Let the (Political) Games Begin

If you're like me, you prefer to have as little to do with politics as possible. You don't like being hit up for contributions, paying taxes for services you don't receive, or dealing with regulations brought on by someone else's malfeasance. You wish the government would just leave you alone and let you run your business. Unfortunately, few of us have the luxury of staying above politics.

Let me tell you about my current difficulties with the people who run my town, the city of New York. As you may have heard, Mayor Michael Bloomberg and his deputy mayor, Dan Doctoroff, have been working hard to have New York selected as host of the 2012 Summer Olympics. I, too, think it would be good for the city to host the Olympics, provided we don't have to sell our souls to get it. It never occurred to me that the Games might have a direct effect on my business, however, until one day in October 2002, when my partner Sam got a call from a friend. "I see you're taking up archery," the friend said.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"You don't know?" the friend said. "You'd better check out the Olympics website." We did, and there we found a photograph of the Brooklyn waterfront. Where our warehouses should have been, there was an artist's rendering of the archery range for the 2012 Olympics.

Governments can (and do) take your land for any number of reasons -- to create parks, build roads, store hazardous waste, whatever. Getting bumped for an archery range seemed like a new one. We tried to make light of it. Periodically someone would shout, "Duck! Another arrow!" and the rest of us would cover our heads. But no one thought the prospect of losing our place of business to the Olympics was funny. Sam contacted an Australian friend of his who had played a major role in the 2000 Games in Sydney. The Australian explained that, in any Olympics, there are major sites, which are more or less permanent, and minor sites, which can be moved up to a few months before the opening ceremonies. Archery was a decidedly minor site, and New York hadn't even been selected yet as the American candidate to host the 2012 Games. "You've got plenty of time," he said. "But I'd start making contacts."

That's what we did. We called the office of the executive director of the NYC2012 effort, Jay Kriegel, and said we were thinking about making a donation and would like to meet with him. The rendezvous was arranged, and Sam and I met him and one of his assistants for lunch. "So, what's your interest in the Olympics?" he asked.

"Well," I said, "four weeks ago, we started practicing archery."

Kriegel smiled. "You're the archery range," he said.

"Yes," I said, "and we're on the East River, which can get pretty windy. We think it's not the best place for archery. We also have a business with 350 employees. We'd like you to think about moving to another location."

Kriegel indicated that, as a minor site, it might be possible to find another location for the range, but that no changes would be made for many months. "In the meantime, I'd like to get you involved in what we're doing," he said. "Maybe you'd be willing to make a contribution."

"We'd consider that," I said. "But a week from now, we're going to hear whether New York has been selected to represent the United States. If we gave money now, we'd be paying for old bills. My father taught me, 'Don't pay for old bills. The money has already been spent."

"That's interesting," Kriegel said. "My father taught me the difference between old friends and new friends. Are you familiar with that?"

"I don't think I am," I said.

"Old friends are the ones who are there when you really need them," he said. "New friends are the ones who get onboard when they see you're a winner. Next week, we'll have a lot of new friends, and we'll be grateful for their help, but old friends will count the most."

I thought it was a pretty good pitch. In any case, Sam and I had already decided to give NYC2012 a check for $25,000. "I understand this isn't a quid pro quo," I said, "but we'd really like to have the site changed."

"I'm not making any promises," he said, "but 350 jobs is a powerful argument."

Sure enough, New York got the nod from the U.S. Olympic Committee the following week. Since we were now old friends, we received NYC2012 hats and shirts and invitations to parties. A few months later, Kriegel called and asked Sam and me to lunch. There he said he'd like us to make an additional contribution -- $50,000 over three months. That was a little steep for us, but we agreed to contribute another $30,000 in three payments of $10,000. "We're really concerned about the archery," I said.

"We're not making any changes right now," Kriegel said. "We appreciate your support."

Understand, I didn't think our contribution was buying any special favors or influence. All we'd get, I figured, was access to Kriegel -- but that could prove vital. If the Olympics did take our site, my company would probably have to move out of town. We'd bought our land in Brooklyn when it was dirt cheap. There simply wasn't any other space within the five boroughs that we could afford. Our competitors were in New Jersey, where we'd probably wind up as well. Moving would be a lot of work, but at least my partners and I would be handsomely rewarded for our trouble. The employees wouldn't be so fortunate. Very few would be able to move with us. I believed I had a responsibility to do everything in my power to protect their jobs. Without a direct line to Kriegel, I might never get a chance to argue our case.

In any event, I took Kriegel at his word that no sites would be changed until later in the process. Shortly thereafter, I learned that bicycle racing and badminton had been moved to the Bronx because the owner of the original site in Queens had "other plans" for the location. I immediately called Kriegel to remind him that we had other plans for our location as well. He was apologetic. He said they'd moved those events because they'd found a better site -- for the Olympics' benefit, not the company's. He would keep me informed, and he knew what I wanted. I was still upset, but there wasn't much I could do.

Then came the crushing blow. Last August, the mayor presented the final plan that would be submitted to the International Olympic Committee. He noted that, because of new rules from the international aquatics organization, it had been necessary to find another home for the aquatics center, which initially was to have been built in Queens. The new site was on the waterfront in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn -- my land. I read about it in the newspaper.

That did it. Not only had the powers that be made the change without warning us, but our minor Olympics site had turned into a major one, rendering it infinitely harder to get the decision reversed. I was beside myself. I felt I had been deceived. I called Kriegel's office, but he was out of town. By then, I'd sent in one of the additional $10,000 contributions I'd promised. Needless to say, I was in no hurry to send the second or the third.

Meanwhile, a battle was heating up on another front that could cost me my land regardless of what happened with the Olympics. In June 2003, the City Planning Commission had submitted a proposal to rezone part of the Brooklyn waterfront. Under the plan, 28 acres in Williamsburg -- including the land on which my business is located -- would be turned into a waterfront park. Other parts of the area would be opened up for high-rise apartment buildings. Although the local community organizations supported rezoning, they were dead set against the city's plan. To begin with, it did not require the developers to include affordable housing. The community also preferred that the park space be spread out along the waterfront rather than clumped together.