An Act of War

Battle lines are drawn in University City.

by Doron Taussig

IN THIS CORNER: Blackwell has been criticized for using UCD workers at a Tom Knox event. : Michael T. Regan (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

politics

On the first Thursday of every month, the University of Pennsylvania hosts a community meeting for civic-association leaders and other University City residents. The scheduled topic for the June 7 meeting, attended by about 70 neighbors, was health care. Before beginning the formal agenda, moderator Glenn Bryan of Penn's City and Community Relations Department offered the floor to Councilwoman Jannie Blackwell. Health care was never discussed.

Instead, Blackwell launched a verbal assault against Penn and University City District, the special-services agency that provides sanitation, security, marketing and development services to the neighborhoods surrounding Penn and Drexel. Specifically, she raged about UCD's suspension (and de facto firing) of John Fenton, its former operations manager. Fenton had been the guy to call if, say, a house of departing students left a bathtub lying in the middle of your street. He was widely respected for his efficiency in this capacity, but was disciplined after the Daily News reported he improperly used UCD resources, in the form of students assigned to community service, to set up a rally for mayoral candidate Tom Knox.

Blackwell had been both an ally of Knox's (the one-time frontrunner backed her for Council president) and a friend of Fenton's. Some suspected that Fenton's alleged favor for Knox had really been a favor for Blackwell.

At the First Thursday meeting, Blackwell offered an alternative explanation: UCD was using the Daily News story as an excuse to punish her for her political positions. She accused the nonprofit of secretly supporting Michael Nutter, called it an "arm" of Penn and, some observers say, declared herself "at war with" the university. The attack lasted for the duration of the meeting. According to a thorough account in the University City Review, every time someone tried to wrest the floor back, she told them, "Stop cutting me off." It was a takeover, a clear act of war.

Political friction is a familiar part of the landscape in University City, which has all the ingredients for discord: a diverse population with divergent interests, eccentric characters with strong opinions and an undercurrent of race and class tension. On one University City Web discussion board, UCD is likened to Hezbollah.

Indeed, since its 1997 inception, UCD has been one of the flashpoints for internecine conflict. For some neighbors, it's a mystery that an organization that cleans streets � using private funding, no less, primarily from Penn � attracts such vitriol. It does "positive things," says Jim Lilly, owner of a Metropolitan Bakery and member of UCD's business and marketing committee.

For others, UCD is a symbol of the university that provides the bulk of its funding and one imagined future for University City. Residents perpetually worry about being swallowed up and priced out by their multibillion-dollar neighbor. To these folks, who constitute either a vocal minority or a disenfranchised majority, depending on whom you ask, UCD is a facilitator of "Penntrification." Al Krigman, a landlord who's lived here for 36 years, calls the agency's efforts "social engineering."

"UCD has been pushing an agenda that's not in the best interest of the majority of the people in the area," he says.

Such concerns are heightened by UCD's strange public/private status. Right now, it's a special-services district, funded voluntarily and run privately. For the past two years, it's lobbied to become a business improvement district (BID), funded by an "assessment" charged to local businesses and governed by its assessees. It needs the approval of a majority of businesses and City Council to make this happen.

In either case, UCD performs governmental functions while remaining private and, technically, unaccountable to neighbors. This quasi-governmental status creates a potentially awkward relationship between UCD and the actual government. It's odd for a woman as entrenched as Blackwell to have another institution performing a semi-governmental role, and she views UCD as either a threat to low-income constituents or a challenge to her own power. Regardless, most neighborhood activists agree that tension between Blackwell and UCD pre-dates the Fenton incident. Interestingly, no one City Paper spoke to could point to any public instances when Blackwell spoke out against UCD, or vice versa. Instead, activists occasionally cited the UCD's failure to keep Blackwell-friendly people in its fold. Martin Cabry, for instance, is a Town Watch leader and a Blackwell ally who once sat on UCD's board. In his telling, he was forced out for dissenting too many times.

"I think I was too community-based" for UCD, says Cabry, now the director of zoning in Blackwell's office.

Fenton was another Cabry. Putting aside for a moment the apparent access he provided her to UCD resources, Blackwell liked the guy. He was old Philly politics, someone who knew how to follow what one resident calls "the informal political process." She could work with him.

"Jannie's a mensch," says one neighborhood activist. "She communicates with people, not with procedures or institutions."

Fenton has landed on his feet: He also now works in Blackwell's office, as director of community activities. But the councilwoman took his dismissal as a slap in the face. "They really don't respect us, in my opinion," says Cabry. "It was the straw that broke the camel's back."

After taking First Thursday hostage, Blackwell appears now to be backtracking from her attacks on Penn, but not on UCD.

"I don't have a problem with Penn. I do have issues with UCD's leadership," says the councilwoman (she maintains that UCD is an arm of Penn, and sees no contradiction therein). She intends to "re-evaluate" her relationship with the special-services district. "Every time I see UCD's name, I'll review the project."

Via e-mail, representatives from both Penn and UCD sought to de-escalate. "UCD has maintained a cordial and constructive working relationship with the councilwoman," wrote UCD Executive Director Lewis Wendell.

"We see a positive working relationship between the UCD and City Council as important, and for the last 10 years the University City community has seen some very successful development as a result," echoed Penn executive vice president Craig Carnaroli. But if they're unable to stem the councilwoman's rage, what happens? Asked what programs might be threatened by her "reviews," Blackwell says, "We do a lot of programs together, in parks, and ... parks, and streetscapes, commercial corridors."

Cabry explains the threat this way: "We're not gonna let them take credit for [things] anymore." In reality, Blackwell holds some purse strings, and can always try to block development projects, but not to an extent UCD can't work around. If she really wants to mess with the district, the most concrete power she has is to prevent it from becoming a BID: legislation to establish a BID must be introduced by the relevant district councilperson. Blackwell says she has no position on the BID proposal, and will abide by the wishes of business owners. But numerous neighbors are now convinced: UCD will become a BID over the councilwoman's dead body.

It's a standoff reflective of the larger University City picture. Blackwell may resent the influence of UCD, and its patron, Penn, but the school is a powerful, national institution � there's nothing she can do about that. At the same time, for all Penn's cash and cache, Jannie Blackwell is West Philadelphia. Mighty Penn couldn't get rid of this little councilwoman if it wanted to. It's stuck with her, and she with it.

(doron@citypaper.net)