Old ban winter

Worcester's reviled winter parking ban loses some clout.
But will the change create a new nightmare?

By Chris Kanarakus

It's two days before Christmas 1999, just past 2 a.m. A night of revelry with a little-seen, much-traveled friend is winding down. It has been a memorable evening full of reminisces, good food, fine drink, and hearty exchanges of carefully chosen gifts. But now it's time to turn in, to ensure we're well-rested for the next day's frantic, last-minute labors.

Arms crammed with packages, we step out the front door of the house and exchange final goodbyes. But it seems we have one more farewell to make, for as we turn to leave, the warm glow of a pair of tail lights -- those of the tow-truck that's pulling our car away -- glances off our cheek, followed by a single, hot, saline tear. We forgot about the parking ban.

Historically, Worcester has enacted a seasonal winter parking ban. From December until April 1, the measure prohibits parking on both sides of main streets and on the even-numbered side of residential streets, between 2 and 6 a.m. This is meant to ease the passage of plows and emergency vehicles during snowstorms.

Violators are nailed with a $10 ticket, and if vehicles are in the way of plows or emergency vehicles, they're towed -- a punishment that can cost car owners more than $100.

This year, though, the garage-less in Worcester can breathe more easily. In September, the city council voted to relax -- but not revoke -- the ban. With the change, the law will impose one-side-only parking only in the case of an announced snow emergency (usually when more than two inches of snow are on the ground). Busier roads, like Park Avenue and Pleasant Streets, will stick to the old system. Should an especially snowy winter occur, officials may reinstate the ban permanently, but clear skies will mean free reign.

The move was a long time coming. The parking ban has drawn fire from residents for years. Under the old system, it was in effect even when no snow was on the ground. And for sure, it was a boon to ticket-happy police (city records indicate about 15,000 tickets for violating the ban were issued in winter 1999). Most of all, it's made life miserable for the residents of Worcester's three-decker neighborhoods, many of whom depend on on-street parking.

But just as loud, though, are critics of the change. Public works, fire, and police officials say that the move will make it impossible to plow roads effectively, inhibit emergency vehicles from navigating tight streets, and lead to even more ticketing and towing than in past years.

In any case, we'll soon find out who's right -- winter is just around the corner. On the face of it, the whole debate seems like a small change to a minor city ordinance. Upon inspection, though, it's a much thornier proposition. There's no doubt the switch will make residents' lives easier in the short term, but the possibility exists that it might lead to disaster down the road.

CHANCES ARE, if you're one of Worcester's many apartment dwellers without off-street parking, you've staked an iron-willed claim to 10 feet of pavement. You've used anything from milk cartons to an old chair to do so, or otherwise had to weed out a spot somewhere in the next county. (Our personal record was achieved at a former apartment -- one full mile from the front door. Yes. We measured it.)

The scramble for space can lead to dangerous situations. For as we know, parking in Worcester becomes most cumbersome toward the end of winter, when snow banks have become asphalt-tough, filth-crested mountain ranges, that further cut down the number of precious spaces. Chipping out a reservoir for your car can take the better part of the morning, and fist-fights have broken out when spots are "stolen."

The ban is also indebted to human frailty. Take this scenario: you had a long, painful commute home. Near the homestead there's a spot available, but it's on the wrong side. You park anyway and tell yourself you'll move your car later. Of course, by the time later rolls around you're in your underwear in front of the TV, and not about to do anything, let alone actually get dressed, go out in the cold, start the car up and drive around to find another place to park. And the next day, there's your ticket waiting for you on the windshield. Sound familiar?

For sure, city lawmakers have considered changing or revoking the 50-year-old ban before. In fact, say several city councilors, such talk has practically been an annual event. Until now, though, opposition from public works, fire, and police interests preserved the status quo.

While he doesn't predict catastrophic headaches for his crews this winter, Public Works Commissioner Robert L. Moylan says he's sure some problems will arise.

"There's going to be occasions where we have a `sneak storm' in the middle of the night. . . . Let's say one inch of freezing rain," Moylan says. "If you've ever driven a 10-ton sander truck down a steep grade with cars parked on both sides, that's a very scary situation. There is nowhere to go in the event of a skid."

Beyond increased danger for his workers, Moylan says he expects current service levels -- which, for sure, have been excellent -- to decline. "We're going to find, clearly, that this change doesn't help us do our job," he says.

Letting people know when the temporary ban is reinstated will be key. That responsibility falls to Moylan, who's firmly against the new ordinance. Moylan says Public Works will notify residents through TV and radio announcements, either with a warning that the ban may go into effect or to announce that it already has. Residents will also be able to check the department's Web site or call a special hotline.

Moylan, who seems somewhat peeved by the whole situation, says he'll give local colleges the lowdown as well, but it will be up to each institution's administration to educate students. "We aren't going to flash the street lights three times, or send flares up," he says. "People are going to have to check to see if the ban is on."

If you look at efforts in cities like Portland, Maine, it seems that perhaps nothing will completely solve the problem. That snowy city, which has long had an announced parking ban, notifies residents through all the means suggested by Moylan and also provides alerts through email, pagers and cell phones.

Yet recent articles in the Portland Press Herald, in which residents shared their horror stories about being towed and ticketed, suggest there's still work to be done.

Closer to home, the affluent town of Brookline enforces an overnight parking ban -- rain, snow, or moonshine -- 365 days a year, making that Boston satellite a sort of zero-tolerance after-dark DPW paradise. The result there has been largely positive because the longstanding ban has encouraged landlords to provide tenant parking, renters in buildings without off-street lots to pay for garage space, and homeowners to pave over bits of their yards for private driveways. Worcester's ban, though, has had few visibly positive effects outside of snowy days. Instead, it's mostly been a big headache for renters and a boon for towing companies.

EVEN TOW-TRUCK operators, who stand to gain if more cars need to be towed, express skepticism over lifting the ban. The city is currently sectioned into 10 towing "zones," upon which companies bid annually. Tows cost car owners an automatic $75, followed by $20-per-day for storage, with a one-day minimum. These fees may seem draconian, but in fact are set by the state. At least several hundred cars are towed per storm, according to officials.

This is lucrative business, but it comes at a cost. The city collects about $100,000 each year for the contracts. Towing rights in Worcester are so cherished that Green & White Towing sued the city, in 1996, when the company was the high bidder for three inner-city zones but didn't receive the contracts because of the distance to the company's storage facility.

Naturally, towing companies take their share of heat from residents. But tows only happen when police call in a request. Still, the perception exists that towers are overly aggressive in their efforts.

James Early, who owns Early's Garage on Park Avenue, has held the contract in the Clark University neighborhood for some time. News of the change to the ban, however, didn't make him jump for joy. "I fear the fact that everyone's going to park anywhere and everywhere," Early says. "We averaged 30 cars a storm last time. I've got a funny feeling we'll get more."

Such a thing, he says, could prove lucrative, but also troublesome. "I've got six trucks," Early says. "When it snows, we're already busy with people that are broken down. Then when you factor in police tows, it gets worse. It's always a mess when it snows."

This year, says Early, might be a record-breaking headache. "At least in [past years] they would ticket the cars. That sends a message that you can't park here. But now, they're not going to do that."

But at-large councilor Tim Murray, who led the push to change the ban, waves off Early's suggestion. "My guess is there will be more tickets and more tows initially, until people become aware," he says. "At the end of the day, most conscientious people know you have to move your car when it snows."

Changing the ban is worth the risk, says Murray, because of the quality-of-life benefits it will eventually bring. "People have been clamoring for this for years. . . . A lot of people live in three-decker neighborhoods. A lot of them are elderly. We're trying to encourage home ownership here. We can't have some older person having to walk one, two streets over, just to park."

Of course, it could be a bit longer of a walk to the towing yard.

Chris Kanaracus can be reached at ckanaracus[a]phx.com.