Reinventing his spiel

Mayor Ray Mariano's critics have never been louder. Will they finally force his honor to change his ways?

by Kristin Lombardi

If there is one scene that best captures the spirit of the mayoral race, it occurred long before voters went to the polls yesterday. It was a few weeks ago at Beth Israel Congregation on Jamesbury Street. On a dreary October morning, incumbent Mayor Raymond Mariano sits at a table full of bushy-haired men, who are munching on bagels and engaging him in small talk.

Mariano looks comfortable, relaxed, as he chats openly with his companions about his family, his campaign, and the imminent opening of Union Station. ("Each time I go in there, it gets more spectacular," he muses.)

But then, mayoral challenger and longtime, political rival At-large Councilor Konstantina Lukes is called to address the audience. In a two-minute speech, Lukes comes out fast and strong, stating that she won't be a mayor who divides neighborhoods or makes empty, election-year promises. "You deserve better than double-talk," she tells the crowd. "I won't double-talk and you know it." She ends with a pledge: "Vote for me and you will get problem-solving."

This type of back-and-forth battle among politicians may be standard-fare at candidate events; yet today, people seem to be listening. As Lukes sits down, a man seated near Mariano marvels, "Boy, that wasn't dry." Another man leans toward the mayor and comments, "Hey, Ray, I hope you've got a good rebuttal."

It's a dramatic moment, illustrating Mariano's main challenge in this year's campaign season: in spite of tremendous popularity among voters, the six-year mayor has had to face a growing perception that his enemies -- epitomized by Lukes -- are getting louder.

Weeks before the polls closed on Tuesday, November 2, with a 60 to 30 percent split (at presstime with one precinct left to be tallied) making Mariano the first, four-term mayor under the city's current charter, pundits had named him the odds-on favorite. (George Fox, the "accidental candidate" ran a low-key campaign that posed no threat.) Not only does he boast a recognizable image, but also a slick, well-tuned organization whose war chest, at $133,000, quashes Lukes's paltry $4500.

In a race where Mariano has been almost assured re-election, though, his naysayers have been eager to weaken him. Lukes, who's known as a pragmatic yet contrarian politician, has done her best to appeal to the "anti-Ray" sentiment, presenting herself as a new leader, not a "celebrity" -- a clear slap at Mariano's controversial style. But the fact that she waited a mere six weeks before elections to declare her candidacy has heightened suspicion; the theory has her running for mayor to gain exposure and thus separate herself from the pack of 12 at-large councilor candidates. Mariano loyalists even suppose that his detractors are behind her campaign.

As the mayor's field director and childhood friend Paul Westberg phrases it, "His naysayers are trying to make a candidate out of Lukes" -- not to test her merit, but rather to test the electorate for future elections. "If detractors want to run against Mariano," he adds, "they should stop talking about it and do it."

Ultimately, all the political vying this campaign begs the question: what is in store for the newly elected Worcester City Council? And while political observers suggest it paves the way for free-thinking, principled leadership among councilors -- the very leadership needed to address the city's substantial and looming financial problems -- they also suspect it will force Mariano to reconsider how he does business.

"Ray has to understand support doesn't last forever," says former state senator and Worcester politico Gerard D'Amico. "Now he ought to seriously consider re-inventing himself by taking an assessment of where he's at as a leader and making changes."

ANOTHER SATURDAY in the heat of the race, and Mariano has settled in a chair at his Shrewsbury Street headquarters. Just six days ago, the former car dealership was brimming with supporters -- 100 kids, parents, and friends -- rallying to a medley of Italian ballads, readying for a brisk, rain-soaked march in the Columbus Day parade. Today, however, the building is dark and empty, save for the red-and-blue signs declaring "MARIANO" and "Make Us Proud Again."

Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Mariano looks more like a nondescript Everyman than the egotistic demagogue his detractors paint him to be. Over these two hours, he speaks in earnest yet measured tones about his mayoral tenure -- how he's "reaching out," "working with," and "bringing people together" to solve problems. At times, he downplays his significance, doling out credit to colleagues instead. Though he doesn't say so, such humility suggests he's listened to his critics.

But if there's a modesty to Mariano this afternoon, there's also a resolve regarding his mayoral vision, which isn't likely to change. As he says, "You can cut ribbons, make everyone happy, but get nothing done. Or you can get things done and make enemies." He admits he's not a willing figurehead. "If I had to pick between ribbon-cutting and spending time with my kids, you could have the ribbons. I want to make a difference."

That Mariano takes pride in his man-of-action image isn't surprising, considering he has evoked such an image over and over on the campaign trail and during his terms in office. ("I ask you to look at what I've accomplished," he's said. "My actions speak for themselves.") Ever since he became mayor in 1994, he says, he's devoted himself to improving families' lives -- and he's prepared to keep up the fight. "We need to provide children with safe, effective schools and a nurturing community," he explains. "Nothing is more important to the future." Nor is anyone better equipped to confront the challenge -- a charge, he adds, born out in his record.

No doubt, topping the list of touted achievements are his youth efforts, particularly his youth at-risk advisory committee, which has set up what he calls "unprecedented" services for kids on the fringe. Like the high-school returnee program, where 200 dropouts have come back to earn diplomas. Or the career-pathways academy, where troubled middle-school students get counseling and tutoring with aid from social-service and juvenile-justice agencies. Recently, he's announced the doubling of after-school, day-care slots for children ages five to 12 at public schools.

If he's responsible for these programs, though, Mariano insists it's simply by helping foster a camaraderie among previously disconnected city, school, and juvenile-justice officials. Once committee members started sharing information, it wasn't long before they, not the mayor, were generating ideas. "All I did was bring people together," he says, "and [the group] took off on its own."

Mariano also holds up his development endeavors as proof of his efficacy. Right after he got elected in '93, for instance, he traveled to Washington to lobby senators John Kerry and Edward Kennedy, securing not only the first federal grant for Union Station, but also two community-policing grants. Mariano, in addition, notes his leadership on the city's convention center. Back when the fate of Worcester Centrum Centre was stymied by the state legislature, he listened to a local radio show, during which a caller said if the center was worth it, councilors should build it anyway. "I said, `This guy is right,'" he recalls. Mariano figured legislators would fix the stalemate; and so, he asked fellow councilors to direct City Manager Tom Hoover to go forward.

"People talk about it as if it were a bold, courageous move, but I thought it was a pretty safe bet," he says. "The council, to its credit, took the plunge. Our state delegation, to its credit, worked hard at getting the money into legislation."

But perhaps what Mariano's six-year tenure is known for is his attempts to open the administration to citizens -- largely through his well-publicized "mayor's walks." For his supporters, this type of outreach, albeit somewhat stale today, seemed revolutionary at first. "Mariano took government to places it had never been," explains longtime loyalist and friend William Eddy, ticking off a list that includes Great Brook Valley and Plumley Village. "The best thing he's done as mayor is move government beyond City Hall."

Mariano might agree, if not stress that the walks have raised awareness and answered concerns. Take the time he first hosted one in Grafton Hill. Close to 70 residents and officials were touring the neighborhood when a woman intercepted Mariano. "She gives me the dickens about this bar." So he led her and her neighbors to the bar owner, who was told his establishment was considered a magnet for drugs and underage drinking. Eventually, the bar was forced to close.

"We have shut down barrooms and fixed code violations," he notes, adding crime watches and the dog ordinance were ideas that were first generated during such walks. "We don't solve all problems, but nobody can say we haven't gotten residents excited about their neighborhoods."

Even more rewarding to Mariano is his ability to assist the city's oft-forgotten, disaffected citizens, he says. Which is why he says he's helped put basketball courts in such areas as Lakeside and Great Brook Valley, and why he's pushed the school department to expand nutrition programs for poor, hungry children. "I know what it's like to have someone give you a box of food you know your family didn't buy," he confides. "It's humiliating. Reaching out to these kids means a lot to me."

It means a lot to his supporters as well. For them, Mariano's gained a reputation as a passionate, committed politician who keeps the administration on its toes and, as such, makes things happen for the proverbial little guy. That he's transformed limited authority into real authority is quite a feat. "He's taken a job that, on paper, means nothing and brought it to a whole new level," Eddy exclaims. Indeed, Mariano is credited with boosting the mayoral office beyond his predecessor Jordan Levy, who used it to spearhead the city's economic-development agenda, playing an instrumental, behind-the-scenes role in the Worcester Medical Center.

Ultimately, supporters view Mariano as an aggressive, spirited politician who does what he can in a restrictive, faulty system. Even observers like D'Amico, who isn't necessarily a Mariano fan, agree. "In the context of the charter, he's done well. He must be judged in the confines of a system not allowing [for] dynamic leadership."

THERE IS LITTLE doubt among Mariano loyalists, though, that their candidate has had anything but an easy election -- and not just because of Lukes's opposition. "This is a pivotal campaign," Westberg explains, "because [Mariano's] naysayers are trying to push him down."

Such a course seems almost predictable, seeing this year marks one of Mariano's loneliest. In fact, he suffered setbacks soon after his popular arts-district proposal, targeting the Green Island area, was greeted with fierce opposition in January. His detractors seized the incident, arguing that his miscalculated tactics pitted artists against businesses and jeopardized an important project. Although the district has since been shifted to and embraced by the Main South neighborhood, critics still describe Mariano's handling of it as "the worst blunder" in his political career.

The debacle practically coincided with the now-defunct strong-mayor movement, which, however separate, was viewed as an attempt to move Mariano into the city's chief-executive position. Suspicions prompted him to instruct his organization to steer clear of it, and to maintain a conspicuously low mayoral profile. For months, he all but disappeared from the media spotlight, only to gain attention, in May, with an embarrassing blooper. During his Wednesday WTAG radio show, The Mayor's Forum, he mistakenly thought he'd been cut off the air and, in frustration, yelled FUCK over the airwaves, sparking a host of listener complaints.

By the time the movement was declared dead in June, Hoover, rather than Mariano, had emerged victorious. "Everyone can agree Ray was the big loser," claims one pundit with former Mariano ties. After all, he adds, "By challenging the strong-mayor effort, Hoover basically challenged Mariano. Now Hoover is on top."

For his part, Mariano is quick to dismiss the significance of these events. Since "his people" weren't behind the strong-mayor movement, he asserts, there's no reason its failure should affect him: "I still do the same things as mayor I've always done." And while he acknowledges he "hit a few strikes" with the arts district in Green Island, he bristles at the notion that critics would overlook the final result: a long-sought-out arts district in downtown.

"My job is to find consensus, which doesn't necessarily mean you get your first choice," he says. "So I proposed Green Island and it didn't work; in the end, we got an arts district. . . . If people call it my biggest mistake, that's pretty good."

But even Mariano cannot ignore the fact that his enemies are getting louder. For detractors have long described him as a "political animal," who latches onto safe, popular issues and then forces his will upon those who disagree with him. This year, they've picked apart what's considered the classic-Ray style, bandying about such words as "blowhard," "divisive," "bully," and "vindictive." That they bash him solely in private speaks to his nasty habit of seeking retribution, they argue.

Dislike of Mariano's personality has managed to filter down to daily workings of city government; in fact, detractors find fault with much of what he's done lately. Consider his spearheading, in July, of the city council "downtown vision," a series of recommendations to revitalize Main Street, including diagonal parking and a pedestrian mall. Critics discount it as little more than Mariano taking credit for others' ideas, especially since most suggestions appeared in past reports. They also denounce his decision not to include Lukes and District 2 Councilor Michael Perotto -- both opposite Mariano on recent issues -- as petty payback. Or consider his staging of a July press conference to announce it's "time to bring baseball to Worcester" -- another example, for foes, of Mariano rushing to upstage the administration. (It occurred when Hoover and Chief Development Officer Everett Shaw were out of town; both men are critical to negotiations between the city and the independent minor league.)

Maybe nothing irritates enemies more than the thorny, dominant issue of an airport access-road, in particular Mariano's "self-serving, politically motivated action," as it's described. He initially voiced opposition to said road at a highly scripted, June production, during which he stated it wasn't needed, and residents' concerns were being ignored. That this happened on the heels of the strong-mayor movement has heightened cynicism. "For the first time in his tenure, he lacked a groundswell of support," surmises one critic. "Ray needed an issue, so he seizes the access road and turns into a neighborhood champion."

Even though Mariano waxes philosophic ("Your strongest asset is invariably your greatest liability."), the topic of enemies does inspire rancor. When responding to criticisms, for instance, he leans forward, his face flushed, and nearly spits: "I challenge [critics] to find anyone who puts more time and energy into this city. If you don't like me, fine. But nobody can say I haven't put Worcester first." He later adds, "There are times I have to stand and fight. But every one of my accomplishments is a collaboration. You don't do these things by dividing people and pitting groups."

He handles criticisms of specific issues with more ease. First, the downtown vision, which, he says, was presented as a new packaging of old, good ideas (some his, some not). In essence, its value is symbolic: councilors now agree on the area's revitalization projects; and so, he explains, "the administration knows it won't be picked apart on these items and can move forward with enthusiasm." As for not asking Lukes and Perotto to co-sponsor the initial order, Mariano outright denies the payback allegation. "I simply looked for councilors available at City Hall." Second, the baseball initiative. He admits the administration's worked at bringing a minor-league team here; but in late July, he contends, "there was no momentum behind [the effort]." By calling the press conference, he tried to kick-start it -- and, he says, he did.

Finally, the access road, a topic prompting Mariano to relay what he calls the "real story." He first heard talk of such a road back in April from concerned parents at Heard Street School, he says. "I told them I didn't know anything about it, and I didn't." Yet within weeks, he adds, state officials came to his office and then put forth a plan for a definite route. The next time Mariano visited Heard School, he informed the same parents that, yes, there would be an access road.

"From that point on," he insists, "neighbors took this into their own hands, as they should. It's called democracy." That his action has earned him powerful critics like Gov. Paul Cellucci is a reality he knows well. "People say I created this situation. But all I did was tell neighbors the truth."

IF NAYSAYERS ARE EAGER to weaken Mariano, it might be working. For months now, talk among City Hall observers has focused on the mayor's perceived-faltering influence on the council floor. And it's apparent he's had trouble mustering support. When he demanded disclosure of the administration's courthouse plan, for example, he had to beg fellow councilors for help -- to no avail. More recently, Lukes, Perotto, and At-large Councilor Tim Murray -- identified as part of a coalition aligned against the mayor -- rejected (in a six to five vote) Mariano's push to label the College Hill area a "zero-tolerance zone" after neighbors complained of raunchy, drunken behavior by Holy Cross College students.

The diminished clout stems partly from a frustration over what one council watcher terms "the Ray show," explaining that, "Mariano isn't a team builder, [but] rather a free agent. What he does comes across as Me, Me, Me, not Us, Us, Us." It also partly stems from the strong-mayor movement -- or, more aptly, Hoover's rising influence. Insiders say the fact that no one ever questions whether Hoover is in charge, which had happened in the past, has allowed councilors to wiggle away from the Mariano grip.

Perhaps a more visible sign the mayor's bullet-proof support base has cracked came last month, once the fledgling, civic association People for Effective Government (PEG) unveiled its endorsements. PEG avoided the prominent mayoral race because it said the office holds no power; yet the obvious omission of Mariano as favored councilor had PEG fending off charges its slate wasn't representative of the entire group's opinion and was decidedly "anti-Ray," especially since PEG backed challenger and rival Lukes instead. (She was also endorsed by Worcester Magazine, published by Worcester Publishing Ltd., whose president, Paul Giorgio, is a PEG board member.)

Though Al Vuona Jr., the PEG vice-president of public affairs, maintains that the slate wasn't a vote against Mariano, he recognizes oversight of such a high-profile politician is a "big statement." Vuona, who didn't sit in on candidate discussions, attributes the Mariano non-endorsement to the strong-mayor movement, out of which grew a feeling, as he says, "there's a power base on the council that's somewhat prohibitive." Another PEG member, who did attend board meetings on candidates, goes further: "PEG wasn't looking at achievements but at approaches. People felt Mariano may appear a leader but acts in a divisive, unproductive [manner]."

Considering all this, it shouldn't have been startling that the number of voters who cast ballots in favor of Mariano dropped on election day. Detractors, of course, see any downward trend as indication of the mayor's waning popularity -- not because of Lukes's last-minute campaign, but because of what they call Mariano's lost shine. "You hear it every day on the street," says one former politician turned observer, "Ray is on the downside."

To be fair, it's tough to remain on the upside as a six-year incumbent -- particularly after garnering an impressive 80 percent of the vote in past elections. Which is exactly why Mariano loyalists didn't anticipate high numbers. "I don't expect him to have the same returns," allows Westberg, "but he will be strong." In spite of criticisms, the electorate has said time and again they want Mariano to be mayor; for supporters, it's the voters, not the politicos, who matter.

Eddy sums up the sentiment best. When asked about the PEG endorsements, he describes the 90-member group as a "bunch of pundits talking to each other," then offers this assessment: "If [Mariano] had to run an election and only self-styled politicos could vote, he wouldn't be re-elected. . . . Voters can see through the game."

Mariano may agree, if only reluctantly. "I guess Bill [Eddy] is right," he says, explaining, "My energy goes into the job and then I go home. . . . I don't spend lots of time genuflecting to influential folks."

Besides, he adds, all the speculation over his shrinking support is just par for the political course. "There is an ebb and flow to politics. You can't expect to lead the league every year."

But to City Hall observers, the course is bound to change. Up until today, they reason, city councilors' primary political calculus has been more about Mariano -- how to be free-thinking without being punished, they assert -- than about issues. Reluctance to oppose the mayor, in essence, has rendered the council weak. Now that his reign is languishing (a trend reinforced by Lukes's numbers), observers expect the council's newfound autonomy to be obvious. As one watcher puts it, "Let's just say councilors won't be dictated to by anyone."

It's a prediction that councilors themselves confirm. One-time Mariano ally Perotto, for instance, who claims to still enjoy a "good working relationship" with the mayor, says when he happens to concur with Mariano on issues, "I'll vote with him. If not, I won't." And Murray refers to the "more independent council," adding, "Councilors will continue to vote the way they want without being seen as conduits." (And Murray might easily be independent given his strong showing -- capturing second place in the at-large race -- in the election.)

A city council made up of confident, issue-oriented officials couldn't come at a better time. By all accounts, councilors soon must face major, fiscal-related matters like the poor bond rating, the long-delayed public-safety services, and employee contracts; in short, they must position Worcester for the future while proposing budget cuts. Such a tight, economic prospect already looms: the municipal budget depends on 55 percent of state aid; the administration can only borrow another $5 million for city improvements.

What will be needed then is thoughtful, galvanizing leadership -- not petty hostility. "We have work to do. We don't have time for coalitions and rivalry," exclaims At-large Councilor Stacey DeBoise Luster, warning colleagues not to let hype affect business. "Councilors never vote for or against the mayor, [but rather] for or against issues. Any coalition should be about issues."

Whether the hype alters how the new council tackles problems remains to be seen, naturally. But it's safe to say the drama evident during campaign season poses a challenge for Mariano. As D'Amico observes, "He needs to figure out how to make changes in leadership. . . . He'll have to deal with [councilors'] personalities and make it work."

The one councilor he cannot help but notice will be Lukes. Indeed, she's guaranteed a seat next to the mayoral throne. Worcester's charter calls for the second-highest, vote-getter for mayor (who wins a council seat) to also become the council's vice-chair. And while the position is virtually powerless, the symbolism behind Mariano's all-time rival assuming it is not. With rumors swirling about him running for higher office in 2002 -- thereby leaving council meetings in Lukes's hands -- some are convinced the mayor will have to change his tune.

If any of this bothers Mariano, though, he keeps it to himself. "I know everyone believes I spend time thinking about my position, but really I'm thinking about my projects." One of those will be to adjust to whatever the future brings -- to which, he promises, "With every election, things change; I always try to adapt to each council."

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