lords. Rather than killing these Local authorities conceded that Ruiz.'s fmal, and also first, testimony might not be street dealers, they had them set up and completely true, but they maintained that sent to jail. But Parise needed a cop to facilitate the setups. Raucci fit the role perits essence was trustworthy, and they voiced · support for Raucci. Local authorities were fectly. When pressured to make a false statement, Ruiz remembered all too well also no doubt influential in allowing Raucci's return to New Mexico. His bond Raucci's pointing a gun at him ax'td saying.

"I can kill you and get away with it." was lowered from $450,000 to $5o,ooo, and outstanding criminal charges were disRaucci relied not only on intimidation posed. Raucci flew back to New Mexico a but also on his self-proclaimed instinct and wiles to plot the setup, says Ruiz. Worried free man. about Ruiis credibility, Raucci ordered But while Raucci may be safely out of him to shoot a competing drug dealer. state, his name is going to be tossed aro\lnd in Connecticut courts a lot this year. The Raucci would then arrest him, and Ruiz would cut a deal with police-to reduce his double murder is not the only case that involves Raucci as a major player or that own sentence, Ruiz would provide inforcasts doubt on Raucci's character already mation implicating Lewis and Morant in tainted by a criminal record of larceny and the double murder.

Ruiz's recanting of his entire testimony domestic abuse.

Just last month, for example, Raucci forces reconsideration of Lewis' and Morant's convictions. With the prosecuwas mention ed in an oral argument pertion's only real witness declaring his taining to a 1997 rape case. It appears account false, the defense has a clear case Raucci, the lead detective on the case, slept for a new trial. This, at least, is what fedwith the alleged victim. In fact, both the eral agents concluded this past summer prosecution and defense agree that he did. when they and local authorities sifted The only question is when. through the tangle of interviews attemptThe state claims that the sex occurred ing to reach conclusions. Federal agents two weeks after the rape and therefore is irrelevant to the case.

The woman's requested that a grand jury reconsider the upstairs neighbor, however, maintains that case, claiming that there was enough eviRaucci stayed with the woman the night of remembered the rape. This neighbor says she saw a11 too we11 Raucci's car parked outside the house all Raucci's pointing night, and in the morning the alleged rape victim apologized to her for any "noise she a gun at him and may have made while she had engaged in saying, •1 can 'wild sex' with Det. Vinny Raucci." ki11 you and get It is highly unlikely that a rape victim

away with it. •

THE NEW JouRNAL

would have "wild sex" the night she was raped, says Public Defender Lauren Weisfeld, who argues that her client was wrongly convicted of rape and deserves a new trial. The woman's sex with Raucci had not been admitted as evid~ce at the trial; federal law prohibits a w~man's sex life being discussed in a rape trial for fear that she will be branded promiscuous and a jury will be prejudiced against her.

Weisfeld, however, argued that the woman's sex with Raucci has direct bearing on the case and should be admissible. If nothing else, Raucci's relationship with the woman biased his investigation, and possibly led to the wrongful conviction of Weisfeld's client.

This brings the tally of men who attribute their convictions to Raucci's questionable actions to three, all of whom are currently motioning for new trials. As a state appellate panel considers Weisfeld's request for a new trial, attorney Michael Jefferson is petitioning for a new trial for Lewis, and Fitzpatrick is doing the same for Morant.

All three attorneys and their clients will have to wait months for court verdicts, which will determine only whether new trials are granted, not the guilt and innocence of participants. Says Fitzpatrick, "I'm on the edge ot my seat, and I'm in the middle of all this. You'd need a crystal ball to see how this will turn out."

Lewis' and Morant's motions for new trials are cettain to involve much courtroom drama. State forces will pit themselves against federal documents, as authorities with a vested interest in maintaining Raucci's credibility challenge the FBI report. The state has good reason to shield Raucci, who closed many cases as a detective. There are many people sitting behind bars due to his testimony. If Raucci is officially pronounced a parmer in a drug sydicate, the state will look bad, and the police department will lose respect and trust.

There may be other Lewises and Morants who will push for new trials. Who knows how many people Raucci may have framed, how many people are serving time for Wrongful convictions.

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George

W. Bush was expected to go to Yale, but did it live up to his expectations?

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uring an interview this summer in Austin, Texas, the Washington Post dropped an open-ended statement in the lap of George W. Bush (oc '68). "It's been expressed by others," said the reporter, "that you were turned off by the intellectual snobbery at Yale."

This topic is eagerly discussed by the current Governor of Texas, who never misses a chance to point out that he is not-and never has been-an intellectual snob. Or an intellectual, for that matter. "I've been turned off by intellectual snobbery most of my life," said Bush. "Because once you go to those schools and can compete academically, you realize that these people who think just because they went to one of those schools and can lord their intelligence over others, really are quite shallow."

When asked if he would call himself an intellectual, the 53year-old former oil industry executive and part owner of the Texas Rangers offers this response: "If I did, everybody who knows me would roar with laughter. I think you know I've been around intellectuals before."

Bush does not want to be branded an East Coast, Ivy Leagueeducated elitist intellectual. And in fact, he is not an intellectualat least with all the baggage that term implies. Bush's mediocre grades and lack of academic focus at Yale hint at an absence of interest in the world of ideas, and the Governor's recent statements have shown this to be true. The September issue of Talk magazine included an interview with Bush in which a reporter asked him if he could name something that he is not good at. Without hesitating, Bush replied, "Sitting down and reading a soo-page book on public policy or philosophy or something."

A copy of Bush's transcript (with grades blotted out) that was obtained by the Washington Post from the Texas Air National Guard contains a list of his classes, which are unremarkable by any measure. As a history major, he took a wide range of history classes, but other than a 12

few brief forays into anthropology, philosophy and Japanese (a course of literature in translation), his transcript demands no particular attention. Although Bush has asked Yale not to release his grades, we can surmise that they were weak. Maureen Dowd, a columnist for Th~ N~ York Tim~s. recently noted that w hile visiting an elementary school in Bedford, New Hampshire, Bush told a group of students, "Some people say that I proved that if you get a C average, you can end up being successful in life."

It is abundantly dear that Bush was not, is not, and will never be considered an intellectual.

But the charge of elitism--especially social elitism-is nearly impossible for Bush to kill off. Regardless of what Bush says, his money, his elite education, and his family and political connections have greatly defined his life. In reading George W. Bush's story, you realize that influence and connections were frequently employed on Bush's behalf. The Bush name itself-and lircle else--eventually allowed him to become a moderate success in the oil business. To a lesser degree, a similar story can be told about Harvard alum Al Gore. Even small town-born Bill Bradley-who graduated from Princeton-was the local banker's son. In a year when the three main contenders for the presidency are Ivy League graduates who were born with silver spoons of varying sizes in their mouths, it makes sense for Bush to pull a Bill Clinton and play, as much as possible, the average, hometown Joe. And calling Yale a tower of snobbery is a good first step in that direction. The only problem for Bush is that the Yale of 1968 was not a paragon of elitism or a bastion of intellectual snobbery. In fact, snobbery of any type-intellectual or social-was noticeably absent within the college.

Steven Bourke (oc '68), who lived near Bush in Davenpon for two years, remarks that, "I didn't meet an intellectual snob during the entire time I was at Yale. I came across m~y types of people, but I never met anyone like that."

After a shon pause, he continues, "In fact, snobbery--<>f any kind-was not .... George W. Bush on his father's shoulders.

THE NEW JouRNAL

by Seth

really an issue." Bourke grew up in a small town in Illinois, and was part of an early crop of bright public school students that Yale picked for their merits-and nor their connections-from across America.

In fact, even Bush's former roommate and current friend Frederick Livingston (oc '68), now a marketing executive in the media and cable industry, can't agree with the Governor on this point. "My personal view is that Yale was not an intellectually snobbish place. Certainly, then as now, there are some pretentious people there, but I wouldn't call it that."

I

t seems fair to say that Bush's statements about Yale are very skewed, and that Bush is offering the American people a distorted image of Yale in order to present himself in the most favorable light. An Ivy League-educated president is acceptable to the people as long as he either maintains a healthy and skeptical distance from his elite institution, or-as did Bill Clinton-hails from a genuinely poor and difficult background. Although we can't know exactly why the Governor ofTexas says what he does about Yale, it is worth trying to understand what Yale was like between 1964 and 1968. If Yale was not the four square blocks of intellectual snobbery that Bush makes it our to be, what was it? And furthermore, what role did Bush-and people like him- play in Yale society at the time?

"George W. Bush was part of the last Yale class before the deluge," says Jim Sleeper (oc '69), who writes about race and politics in America. "Everything was just beginning to change. When the class of 1968 came to Yale, they seemed to regard Yale as a continuation of prep school, but with ashtrays and fewer rules. They just didn't get it. They had already finished three-quarters of their education before the change-in America and at Yale--came. I saw them as unperturbed, unruffied seniors who were simply nor the bearers of change."

Sleeper's comments are borne o ut by the facts. In April 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated, students rioted and occupied campus buildings at Columbia and two hundred thousand students gathered in New York City to protest the Vietnam War. lbe middle of May saw an immense increase in the number of American casualties in Vietnam, and in June, Robert F. Kennedy "as assassinated. Later in 1968, a few months afrer Bush left New Haven, final plans were drawn up to bring the first women to Yale CoUege.

Without a doubt, 1968 was a tragic and explosive year. But

0cro&ER 15,

1999

Brow n

George W. Bush entered Yale in the fall of 1964, at a time when American involvement in Vietnam was limited, the drug revolution had not yet begun and life--for upper-class white families, that iswas still stable and relatively simple. Terry Johnson (oc '68), a roommate and close friend of Bush's from Yale, volunteers that Robert Dieter, another of Bush's roommates, calls that period the "happy days ... You know, like the TV show. Everything was simple then, before the whole situation broke apart."

Although Yale was relatively untouched by the changes that were beginning to ripple across the country when Bush arrived in New Haven during the fall of 1964, the college and the country itself were soon engulfed by the political tumult of the 196os. Jim Sleeper discussed the period in a phone interview, pointing out that "although the freshmen were dominated by the preppy ethos, the very ground was shifting under our feet. The whole culture of Yale and the country was changing."

The rapidly escalating war in Vietnam played a major role in this change. But although major anti-war protests had begun to take place across the country by 1967, and William Sloane CoffinYale's chaplain and a leader of the national anti-war movementwas arrested for aiding draft resisters during 1968, Bush has stated that "I just don't rem ember much protest ... But maybe I just missed it.

I wasn't looking for it." For whatever reason, Bush did not focus on the issues of the day. He remained part of the Yale he entered-the Yale of 1964-and was little influenced by the transformative medium that Yale quickly became.

I

twas through his social life that this scion of the wealthy, influential and politically-connected Bush family truly excelled at Yale.

Many recall that Bush was affilble and gregarious, able to move easily between and within varied social groups, and excellent at connecting with people on a one-to-one basis. By the time he arrived in New Haven, Bush already possessed the kind of people skiUs needed to succeed in politics. As Johnson explains, "George cut across a whole bunch of dividing lines-between jocks, and folks who were artistic. H e moved among different groups in a way not many did. In a class of 1,000, an average person might know 200 people, and 20 well. George doubled that." Bush's ftiend Frederick Livingston agrees, explaining that, "George was definitely one of the 20 or 25 best known leadership-type people in our class." He continues, pointing out that Bush was "exceptionally good on a

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one-to-one basis with people. The extent to which he was a leader was because of his personality, his ability to make others feel comfortable."

George W Bush has retained most of the friends he made at Yale. And he made a lot. Nearly everyone who knew Bush at Yale-even those who knew him in the most tenuous way-has something good to say about him. John Duff and John H. Hill, for example, the two freshmen counselors who lived in Lawrance Hall with Bush, were eager to expound upon Bush's social graces and personal charisma, even though neither has had much contact with him since leaving Yale 35 years ago. Both, however, had very recently become reacquainted with the Governor. Last month, Hill bumped into Bush while stepping out of a bathroom at Pittsburgh GOP fundraising luncheon. "Bush remembered me immediately. It was really amazing," he said. Bush's freshmen counselors must regard the Governor highly, because they both supported his campaign. According to the fundraising records that .Bush has posted on his web site, HiU gave $900 to the Bush campaign, and Duff contributed SIOoo, the legal limit for an individual.

Although Bush has distanced himself from the University, never attending a class reunion and refusing to update the class history, he has nevertheless remained close to the friends he made at Yale. Terry Johnson said that Bush "has been greatly involved with his friends, and tremendously loyal to his friends. That is very important to George." It is surprising that a man who made so many close friends in New Haven now stands apart from the University. When asked about his relationship with Yale by the Washington Post, Bush responded that "I love my friends at Yale.

But I was irritated at Yale because it took an act of Congress literaJly to get them to give my Dad an honorary degree. You bet. I just can't believe the university would not be bending over backwards to ... give this man an honor and treat him with the utmost respect." Though Bush may have been frustrated with Yale's treatment of his father, his distancing act began more than a decade earlier, after he lost his first Congressional race-in a rural district in West Texas--afrer being branded an overeducated "liberal northeast Republican" by his GOP opponent.

G

eorge W. Bush's list of activities at Yale reads blandly, and, characteristically, does not include anything the young Bush would have described as "intellectual." His record includes no writing or debating. AU of his extracurricular activities can be grouped into two categories: athletics and exclusive social clubs. He rushed Delta Kappa Epsilon (oKE) sophomore year and during his junior year was selected as its president.

OK£, for a number of reasons, merits special attention. Greek life on campus had been declining since before Bush arrived in 1964. As the percentage of public school students at Yale CoUege edged above 50 percent, the number of students who could afford the s160 annual fees for fraternity membership began a steep decline. At the same time, the ongoing transformation of the social fabric of the country, the rise of the civil rightS movement, and the Vietnam War drew increasing numbers of students away from the isolated world of the fraternities and into politics, debate and writing.

As Steven Bourke explained, "the fraternities' influence on campus began to decline very early. The acrual number of fratS did decline, but more important was the fact that from 1961 to 1969, the frats just kind of deflated. " During Bush's senior year, the fraternity rush season at Yale hit the pages of Tht New York Times twice. In October, the Times reported that Phi Gamma Alpha, one of Yale's six fraternities, would close because of debt and an inability to draw enough new members. Another fraternity president was quoted as stating that Phi Gamma Alpha suffered from "an exaggerated problem which plagues all fraternities here." He explained, " Fewer people than ever before can afford them, and fewer people want what they have to offer-which is perhaps frivolous diversion for bits of entertainment no longer very much in demand on the campus."

In late October 1967, the Yak Daily News published an article charging DKE and one other fraternity with employing "sadistic and obscene" mmauon rituals.

Apparently, DKE had applied a hot branding iron to the small of the back of its 40 new members that fall, leaving a scab in the shape of the Greek letter Ddta. By then a former president of the organization, Bush defended oKE's actions in the pages of The New York Times, explaining that the wound

THE Nsw JoURNAL

was "only [like] a cigarette burn." In the

end, the Yale Interfraternity Council fined DKB for its panicipation in initiation rituals that "violated the spirit of fraternity restrictions." The fact that Bush was willing to take a stand about fraternity branding rituals at a rime when many of his'<:lassmates were beginning to address more vital issues such as the Vietnam War and draft resistance is telling about Bush's priorities at the time.

In Skull & Bones, Bush found a safe haven for his senior year. The vow of secrecy the members of the secret society took allowed Bush to speak freely about his conserv2rive views at a time when the campus was becoming increasingly liberal. While his fellow Bonesmen included a student from Jamaica, an Orthodox Jew and a Jordanian, Bush was, by many accounts, a recipient of a legacy slot. Bush's father, George H. W Bush, and his grandfather, Prescott S. Bush-a Connecticut senatorboth were members of Skull & Bones.

Along with his father and grandfather, George W Bush also had four uncles who attended Yale.

A picrure begins to emerge. A thirdgeneration Bonesman with a multitude of rdarives who attended Yale, Bush was as much a part of the Old Yale social elite as one could be. His status as a social monarch and president of DKB can only add to this image. And yet, even though it is clear that Bush comes from this enormously privileged background, his public statements about Yale can only be seen as attempts to dissemble and disassociate himself from an intellectual elitism that Yale did not harbor. Perhaps Bush recognizes that Americans are often more comfortable accepting social and class-based privilege than even a hint of intellectual dirism. Ironically, the school from which be now distances himself was more a bastion of privilege than of the intellect. 111]

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' uring a recent White House press conference, a teary-eyed Bill Clinton announced to the world that mental illness was no longer the social stigma it had been seen as for centuries.

Standing beside the First Lady, looking both concerned and determined for the sea of reporters before him, Clinton convened the first-ever White House conference on mental health with a surprising call to action. "It is high time that our health plans treat all Americans equally," the President declared. "Government can and must lead the way to meet this challenge." Looking similarly tender, Mrs. Clinton seconded her husband's call, and urged insurance companies nationwide to offer mental health coverage equal to the provisions made for all other types of illness. "We must do whatever it takes," she avowed boldly-and with those firm if somewhat vague words, the day-long conference, chaired by Tipper Gore, began happily. During the course of the day's deliberations, Gore herself was to admit that she had been treated for depression some ten years ago.

Three days later, Kelly Silk, 32 and a mother of four living in East Hartford, stabbed her husband and eight-year-old daughter in

D

16

the early hours of the morning. After killing her husband with a kitchen knife, Silk set fire to the house's second story with lawn-mower gasoline taken from the garage. Two children-a son and a daughter, aged two and three years old, respectively--died in their beds from smoke inhalation. The eight-year-old, Jessica, ran out of the house and to a neighbor's home with her hair on fire and her body dripping blood. Mrs. Silk was found the next' day among the home's smoldering remains, dead of third-degree burns and smoke inhalation.

Jessica and Joshua-the Silks' six-month-old newborn-were hospitalized for burns and said to be in critical condition, but doctors expected both to live. As for their mother, police officials later said that Mrs. Silk had been hospitalized the previous year after an overdose of Prozac. Neighbors and members of the nearby Truth Baptist Church apparently did not know much of the family's day-to-day life. What the Hartford Police Department did know, however, was that Silk had had a history of mental problems, that she may have suffered from postpartum depression after giving birth to her fourth child, and that she was currently without any form of mental health care.

Mental health, it seems, is very much on the collective brains of both policy makers and ordinary citizens these days. After Littleton, and a wave of shootings by gunmen young and old in Atlanta, Jonesboro, and Conyers, elected officials are finally starting to talk about preventative measures. And the solution that people are suggesting-increased governmental funding for the treatment of mental illness-has, over the course of the past four decades, slowly become more or less acceptable to the country that continued to detain its mentally ill in prisons only a hundred years ago.

With the advent of antipsychotic medications, state-managed mental hospitals, and cornmuniry groups all calling for improved care in the last forty years, it would seem that the quality of life of the estimated two to three million people diagnosed with serious mental illnesses would have improved drastically from the days of Dorothea Dix and the imagery of Oru Fkw Ovn- th~ Cue/too's N~st.

Yet as mental health advocates and critics will admit, services for mentally ill persons without the abiliry to pay for hundred-dollar sessions every week are disastrous by any measure. Despite the $20 billion in public funds spent every year on mental health services, more than half a million people remain untreated every year-in prisons, in boarding homes, on the street, in the average suburb and in substandard housing projectS. A Congressional report issued in 1998 found that at least 2.4 people died and nearly 1,000 were injured or abused after being restrained at state-run mental health facilities. Paradoxically-even with the sometimes abominable treatment patients receive--the mentally ill have to fight tooth and

THE NEW joURNAL

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by Ronen Givony

nail even for admittance to these facilities, there being room for only some 70,000 people nationwide to receive inpatient care.

Complicating matters further is the whopping 40 percent of the nation's prison population who have a history of mental illness, up drastically from 24 percent in 1991.

Statewide, Connecticut has, at least on paper, historically fared and performed well in its treatment of the mentally ill. A 1990 report published by the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill (NAMI) rated Connecticut fourth in the nation for its care of the seriously ill, and praised the "exceptional leadership" of the state's Department of Mental Health. Yale's Child Study Center and various psychiatric institutes regularly receive multimillion-dollar grants for their breakthrough research. But the state has also fallen prey to criticism in recent years, especially for the budget cuts of Governor John Rowland's administration. In June, Connecticut State corrections officers called for another look at the treatment of mentally iU prisoners after one inmate was killed while being overtranquilized by guards. Two prison suicides in ten days prompted the resignation of a top-level mental health supervisor and a policy review by the University of Connecticut Health Center. In 1999 alone, three mentally ill prison inmates have committed suicide; at least that many have tried to kill themselves. Unsurprisingly, the condition of mental health care in Connecticut, and specifically that of New Haven, serves nicely as a microcosm of the nationwide picture.

New Haven, as its residents and officials have known for quite some time now, is a city with an essentially schizophrenic personality, having a clearly defined boundary between the afBuent Yale campus and the depressed periphery. Perhaps, then, it should come as no surprise that the Elm City has been so frequently used as a case study by mental health experts. A curious observer visiting New Haven to inspect mental health facilities would learn, for instance, that the city known more for its supposed invention of the American pizza also has the nation's highest population of mental health professionals per capita in the country. A simple glance at the stretch of offices on Trumbull and Orange Streets, or at the countless facilities at Yale devoted to psychological and psychiatric research, will serve as further evidence of the many services provided to those who can pay for their treatment, or who can serve as participants in studies. For the insured, the New Haven YeUow Pages lists some 70 private psychiatric offices that charge anywhere from $75 to $350 an hour for private therapy. For those affiHated with Yale or Yale-sponsored studies, there is the Yale Psychiatric Institute, the Yale Child Study Center, Yale-New Haven H ospital, Mental Hygiene, the Department of Psychology, the Yale Center for Eating and Weight Disorders, the Yale Psychological Services Clinic and the Bush Center in Child Development and Social Policy. For those with a taste for Freud, Jung and Adler, there is the Western New England Psychoanalytic lnstirute. Academics can peruse the Yale-published &vi~ of Gmn-al Psycho/Qgy, the jounull of Soci4/ Aycho/Qgy, or ImAgination, Cognition, Pn-sonality. But for the poor,

OcroasR 15, 1999

the uninsured, and the seemingly countless homeless and addicted persons without the ability to pay-the detritus of the mental health industry-there is only one resource: the Connecticut Mental Health Center (CMHC).

CMHC was founded in New Haven in 1966, shortly afrer the formative years of the city's mental health industry, when Yale's early leadership during the 194o's and 50's paved the way for better psychiatric services both city- and nationwide. One of 18 Local Mental Health Authorities across the state, CMHC is a State of Connecticut facility-officially under the auspices of the Department of Mental Health and Addiction Services-staffed jointly between the graduate and professional branches of the Yale Department of Psychiatry and the state commission. From its run-down brick building on Park Street, adjacent to the significantly more attractive Yale-New Haven Hospital, CMHC handles those patients without the privilege and means co pay for their own mental healthcare: the city's abundant population of schizophrenics, manic depressives, alcohoHcs, drug addicts and victims of innumerable other mental illnesses. It is a facility reminiscent of Dickens or Dreiser. On the days I visited, a steady procession of exhaust-belching trucks on North Frontage Road and the looming gray sky above seemed to complement perfectly the CMHC population, smoking cigarettes with downcast, nervous eyes outside and waiting for the frazzled receptionist to call their names.

On any given day, about a hundred patients walk in and out of CMHC's guarded doors, mainly to work in group sessions of 12 to 20 people-but sometimes as large as 3o--on issues as varied as violence management, substance abuse and psychosocial issues.

Currently, CMHC serves some 5,ooo patients in this capacity, and runs on an operating budget of some S30 million, with $22 million coming directly from the State of Connecticut. Of the 6oo employees who currently staff the CMHC, half are faculty and students from Yale, the other half state employees. Of the latter group, the majority are social workers, nurses and various other mental health workers.

To obtain treatment at CMHC, a patient can either seek referral from a physician-if they have access to a physician, that is-or walk right into the facility. After giving their vital information to Admissions, a patient sits for an interview with a triage clinician.

The clinician-a licensed psychologist, psychiatrist or social worker-is then free to foUow up the triage interview with one of three options: further assessment by a social worker to decide the need for and severity of treatment, admittance to the inpatient ward after consultation with a psychiatrist, or the least expensive and most-often used method of treatment, outpatient care. In fact, it is only on the fourth and fifth floors of the CMHC that patients can be admitted for one-on-one clinical and inpatient care. Of the 5,000 patients CMHC has on its rolls, only 20 to 30 can be treated at a rime in the inpatient and "panial hospital" wards. The remaining patients must seek treatment in group counseling or in the various

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satellite facilities throughout the greater New Haven area.

Tomas Reyes, associate administrator at CMHC, is a staunch advocate of the practice of outpatient care, calling it the best possible method of care with the resources currendy available to mental health professionals. Reyes-a New Haven Alderman and Vice-Chair of the Aldermanic Special Committee of the Homeless-has an office off a long hallway which can only be reached after walking through a metal detector and past the eyes of a tired-looking security guard. A sign, announcing "ABSOLUTBLY NO CAMERAS ALLOWED IN THE

greets patients and visitors to Cameras, the security guard explains to me, do not sit well with the patients at the facility, who often have a hard enough time dealing with the other patients in group therapy sessions and private clinical meetings.

Reyes arrives 25 minutes late to our appointment, sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup and dressed in an expensive suit, offering his apologies. Reyes has served as the head of public and community relations at CMHC for several years, all while serving, in the words of the N~ Hawn Advocates Paul Bass as "the city's leading Latino politician." He is clearly a politician, and it shows. Next to his desk, on which sits a miniature model of a Porsche Carrera, is a tackboard with yellowed clippings of pictures and articles about himself from the N~ Havm &gistn', alongside a letter from President Clinton. As we sit down to discuss the workings of the facility whose promotion is the letter and law of his job, he speaks grandly and gesticulates wildly, all the while towling his graying hair.

"We have the best of both worlds," Reyes announces proudly, "a state facility with a clear relationship and even a standing contract with Yale, and the New Haven community." Community is a favorite word of Reyes'; in our hour-long interview, he uses the word as both noun and adjecrive, peppering his statements with fre.. quent reference to his mission of making sure the community at large benefits from BUILDING,"

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the goings-on at CMHC. The word figures prominendy in each of Reyes' descriptions of the initial three missions CMHC set out for itself at its founding: service to the client, education and, of course, research. It is not only the significant time and money spent on patients' treatment, Reyes stresses, that make the community and state funding for CMHC so valuable, but also the center's role as a major research facility.

"On any given Friday," Reyes continues, "you can find people from all over the New Haven community at our lectures and information sessions. Students from the School of Public Health, the School of Nursing, the Yale Medical School, Yale faculty, community members, everyone."

Reyes casually mentions the fact that the third floor of the CMHC facility-the floor reserved for research-has room for 10 to 12 patients at a time, sligbdy higher than the space made for inpatient care one floor above.

But it is exacdy this habit of wing its patients for psychiatric research that has gotten the CMHC into trouble in recent years--a problem that NAMI discussed nine years ago in its 1990 report. Until the leadership of former director Ezra Griffith, a Yale professor of psychiatry, critics in state government complained that patients were being wed as guinea pigs to further the research fevers of well-funded Yale departments. But as Reyes makes sure to note, it was during Griffith's tenure as director of CMHC that a fourth mission-"communitas"-was added, specifically with the aim of wing research findings to further the role of community agencies in the larger indwtry effort. Still, many continue to worry that the best interests of patients may not always be on the agenda of either the administrators or physicians alike at

about how the patients themselves are being treated."

Beth tells a different story, one that is significandy free of the communitarian rhetoric Reyes is so fond of. The statistics, Beth says, do not lie; they merely mislead.

"Of course Connecticut is one of the best states in the country for mental health care.

And of course CMHc is about the best in Connecticut. That doesn't say much for the rest of the country, though," she says. "It's simply a disgrace."

The problem, according to Beth, has to do with several factors: most importantly, a general public that knows nothing, and doesn't want to know-this problem is only made worse by the nearly complete absence of noted advocates in the mental health camp. "Everything looks good on paper, but the paper doesn't account for the fact that mental health patients, especially at CMHC, are treated as second-class citizens."

Most troubling, Beth says, is the national mental health situation. That only 70,000 people can receive inpatient mental health care, she continues, is a simultaneowly bewildering and infuriating reality.

"You can't get in some facilities these days unless you break the law. We're turning our own people into criminals. To me, it's a wonder there aren't more Columbines."

Being poor, and at the mercy of the scant services provided by Medicare and Medicaid, patients are only weful to facilities like CMHC insofar as their treatments will yield significant research findings.

"Giving your body to science," it seems,

CMHC.

"There's no question that the emphasis, at least on the Yale side, is on research," says Beth, a patient-rights advocate at the CMHC who asked not to have her name wed in this article. "Everyone, especially the doaors at CMHC, pats [himself] on the back for the effectiveness of [his] treatment, and no one cares to wonder Tomas Reyes of the Connecticut Mental Health Center THE

New JouRNAL

has undergone a neatly modern, Cartesian inversion: giving your brain to science, in return for temporary and mediocre treatment.

But providing a steady output of useful research findings may, paradoxically, be the only viable lifeline for mental health facilities whose funding is always under fire by compassionate conservatives and critics of state-funded health care. New York Governor George Pataki drew some criticism and more commendation in 1997 after announcing his plan to reduce funds for outpatient mental health care. His Connecticut Republican colleague, Governor John Rowland, scrapped two state-run mental health hospitals in 1997, leaving only one in operation, and cut funds by another five percent in 1999.

Meanwhile, the Northwest Center for Family Service and Mental Health in Litchfield, Connecticut, facing lowered funding and job layoffs, invited Meryl Streep and Sam Waterston to perform a brief skit for a fundraising benefit {Waterston played the director ·of a mental health center whose job pulls him in too many directions). In the face of a facility's tenuous suppon from lawmakers and paltry funding from skeptical or recalcitrant state governments, what can its staff do but use its many patients as a commodity?

Still, the most optimistic of us have reason for hope. It appears that, however slowly, the decades-old cries of mental health advocates may finally be heard.

Shortly after New Haven was chosen as one of 54 cities nationwide to share in the fedSafe Schools/Healthy erally-funded Students grants, the city announced plans to use pan of a three-year, $2.8 million grant to hire more mental health professionals, while a similar resolution was made in neighboring Waterbury. In the spirit of recent calJs for a national patients' bill of rights, Connecticut state legislators--much to the consternation ofHMo's--have begun debating proposals that would force insurance companies to pay for mental health treatment. Perhaps in the future, the ugly and persistent reality of the mentally ill, ignored and wished away by the American OcrosER 15, 1999

public for so long, will indeed be treated in the same manner as the "conventionally" ill. We can certainly neglect the problem no longer. As Jon Oldfield, an advocate for the mentally ill, states, "This issue of money is simply going to get someone hun."

One thinks of Freud's lectures during his first visit to the United States in 1909, when he delivered five extemporaneous talks on the foundations of psychoanalysis at Clark University in Worcester, Massachusetts. In the course of his first lecture, Freud expounded upon some of the difficulties facing any physician who seeks to treat illnesses of the mind: But all [the conventional doctor's] knowledge-his training in anatomy, in physiology and in pathology--leaves him in the lurch when he is confronted by the details of hysterical phenomena. He cannot understand hysteria, and in the &.ce of it he is himself a layman ...So it comes about that hysterical patients forfeit his sympathy. He regards them as people who are transgressing the laws of his sciencelike heretics in the eyes of the orthodox.

He attributes every lcind of wickedness to them, accuses them of exaggeration, of deliberate deceit, of malingering. And he punishes them by withdrawing his interest from them.

Despite being nearly a century old, Freud's words resonate in the claims of individuals and groups who continue to insist that mental illness is a private, even overdiscussed worry, and one that should remain safdy out of the hands of government and its clinical employees. We can wonder how many more guns will have to go off in schools, or in daycare centers, or in daytrading offices, before something is done. Or, as seen in the case of Kelly Silk, we can choose to do nothing. We can defer the conversation indefinitely. We can continue using prisons as health facilities and health facilities as prisons. In other words, we can play the fiddle like Nero; we can debate the merits of government intervention and freedom, all while the house slowly burns.

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N OcroBER 5, I visited incumbent Mayor John DeStefano, Jr.'s headquarters in an office building at One Church Street. The lights in the sprawling room, which appeared to have once been a bank, were off. A lone elderly man was stuffing envelopes behind a counter. With the election less than a month away, I had expected more bustle. For a moment, I entertained the thought that I was not actually in the right place, that I had stumbled into a failed savings and loan that had decided to fill its bankrupt windows with "DeStefano for Mayor" signs. I asked the elderly man if I was indeed at DeStefano headquarters. He directed my attention to an office I had overlooked when I walked in and the woman inside, saying, "she knows about those things." Apparently he did not. I approached the office and asked the more informed official if I could have some literature on the Mayor. "What I received were campaign materials that had been printed for the September 14 Democratic Primary. She assured me that new literature was on its way. As I left, I noticed that, interspersed with the red, white and blue, star-spangled DeStefano signs were smaller signs advertising in fluorescent writing that the space currently occupied by DeStefano's headquarters is "For Lease."

DeStefano's operation is so ramshackle you would think he is running unopposed. But this is not the case. James Newton is an African American; he is 50 years old; he is a former Ward 5 alderman; he is former head of the New Haven Job Center; and he wants to be the next mayor of New Haven. On October 6, I walked into Newton's office at 365 "Whalley, an office you could fit into DeStefano Headquarters three times. A secretary busy at her desk

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accompanied the only other person in the room: Jason Bartlett, Newton's campaign manager. Newton was attending a funeral down the street, and I waited in the office for about ten minutes for him to return. During those ten minutes, Bartlett fielded five phone calls. He ordered more campaign posters. He read into the phone an editorial written about the mayoral race in the New Havm Register and commented on it. He complained that the mayor's office had misquoted statistics about funding for city teachers in the editorial.

On Bartlett's desk a mug holding pens had been taped over and "Jim for Mayor" written on the rape. A steel rack by the desk overflowed with Newton's campaign materials.

I picked one up. It read "Gana con jim [Win with Jim]," across the top, and on the bottom a label gave the date of the election, handwritten: "November 2, 1999." I pulled off the label to reveal the printed words: "El 14 de Septiembre." On the wall behind Bartlett's desk hung one of a number of signs hand-written in black marker. One read: "October xst Day 32 What do you need to do? E-Day Nov. 2nd." These small motivational signs were interspersed with Newton's campaign placards: "Jim Newton Mayor"-no graphics, no prepositions.

In the September 14 Democratic mayoral primary, Mayor DeStefano defeated Jim Newton 6,182 to 3,776. Newton thus won nearly 40 percent of the vote, as well as Wards I and 2 (the wards with the highest percentage of Yale voters)--quite a feat for a candidate with almost no city-wide name recognition. When Republican Ann Piscattano challenged DeStefano in 1995 she could only rally 20 percent of New Haven's voters. The turnout for last month's primary was dismal: a scant 29 percent of the 34,500 eligible Democrats voted. Perhaps New Haven Democrats are apathetic. Or perhaps they had forgotten that there are primaries in New Haven-Newton was the first Democrat to challenge DeStefano since the Mayor took office six years ago. Unfazed by the loss, Newton renounced his affiliation with the Democratic Party soon after the primary and vowed to run against DeStefano as an ¡ Independent.

Newton's success was probably due less to his own platform and more to his dismantling of DeStefano's. In the months leading up to the primary, Newton gained public approval through his fervent attacks on the Long Wharf Mall proposal, which was ulti-

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THE N.EW JouRNAL

I Mayoral candidate Jim Newton restores competition to New Haven politics.

mately approved by the Board of Aldermen in early August. In June, Newton called for a referendlim that would allow New Haven When Newton returned to the office, we decided to have a working lunch and walked to a nearby diner. Newton greeted the residents to vote on the mall. In a series of press conferences in July, Newton brought public attention to the issue of the mall, a project people eating lunch as we made our way to a booth in the backhe would have killed. In particular, Newton has attacked the mall's he is an upstart, but he is nonetheless a politician. After he ordered a sandwich, we began our talk in earnest. DeStefano has dismissed co-developer: the Fusco Corporation.

And with good reason. As Katherine Hawkins reported in a Newton as a mudslinger. I wanted to know what Jim Newton's platJuly 29 article in the N~ Havm Aavocate, Fusco's corporate histoform looks like. ty is suspect at best. Fusco has never built a full-sized malL The corNewton began by defending his vehement attacks on the poration has managed a mall of this size, purchasing the lease to Mayor: "I would be irresponsible if I did not bring these issues to Sunshine Mall in Clearwater, Florida, in 1972. Was the corporation the forefront," he said. He started talking about "corruption" and "fraud" at City Hall, but by the time the successful at mall management? That depends on who you ask. When the waitress delivered his sandwich he had Newton told ~ne tha t he Sunshine Mall hit rocky financial times in thought better of it. He quickly turned to what he calls "the positive." He ran 1995, Fusco simply stopped paying its vvould consider i t a vict ory down a list of the proposals he has property taxes, rent and mortgage. The made: about education, about economFusco Corporation ultimately paid off even if all he defeats is the ics, about the need for a permanent only a fraction of the debt they incurred Mayor's aura of invincibility.

Inspector General-putting a comma running the Sunshine Mall.

That victory, I believe, i s Not only has Fusco mismanaged a between each idea with a rap of his hand mall but they also have misappropriated very ~nuch vvithi n his gras p . on the formica table. state dollars, as a Newton press conference Newton especially stressed educabrought to light. Goodwin Square Ltd., a tion. He talked about the sad irony that New Haven has one of the greatest universities in the world and partnership controlled by a Fusco subsidiary, was given $94 million some of the worst public schools in the state. He talked about crefrom a Connecticut workers' pension fund by the state treasurer's ating a bridge between Yale and New Haven's public schools. He office in 1987. The money was given to Goodwin Square to renovate a hotel and office building in the state capitol. In the June 20 talked about using Yale's experts to improve public school curricula, especially in grades one through three. Newton is an increasingpress conference, Newton told the public what Catherine Lamarr, general counsel for the treasurer's office, had told his campaign: ly savvy politician. Throughout our talk he stressed his appreciation ofYale, both as an institution and as a constituency.

Goodwin Square is in default for the entire debt (and thus owes the A half-hour had passed and Newton, so excited to talk about state over $100 million dollars) and the treasurer's office is ready to his campaign, hadn't even touched his sandwich. foreclose. The Fusco Corporation, Newton argued, has shown itSelf to be completely irresponsible. They are also, Newton reminded, Newton is not just an opponent; he is a champion of opposimajor contributors to Mayor DeStefano's campaign. tion. Newton put together an opposition ticket for the September In addition to these legitimate salvos, Newton makes some more brazen claims about New Haven's political machine. An primary. Included on that ticket was aldermanic candidate Edward excerpt from Newton's campaign literature reads: Negroni. Until the week following his loss in the primary, Negroni distributed food provided by the Connecticut Food Bank to neighRICCI!D VOTING MACHINES DOMINAT£ NI!W HAVEN POUTICS: for bors. According to Negroni, he distributed food to approximately c:xampi~Last Mayof21 dcction many ciry voters when attempting to 1, 000 families each month from his backyard. Days after the privote at cen:a.in times were told to return later, as the machines were all mary, the city stopped Negroni's food distribution, citing health broke [sic] and had to be Mfixed• ..• Folks, we 112~ Cook Counry policies concerns. The timing was a bit suspect: the city had allowed right here in New IUven!

Negroni to distribute food for months. The city never harassed Negroni before he challenged an incumbent Democrat.

Newton's comparison to Chicago's infamous political machine seems inBated-his fears of DeStefano's machinations border on In another incident in the weeks since the primary, Newton was asked to leave Bowen Field by Charisse Townsend, who was

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by John Swansburg, Jr. Oc-roBER 15,

1999

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.\ directing Safe Night, a crime prevention program held at the park. Townsend, who held a permit for the event, ejected Newton from the park with the aid of three New Haven Police officers, charging that Newton was campaigning at a family event.

contract to maintain City Hall in a surreptitious manner later criticized by the Board of Aldermen. In 1996, DeStefano gave the Fuscos control over the cleaning of the city office building at 200 Orange Street.

DeStefano only dared to increase Fusco's contract because of the legal safety net provided for hlm by his top legal advisor: Patricia Cofrancesco.

I asked Newton if he thought DeStefano was directly bdllnd the closing of Negroni's food bank. "Absolutely," Newton replied, "no question about it."

Newton is convinced that he has been victimized. I asked Newton if he thought DeStefano was directly behind the incident at Safe Night: "Absolutely. It is unfortunate that this administration is so vindictive. I think that's horrible."

When I asked him why he chose Cofrancesco, Newton paused and then began defending her. But just for a second, for the first time in our meeting, Newton did not have the answer on the tip of his tongue. Newton defended his running mate, calling her "incredibly honest" and "a legal expert." Once again, Newton quickly pinned the blame on DeStefano, asserting that Cofrancesco was "manipulated for the Mayor's purposes," in an administration where "if the Mayor doesn't like you, he chops your head off."

Newton has a tendency to see DeStefano behind all of his campaign's setbacks. But he has also made some costly mistakes of his own. Newton chose Patricia Cofrancesco as his running mate; she is vying for the position of City Clerk. A former top lawyer in the DeStefano administration, Cofrancesco ~as forced by the Mayor to resign on June 18, 1998.

Cofrancesco lost her Job after tenuously ruling that a loan was ethical. The loan was given by the city of New Haven to Andrea Jackson-Brooks: Mayor DeStefano's top aide. Jackson-Brooks received a zero-interest, half-forgiven loan to remove lead paint from her house. The loan-in the amount of S58,75o--was given through a federally funded program known as HOME. JacksonBrooks' salary, $72,100 a year, disqualified her from applying for a loan from HOMl!.

Furthermore, Jackson-Brooks already had two other mortgages on the house, mortgages with an aggregate value of $102,00<>--$12,000 more than the estimated value of the house.

Clearly this loan was an embarrassment to DeStefano when it was brought to the public attention in an Ad110cate article in June 1998. In an effort to make amends for the scandal, DeStefano needed scapegoats: Jackson-Brooks and Cofrancesco found themselves unemployed. Although she resigned from her position in accordance with DeStefano's wishes, Cofrancesco was not pleased about taking the fall for the mayor. On the contrary, later in July Cofrancesco took DeStefano to 22

New Haven Superior Court.

In an attempt to get her job back, Cofrancesco claimed that she was forced to quit by the Mayor, who physically intimidated her into resigning. In the July trial Cofrancesco attempted to prove this physical intimidation, which allegedly occurred during a five-minute meeting in the Mayor's office, in order to be reinstated in her former position. As Ad110cau reporter Colleen Van quipped, "Evidently she Tassell [Cofrancesco] wants to return to an environment where she feels unsafe around the mayor and scapegoated by co-workers."

Cofrancesco thus brings to the Newton ticket all the anti-DeStefano ire one could hope to muster. But is Newton so intoxicated by Cofrancesco's sour grapes that be can forgive her role in DeStefano's corruption? What is even more confusing about Newton's affiliation with Cofrancesco is that the Jackson-Brooks case was not the first time she offered the mayor the shaky legal advice he needed to bend the rules. She also did it in 1996-for the Fusco corporation. In 1994. Mayor DeStefano gave the Fusco family a private

May brought a second manifestation of Newton's political inexperience. Newton and campaign manager Jason Bartlett were at New Haven radio station WEU, dropping off a press release. Hearing that Newton was in the office, Roger Vann and Tom Scott, the hosts of WEu's "Off Center," asked Newton to join them on the air. According to Paul Bass, who later wrote a story about Newton's imprompru radio visit for the Advocau, Vann and Scott were dying for him to attack DeStefano. Accordingly, they gave Newton a loaded gun. The first (and last) question they asked regarded DeStefano's proposed pay raise, which would raise the Mayor's salary to S97,603-the raise would also be the Mayor's third pay hike in four years. Newton shot himself in the foot. He approved of the pay raise, saying that the Mayor works hard. The following day, according to Bass, Newton called "Off Center" to "clarify" his position. His position, he stated after sleeping on it, is that the Mayor should not get a raise.

Perhaps Newton's gaffe can easily be explained: he needs the money. Although he has managed to raise s4o,ooo and has donated $19,000 of his own money to his campaign, his war chest is a bread box compared to DeStefano's. Thus what is left

THE NEW jouRNAL

to Newton are grass-roots tactics: going d oor to door asking people for their support. Newton knows the numbers: he told the Repu blicans and me about Independents he hopes to swing to his camp in the November election.

One group that Newton 1iopes will bolster his campaign efforts is New H aven's African -American community. Newton spoke at length about the importance of diversity. H e recalled the m ulticultural alliance that powered the Civil Rights Movement, comparing that community, in another complim ent of his interviewer's school, to the Yale community. When I asked Newton if he thought D eStefano had achieved anything positive for the city during h is tenure, Newton dismissed all of the current mayor's accomplishments as being made possible by his predecessor, AfricanAmerican Mayor Joh n C. Daniels.

But Newton wants- and knows he needs-support from everybody. T his excerpt from one of his flyers bears this out both in its universal appeal and its almost apocalyptic tone: There's a train rhat's leaving soon for New Haven. It's [sic) destination, City Hal l. It's called rhe NEWTON EXJ>RI!SS. This train will be hand icap friendly. This uain will be Senior friendly...You don't want to miss rhis train, because when w~ get to City Hall we're going to clean house.

We're going to Newtonize City Hall.

We're going ro run our corruption. We're going to clean our graft. We're going to snuff out cronyism and personal favoritism ...City employees who are doing rheir jobs and giving 100% need not worry. There will be no reprisals or retaliations. The Newton adminisuarion intends to embrace all. A days [sic) work for a days [sic) pay.

Mayor DeStefano is not helping Newto n to spread the word. Newton has repeatedly asked DeStefano for a public debate, but the M ayor has refused, saying in the N~ Havm R~gistn-, for instance, "I do not want to get down in the gutter with Jim Newton." Negative publicity, including a scathing editorial in the R~gist~r, has since prompted the mayor to reconsider.

The N AACP has offered to spo nsor a debate, and D eStefano's campaign assured me that the M ayor would take part in it.

Newton blasts the m ayor for being "unaccountable," for his failure to communicate. "Nobody is above the law," says Newton, "the mayor is the chief public ser-

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vant." Throughout the interview Newton referred to DeStefano as "a king," a king who completely lost touch with the people who gave him his job. As he finished his lunch, Newton decreed that he would be completely up front with the public as mayor, that he would show them everything, "the good and the bad." Newton told me that if he were elected he would run New Haven with "humility, passion and sensitivity."

So what are his chances? Newton is optimistic. He claims that the party machine is not what it used to be. He may be right; as the scene at DeStefano's headquarters indicated, the Mayor's campaign is a machine in need of a mechanic--or at the very least an electrician. Newton's grass roots are refreshingly organic compared to the rusting cogs of the DeStefano administration. Newton's, however, is an unweeded garden. The alliance with Cofrancesco, the misfire on "Off Center"-these are costly rookie mistakes, and the Mayors office may be too much to hope for this time around.

Newton told me, however, that he would consider it a victory even if all he defeats is the mayor's aura of invincibiliry. That victory, I believe, is very much within his grasp and is perhaps one of tantamount importance. The very existence of Newton's campaign restores to New Haven politics a sense of competition. "A vote for Jim Newton is a vote for Democracy," Newton told me-and I think he is right.

Paul Bass told me that Jim Newton has done a tremendous job convincing people to change channels but that his burden is now to convince people to switch to his channel. Newton preferred a pugilistic analogy, comparing himself to Sugar Ray Robinson. Late in Robinson's career, Newton told me, he went into a fight as an underdog. Everyone bet against the veteran fighter, except the veteran gamblers, who won big when the underdog Robinson won the fight. The parallel is a bit forced: the underdog Newton hardly has the recognition that Robinson had. Smart money is on DeStefano. But Jim Newton has nothing to lose. And sometimes nothing can be a real cool hand. liiJ

john Swansburg, Jr., a smior in Saybrook Colkg~. is an associau ~ditor of TN].

http://www.yale.edu/ris THE NEW JouRNAL

*COMMON* FOLK** Photos by Shruti Adhar

This fall, the Eli Whitney Folk Festival returned to Edgerton Park after a five-year hiatus. The festival had obviously been missed: local community members and student enthusiasts covered the park with their picnic blankets. Yale's own folk group Tangled Up In Blue opened for headliners Dar Williams and Odetta. Festival organizers emphasized the meaning of the word ufolk" and its connection to the gathering of people who had come to the park to join in the artistic movement of the same name. uFolk" has no singular form; these photographs of a man, a youth and a boy focus on individuals always fn the crowd.

Breaking the News A

cold wind blew down Orange Street on the morning of September 14, 1999. Despite the weather, both cancfulates for the Democratic primary of the Ward 7 Aldermanic election had arrived before 8 AM to set up camp and greet voters. Esther Armmand, the four-term incumbent, stood on the sidewalk in a bright red suit and full makeup, smiling, shaking hands and handing out fliers. Half a block away stood Asit Gosar (PC 'oo), her 21-year-old challenger, wearing a gray fleece over a black "Go for Gosar" shirt. Dark circles under his eyes attested to the last-minute campaign preparations that had kept his camp up until 3 AM. Gosar greeted each vanload of voters with handshakes and hugs. In his hand he held a printout of his database and was checking them off as they arrived, with a meticulousness typical of his eightmonth campaign. By the end of the day, that list was going to get him into a lot of trouble.

When the polls closed at 8 PM, Gosar, Armmand and their respective supporters filed into a room in the basement of the New Haven Hall of Records, where they waited, alongside members of the Yak Daily News (YDN) and the New Havm Register, for officials to cor.mt<tbe ballot~ 1'1ie anxio candidates wouldhave-to wajt over twq)iours before finding out that'Gosar had squeaked~ Armmand ia1l..Z.98-.2.69 victory. Meanwhile the press lud 6egun to stir. â&#x20AC;˘ HedJ~i, YDN reporter] comes up to me at the c:nc:J:Of the C.ICctio and says, 'Can I have your list ofvoters?- Gosar said."I had [the list] in my hand_. I was~ them ofE I just>gave it to him.

I guess that was my big mime. It had ~erything--ÂŤ>lleges, room number~ I guess that's what they used."

Sometime during' Election Day, reporters for the YON had noticed freshmen at the Ward 7 voting center. Suspecting an irregularity-freshmen typically live on Old Campus, which is located in Ward x-the reporters checked Gosar's records and voter registration cards supplied by Robert Smuts (sM 'ox), the registrar of voters for the Yale College Democrats. They found "at least 20" Yale students whose right to vote in Ward 7 could be questioned: Davenport and Pierson students whose beds were not located in the ward in which they voted.

THE NEW joURNAL

by Anya

Kamenet~ &']ada Yuan

Excitement ran high at the YDN office, just five blocks away, as reporters rushed around, trying to verify the election statutes and getting reactions from freshmen regjstered to vote. Six YDN reporters contributed to the front-page story on September 15, which was picked up by the New Havm &gist" and then by Th~ New York Tim~s. Within a week, investigations had uncovered 34 questionable votes, more than Gosar's margin of victory. Amid a storm of controversy and facing a lawsuit funded by Armmand's supporters, Gosar withdrew from the race.

On the surface, the YDN 's work was exemplary student reporting. But a passage in that first article suggested a story behind the story.

Sara Kang '03, a member of Pierson College, sa.id Isaiah Wilner [PC) 'oo, a member of Go~r's staff. instructed her to erase •LanmanWright" and put ·vale-Pierson College" in its place.

• He took me through it all," Kang sa.id.

Wilner Rid he registered Pierson nudems, and some were fresh. men. He also sa.id he registered these nudcnts as Pierson residents.

Wilner is the Editor-in-Chief of the Yale Daily News.

all

T

his was the first time the YDN had mentioned the names Isaiah Wilner and Asit Gosar in the same article. The two had been roommates and close friends, however, since junior year. In the days before the election, the YDN printed seven front-page a.rticles about Gosar without hinting at this potential conflict of interest.

"What we both thought at the time [in January] was there is at least a perceived conflict of interest and at many times the perception is as important as the reality," Wilner explained. "So we set up a firewalL I wouldn't work for Asit. That meant he wouldn't give me any information and I wouldn't give any to him. We were roommates, that's it. We're still roommates."

"Isaiah and I were not allowed to speak about it," Gosar said. "We set up that wall early on. The irony was, we were nailed for a perceived conflict of interest, not an actual conflict of interest...we didn't quite understand the power of that perception-<Specially of us as power-seekers and power-holders--people love to distruSt that."

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30

Gosar went on, "We decided that we shouldn't allow bullshit politics to affect our personal lives. Why shouldn't we room together just because we both do stuff? He's one of my closest friends."

Both residents of Pierson 1492 had confidence in their ability to separate work and personal lives. They tried to deal with a problem of public perception by making a private decision not to share information or help each other. Each sat at his desk in their small common room, working for their respective organizations, by their avowals never discussing how things were going.

How well did the "firewall" hold up?

Not too well, it seems. Although not an official member of the staff, Wilner assisted the Go For Gosar campaign by registering freshmen to vote in Ward 7· At the very least, he gave these voters the impression he was a member of Gosar's staff. as Sara Kang believed and erroneously told the YDN. Even if the roommates never shared information, maybe this rule was not enough tO protect the YON's objectivity.

"Isaiah didn't go out of his way to make his efforts clear," said a board member, referring to the firewall. "He should have called a board meeting and explained things from start to finish. " Instead, his relationship to Gosar correlated quite well with the YON's handling of the campaign. "I definitely thought the coverage was too much slanted in favor of Asit as the young, enthusiastic Yale student 'listening to other students' concerns."' said Rorie Tobin (BR 'ox), an Armmand supporter. "If anything, I think it was sort of stupid on the part of the YDN to not look out for that." YDN board members and reporters alike echoed these concerns.

From the time of Gosar's announcement of candidacy in January until the election, the YDN quoted him 20 times, more than any other candidate. Most stories focused on his "grass-roots campaign," talking about his door-to-door canvassing and study breaks. On September 9, referring to Gosar's "aggressive get-out-the-vote campaign," Charles Forelle (Pc 'o2) wrote, "Esther Armmand's got a problem in Pierson."

In an attempt to balance the coverage, a profile of Armmand ran on the front page on September 10. It was placed, however, alongside a story about a landlord attempting to revive a lawsuit against her for back

rent. Both stories ran under the headline "Faced With Lawsuit, Armmand Points to Record," creating the impression of a politician on the defensive from a serious attack on her ethics.

Did Wilner cross the firewall in order to tip the stories in favor of Gosar? He maintains he gave City Editor Henry Whitaker (oc 'oo) full editorial control over all Gosar stories. (Whitaker repeatedly declined to comment.) But on September 17, the N~w Havm R~gist" reported, "Some staffers are upset Wtlner earlier edited stories about the election and did not divulge to ,.readers his close relationship with Gosar." Several sources on the YDN staff told Th~ N~ journal that Wilner called the Armmand profile too positive before it ran.

By Wilner's own admission, "A senior editor has a huge impact on the atmosphere of the Newsroom." Wilner said he removed himself from the paper afrer the election because "I didn't want to cause a chilling effect." But could his presence before the election have had that . same effect? By simply wearing his Go For Gosar T-shirt around the YON office, as he often did, Wilner may have swayed the coverage.

The staff of the YDN commonly explained the attitude of the coverage before the primary as the "hometown favorite" effect. Stories focused on Gosar because he was a Yalie, quoting him more often than Armmand or others because he was more readily available for comment.

But many staff members said not enough was done to correct the appearance of bias.

"We screwed up," one staff member said.

"The conflict of interest was not apparent."

Whether the pre-election coverage reflected the normal bias of slipshod student reporting under the rush of daily deadlines, or something more sinister, Gosar basked in the YDN 's favor.

When the pendulum swung the other way, though, it hit Gosar hard. The new tone was set by the headline which appeared the morning after the election: "At Least 20 Students Vote Illegally in Ward 7." "Libel," Gosar called it. To justify the use of the term "illegal," the YDN relied not on the voter registration statutes, but on one quotation from T homas Ferguson, the director of elections for the Connecticut Office of ·the Secretary of State: "Residence is determined by where you lay your head at night."

In doing so, the initial story and the

THE NEW JouRNAL

four that followed oversimplified the legal issues involved. Four absentee ballots filed by alumni had been thrown out before the election. That left 30 contested votes.

Within that number, the YDN lumped together a group of students that included not just freshmen, but fresh~en counselors, off-campus students, and juniors studying abroad. Freshmen alone were mentioned specifically and quoted as voters, when in fact only 14 freshmen voted in the election. The laws covering former residents of Ward 7 and future residents of Ward 7 are different; the former has to do with a change of address, the latter, with the definition of the term "bona fide residency."

This definition is harder to apply than it may at first seem. The law defines "bona fide residence" as an individual's "fixed home or fixed place of abode, to which, when he is temporarily absent, he intends to return."

"To determine the particular residence," the law continues, "objective factors must substantiate a subjective declaration of intention." What are these "objective factors"? What is a "subjective declaration of intention"? Even Mary Young. the staff attorney of the Secretary of State's office, admits, "The law does!l't say anything. The statutes do not spell out what 'bona fide resident' means."

According to Gosar's reasoning, a Yale freshman's "bona fide residence" is the residential college. "You establish residence in your residential college," he said. "It's where you eat, where your mailing address is. They will live there when I'm the alderman."

Gosar chose not to elaborate on this position in articles after the election. "The Daily wanted me to give my story," he said. â&#x20AC;˘1 didn't want to speak to them because they were doing a terrible job of covering the election and they were trying to scandalize everything. I was hoping people would see it as a form of social protest.

Also, there was pending legal action. I couldn't talk, I didn't want to talk." Instead, he e-mailed YDN reporters and editors with people and evidence supporting his side, including the name and number of Sean Grace, a member of the 27th Democratic Ward Committee who ran for alderman in 1995. Grace claims he called the YDN to warn them against taking Tom Ferguson's word as law and to point them toward

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31

In the general storm of condemnation, the YON ignored not only legal evidence but the question of precedent for the registration of Yale freshmen in their residential colleges. court cases that supported Gosar's position.

They told him they would research it, and then ran the Ferguson quote again the next day.

In the general storm of condemnation, the YON ignored not only legal . evidence but the question of precedent for the registration of Yale freshmen in their residential colleges. "In the past, in uncontested elections, we have encouraged freshmen to register to vote by their residential college because that's the right place for .three out of four years," Smuts said. "It's easier that way because they don't have to switch it.

When the aldermanic election is uncontested there's no reason to be as scrupulous about it." SmutS said that because this aldermanic election was contested, the Democrats had decided to register all studentS by their dorms. But he added, "Asit and I did not discuss the registration of freshmen because it just didn't occur to me that he would do that."

Jonathan Thessin, president of the Yale College Democrats, echoed SmutS' policy. He added, "I cannot remember if I mentioned this to Asit or not. I didn't tell him that it was the Dems' poHcy not to register freshmen in Ward 7 ever." Gosar claims he had several conversations with Thessin in which Thessin reviewed the precedent and said registering freshmen in Ward 7 ought not to be a problem.

How involved were the DemocratS in the questionable registration of freshmen?

Thessin vehemently defended the Dems' neutraliry in a letter to the editor on September 13: "The Yale College DemocratS are not taking stands in the primaries this Tuesday, and I am concerned that my statements in last week's articles appeared to have a pro-Asit Gosar slant to them." The Dems, and not Gosar's staff, initially approached all of the later-contested Davenport freshmen. Smuts also gave

Gosar all the Dems' voter registration cards. "I made a deal with [Gosar] that after I had made copies of the cards he could have them to track down the people who had made mistakes, like leaving out their birthday or social securiry number, and get them to correct them," Smuts said.

"Anyone who wants to go out and register people can. So basically I just handed them over to him." Gosar's staff then called and visited these voters to correct the errors on the registration cards and to offer them rides to the polls. Copies of the cards were made available to both sides, but the originals were dearly more useful to Gosar.

When allegations of voter fraud surfaced, the DemocratS denied involvement in the possibly illegal actions, but still remarked on the sudden reversal in the YON's coverage. "Their headline was '20 Students Vote lllegally' as opposed to, 'Yale Senior Wins Election,"' Thessin said. "I'm kind of surprised that they didn't write it that way."

Why didn't these stories show more sympathy to the former "hometown favorite"? Why didn't the reporters Gosar considered personal friends follow up on the leads he gave them? The one behindthe-scenes change that coincided with the YON's drastic shift in tone was that Wilner was no longer in the office during production hours. Wilner claims that as soon as he got word that his reporters were researching his involvement in registering voters, "I made the immediate decision to break all ties with the story."

YON staff members who were there on the night of the election, however, said that around to PM, as the story was breaking, Wilner repeatedly attempted to enter the newsroom and only decided to leave the building after a long talk in the business office with Ephram Lustgarten (PC 'oo), the YON publisher. The day after the elec-

tion, Wuner called a board meeting to describe the "firewall" to his editorial board for the first time. "I presented the entire timeline to the editorial board about how I had dealt with the perceived conflict of interest and the new, real conflict of interest," Wuner said. "Then I made the recommendation that I focus on the administrative and leadership components of the job and exempt myself from production until things cooled down." The managing editors, whose conflictS with the editor-inchief had grown more public and vocal than ever in the weeks before the election, removed themselves from this meeting so as I)Ot to influence the decision against Wilner. This move was emblematic of tensions that had plagued the board during the whole of Wliner's tenure. Multiple sources have said that the managing editors showed a dear bias, that they along wrote the September 15 headline and made the decision to print Wilner's name. A small disclaimer that ran on the editorial page, ¡ though, simply informed readers that W!lner would not be involved in production of the paper until the potential conflict of interest had disappeared.

Gosar blames the way the YDN told his story for placing him in a no-win situation.

"Perception is realiry," he said. "The Daily, by presenting just one point of view on this election news and taking it completely out of context-without showing my side of the story--created the perception th~t I and these students had done something wrong. That made it really easy for the machine to get together and kick the crap out of me. Politics were used to overturn a democratic election."

Biased journalism, though, may not have been needed to tarnish Gosar's reputation. Gosar said he consulted the proper authorities, but they didn't rush to back him up. Sharon Ferruci, the New Haven Registrar of Voters, claimed that "Asit was in this office every day, asking the questions any candidate would ask about how to fill out the cards." However, he might not have Hstened to her advice. Ferruci went on, "The term 'bona fide residence' is basically where you sleep. We would explain that to anyone who comes in here asking us how to register voters." Gosar's legal argument was based on voting rightS, but his ethical argument, his claim that¡ "every single one of those votes was completely legitimate," is a little more shaky. "These freshmen

, weren't a part of the [initial] game plan," he said. "We thought, hey, we'll get some extra votes."

Taking all of this together, it is easy to see why Gosar resigned rather than go to court. There were the obvious reasons-no time, no money. There was also the Ward 7 Committee for Electoral Justice formed by Armmand's supporters and Gosar's boss at the New Haven Redevelopment Commission, Mayor John DeStefano, to marshal money and lawyers against him.

Even if Gosar had been exonerated, the victory would have been pyrrhic, his reputation-and the town-gown relations he said he sought to heal-permanently damaged.

The two roommates have ended the major projects of their undergraduate careers, which shoved each into a public spotlight that did not approve of their private connection. Gosar found himself caught between machine politics and the YDN's internal politics, Wilner between his roommate and an unfriendly managing board. While Gosar would like to set the record straight, WJ.lner, for the most part, prefers to remain off the record. He told his entire staff not to comment on this story; one reporter who did was suspended.

"This is what I see as the source of bullshit in American politics," .Gosar told TNJ. "The media doesn't have the capacity to tell the whole truth, so politicians have to spin shit and help them write what they want to write." It's hard to tell if this is real self-knowledge or just another spin. In any case, for both Gosar and WJ.lner, things spun out of control. Both seem to have learned the hard way that in the world of politics and journalism, perception and reality are often one and the same.

Ill]

Anya Kammaz, a sophomor~ in Davmport Co/kg~, is circulation and subscriptions manllftr for TNJ.

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0croBER

15, 1999

Shruti Adhar Seth Brown Jessica Bulman Alexander Dworkowitz Chris Edwards Sarah England Jordan Gonzales Tatiana Jitkoff

Jeff Kaplow Sydney Leavins Judy Miller Dan Kurtz-Phelan Julie Saltman Hilarie Claire Tomasiewicz RovicTobin · Carey Knecht

WWJD? What Would J~dediah Do?

by Alan Schoenfeld

For Colll...., .... 0 1l

For Common Thlnp

Th¡llJ.gs ¡

)edediah Purdy (Knopf. 1999), pp. 210

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lub!"

When Jedediah Purdy (LAW '01) was younger, his sister Hannah (ART '02.) could silence him by shouting their code word: "Club!" Jedediah's penchant for long, didactic orations led Hannah to seek some sort of recourse. If only the reading public of America were lucky enough to have the same agreement with Jedediah, it could be spared the flatness and sanctimony of For Common Things, his overextended rumination on "Irony, Trust, and Commitment in America Today."

According to Purdy, his book is "the work of a love letter, a form that is litcle practiced today." And what is it that he loves? The things that we hold in common: the environment, politics and culture, which he thinks are easily divisible into three "systems of ecology": natural, moral and social. Purdy takes us on a rambling tour through these ecological systems. He drags us along with his friends Albert Camus, Czeslaw Milosz, Henry David Thoreau, Michel de Montaigne, Vaclav Havel and Bill Clinton, just to name a few of the figures he quotes, attacks, defends and nearly deifies. We also make stops in West Virginia (where he was born and raised by his hippie parents), the scripmined towns of the Appalachians, and Washington, o.c.

Certainly, Purdy has put his finger on a valid problem--contemporary America's apathy toward nature, morality and soci-

ety-and amassed a staggering arsenal of knowledge.

But to what /_/--~ end? Rather than yoking together these disparate minds into some sort of elegant conceit, Purdy offers their opinions and actions only as symptoms of and reactions to the grossest indecency humankind endures in its current state of turpitude: irony. Yes, it is irony, that rhetorical form which has lasted centuries and has provided the backbone of some of our greatest literature, that makes such villains as Jerry Seinfeld the emblems of our culture. Purdy, therefore, takes up the noble and ambitious task of "describing and diagnosing irony." Bur rather than confronting irony and trying to understand how and why it permeates our society, Purdy mounts his soapbox and StartS on a long, erring road to nothing in particular.

What Purdy attacks as irony proves to be as amorphous and expansive as his book; for Purdy, irony includes cynkism, sarcasm, politicians' rhetoric, and an inability to communicate emotions and thought.

And that irony, Purdy would have us believe, has paralyzed us. It has engendered a fear that prevents us from taking anything or anyone seriously: "It is a fear of betrayal, disappointment, and humiliation, and a suspicion that believing, hoping, or

caring too much will open us to these. Irony is a way of refusing to rely on such treacherous things." Irony is both the cause and the effect of our unwillingness to pursue the "common things" Purdy advises us to embrace.

Can irony be both cause and effect?

Wouldn't it be ironic if it could? The biggest problem with Purdy's book is that irony-that specter of moral and social degradation that looms over the reader-is not clearly defined until page 203. And even then, Purdy provides an inelegant and defensive definition that undoes much of the previous 2.02 pages: "ln its textbook sense, irony refers to the presence in a statement or experience of an unexpected meaning, a significance beyond and contrary to the obvious. Our contemporary irony shrugs off, doubts, and reassembles significance to drain words of evocation, beauty and moral weight. It discovers behind meaning the fact of its insignificance."

But that is not the irony Purdy discusses and laments throughout the book.

By the time he offers up this definition to his readers, he has so complicated the term "irony" that such a neat definition is not only impossible, but so reductionist that it renders his whole missio~ pointless. Take as an example his treatment of language and politics-a subject he should have left to

THE NEW JouRNAL

the more graceful and, well, ironic prose of terms like "Promethean politics" and focus his critical eye on anything in partieGeorge Orwell. ~ "Prozac morality," which punctuate the ular.

Purdy curses contemporary politics book with an irritating and anxious freAnd the human predicament Purdy from the outset: "We live in the disapquency, in order to lend substance to the ultimately outlines is as obvious as everypointed aftermath of a politics that aspired insufficiently-developed concepts these thing else he meditates on in this oversimto change the human predicament in eleterms are meant to represent. Once Purdy plistic account of modern 'America. The mental ways, but whose hopes have develops o.oe of these terms to a point he individual, torn between the spheres of the resolved into heavy disillusionment." In deems sufficient, he offers up another term public and private, must navigate a way order to cover up for its failures, politics has as a reaction to the problems posed by the through life deciding which of these used, abused and corrupted language. first term. For example, the "Promethean spheres to serve--sometimes choosing one, Politicians deceive the American people in politics" of yore--"rebellion against what is sometimes the other. Sometimes the choicorder to gain their support, telling us what in favor of what might be"-has given way es are good, sometimes they are bad. we want to hear and doing what we don't to "therapeutic politics," a superficial Beyond that, Purdy offers us nothing prowane them to do. They are "undignified, means of addressing real, pressing probfound or even vaguely meaningful to use in disreputable, vaguely ridiculous, and thorlems. Not unlike Purdy's book itselÂŁ assessing the human condition. H e offers oughly outmoded." As a result of their After meandering through this only cryptic analyses like this one: "Only deception, the language they use has inscrutable forest of badly presented crian individual can think of herself and her become cliche, and American .....:....---------------~_;;...._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ work as containing an element citizens, as members of the political and linguistic com-

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Re e I 0 n a ga i n st w at is in faVOr Of What might be"- haS g iv en way t 0 su p e rfi cia 1 mea n s Of addressing real problemS. Not unlike Purdy's book itself.

that is inescapably public. This identification does not happen by

munmes that politicians accident...Today a person belongs inhabit and control, suffer to a tradition only inasmuch as she insecurity and "vertigo, a seeks it out, aligns herself with it, dizzy uncertainty that anyand puts herself in its line of tutethingis as itseems." lage." Again, Purdy undoes the So Purdy laments t he line of reasoning he so ploddingly slippagebetweensignifierand outlined. If an individual must signified: "Sometimes words choose to become a part of a tradiget away from us. They come - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - tion, like the tradition of irony, unmoored from the things they represent. tiques of irony, Purdy really offers no solid doesn't that mean that all of us ironic folk Nearly everyone has repeated a common plans to de-ironiz.e our culture. Rather, he are so smarmy by choice? Are we suffering word dozens of times until it suddenly again undermines his own logic with hapfrom some sort of f.Lise consciousness that becomes unfamiliar, a collection of foreign hazard suggestions about ways people have makes us believe that we choose to be ironalready attempted to confront that scourge ic, when we are just the products of an sounds divorced from their familiar meaning." So is it the fault of politicians that of society. For example, Purdy devotes a ironic culture? words have no meaning or is it just a result considerable amount of space to explaining It is admirable that someone of our of the fact that words enter the commerce the proliferation of books about angels. It generation would try to analyze the apathy of ideas and are easily worn to the point seems that the American people, so fed up and cynicism that permeate our interaction where meaning and word are divorced? with their ironic culture, have turned to the with each other and with society as a Purdy would rather place the blame where other world for support: "Ministering to whole. But a compendium of quotes it is most expedient for the task of his book, our sadness and loneliness, [angels] assure bound together by flimsy ideology and rather than look at any intricacy of society. us that we are not unloved. Our feelings even weaker logic is certainly not the way His generalizations sweep, his criticisms fly matter to another being--our guardian to go about it. By writing a condescending, ~y and his tone is unduly grave. angel-as much as they do to us." Seinfeld poorly argued book, Jedediah Purdy only And while all of this is to the detriand his ironic compatriots make us feel so drives people of our generation to further lllent of his argument, nothing hurts his alienated from the human world that we apathy and cynicism toward those who, task as much as his inability to pick a point turn to angels. Are ironic people so dehulike Purdy, are actually interested in fixing of contention and maintain an intelligent maniz.ed that they are incapable of showing society's problems. How ironic. t8J and coherent argument about it. He goes love and emotion to those who are most A/4n Schomfold, a sophomore in Saybroolt off on tangent after tangent after digresimportant to them? With vainglorious Colkge, is a research director for TN]. lion. Like ¡those he attacks, Purdy uses Ianflourish, Purdy offers up his grand, exag&Uage to cover up the flimsiness and gerated assumptions about the human 1Uper6ciality of his arguments. He develops predicament without taking the time to

OcroaER 15, 1999

3S

r

C L "om the back hall of the North Haven Holiday Inn, over have come. Why would I come to a psychic fair if not to be healed, odor of stale cigarette smoke and bleached linens, learn of my past lives and connect with my spirit guides? But I cancomes a new smell, clean and minty. There, past the ice machine not yet accept my destiny, and go on to the next table. and the cocktail lounge, good health and spiritual well-being beck"Asking me to explain crystals," the woman says, "is like asking ons. me to explain the universe." She goes on to explain how every! pay my $4 admission fee and enter the fluorescently lit thing-animals, vegetables and minerals--gives off a particular Ambassador Stateroom. At the moment, I appear to be the ~..-!S::::--,-. electromagnetic frequency. These frequencies can interact. only visitor without an appointment, and the eyes of the They can attract or repel each other. Each crystal is difvendors are upon me. All around, intuitive healers are ferent. How could I ever find the right one, I wonhoping-sensing, maybe-that I seek their particuder? "The best place to start is to find one that lar brand of healing. attracts you. People sometimes pick one up and On my left is a booth for Ki treatments. On say, 'I don't know why, but I just like this one,' the right sparkles an array of crystals. Behind me and I'll tell them what it means, and they'll say, burns peppermint incense oil, and aromatherapy 'Wow, that's just what's happening in my life vials stretch in pharmaceutical rows. Psychics and right now."' I try to feel energy from the crystals, their clients lean together in private consultation but all I feel is a desire to step away, to stop the along the far wall. And there in the middle, behind a high-pitched buzzing in my head. When I give in to long table, a man sits. He smiles at me. He's waiting for the electromagnetic repulsion, and walk away, the me. buzzing ceases.

At an adjacent table, I find Daniel Brener, M.s., an aroMy destiny is clear, but I choose to delay it. I pass to the left, where two Asian men in starched red robes with black calligraphy matherapist. He tells me that certain essences in plan~sential work on a man stretched out on a table. One rhythmically pumps oils--can affect people's emotional and physical health. Kind of like a combination of Prozac and Vicks Nasal Spray, I wonder? His Bier the man's chest and stomach; the other, his legs. They breathe forceexplains the benefits of rosemary essential oil. "Exhilarating, penefully, with mechanical regularity--one in long "swooosh"s, the trating, activating. Stimulates the brow chakra (third eye/pineal other with quick "hoof hoof hoof"s. In the rhythm of these three, gland). Enhances mental clarity, concentration, memory, and crepulsating as one being, throbs the heartbeat of this lonely room. ativity. Useful for studying, computer work, and all intellectually A brochure proclaims this process to be a Ki (Energy) treatdemanding pursuits. Helps clear negative energy from one's aura ment, "Your Chance to C reate Your Own H ealth and Well-Being."

The brochure explains the metaphysics of the process. "lG is nor and environment; has a 'protective' quality. Promotes selfconfidence, courage, determination. Beneficial for the liver, gallonly the basic component of matter, bur also the mind of matter.

Thus everything one thinks and feels is transmitted to the body via bladder, immune and respiratory systems ... excellent for wounds the energy system. When there is harmony between body and and burns. Stimulates hair growth ... " Bur for me Brener suggests a scent based on my astrological mind, the energy flows smoothly, but when there is discord, it sign, Capricorn. H e tells me that Capricorns typically have probbecomes blocked, which eventually leads to disease." Will I allow lems with their bones and joints, especially knees. "Do you have my energy to be unblocked? Will I rebalance my earth and heaven problems with your knees?" he asks. "Well, yes," I say. "Bur only energies? "When all the energy channels that connect with heaven energy and all the energy channels that connect with earth energy from running." Of course, only from running.

If I won't let my knee problem be cured, he can still make me are open, we begin to receive the original energy that created life. a personal scent. I can come to his shop, and he will have me smell This energy has the power to renew cells, regenerate all the body a selection of scents. The ones most beneficial to my body will natfunctions, and return the mind to its original state of goodness and urally attract me. Once I find a group of six or so that I like, he'll beauty." Will I allow my mind to return, to be beautiful and good? blindfold me to remove other stimuli for the final selection process, I glance at the man in the center, who still seems to be looking have me smell them again, and from the final three concoct an odifat me. On the end of his table are more fliers. I feel drawn to read erous medication. This process isn't like going into a pharmacy and them, or at least ro approach the cable. "Would you like to make an doing shots until discovering the right medicine. These medications appointment with one of our psychics?" Ah, perhaps this is why I

~e

by Carey Knecht THE NEW JouRNAL

work with the natural energy Bows in your ~ body, and are much milder.

Expert advice is still necessary, of course. "Essential oils are highly concentrated and should be used with respect and extreme care. Never take essential oils internally without the guidance of a professional Aromatherapist," Bretter writes in a Bier.

He knows all the properties of the oils and will help me avoid using ones that might have harmful effects. H e "assume[s] no responsibility if [I] choose to prescribe for [myself] without the approval of a licensed medical doctor."

Finally, I come back around to the man at the central table, the psychics' receptionist, their boolcing agent.

Immediately he asks me, "Are you ready to make an appointment w ith one of the psychics?" I ask him who the psychics are, and as he rattles off their names and specialties, I match his face to the picture on the brochure. He is the Reverend Robert Stempson, fair organizer, and director of a higher learning center-"PHD I A Center of Conscious Living."

He tells me my choices for psychics: James, who does intuitive readings and past-life regressions, a specialist in helping people connect with spirit guides; Thea who does tarot; as does Donna, who also uses a crystal ball. H ow will I ever pick the right psychic? As I come to understand, the tarot deck and crystal ball are only tools.

What is important is that the psychic gets in touch with my subconscious and pick up on my spiritual energy. I decide to go with my feelings and speak with Thea.

Thea lays the tarot cards on the table and instructs me to shuffle them while concentrating on the questions I want her to answer. She clarifies, with practiced precision: "You can concentrate on multiple questions, but concentrate on each, one at a time."

I take the cards and awkwardly begin to mix them. They are bigger than my hands, so I can't really shuffie them, but I keep cutting and restaclcing them. I try to concentrate on a question, bur one thought 8ows into the next, and I concentrate on none, just mixing and remixing the cards. I rtalize I'm talcing quite a long time. I set

0croBER

15, 1999

down the cards and laugh self-consciously.

"Just trying to make sure I concentrate."

Thea doesn't hear me. She is staring at a spot in the air somewhere. Donna's tarot flier says, "When the querent handles the cards, their energy is passed on through them ... whether they are barely touched by you or thoroughly shuffled, they will come out the way they are meant to."

Thea walks me through an elaborate scheme to select a card. She considers it.

"Hmmm .. .Is there something going on in your life, maybe something you're coming out of now? Some sort of negative person in your life?" Stammering, confused, I deflect, I postpone. "Ummm. What do you mean by 'happening'? I don't, uh, really know ... " In the face of my uncooperation, she proceeds. This card you picked represents the state of your life right now, she says, and reveals it: the Five of Crystals, Negativity. A strongly negative force is attached to me right now. She tries to soften the blow, but I still reel from the diagnosis. I surrender myself for healing.

In a flurry, she lays out 12 cards, a dizzying circle of images. She explains how each card hints at what may be coming in my life. It seems my current frustration will end with a period of spiritual death and rebirth, a "letting go" of things that trouble me. Now that she is practicing her expertise, I feel more secure and put myself in her hands, earnestly offering up details so her analysis can be more accurate. She listens to my concerns. Reassurance from Donna's flier rings in my ears: "The cards can give you answers to questions, but we all have free will. If you are not happy with the reading, you can take steps to change things. I think of the cards as a guideline to the way things will happen if we continue to travel on the same path we are on." The problems I face all seem so manageable now. "Those are my business cards," Thea says. "Take one. If you need to talk sometime, give me a call."

Ill] Car~ Kn~cht is a

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