May 13–20, 1999

primary '99

Handled with Care

Marty Weinberg's team has done an impressive job selling the first-time candidate. But what you see isn't necessarily what you get.

by Frank Lewis

To get an idea of the kind of mayor John Street or Happy Fernandez would make, we can look at their service in City Council. To size up John White Jr., we can examine his record as head of the Philadelphia Housing Authority and the Department of Public Welfare. Dwight Evans offers a career in the State House of Representatives for analysis.

So where do we look for clues about Marty Weinberg?

The answer in his case is less obvious. Though known as a top-notch political strategist, Weinberg has never held elected office. His last stint in the public sector was in the 1970s, when he served as city solicitor under close friend and political partner Frank Rizzo.

From the start of his campaign, Weinberg has cited his varied professional experience as evidence that he is qualified. But his resume—at least the way it's been portrayed in commercials and campaign literature—can be misleading; some facts have been glossed over, while others have been emphasized out of all proportion. The Biography page of his Web site makes no mention of his chairmanship of the law firm Obermayer Rebmann Maxwell & Hippel, which comprises the bulk of Weinberg's career, or his 25-year partnership with Rizzo.

Instead, voters have been presented with a carefully spun version of Weinberg's background. For example: His commercials have used the word "teacher" to describe his experience in education. Combining that with images of Weinberg chatting with students in an elementary school classroom, the ad invites you to assume that Weinberg taught in the public schools.

In fact, he was a law professor at Drexel University in the late 1960s and early '70s. And yet Weinberg and his supporters would have you believe that he is the best suited of the five Democratic candidates to deal with the realities of public education in a major city in the 21st century.

To be fair, Weinberg seems to have prepared for the debate. His 21-page issue statement on education is packed with details about initiatives that have yielded at least some positive results in other cities. Read it carefully, however, and you'll find that beyond his oft-stated promise to make the mayor more accountable for the success or failure of the public schools (for which he'll need the cooperation of the state legislature, incidentally), Weinberg's plan is long on implications and short on specifics.

In recent TV ads, Weinberg has vowed to remove disruptive kids from classrooms. In his education plan, however, the promise is more tepid: "… [T]he Weinberg administration will support the development of charter schools specifically designed to meet the specialized needs of disruptive and learning-disabled students. The Weinberg Administration will look to similar programs in Houston as a model.… "

There is no mention of how to pay for these new and presumably expensive charter schools that Weinberg plans to "support." Nor is there any explanation of the "significant" savings his plan claims will be realized when the School District "coordinate[s]" its services with other city departments.

To his credit, Weinberg points out the need for long-term solutions and shows a willingness to support radical notions like repealing real estate taxes, the traditional funding source for public schools, and increasing the state income tax—the goal being to reduce the per-pupil spending gap that currently separates urban and suburban districts. But changes like these will be years in the making, if they occur at all.

In much the same way they've touted him as an education expert, Weinberg's ads have sought to portray him as a crime fighter. And again, the reality fails to live up to the impression. It's true that Weinberg was an assistant district attorney. What the commercials don't mention, however, is that his service in the district attorney's office lasted all of four years, and ended in 1966.

The same ad claims that Weinberg will put more cops on the street. But a careful read of his public safety plan reveals that his method for accomplishing this relies almost entirely on assumptions, wishful thinking and questionable financial projections.

The plan states that about 200 more existing officers can be put on the streets "immediately." Where will they come from? According to Weinberg's plan, most of the 100 to 150 officers who must appear at hearings and trials every weekday could be spared this time-consuming duty if the number of preliminary hearings could be greatly reduced, and if the Police Department, the district attorney's office and the courts can find a way to "streamline caseflow." The former requires action by the state legislature, and the latter is offered with no details. (In fact, the plan states only that Weinberg "hopes" to streamline caseflow.)

Weinberg also believes 65 officers currently patrolling the city's highways can be redeployed if the state agrees to provide state police for this duty. His own plan notes that "previous efforts to transfer this responsibility have met with little success," but Weinberg implies that he'll be able to pull it off.

He better, if he wants his juvenile crime reduction program to work. Those 65 officers will be used to launch this effort, modeled after a similar program in Boston. Similarly, the cops he claims will be made available by reducing the need for court appearances are slated to join the front line in what he says will be an intensified war on drugs.

As for the 100 new cops he wants to hire, Weinberg figures this will cost about $5.8 million. He reached this figure by using the estimated cost of paying the salaries and benefits of the 753 cops currently covered by federal funds—$43.5 million, or about $58,000 per cop. Great—but what about the cost of training them? And what will they drive? Not to mention the fact that Weinberg also has committed to paying for the priciest items on the Police Department's wish list, a computerized incident reporting system and a state-of-the art forensic science lab.

It's worth noting here that Weinberg is calling for larger cuts in the wage and real estate transfer tax than any other Democratic contender.

This apparently doesn't concern the Fraternal Order of Police, which gave Weinberg its coveted endorsement. Not surprising, perhaps, given his long association with Rizzo, a former police commissioner. But unfortunately, the FOP endorsement is reminiscent of Rizzo in another, more troubling way: As was the case with his mentor, Weinberg's sincere desire to serve the city he loves is severely undermined by his distressing willingness to say almost anything to get elected.

Or, in some cases, to let others say it. When FOP head Rich Costello took cheap shots at black leaders on Weinberg's behalf, Weinberg—who named his campaign Unity '99—remained silent. When key supporter State Sen. Vincent Fumo thumped his chest and threatened to sue Happy Fernandez over her ultimately unsuccessful court challenge to Weinberg's residency, Weinberg refused to distance himself from this disgusting—and hypocritical—display.

"I'm my own man," he insisted in response to questions about Fumo's tantrum. But how can we be sure? He also insisted, back in September, that he wouldn't run a negative campaign.

"I believe I will have an aggressive campaign, but I will not be, quote, talking about my opponents, end of quote," he said. "I want to deal with an issue-oriented campaign.… "

Calling John Street's shoving of a reporter in 1981 an "issue"—as Weinberg's spokesman did after a commercial featuring the incident was aired—doesn't make it one, any more than a carefully crafted image makes one qualified to be mayor.