Face-Off

District 5 city-council candidate Steven Abraham came out of nowhere to soundly defeat political veteran Wayne Griffin in the preliminary. As the November 2 election nears, political observers wonder just who is Abraham and why has the city's Democratic Committee offered him up to voters.

by Chris Kanaracus

In many ways, local lawyer Steven Abraham is the image of a politician -- the über-candidate, if you will. He's handsome and impeccably groomed, a lifelong Worcester resident, a family man, and, by all accounts, a reasonable, measured, pleasant fellow, even at eight in the morning on a rainy, bitterly gray Saturday with his four young kids in tow.

And he's right on schedule at Friendly's in Tatnuck Square for a breakfast meeting at a time when most of us are still pawing at the snooze button.

He's got a firm, but not crushing, handshake, and is gently effective in corralling his children into a separate booth. That temperate nature continues as a discussion of the District 5 city-council race, to be decided on November 2, unfolds. Abraham, who emerged just one month ago and quickly raised $18,000 in election pledges, soundly and surprisingly defeated three challengers in the September 14 preliminary, including veteran politician and former District 5 councilor Wayne Griffin, who was largely considered a shoo-in before Abraham, a political newcomer, launched a sticker campaign.

"Whatever it takes to do this job, I'm going to do it right. I may be new to running for public office, but I've had an interest for years," Abraham says in a twangy Worcester purr. "And I know my way around more than people realize."

Abraham's children, plowing through stacks of pancakes the next table over, start getting a little rowdy. But one finger pressed to his upper lip and a quiet shushing sound later, Abraham gets them to concentrate on their breakfasts again, and the campaign talk continues.

"I think I can offer the voters a reasonable voice on the council floor, one that can resolve things without confrontation and, at the same time, knows when to say `no.' I'm not going into this [race] with the idea that I'm going to change the world," he says. "Frankly, I'm overwhelmed and flattered at the kind of reaction and support I've gotten so far."

Indeed, it seems like Abraham knows everybody: the waitress plunking down the Belgian waffles, the 50-ish guy sitting in the white Ford Explorer in the parking lot, a family at a neighboring table. But as the conversation continues on this particular morning, it seems Abraham's overwhelmed by all the attention, perhaps even out of his element as the race gets closer to election day.

"It's just . . . unbelievable," he says, shaking his head as he returns to the table, after greeting another supporter. "I certainly didn't expect it to be quite this way."

Abraham's critics probably wouldn't be surprised to hear him say that; they don't consider him -- "nice guy" or not -- to be a credible candidate. In fact, they say, Abraham is little more than a stooge for the city's Democratic party heavy hitters who've lined up behind him. For Worcester Democratic Committee members like Paul Westberg and William Eddy and Richard Wright, all aligned with Mayor Raymond Mariano, have publicly pledged to support Abraham; political observers say it's a strategy to help Mariano retain his perceived-faltering influence on the council floor.

It's the only topic in a nearly two-hour meeting that manages to curdle Abraham's butter-smooth temperament. He takes a quick look around the now-crowded restaurant, leans in close, and nearly spits: "This whole business about the `Democratic Machine' is a bunch of bull," he says. "Let me tell you, I didn't get very much of that $18,000 from the Democratic Committee. The people who helped me raise money, who held signs for me, the nuts and bolts of the operation, are made up of my friends, family, and neighbors who aren't part of any `machine.' Before this, I didn't even know who the Democratic Committee was."

BUT ABRAHAM'S WIN came almost out of nowhere, in a race barely more than a month ago seemed Wayne Griffin's to lose, and that suggests at least something -- especially when you consider the timing.

Popular Democratic incumbent John "Jack" Finnegan, who also celebrated the support of such high-profile politicos like Worcester County Sheriff John "Mike" Flynn and US Rep. Jim McGovern (despite Finnegan's lackluster council term), had announced he would not seek re-election after the candidacy-application deadline had passed. Dark-horse candidates such as airport access-road critic Ed Schofield and perennial underdog Bill Coleman weren't considered serious threats to the political veteran Griffin. But things quickly changed. Eddy publicly complained in the Telegram & Gazette that the remaining District 5 candidates were Republicans and, he posited, perhaps were not suitable representatives for the primarily Democratic district. Soon rumors swirled of potential sticker candidates; including Brian O' Connell, Phil Niddrie, Mike O'Sullivan, and even Ray McGrath (who Griffin had defeated in 1991). Soon enough, though, Steve Abraham announced his sticker candidacy.

The weeks that followed saw Abraham's campaign signs and banners sprout up on lawns, businesses, and homes across the district like errant spring pollen. His war chest swelled to envious proportions (more than $18,000 was raised in three weeks; to date, Griffin has raised about $8000). But the question on the lips of many observers was, "Just who the heck is this guy?" By September 14, though, it seemed that District 5 voters already knew. Abraham handily defeated Griffin 1887 to 1047.

Abraham and his camp insist their victory was primarily the result of grassroots campaigning. But while that may be the case, what cannot be denied is the mad scramble of District 5 Democrats to find someone -- anyone! -- to claim a purported-non-partisan office. And that begs the question: Just what is so bad about Wayne Griffin?

On one pristine Sunday afternoon at Christ the King Church's annual fundraiser, it's hard to fathom what it might be. Griffin, looking a good 20 pounds leaner than in past years and conservative but polished in gray slacks, crisp dress shirt, and tie, moves with ease among the crowd of elderly, middle-age, and young folk. He presses the flesh and engages in quiet, one-on-one conversation. Griffin, a lifelong Worcester resident raised on College Hill and a graduate of Clark University who now works as a hospital administrator, is boldly opinionated, even brash. But, frankly, he doesn't quite live up to his legend.

For the entire story, you'd have to go back to 1997, when then-incumbent Griffin faced a challenge from newcomer Finnegan in a race so rhetorically bloody that events that occurred during the campaign have yet to fade from Worcester's political radar.

There was the usual rash of wayward campaign signs and slightly sinister, anonymous phone calls and even an alleged tire slashing. But what proved highly unusual, for such a home-brewed municipal election, was what transpired during a series of WTAG debates between Finnegan and Griffin. The debates were wild, rancorous affairs, the conversations bogged down in petty personal attacks from both sides. In fact, the most memorable moment of the '97 campaign arose from one of those radio battles. Finnegan alleged that Griffin's oft-heard assertion that he was a tireless constituent advocate amounted to hogwash. In a comment apparently intended as an aside, Griffin responded by calling Finnegan an "asshole" -- on the air.

Finnegan's 1997 campaign manager, Paul Dell' Aquila, who isn't active in city politics this campaign season, says that taking advantage of Griffin's temper was a favorite tactic of the '97 campaign. "It's so easy to get Wayne worked up over something," he recalls. "It's kind of like, `Just wave the red flag at the bull and watch him charge.'"

Griffin was also known for taking controversial stances during his six years as a councilor; they were positions that damaged his credibility among voters and political insiders. In his last term, there was the lengthy campaign against a seasonal farmers' market, which intended to set up shop at Beaver Brook Park. Griffin's position then, and as he states today, was that a nearby fruit market, George's, whose owner provided local jobs and paid city taxes year-round, would suffer from the competition. Griffin maintained his position even after his own constituents spoke in support of the farmers' market.

Also that term, Griffin made the news when he notified the city's Public Health and Code Enforcement department of a tree house built in the back yard of a home abutting his father-in-law's. The tiff became the subject of a Dianne Williamson Telegram & Gazette column, and since has received its place in the canon of "Griffinisms."

Then, Griffin made headlines when he reported observing two men engaged in fellatio in City Hall. His claim was both publicly and privately scoffed at.

However, says Griffin, certain facts then and now were overlooked. "I offered the farmers' market people 10 different sites," he maintains. "They didn't want any of them." And, says Griffin, the back end of the tree house in question "was built almost on top of power lines," he says, which, was ignored. He's sticking to his story about the infamous lobby love-in. And to his use of the A-word on live radio? "When someone questions my integrity, I've got to respond to it."

What Griffin and his supporters say was overlooked in 1997 was the fact that his council record was exemplary -- not only was Griffin's attendance at council meetings perfect, they say, but also were his efforts for his constituents.

A look at Griffin's orders and petitions from the 1997 council year reveals, strictly by the numbers, Griffin was one of the busier board members. And while not known as a crusader (nor does he attest to be one), he centered his efforts that year on issues that hit close to home -- literally. There's one thing that District 5 voters have known for some time: if you need a road, curb, or sidewalk fixed or plowed, Wayne Griffin is your man. "Sidewalks were a big thing of mine. They foster activity and interaction in a community. Whether it's neighbors out going for a walk, or [if it's] kids on their bicycles, people should be able to do that without stubbing their toes.

"I'm an advocate for the little guy," he continues. "Those are the kinds of things that are important to a constituent, and [they] are a big part of this job. . . . What I don't think many people realize is that the commitment to it is extreme. Sometimes I leave my house on Monday morning and I don't see my kids again until Friday night." Yet Griffin's critics, though acknowledging his hard-working nature, have also managed to twist it into a gentle jab: Griffin's unofficial nickname is "The Pothole King."

But this year, district voters have a bit more to be concerned about than spotty pavement. And that's what prompted Griffin, who had pledged to serve just three terms, to vie for a council seat again. The district, made up of Wards 7 and 9, which includes neighborhoods as disparate in nature as Park Avenue and Tatnuck Square and Lakeside Apartments, faces concerns that loom quite large, the largest of which is undoubtedly the state-proposed access road to the failing Worcester Regional Airport. Of seven routes, none of which has been finalized, the most controversial one cuts through the James Street neighborhood and nearby Hadwen Park, thus destroying some 50 homes. Needless to say, the proposal has been met with widespread resistance.

Griffin hasn't overlooked the significance. He's come out firmly against the road. Instead, he proposes that Route 9, from the Brookfields to the west and I-290 to the east, be upgraded to a divided highway in lieu of constructing an access road.

To that end, former candidate and staunch access-road opponent Edmund Schofield, who captured a small percentage of votes in the primary, has thrown his hat in Griffin's, not Abraham's, ring, despite the fact that both candidates oppose the project. "What no one denies is that Steve Abraham is a nice guy, an easy-going guy. . . . But that's not what District 5 needs," says Schofield. "We need someone feisty, who's going to be a vocal fighter for the constituency's needs and, beyond that, who realizes the huge commitment of time and effort the job requires."

Schofield, who ran as a Republican but swears loyalty to no particular party, says that the Abraham sticker-carrying voters whom he watched swarm the polling locations in September "perhaps don't realize that we shouldn't want someone who will have to learn on the job." It's an interesting point to make, considering Schofield has never held public office either.

But not even the harshest critic could pigeonhole Abraham, 41, as entirely new to the game, for what he lacks in terms of office, he -- at least partially -- makes up for with an arsenal of well-honed connections.

Abraham grew up on Ken Berna Road on Worcester's East Side, attended Rice Square Elementary, Holy Name, and graduated from College of the Holy Cross, and then the University of Connecticut Law School. For the past five years, he has maintained a local law practice specializing in civil, probate, and family law.

But Abraham's real wellspring of support -- and what until now may have been an overlooked political-training course -- comes from his work as a coach and board member of Tatnuck Square's Jesse Burkett Little League. "I've always coached Little League," says Abraham, a high school and college ballplayer in his own right. "You get to meet a lot of people that way -- not only the kids, but their parents, and their parents' friends, and so on."

Beyond the diamond, Abraham enjoys and promotes his status as a "nice guy" -- i.e., an antidote to the rough-and-tumble Griffin. But no matter how connected or personable he may be, Abraham's a rookie. In fact, over the course of several conversations, he dropped jargon-filled phrases like "learning process" and "steady progression" with few solutions to back up his ideas.

Griffin, in contrast, is a seasoned veteran, albeit one with a rather burdensome legacy. But as he himself puts it, Griffin has "a vast experience advantage over [Abraham]." Experience, Griffin points out, that includes not only how to be effective in council sessions, but also how to manage one's time and acquire the discipline he says it takes to be a pavement-pounding, committed representative.

Griffin says that District 5 voters need to ask themselves if Abraham will be able to find the time to be as dogged a foot soldier as Griffin was from 1992 to 1997?

It's safe to say that one of Abraham's first tasks should be to shore up his currently anemic platform. So far, Abraham has stressed issues like increased after-school programs for the city's sizable youth population, and has suggested ways to get parents more involved in activities. As to the campaign's biggest issue, the airport-access road, Abraham has proposed that Union Station serve as a transportation hub, where shuttle bus service to and from the airport would eliminate the need for a road to be built. But these are issues that are certainly to be aired as the campaign progresses.

AND BACK AT Christ the King, the look in Griffin's eyes between sips of a caffeine-free Diet Coke suggests he's eager to get Abraham in the public arena as often as possible.

"I've been ready for this election since March," he says. "This guy woke up two weeks ago and said, `Hey, I'm going to run for office.' You have to be more prepared than that."

Halfway through his sentence, Griffin's voice slows, then lowers; his gaze eases slightly to the left. Abraham has strolled onto the scene. The two exchange a quick, hard handshake, prattle a bit about the latest developments in the Ryder Cup. But almost as soon as it began, the encounter is over, their eyes never meeting once. Abraham bids farewell and heads over to a table of senior citizens a few feet away. He looks a bit shell-shocked, although it could be the considerable glare from the mid-afternoon sun.

Griffin takes a last look, then returns to the conversation with a quick, thin-lipped smile. It's far from a nervous smile. In fact, it suggests a learned confidence that comes from years of political fights -- and Abraham happens to be the next.

"I don't have a machine," Griffin says, punctuating his phrases with repeated stabs of his index finger. "I only have me. I'll debate with you on the issues of the last four years, not the last four weeks."

To that end, Abraham admits, the help he has received from Democratic heavy hitters, although limited, has been of great service. But some observers see something more going on in District 5 than simply a well-connected candidate using his resources. The candidate, they say, isn't even an issue. What is at stake, City Hall watchers assert, is Mariano's grip on the council's majority.

The theory has arisen from what some perceive as a weakening over the past year in the formerly bullet-proof Mariano support base. Mariano committed a series of public blunders over the past year and a half, among them the well-publicized difficulties surrounding the first proposal for an arts district in Green Island (see "The politics of art," February 26). Even the proposed airport-access road, and Mariano's high-profile opposition to any airport-related road construction, earned him critics as influential as Gov. Paul Cellucci. Perhaps what could be considered Mariano's biggest defeat this year was the failed strong-mayor campaign that, ultimately, prompted citywide support for City Manager Tom Hoover, of whom Mariano had been critical.

But whether incidents like those have weakened Mariano's clout or not, "There's been a new kind of independence on the council floor" in recent months, says Councilor Tim Murray. What council watchers say Murray is referring to -- though Murray has yet to confirm publicly -- is a coalition of councilors (made up of at least Murray, Mike Perotto, Joe Petty, and mayoral candidate Konnie Lukes) who are aligned against the mayor. Further opposition could also come before election day as the grassroots organization People for Effective Government (PEG) are expected to draft endorsements. Currently in question, PEG members say, is Mariano's.

Murray, for his part, says he'd be happy if either Griffin or Abraham were to be elected. "I think both individuals are guys who can make their own decisions."

"I'll be voting for what I believe," says Abraham. "The notion that if I am victorious, that I will be beholden to someone else's agenda, is unequivocally false. I respect the mayor and all of the other councilors, but I'll be making my own informed decisions."

One thing Abraham says he's already decided is that despite his strong showing in the preliminary, he's "not complacent. People around me are telling me, `Steve, you've already won.' But that's not the way I'm thinking. We've got a long way to go."

That may well be: for though Griffin may have mellowed somewhat during his time off the council, it's hard not to imagine what's in store in the next few weeks.

But if West Side voters are hoping for a 1997 race redux, Griffin says they'll be disappointed. "The last time around, things got bogged down in personal attacks and dirty games," he says. "I'm running on the issues."

That said, Griffin's already showed he can't help but dish out a bit of the former -- after Abraham's win in the preliminary election, he made the following calculation to this reporter: "Eighteen thousand dollars raised, and 1800 votes. That comes out to about 10 bucks apiece," Griffin quips. "I think the voters can't be bought."

That type of comment isn't likely to be part of any return fire, says Abraham, when told of Griffin's comment. "Everyone's been telling me, `Wayne likes to get dirty.' Well, that's not how I play. [My campaign] will be positive and refreshing. . . . I will not get personal or negative."

But if things do heat up, it wouldn't be the first time in history that war has erupted from the wary sort of diplomacy that hovered between Griffin and Abraham at Christ the King. Time -- in this case, one month -- will tell.