The Big One

This year, no local story was small

The past 12 months' top stories have proven to be gripping and powerful -- so much so that we found ourselves ticking off long lists of events, anecdotes, and developments to include in this retrospective effort. But since we set out to reacquaint you with the 10 most significant stories, we had to make choices, focusing on what we consider to be the intriguing news. Some are obvious, indeed landmark, incidents that are certain to be felt for generations. The December 3 fatal fire will never be forgotten. And the city's airport agreement with Massport will surely lift a financial burden from city administrators. Others, though, are subtle, somewhat-overlooked affairs.

No doubt, there were a host of important stories we chose not to highlight. Just consider the development arena. The Worcester Redevelopment Authority (WRA), for instance, was unexpectedly forced to request $14.8 million from city councilors this fall as part of its ongoing, $215 million Worcester Medical Center project. The agency, which had already used $42 million to seize a 24-acre region owned by 40 landholders, has signed settlements with as many as 21 property owners, all of whom had sued the WRA for more.

But while millions of dollars in unanticipated expenses aggravated councilors, the Medical Center complex also offered some benefit, luring the Boston-based Mass. College of Pharmacy and Health Sciences (MCPHS) to downtown, where it will open a satellite campus. The June ground-breaking had a ripple effect, when, days later, Curry College revealed plans to open a campus adjacent to the MCPHS site. Now, Massachusetts School of Law at Andover is talking with city officials about a potential campus in the North Main Street area.

And then, there was the continued, prickly saga around the city's vocational, or "voke," high school. After months of debate, state legislators approved city plans to take five acres of Green Hill Park parkland for a new 370,000-square-foot school on Belmont Hill. But the grassroots Green Hill Park Coalition, a staunch opponent of the design, countered with a last-ditch attempt, in November, to stop the project, appealing a state-wetlands permit. The action could delay construction of the facility for as long as a year, as well as force officials to modify plans. For a while, it even jeopardized the long-sought-out $125 million courthouse, which the city administration had suggested be located at the current, soon-to-be-empty voke school site. That threat was eliminated, though, when the state announced this fall it had selected the 201-249 Main Street block, now dominated by parking lots, as the best location for a new court.

On the political front, it was an exciting, fast-changing year, beginning, in March, with the creation of the fledgling People for Effective Government (PEG), a civic association bent on encouraging citizen participation to improve local government. PEG got off to a slow start, but did manage to unveil a much-discussed candidates' slate that snubbed the city's most visible, popular politician, Mayor Raymond Mariano. Yet election '99 became more interesting once Stephen Abraham, a political newcomer, launched a stunning sticker campaign in the District 5 city-council race. In just one month, not only had Abraham raised $18,000, but also he had pummeled three challengers in the September primary. He later defeated veteran politician and former District 5 councilor Wayne Griffin. The season grew intriguing when 600 Holy Cross students registered to vote en masse -- largely in response to police crackdowns at off-campus parties, which led to 52 student arrests, as well as to certain councilors' knee-jerk attempts to turn the College Hill neighborhood into a "zero-tolerance zone." Ultimately, though, the HC registration drive meant nothing, since all councilors seeking re-election kept their seats, which is unlike those on the School Committee. Indeed, the upset in election '99 came when Ray Loughlin lost his school-committee seat to another political novice, Kate Toomey.

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Though pundits had eulogized the Citizens for a Strong Mayor campaign by May, claiming its failure was rooted in the group's inability to rally the public, there's one real reason for the strong-mayor-campaign collapse: a cunning Hoover.

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Speaking of education, the Worcester Public Schools ended an era with the April retirement of superintendent James Garvey. But, in a predictable, status-quo-affirming move, the school committee hired his right-hand man, James Caradonio, as his replacement -- marking the first in a series of personnel changes in Worcester. There was William Capers, who became the city's marketing director in late April, yet spent an embarrassing four months dodging the public. He even refused to answer basic, get-to-know-you questions put to him by reporters. Then came his successor, Susan Black, who took over the post in September and did the exact opposite (she had no choice, really): she appeared on the radio and in the pages of local media. And leadership shifts, in general, occurred throughout: Elmer Eubanks stepped down as director of Centro Las Americas; Richard Traina announced he was leaving Clark University (where he's been president for 16 years); Eva Robbins resigned from ARTSWorcester; and Rosalie Velezquez said good-bye to her staff at the Central Massachusetts United Way.

Of course, we could go on and on. After all, we haven't even mentioned the ongoing, sure-to-erupt-again debate around needle exchange (HIV/AIDS advocates are expected to re-file their unprecedented model this January), or myriad other issues facing city residents. But look at the Phoenix picks for the top 10 stories of 1999 and see what a year it's been.

-- Kristen Lombardi

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The fire that captured a nation . . .
and forever changed the WFD

The fatal, five-alarm December 3 fire and its aftermath undoubtedly represents the biggest, most significant news to hit this community in decades. For the Worcester Fire Department (WFD), though, the devastating blaze, which killed six firefighters, might well be a tragic, unbelievable end to an already-brutal year.

Throughout 1999, in fact, ongoing disputes between city officials and firefighters have thrust the WFD into the spotlight -- disputes centering on the staffing, facilities, and equipment that firefighters argue they desperately need to protect local residents and businesses.

This year, for instance, councilors bemoaned the purchase of three Ford Expedition sports-utility vehicles for deputy chiefs, and then fumed over a new "luxury" Crown Victoria. In early June, they also blasted Fire Chief Dennis Budd for the purchase of a state-of-the-art ladder truck -- partly because it arrived five inches taller than specified, and partly because it surpassed state commercial-truck regulations in length and weight. For some, the Ladder 2 truck debacle reinforced the belief that Budd is controlled by an aggressive union.

Yet the most salient public battle has centered on the 17-large, firefighter recruit class, which City Manager Tom Hoover had postponed for years because of budgetary reasons. This past fall, after the city received a larger-than-anticipated amount of state aid, Hoover recommended that the city fill the unfilled, $750,000 recruit class -- right when the fire department's vacancies were expected to rise to 39.

That Hoover was finally willing to address the long-contentious issue of manpower made it seem like things were turning around for the WFD -- perhaps even enough for its 12-year leader Budd to announce his retirement within days of Police Chief Edward Gardella's. Unlike Gardella, who is set to retire this January, Budd, a 26-year firefighter, said he will wait until November 2000 to step down in order to prepare his men for the leadership change.

Of course, this was all before the night of December 3 -- a night that surely trivialized the prior events. When the first box alarm sounded at 6:13 p.m., firefighters rushed to the abandoned Worcester Cold Storage and Warehouse building, at 236 Franklin Street. But once firefighters found out homeless people might be stuck inside, the call turned into nothing like the department has ever known.

For two firefighters, Paul Brotherton and Jeremiah Lucey, hustled into the burning building in search of potentially stranded people -- and ended up stranded themselves. The fire, described as a "raging inferno," escalated in minutes, spewing thick, black smoke and ash for hundreds of yards. Brotherton and Lucey, trapped on the fifth floor, radioed for help; they were out of air. And so, 30-some firefighters, in pairs and attached to safety lines, went into the dark, windowless maze of a structure to look for their colleagues. Six of them -- Brotherton, Lucey, Timothy Jackson, James "Jay" Lyons, Joseph McGuirk, and Lt. Thomas Spencer -- died, leaving behind five wives, 17 children, and scores of family members, friends, and fellow firefighters.

The December 3 fire didn't just represent one of the country's deadliest fires in decades; it marked the first time a Worcester firefighter had died in the line of duty since 1962 -- and the community responded accordingly, with immense grief and passion. The city itself practically shut down during the emotional search for the firefighters' remains, which continued around-the-clock for eight days, even as the building still smoldered. By Sunday, December 5, Jackson's body was discovered, followed, two days' later, by Lyons's. But then there were days and days of tedious sifting through charred debris in aggravating, risky conditions like rain and high wind.

The community, meanwhile, grappled with the event's gravity. First came charges against a homeless couple who had lived in the abandoned warehouse and had allegedly started the fatal fire. In the heat of an argument, Julie Barnes, 19, and Thomas Levesque, 37, had knocked over a candle. Though they tried to stomp out the flames, they ended up fleeing the scene without reporting what happened. Now facing six counts of involuntary manslaughter each, Barnes and Levesque await court action in January.

Second came the unparalleled December 9 memorial service, during which 30,000 firefighters, dressed in formal blues, migrated here from as far away as Australia and Ireland to honor the dead. Thousands of residents flooded the downtown streets to witness a snaking, three-mile-long procession and to pay tribute to the firefighters' sacrifice. Donations for the victims' families poured in (totaling $3.5 million and counting), as well as flowers, cards, T-shirts, wreaths, pictures, poems. Makeshift shrines sprouted across the city, particularly at the Franklin Street site and the two stations, Grove and Central, where the victims worked. This day, it seemed, the tragedy resonated beyond Worcester, capturing a nation's heart, most visibly in the form of President Bill Clinton and Vice-president Al Gore, both of whom attended the packed-to-the-rafters Worcester Centrum Centre service.

Perhaps the service provided the WFD with the sort of inspiration needed to keep searching because, by Friday, December 10, men at the scene, all tired, had uncovered the body of McGuirk. Soon those of Spencer, Lucey, and Brotherton were found -- on the same Saturday, December 11, that Jackson was laid to rest, setting off a long, sad week of funerals.

Since the last funeral on December 17, some have found solace in the city's ability to pull together -- to find community -- at a time of tragedy. Others have taken pride in the fact that a backlash against homeless people, in general, hasn't happened, despite the connection to this fire. But nearly all have focused on the fire department and have agreed that it deserves the equipment, the manpower, and the facilities it has long argued for -- a bittersweet victory for the WFD.

-- KL

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Never underestimate the quiet ones

Minutes after John Nelson, Michael Angelini, and Kevin Condron (among other city elite) announced in February a stunning plan to reform the city's cumbersome Plan E government, which would give City Manager Tom Hoover the boot, who'd have thought Hoover would crank out copies of his résumé. And guess what? That's exactly what he did.

Though pundits had eulogized the Citizens for a Strong Mayor campaign by May, claiming its failure was rooted in the group's inability to rally the public (more technically, because the group didn't collect the necessary signatures to put such a question on this November's ballot), there's one real reason for the strong-mayor-campaign collapse: a cunning Hoover.

This spring, as momentum grew for a strong mayor, the soft-spoken, normally apolitical administrator told his bosses, the city council, that he was looking for a job, in Southfield, Michigan. And it was then that the 11-member board scrambled to keep the wily Midwesterner. Talks were soon held on the council floor that Hoover, who had been criticized (legitimately) for failing to rebuild Worcester neighborhoods and for refusing to fund the fire department's next recruitment class, was indeed due for a raise. It was surprising, considering many of the same board members had ignored his requests for a pay raise before. Mayor Raymond Mariano, who's emerged as a Hoover critic in recent years, was unusually silent. Political observers had maintained he was one of the folks behind the campaign, and the natural choice for the strong-mayor post; thus, with speculation soaring, Mariano kept quiet lest he jeopardize his popularity with the voters.

But Hoover was far from shy: he blasted his bosses for the weekly haranguing he took during council sessions. He spoke openly, and repeatedly, in support of a city-manager government, mounting a deliberate, low-key counter attack. And it worked.

Though Nelson and Co. enlisted seasoned politician, Michael J. Donoghue, to organize the campaign, and the group paid for full-page newspaper ads listing those who supported a strong mayor (it was later revealed in the T&G that about one-third the advertisement's signatures weren't Worcester residents), Hoover was looking more like a true politician each day. Neighborhood leaders began to side with him, labeling the strong-mayor effort a corporate-slash-special-interests takeover. Even one of its founding members, former Mayor Jordan Levy, distanced himself from the campaign, arguing that members had failed to reach out to the public. And on May 14, Citizens for a Strong Mayor announced a humble defeat. By late June, Hoover got his raise, along with the most glowing review in his five-year tenure here.

If Hoover's unintended rise to power has had any lingering effect, it's been on the city council. Months before the election, political observers were analyzing Mariano's weakening power over a council majority. They continue to do so, too, as a new voting block, led by councilors Tim Murray, Mike Perotto, and longtime At-large Councilor Konnie Lukes, has challenged the mayor, who suffered from his own public setbacks this year. Hoover has also shown his newfound knack for putting the council in its place; this November plans were announced to sell property near Union Station for $1, so a low-budget, cookie-cutter hotel could be constructed. Not only did Hoover fail to prep councilors before the press conference, but also, as the story goes, he didn't show councilors any designs. So they stood on the podium with no clue as to what the hotel looked like as the cameras rolled. And relishing the moment, Chief Development Officer Everett Shaw really rubbed it in when he introduced Hoover, calling him "the most popular man in Worcester." OUCH! We bet that smarts on Fox Hollow Road for a long time.

-- Melissa Houston

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Teetering on a thin blue line

Nineteen ninety-nine might well be the year that the Worcester Police Department (WPD) came under siege -- or, at least, the year that an unfolding pattern became all too apparent. For a growing, public discontent with the WPD and with how it conducts business was inescapable.

It dates back to the city administration's continued, visible struggle with the T&G over public records. In 1998, T&G reporter John Monahan had requested a complete account of citizen-complaint investigations from 1997 into '98, a total of 20 months' worth of internal-affairs documents, which city officials released reluctantly, editing 20 of an estimated 125 complaints and excluding key information like dates, locations, and, more important, officers' names.

The T&G appealed to the Secretary of State, winning a January decision that ordered the administration to re-release the records with names of officers about whom residents had complained. The administration handed over another 73 complaints, but again blacked out names -- a brazen, uncooperative move reinforcing the perception that officials care more about preserving the "blue wall of silence" than protecting residents.

The aura of secrecy prompted the T&G to file a civil lawsuit in Worcester Superior Court in April, almost as soon as Attorney General Tom Reilly, without explanation, declined to enforce the Secretary of State's mandate. In yet another twist, in June, Justice Daniel Toomey stunned the newspaper when he denied an injunction (which would have forced the city to release unedited records), leaving the T&G with no choice but to battle the administration at civil court come 2001.

If anything, the stonewalling has punctuated the division between community/police relations. It has set off a wave of negative publicity, from news articles exposing the inadequacies within the internal-affairs division (IAD) to T&G editorials condemning the city's "prevailing secrecy." Increasing cynicism over the WPD has even fueled the campaign for independent oversight of the department -- a campaign aided by such key figures as At-large Councilor Stacey Luster, who filed two orders asking City Manager Tom Hoover to establish a civilian-review board.

But the call was played out most dramatically at five, heated public hearings sponsored by the city's Human Rights Commission (HRC). The panel heard scathing charges against the WPD on everything from rude language to shocking accounts of physical abuse. In September, the HRC released a report on the hearings, stopping short of advocating for a civilian-review board. Instead, it proposed setting up a neutral place outside of WPD headquarters where residents can file complaints. The HRC also warned that it intends to further investigate how the internal-affairs process works.

No doubt, the publicity led to the revamping, in May, of internal-affairs policy, which might have quelled public scrutiny, if not for the arrival of yet another public-relations disaster. In March, Police Chief Edward Gardella himself came under fire -- not from the public, but from his employees. Four WPD captains, led by Capt. Gary Gemme, filed grievances with Hoover accusing their chief of sexual and verbal harassment. One incident alleged that Gardella stuffed his hand into an officer's pocket in a doughnut shop. Hoover reprimanded Gardella, signaling the first, public sign of the WPD's internal strife. In fact, disgruntled rank-and-file officers later charged Gardella with incompetent management and tried, however unsuccessfully, to muster a "no-confidence" vote.

All this, of course, is just the type of trouble the WPD cannot afford, particularly in light of the fact that the city will relive one of its most notorious cases of police-misconduct: the 1993 suffocating death of Cristino Hernandez, the 38-year-old Salvadoran immigrant who lapsed into a coma during a botched arrest, captured on videotape. Six years after the Hernandez family filed its wrongful-death lawsuit, Quintanilla v. Worcester, the case is slated for trial on January 3 (after being pushed back from an October date).

The image of rough, arrogant cop suggested by the Hernandez case -- specifically, by its chilling video -- has long been invoked by activists pushing for police accountability. But it was elicited in August, too, when 25 WPD officers in riot helmets marched down Main Street, from Hammond to Piedmont streets, breaking up crowds of revelers after the annual Latin Festival on the Worcester Common. Though Gardella maintained that the department had properly responded to mayhem, many Latino residents saw the incident as another example of police harassment.

Considering these events, it came as no surprise that Gardella, the city's police chief for eight years and a 30-year force veteran, announced, in November, he would retire after January 1. He has since revealed that he hopes his administration is remembered for its innovative policing initiatives, such as the recent creation of a public-information officer. But Gardella's tenure could easily be marred forever.

-- KL

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The baby who broke our hearts

The long, futile search for and presumed murder of Marlon Devine Santos, known as "baby Marlon," has gripped the public like no other local police investigation in recent history. Though the five-month-old disappeared on November 5, 1998, it was throughout 1999 that the unsolved case drew attention to the inadequacies of the state's Department of Social Services (DSS) foster-care program. And this fall, after a tip brought investigators to the woods near the Wachusett Reservoir, where they hoped to find evidence that the boy was buried there, we all realized how frustrating police work can be.

It was just three months after Santos was placed in the home of foster parents Jose M. and Yolanda I. Castillo that he was reported missing. Police launched an intense investigation, but immediately all parties involved (his biological mother, currently in jail for violating her parole, and father, and the Castillos) hired attorneys and refused to cooperate with authorities. Soon, though, police focused on the foster parents, believing it was they who were involved. First, it took two days for the family to tell police the baby was missing from his 175 Eastern Avenue home. Second, after the case was handed over to Worcester County District Attorney John J. Conte's office, it was discovered that Jose Castillo, a local Pentecostal minister, had an extensive criminal record in his native Puerto Rico. He had spent more than 10 years in jail there, after being convicted of a number of crimes, including armed robbery. Police then delved into Castillo's life, and the 53-year-old was charged with child rape and indecent assault and battery involving three alleged victims, including two girls who were living in the Castillos' foster home several years before Marlon was placed there. Twice this year, police questioned Castillo about his alleged crimes. But he has denied any role in the baby's disappearance and is attempting to have the sexual-assault charges dismissed. In November, Castillo's stepdaughter, one of the three alleged victims, told a Worcester Superior Court judge that police pressured her to make a false rape claim against Castillo. Yet in November, police released to the court a portion of a recorded phone conversation between Castillo and his wife, during which, prosecutors argued, Castillo urged his wife to tell the stepdaughter she would face no consequence should she recant her accusation -- a chilling revelation in a tragic tale.

Since 1992, the Castillo family has cared for 52 foster kids, a fact that has simultaneously angered the public and prompted sympathy for the DSS, an underfunded agency placing a growing number of children in fewer foster homes. But a year after Marlon's disappearance, and after it surfaced that Castillo was a convicted felon, the agency has yet to enact reforms to better safeguard children within its care. As of now, the DSS only searches Massachusetts criminal records when checking the background of potential foster parents.

The baby Marlon case has also brought the public closer to Conte, a famously low-profile district attorney who rarely grants interviews and who almost never comments on ongoing cases. In the past year, he's expressed anguish for the missing child, held press conferences, and demanded DSS reforms. He repeatedly went to the reservoir himself to help lead a late-October and early-November search for the baby's body, which police believed was buried in the marshy land near the water. A baby's blanket, a diaper, and several pieces of plastic were among the items uncovered, but, this December, Conte announced that no blood or tissue could be detected among the unearthed evidence. Again, another setback in a case that's provided few clues yet revealed a mountain's worth of problems facing today's foster-care system.

-- MH

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Worcester's airfield of dreams

The October news that Delta plans to re-fly the friendly Worcester skies by February 2000 would normally produce a solid ho-hum here. And rightfully so: for years, local folk have watched airlines pass over the Worcester Regional Airport, which is plagued by low ridership and shackled by a colossal, $1.1 million operating deficit. But this year, the airport's status is an entirely different matter. Since February, when Governor Paul Cellucci announced Massport might take over the quiet terminal on Airport Hill and assume a majority of its debt, residents in the southwest section of Worcester have waged a spirited war against the state over how passengers will get in and out of the city.

First, there was the ill-fated proposal to reconstruct Route 56 in Leicester; but state transportation officials abandoned that by April. Then came a slew of proposed local routes made public this fall as negotiations between City Manager Tom Hoover and Massport emerged. Naturally, residents, who quickly formed Residents Opposing the Access Road (ROAR), and certain city councilors were wary of any airport-improvement plan that requires (in two proposed routes) 42 homes be paved over. But Massport -- which has pledged that as many as 800,000 passengers by 2010 could be checking their bags 10 to 12 minutes after exiting I-290 -- doesn't seem willing to back down.

So serious is the threat that Hope Avenue or James Street might be transformed into a four-lane highway, one resident, Edmund Schofield, launched a city-council bid in the summer, basing his campaign solely on the airport-access road. Mayor Raymond Mariano made an election issue out of the proposed road, too, saying he would fight against any plan that would level homes. By fall's end, this spring's enthusiasm for a Massport deal was a distant memory.

But not for city administrators who've worked in earnest to remove themselves from the airport business. In 1998, just 77,000 folks flew in and out of Worcester, which is a dramatic decrease from the 1980s, when some 360,000 passengers used the terminal. In recent years, and to little effect, about $30 million has been pumped into the ailing terminal.

Yet the Worcester airport could find it has powerful allies outside city limits no matter how loud the ROAR becomes. For years, Boston's Logan International Airport has been clogged and in need of a new runway. In turn, other New England airports, such as Rhode Island's T.F. Green Airport and Manchester, New Hampshire's airport, have become quite popular with travelers looking for a cheaper, less-maddening alternative to Logan. Shrewdly, Cellucci continues to push to keep the tourism business in state, considering 1.3 million people live within 30 miles of Worcester; in late November, he signed a pact with Connecticut Governor John G. Rowland and Lincoln C. Almond of Rhode Island to market the city's airport.

So despite fierce community opposition, city council signed off on the Massport deal in late December; though the proposal still has to be presented to the FAA for approval. Opponents may find they're best served by lobbying us to take the train. Uh, never mind. That's another of Worcester's embarrassingly inadequate modes of mass transportation.

-- MH

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A polished (yet hollow) diamond in the ruff

Economic development was all the rage with the year's long-awaited completion of a critical Worcester project: the $24.8 million Union Station renovation. Still, the success of what's considered the city's "official gateway" has a lot to do with the historic facility's surroundings -- and, unlike its reconstruction, Union Station's, indeed the area's, development has hardly been magnificent.

Back in 1997, when renovation started, Union Station was set to become the region's transportation hub, with commuter rail, Amtrak, and local bus services. Yet plans also called for reconstructing the Washington Square rotary as a four-way intersection (for which the state just allocated $10 million), as well as for turning the building into a shopping, dining, and entertainment complex.

Development stalled, however, as soon as the sole-bidding developer, the local Union Station Partnership, failed to secure enough financing to pursue its ambitious proposal in '98. With a year left before the building would open, the WRA was forced to seek developers again in January. Months passed without any word, except for the mounting criticism, most visibly from the T&G editorial board, over poor project management.

Meanwhile, efforts to make the area behind the station -- namely, the Green Island neighborhood -- attractive came to an abrupt halt, as well. Mayor Raymond Mariano and the artists' lobbying group, ARTSWorcester, had put forth an arts-district proposal as the perfect economic-development tool to infuse vitality and dollars into Green Island. The proposed zone would have allowed artists to live and work in the same loft space.

But 30 companies, headed by Presmet Corporation, opposed the district because, they argued, residents would move in, then become intolerant of noise and traffic generated by existing businesses.

Opposition proved to be so insurmountable that city officials had to relocate the arts district to Main South -- along Main Street between Madison and Hammond streets -- where it was embraced by neighbors this past spring. In fact, the amendment allowing for an "arts overlay district zone," as it's known, has passed every local legislative step since. Now that the district is a-go, the Boston-based Community Builders, a non-profit, real-estate developer, has bought an option on the Burwick Building on Main Street. The organization is planning to renovate the building, turning it into a keystone for the Main South arts district.

But while the arts district found a home, Union Station and its environs remained a study in non-development -- so much so local architect Daniel Benoit came forth, in September, with a brilliant yet radical plan to link Union Station to the downtown. Benoit proposed demolishing a wing of the long-suffering Worcester Common Outlets (WCO) mall in order to extend Front Street into Washington Square.

The notion, Benoit suggested, was far from outrageous, considering the mall's troubles this year. For the mall's owner, CIGNA Investments, has had a hard time living up to its 1995 tax deal with the city administration -- specifically, its July 1 deadline to add another 100,000 square feet in retail space. The city is waiving $13 million of the mall's tax liability over 20 years in exchange for WCO expansion. But CIGNA has said the mall doesn't attract enough shoppers. So instead, CIGNA had intended to satisfy the 100,000-square-feet requirement by building a four-star, 200-room hotel, which, until August, was the subject of two year's worth of negotiations between CIGNA and Peabody Hotel Group of Natick.

Other potential omens for the mall loomed, too. In November, for instance, the WCO management was transferred from New England Development (which sold off millions in mall property this year) to Chelsea GCA Realty, a real-estate investment trust that owns and manages upscale outlet centers nationwide. Within days, Filene's Basement announced it would close its WCO store sometime after Christmas.

Just as things went wrong for WCO, it seems, they improved for Union Station. First, Finard & Co. of Burlington was hired as the developer after submitting a $30 million proposal that could feature stores, restaurants, a movie complex, and a farmers' market. Second, Creative Hotel Associates declared intentions to build a $5 million, 100-room Comfort Inn opposite Union Station. And finally, the station itself opened to a weekend of gala, jam-packed events, including a retro-'40s ball and an open house. But by year's end, the beautiful, albeit empty, building is still at risk of becoming yet another expensive train station -- one with limited commuter-rail service at that.

--KL

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The stuff of legends make for rebirth -- and rivalry

Perhaps the hottest news in business circles came with the April hiring of David Forsberg, the city's former chief-development officer, as full-time president of the Worcester Business Development Corporation (WBDC). It's partly because Forsberg enjoys legendary status here, and partly because his return marks the renewal of the WBDC.

Over the past 15 years, the development arm of the Worcester Area Chamber of Commerce had to focus almost exclusively on managing fledgling, risky tenants housed at its Massachusetts Biotechnology Research Park. In late 1998, though, WBDC divested four Biotech buildings (redefining its strategic plan), and now devotes about $5 million toward job creation and, specifically, toward downtown revitalization and brownfields redevelopment.

The revamp prompted new WBDC chairman Kevin Condron to entice Forsberg back to the city, where he's credited with high-profile projects like the $40 million Worcester Medical Center tax deal. Forsberg then lured Craig Blais away from City Hall to be the WBDC second-in-command, a predictable pairing since the two were likened to Batman and Robin while at the city's development office in the '90s.

But since Forsberg's arrival this past spring, City Hall insiders have wondered how this dynamic, new WBDC team is going to fit in with the public-sector crowd. In particular, how Forsberg, by virtue of his reputation, might overshadow his rather embattled successor, Everett Shaw. After all, Shaw has faced a host of obstacles this year: he was fast ridiculed for his over-arching development agenda; he was later criticized for too much talk (via advisory councils) and too little action. Even after his office announced a flurry of major developments this fall -- the Bancroft Hotel sale, the Union Station developer -- he was blasted by critics for his vacillating, weak attempts to relocate to Worcester.

To this day, folks say the tension between the Shaw and Forsberg camps is palatable.

Which isn't startling, since the WBDC has advanced its mission in an aggressive manner. For instance, it's helped the Boston-based Community Builders buy an option on the Main Street Burwick Building, investing in current, pending plans to renovate the former furniture store as an anchor for the arts district.

The WBDC has also become a prominent player in the push to bring minor-league baseball here. This fall, the investor group Touch'em All Markets (TEAM) approached the WBDC for help in securing Atlantic League approval and in working with the city on both a stadium site and a financial plan. WBDC has since assembled two groups, which are expected to present recommendations to the city by March.

If 1999 has seen the beginning of a new WBDC era, it's also witnessed the close of another. In September, longtime chamber president William Short announced he would retire in May 2000. While the search to replace Short is just getting underway, it's safe to say that his successor will have a tough act to follow.

-- KL

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The little daily that could . . . be sold

You wouldn't think a corporate takeover would provoke such community support. But in the weeks leading up to the October 15 announcement that the New York Times Company was to buy the Telegram & Gazette, you were hard-pressed to find someone not rooting for the newsroom staff.

For more than five years, and under Chronicle Publishing, which has owned the paper since 1986, the T&G's newsroom has been battling for a little respect (or better, a labor agreement). But the New York Times' purchase of the paper for about $295 million (besting suitors Community Newspaper Company and MediaNews Group Inc.) suggested there was hope for the Franklin Street daily yet.

Not that most folks know much about the New York Times Company, other than it owns the Boston Globe and pretty much leaves that paper alone. (Though the final Taylor, publisher Ben Taylor, was ousted this year; and there's been talk of the Globe and the T&G sharing administrative functions. More recently, the Times asked for 30 T&G staffers to voluntarily step down.) But we do know that the New York Times is, well, the New York Times, as in "the paper of record," as in the best daily in the country. And that's a point not lost on at least one T&G staff writer, Tim Connolly, who joked with the Phoenix, "This is the only way a hack like me could ever wind up with the New York Times unless I go out and buy a paper."

Soon after the sale was made public, T&G editor Mr. Harry Whitin announced the broadsheet would begin using courtesy titles à la the Times. The newsroom also proved that it hasn't completely lost the zeal to report (which has suffered in the past decade after a hiring freeze and after management started employing more part-time staffers): the paper's coverage of the December 3 fire that killed six firefighters was unmatched.

So, though the T&G joins the New York Times' rank of 21 regional publications (the company also owns several television stations and magazines), it could be just what the newsroom needed.

-- MH

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Bans, outcry, and videotapes

One of the most stimulating, indeed consequential, school debates centered on Carlo Baldino, the veteran North High English teacher who became known as the agitator of the staid, controversy-skirting Worcester Public Schools.

This year, on January 28, Baldino filed a grievance with the local teachers' union, protesting North High Principal Elizabeth Drake's refusal to let him show the 1995 film White Man's Burden -- a film that reverses racial stereotypes, presenting a sophisticated picture of American race relations. Baldino wanted to show the video -- an R-rated one -- to his ninth-grade class not simply to make a point about racism, but to demonstrate the literary concept of irony.

Drake, however, denied his request because of the rating, which forced North High administrators to purge the library of existing R-rated videos like Schindler's List, Glory, and Macbeth. Baldino considered the ban to be tantamount to a book burning; and so, he filed what was his second grievance in little more than a year.

In 1998, he had challenged Drake after she tried to prevent him from showing a video of Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan speaking at the 1995 Million Man March in Washington, DC. Baldino planned to use the video to illustrate oratory style, but the showing of a widely regarded anti-Semitic figure only incensed prominent Jewish residents here. Baldino, a free-speech absolutist, further stoked debate by saying that white people opposed to Farrakhan were really attempting to select who was fit to represent black America.

In a clever (and likely aggravating) twist, Baldino, while fighting for White Man's Burden, tried to enlist help from the Worcester Jewish Federation, noting the censorship forced Schindler's List to be banned. But he didn't get a response from the Jewish community. He even looked to be losing the debate altogether; his grievance was denied at each administrative level by school year's end.

Ultimately, the battle over one video turned into a fight with consequences for all, when, in June, the school department implemented a cumbersome R-rated video policy -- a policy that the Worcester chapter of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) warned was so tedious, it would discourage teachers from showing any videos. Now, teachers must provide a detailed rationale for showing an R-rated video, and then send it home to parents with permission slips.

Still, it appears the censorship cause hasn't been lost. In fact, the start of another school year in September has brought Baldino a kind of quiet victory. Or maybe North High administrators are tired of the media spotlight. Either way, they've approved every video he's requested thus far, including two Farrakhan speeches and two R-rated films.

Meanwhile, the ACLU support has prompted Baldino to join the local chapter, which elected him a board member in October.

But not all endings are perfect. And, in this case, the R-rated policy has had the predicted effect. Baldino claims his colleagues are showing few R-rated videos right now -- largely because they don't want to bother with the process.

So when Baldino retires next year, there are sure to be fewer videos -- and less lively debate -- in the city's classrooms.

-- KL

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All dressed up with no space to go

Underground is a relative term as far as music and art go. You can read now-funny accounts of Jefferson Airplane and Buffalo Springfield becoming the darlings of the San Fran "underground" -- luckily, this was pre-Internet, so the idea that they were essentially packaged and paid for never entered the hippies' new-vision heads, and thus the great ruse was on (the same can be said for a good hunk of the subsequent British punk movement). And the idea of Robert Mappelthorpe still eliciting a buzz some 10 years after his flower dicks is, shall we say, amusing. But the real, honest-to-gosh, it-runs-so-deep-you-can't-get-a-pulse underground was housed right here in Worcester. The Space, over it's four-year run, became one of the desired destinations for a generation of artists.

Located in the middle of the industrial nowhere that has become Harding Street, the not-for-profit collaborative was the brainchild of local musician Ed McNamara. Once a young disciple of the Worcester Artist Group's glory days on Harlow Street, McNamara figured that, as nobody else seemed interested in carrying the torch of the all-ages, all-the-time, give-us-what-you've-got-and-we'll-clap performance room, it may as well be him. And, incredibly, the operation succeeded despite the inability/unwillingness to cooperate with mainstream media. Operating on a volunteer staff, the little room brought in a host of international talent, most of which was flying underneath the radar of commercial possibility. A hardcore band from San Diego, a metal band from Sweden, a traveling sideshow full of spike pounders and bug eaters -- all were welcome.

So, when the city finally turned up this past spring to punish the joint for not being up-to-code (parking, that is) after years of turning a blind eye, it was obvious that evil was at work. After all, having green-haired kids wandering around a desolate area makes it a lot harder to attract blue-haired ladies to sell used cars to. Especially if you happen to be one of the only neighbors open at show time. And just like that, a great shoestring operation -- one that cared not only to open up the minds of Worcester's kids to artistic perspective, but also to create a safe outlet to blow off some steam -- was cut down at the knees.

-- John O'Neill