The year of the forced march

by Kristen Lombardi

Everything about him expressed determination. Union army General William Tecumseh Sherman had the furrowed face, taut lips, and the fiery eyes characteristic of a willful man. And this willfulness prompted Sherman to round up his troops after burning Atlanta to the ground, then set off on a grueling "march to the sea," a 1000-mile foray through the Confederacy's heart that would cut a swathe of destruction 60-miles wide, pillage three states, and, ultimately, cease the nation's cruel Civil War.

Although much can be said about history's famous march, it demonstrates, at least, how a band of troopers stepped high and long, plodded hard and fast, toward a critical destination.

Worcester, in 1998, became a parallel universe, somehow, a place where a multitude of groups exhibited Sherman's spirit of persistence and kept charging onward, ever-mindful of goals. Worcester Youth Center, for example, continued a two-year struggle to remain on the local landscape and, despite repeated resistance from downtown merchants, found a new Chandler Street home. Residents and state officials alike endured in the battle to halt construction of a 120-acre dump near Webster Lake in Webster -- a battle unstymied by developer Vincent Barletta's death from leukemia. A decade's worth of doggedness finally paid off in August, at which point Governor Paul Cellucci signed legislation for the state to take the parcel by eminent domain.

And so it all went. From the city's art world to the business community, crews came forward, plans moved ahead, perseverance prevailed. And, in the midst of advances, seasons unfolded. Like when crusaders fighting to save nonprofit hospitals created UMass Memorial Health Care in March, thus illuminating how "march" isn't simply a steady step but also a month in which we persevere, withstanding winter's last, cold vestiges in hopes of spring's first, fresh blossoms.

If anyone can be said to symbolize the year, it is President Bill Clinton, who visited Worcester just days after confessing to an affair with Monica Lewinsky. As the lurid details were made public, calls for Clinton's resignation were resounding throughout the country, driving him into near-seclusion during his Martha's Vineyard holiday. Right when it seemed as if Clinton's administration might collapse, he suddenly seized upon an open invitation from Congressman Jim McGovern to speak and -- buoyed by the city's warm reception, for sure -- managed to reclaim both his presidential pulpit and his title, "The Comeback Kid."

Clinton kept trying his damnedest to focus on the "people's business" while those scrambling to end his reign closed in. Even the congressional vote to impeach Clinton failed to impede him. No sooner had the House of Representatives cast its vote than Clinton renewed his vow not to resign; indeed, the morning after democratic strategists alluded to Sherman himself, forecasting an all-out "march to the polls" to topple a Republican regime that dared to challenge the American electorate.

Like Clinton, Worcester groups spent 1998 trudging on, resolute in objectives and defiant of obstacles. Call it the year of the forced march.

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Worcester politicians probably won't breeze through all of this year's unfinished business -- that would be quite a feat for a city reputed to let issues linger -- yet they're certain to answer questions on matters like the PIP shelter, needle exchange, and the arts district.

"In the several grand epochs of this war, my name will have a prominent part, and not least among them will be the determination

I took at Atlanta to destroy that place and march on this city."

Union General William Tecumseh Sherman

Savannah, Georgia, December 1864

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PERHAPS THE YEAR'S more impressive march originated with an unlikely band of troopers: Worcester artists, who, in general, are known for quiet independence as opposed to bold unification. Artists, though, seized 1998 to champion the establishment of a designated arts district and appealed to Mayor Raymond Mariano, who not only joined but commandeered the campaign. A task force was assembled and, just this September, a proposal for an "arts overlay district zone" was introduced on the council floor -- making the dream a near-reality.

Many of the year's news stories were similarly staged. The polarizing issue of needle exchange, for instance, appeared again on the community's radar screen once medical professionals and social workers here took advantage of changing tides nationwide regarding AIDS treatment. Losing the battle a few years ago, these backers regrouped in March as the "Harm and Risk Reduction Coalition," then put forth a model that incorporates needle exchange among varied services for intravenous-drug users -- in essence, addressing opponents' past complaints. Councilors sent the group's petition to the health committee in October.

On the social-services front, the perennial problem of where to put the city's Public Inebriate Program (PIP), long viewed as a symbol of all that's wrong with Main South, made giant strides. Councilors set out for resolution back in January, each voting to move PIP's shelter from Main Street. Officials gathered residents and PIP trustees to study relocation, as well as a "new strategy" to aid homeless, single adults. By September, they were offering councilors a report, which, in part, stated that satellite centers could be formed, possibly. This, in turn, prompted Mariano to triumph, "We're moving at warp speed." Minutes later, District Four Councilor Janice Nadeau filed an order to oust PIP on New Year's Day, assuring, if anything, that the pace be maintained.

In potentially comforting developments, the circumstances along North Main Street looked dire enough in 1998 to set off a series of fevered attempts by leaders to reverse spiraling decay. Everything from college housing to a self-help district was suggested, but the proposal that panned out was a plan to reopen Main Street at Lincoln Square, which is regarded as crucial for revitalization. Upon announcing that the city's slated funds to free up the dead-end, Mariano proudly proclaimed, "Opening up Main Street means opening up hope" for a dismal downtown.

To consider all this, we might say the year's spirit of persistence has paid off -- but not for everyone. Just as Sherman's march can be seen as drastic, even merciless because of the sheer devastation left behind, we saw marches that, in retrospect, presented perseverance gone to extremes. The failed trolley service makes for a good microcosm of such scenarios. The high-profile trolleys, while intended to boost tourism downtown, practically faltered at the outset. No sooner had they arrived than they suffered low ridership, low revenues, and, consequently, lack of advertising funds. In spite of the setbacks, sponsors maintained the service, only to keep phantom-like vehicles circling and recircling their routes. Ultimately, the Pittsburgh company that owns the trolleys ended the fiasco this past summer by shipping them to Cape Cod, where, of course, tourists descend in droves.

It was likewise hard not to notice Union Station Partnership's (USP) relentless pursuit to transform the historic station's environs into a profitable "people place." From the moment it proposed a multimillion-dollar plan to build shops, restaurants, and entertainment venues around Union Station, USP encountered obstacles. The biggest one -- namely, securing investors -- haunted the group all year: it caused USP to lose a Chicago consultant; it forced USP to scale back designs; and, it prevented USP from winning exclusive-developer status not once but twice. Yet in the face of successive flops, the partnership didn't just insist the plan could work; it rebuked officials for their "unusual manner." USP submitted a third and, hopefully, final proposal, including a $12 million, 15-screen movie theater, in November.

Few things in 1998, though, better captured the attitude of unreasonable tenacity than the spectacle of councilors urging city administrators to stop another airline from exiting the woefully underused Worcester Regional Airport. The display happened in November, a mere seven months after officials had brokered a deal with United Express to fly daily between Worcester and Washington, DC. The agreement had been viewed as a coup, since it came just months after the community's brash yet bungled effort to keep Continental Airlines. United Express, while experiencing initial success, soon caved under the weight of the airport's dwindling business. Councilors lamented the airline's decision to leave as "worst ever," then tried to hold United Express to a federal requirement to give 90-days notice before departing. Eventually, councilors let the airline go -- but not the fight for a viable airport, a campaign that took its toll on airport directors like Blair Conrad, who resigned this year. He was later replaced by an Ohioan named Eric Waldron, who, officials say, could be the "deal maker" needed to turn things around. (Waldron, actually, spent his first months trying to negotiate with three prospective airlines.)

We witnessed spectacular steadfastness on the part of Catholic pilgrims searching for healing, miracles, and tangible signs of their faith -- pilgrims traveling a circuit of "hot spots" from Medjugorje, Bosnia, to Lourdes, France, to the South Flagg Street residence of Audrey Santo, a semicomatose, bedridden girl, who devotees call a "victim soul." The mystique of "Little Audrey," as she's known, inspired 10,000 people to flock to Holy Cross's stadium for an annual August mass commemorating the fateful swimming-pool accident that caused her current state. The pilgrimage helped to boost her ever-increasing popularity by winning attention from media like the Washington Post, the New York Times, and National Public Radio, making 1998, in effect, the year Audrey became a spiritual superstar.

Yet the most disturbingly overdone march can probably be found in the lurid saga surrounding Walshy's on Main, which is, arguably, the year's under-reported story. The downtown establishment came under scrutiny once the License Commission investigated Walshy's connection to the tragic, drunken-driving death of a Holy Cross student. The bar was deemed negligent because bartenders had served the driver, even though he'd arrived intoxicated. Walshy's sunk deeper after being linked to four cases in which women were drugged and sexually assaulted; some had attended after-hours parties, only to recall waking up naked in the club's upstairs room. The most prominent incident involved Ryan Martin, who had been featured in Cosmopolitan as Massachusetts' "most wanted" bachelor weeks before. He was arrested and charged with drugging then raping a 23-year-old female he'd caught up with at Walshy's earlier that evening. The commission later suspended the bar's liquor license and commanded it to close for 30 days. So rather than capitulate, Walshy's appealed to the state and, today, remains open, awaiting a hearing.

THROUGHOUT 1998, AS WE watched these marches trudge forward, it became clear that "march" could mean something else: a tale of seasonal change. There was, as mentioned, the push to rescue nonprofit, health-care industry and, ultimately, protect affordable health care. We followed the trail of Memorial Hospital and University of Massachusetts Medical Center trustees, who resisted for-profit hospitals' encroachment by driving a merger scheme through the Massachusetts State Legislature. The birth of what's now UMass Memorial Health Care forever altered the medical landscape; and so, it was celebrated with fanfare, with gushing speeches describing the union as "control of our destiny." On reflection, it's entirely fitting that UMass Memorial's dawn happened in March, a month that promises a new season, a fresh start -- but not before the storm.

Almost as soon as UMass Memorial took shape, in fact, officials were predicting the fall of programs and positions. And, subsequently, the organization eliminated 100 middle-management jobs. Mounting debt then compelled officials to shut down doctors' practices, reassign physicians, and get rid of "underused" services, such as inpatient pediatric and psychiatric units.

In a similar vein, Digital Equipment Corporation, headquartered in Maynard, spent the year engineering a deal to stave off losses, and, finally, keep it afloat: the largest, computer-industry merger ever. News that Compaq Computers had agreed to buy Digital for $9.6 billion in stock and cash rocked Central Massachusetts, partly because it signaled an epoch's end, and partly because it guaranteed to usher in change forcefully. Digital's salvation cost 600 people their jobs, mostly Marlborough-based employees. That was only the first round of anticipated cuts; Compaq said it might eliminate as many as 17,000 positions, and one out of three would be former Digital workers.

Eras came and went with 1998's noteworthy passings as well. Kevin O'Sullivan, the city's marketing director, resigned in March to take a comparable job at Massachusetts Biomedical Initiative, leaving, in place of his boisterous boosterism, an uncanny silence. Then James Garvey declared he was stepping down from the helm of Worcester Public Schools after six years, setting off a flurry of debate over how to maintain the system's present prosperity (attributed, incidentally, to Garvey's doggedness). Should we hire from within, officials inquired, or look beyond? The school committee ended up launching a national search.

If anyone can be said to embody a particular period, it is Helen Stoddard, who, at age 94, passed away in November. Stoddard not only lived through Worcester's manufacturing heyday, but descended from one of the city's most enduring, aristocratic families. Upon her death, she was remembered for her stately, regal manner, her commitment to community, and for her wealth -- specifically, how she spread that wealth around to institutions like Worcester Art Museum. For many, Stoddard's passing came to represent the passing of "old Worcester."

There were, in addition, fresh starts that turned sour. Like when Capstar Broadcasting Partners bought eight New England radio stations, including WTAG-AM, for $65 million in January. That a Texas-based media conglomerate was purchasing WTAG might have been a godsend, especially since Capstar has the resources to hire local programmers. But instead, Capstar managed to stain WTAG's image by firing a string of on-air personalities, such as morning host Tom Gorham, reporter Ann Kenda, and program director Skot Pare. Capstar then abruptly canceled Upton Bell's popular morning talk show and replaced it with syndicated host Judy Jarvis, sparking a furor among Bell's loyal listeners.

Veteran broadcaster Bell bounced back from the ordeal, landing yet another job, this time at WSRO-AM, in Marlborough. And this, no doubt, makes Bell the area's Clinton counterpart. The same cannot be said of WTAG's reputation, though. No matter how strongly the station defended its programming, noting daily news and weekend-specialty shows, listeners still mourned the loss of local radio.

Other 1998 beginnings, however promising, had yet to flourish. Take the January inauguration of four, newly-elected councilors: John Finnegan, Tim Murray, Stacey Luster, and Joe Petty. The event marked the largest turnover on the city's highest governing body in two decades -- a sure sign, pundits said, that voters were desperate for change, for fresh faces. (Three had never held public office before.) But despite the fact that these councilors had active freshman terms, filing as many orders as senior colleagues, they hardly altered the way Worcester does business.

And, not surprisingly, we still waited for results in economic development, or, more precisely, two "developments." The first regarded the city's creation of a chief development officer, a position intended to consolidate marketing and planning tasks so Worcester might be "at the center" of regional growth, officials explained. Everett Shaw of New Haven became the new guru in June and was hailed for his 20 years of experience, in particular, in repairing downtown decay. Shaw got off to a slow start, since he has yet to unveil any plans, but he could do wonders to hoist the city in 1999.

Secondly, the grand opening of part of the $240 million Route 146/Massachusetts Turnpike interchange -- that is, the Pike's exit 10A -- occurred at last with typical ceremony. Officials beckoned motorists and extolled the off-ramp as an "important milestone." The direct connection between Worcester and the state's main highway had long been touted as a key remedy for the city's economic-development woes. But whether it had linked us to the latest promised land remained to be seen.

In the end, perhaps, the truest tale of seasonal change is best presented by Lars Bildman's demise. The notorious Swedish executive had ruled Astra USA Inc. in Westborough with a proverbial lion's roar, encouraging systematic sexual harassment, as well as embezzling funds to pay for high-priced prostitutes and lavish home repairs, prosecutors alleged. Bildman became the humbled lamb in '98, however, halting his criminal fraud and conspiracy trial by agreeing to plead guilty to filing false tax returns. He was fined $30,000, forced to pay $280,000 in back taxes, and then imprisoned for 21 months. The Equal Employment Opportunity Commission soon snuffed out Astra USA's raunchy culture of drinking, sex, and all-night parties also; the company signed a $9.8 million sexual-harassment settlement in February for 80 female employees -- the largest ever.

AFTER SUCH A persevering 1998, 1999 seems bound to be escorted by solutions; after all, Sherman's sweeping march wasn't merely a dramatic display of determination but a portent of the war's end. Worcester politicians probably won't breeze through all of this year's unfinished business -- that would be quite a feat for a city reputed to let issues linger -- yet they're certain to answer questions on matters like the PIP shelter, needle exchange, and the arts district. Task forces on PIP's relocation, for one, intend to give a plan to councilors next month, explaining not necessarily where but definitely when the shelter will move.

Outside of council chambers, concrete results will likely come, literally. Although the North Main Street project remains stuck in committee right now, councilors are predicting that groundwork could begin as early as spring, a forecast made more likely considering merchants' overwhelming support. Rumor even has it that a major scheme for the rest of the North Main area will be announced, and this could mean resolution on everything from the aging Worcester Memorial Auditorium to the outdated vocational high-school facility. And the long-awaited Union Station reconstruction into a $40 million transportation center is scheduled for completion, which, naturally, guarantees some sort of imminent decision on how to develop the station's environs.

If 1998's persistent spirit has done anything, it's given Worcester enough of a kick to send it soaring toward the millennium. And if the momentum really gets going, then maybe, just maybe, we can watch the year of the forced march turn into one of social transformation. n

Kristen Lombardi can be reached at klombardi[a]phx.com

Kristen Lombardi can be reached at klombardi[a]phx.com.