Posted by Denise Grollmus
on December 9, 2007, 3:05 pm, in reply to "The King of Spin"
24.165.172.244
A few days later, according to a Cleveland magazine article, Kucinich approached Sheriff Gerald McFaul, then a councilman. "Hey, McFaul, how do you go about getting these abandoned homes torn down?" he asked about his blighted ward.
"You know the guy you said was incompetent and overpaid?" McFaul responded. "This guy you have to talk to."
"Oh, well, I guess he won't do nothing for me," Kucinich replied.
"Neither would I, Denny."
But this educational moment seemed to be lost on the young councilman. Over the next four decades, he would be continually confronted with the opportunity either to get things done or play the fighting politician on TV. And he would continually choose the latter. His achievements were best summed up by Shirley Smith, then director of the West Side Development Corporation, who once said, "For this hillbilly, he didn't do a darn thing."
Still, most West Side ethnics were content to watch Kucinich throw tantrums about the men they loathed, primarily Council President George Forbes, the epitome of mounting black power. "Dennis started playing what Forbes calls 'polka-dot politics' way back," Larkin says. "It was George's cute way of accusing Dennis of playing racial politics. [Kucinich] denies today that he played racial politics, but there is no doubt that he did."
At the time, the tactic guaranteed Kucinich plenty of ink and airtime, ensuring that supporters could proudly watch their savior's mission to save their city. "He convinced a lot of people that, goddammit, if there is something to fight for you, I will make that fight," Larkin says.
He quickly earned nicknames like "Denny the Kid" and "KBI" — for the Kucinich Bureau of Investigation. He became famous for keeping a hidden tape recorder in his pocket and passing out stories of corruption the way Planned Parenthood hands out condoms. "I would stagger into work [at the Cleveland Press] at 6:30 a.m.," Larkin says. "And at least one morning a week, guess who would be there waiting for me? He always had story ideas. He was always a master at using the media to serve his own purposes."
He built up his David persona every chance he could, alienating as many votes as he earned. Though his opponents saw him as little more than a lap dog, everyone was reading about him.
"He's an expert with the media," says Ralph Winters, a former Wall Street Journal reporter who worked with Kucinich. "He's done a very good job of responding quickly to situations in such a way as to get in the news. And in many cases, he has produced a news story, where the actual activity, the substance, was rather thin."
But Kucinich's biggest headlines were yet to come.
As Kucinich developed into a household name, Cleveland was getting ready to pick Stokes' successor.
James Carney had won the Democratic primary. But the millionaire developer stood for everything Kucinich loathed. He was rich, connected, and had no interest in serving Kucinich's "forgotten people," or so Kucinich believed. Then there was black candidate Arnold Pinkney, who would surely alienate West Side ethnics.
So Kucinich jumped ship, getting behind Ralph Perk, a Republican who wore his Czech/Slovak heritage as firmly as his thick-framed glasses. Though they came from opposite ends of the political spectrum, Kucinich was keenly aware that Slavs vote for ethnicity first, politics second.
Kucinich formed Democrats for Perk, solemnly promising every Polish Women's Hall in the city that the government would once again be returned to the "forgotten people." Together, they screamed that a cabal of black politicians and their millionaire backers was going to raise taxes only to line its own pockets — feeding into the very fears that plagued West Side voters.
Perk won. But in the end, Kucinich's support would prove to be little more than self-serving.
At the time, Kucinich was running for Congress. Perk's campaign proved a perfect aqueduct for spreading Kucinich's own word — which increasingly played on race. At one point, Kucinich even ridiculed his congressional opponent, Robert Minshall, for supporting the creation of a Martin Luther King holiday. To West Side ethnics, the message was clear.
Though Kucinich lost his House bid, working on Perk's campaign helped him cement a reputation as councilman of "the forgotten people." But Kucinich would turn on his mentor almost as soon as Perk was sworn in.
By 1977, Perk's promises of fighting for the "little guy" seemed lost. He lavishly redecorated the mayor's office and sponsored a $35 million tax abatement for National City Bank. He also cozied up to Forbes, who was loathed by the very ethnics who'd put Perk in office.
At the heart of his sinking popularity sat the infamous fight for Municipal Light.
For years, publicly owned Muny Light had been hemorrhaging millions, thanks to Cleveland's Soviet-style ineptitude. It was founded in 1907 by Mayor Tom Johnson and was at one point the city's only source of electricity, until the arrival of the Cleveland Electric Illuminating Company. But the city — burdened by decades of patronage and corruption — had driven it into the dust.
"Muny Light was mismanaged, plain and simple," says Steve Lorton, who worked as the public relations director for CEI until the late 1990s. "They had this big plant down on the lakefront that didn't work, because they didn't know how to operate it. It broke down, so they started to buy power from us."
As the city leaned on CEI for its electricity, it racked up $18 million in debt, until CEI filed suit for the money it was owed. "We were reluctant to be of any more assistance than absolutely necessary and required by law," Lorton says. After all, CEI was bailing out its competitor.
Still, roughly 42 percent of Clevelanders believed that the plant should remain open to challenge CEI's ever-rising prices. It didn't matter that Muny Light was epically mismanaged or that voters refused to raise taxes for its upkeep. It was a fight unburdened by the weight of practicality. A war fit for Kucinich.
He blasted CEI, asserting the company wanted to steal Muny Light from the people. He even claimed Muny Light was profitable. "The management of CEI are firmly capitalists," says Lorton. "And Dennis Kucinich, it's fair to say he's a borderline socialist. From day one, there was some animosity, and it wasn't helped at all by Dennis' provocative language."
At first, Perk was in step with Kucinich. He resisted CEI's attempts to collect, even filing a $327 million antitrust suit against the company, claiming it was conspiring to kill Muny Light.
But the truth was that the city had put itself in this position, and a deadbeat blaming its rescuer doesn't play well in court. CEI won a judgment against Cleveland. If the city didn't pay up, Muny Light would be forced into bankruptcy. Perk finally proposed selling the plant to CEI for $158 million, payable over 30 years.
Kucinich attacked Perk, charging him with being part of the conspiracy. He announced that he would run for mayor.
Perk lost the Republican primary to Ed Feighan, a low-key state representative. Kucinich, meanwhile, made Muny Light the center of his campaign. He gathered 30,000 signatures to stop the sale. He worked the media harder than ever, attending every civic function to ensure his regular sound bites.
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