Newsmakers

The High Roller: "It's like my old pal Philly Park Saul used to say: You gotta wager to win."

Michael T. Regan The High Roller: "It's like my old pal Philly Park Saul used to say: You gotta wager to win."

And the next mayor of Philadelphia is ... Michael Nutter. —H

He won't be sworn in until January. —H

Nutter's mayoral campaign trudged quietly and steadily through Chaka Fattah's long tenure as front-runner, through the brief Brady bump, and through Tom Knox's money-fueled rise to the top of the polls. Then, after Knox had softened up the establishment candidates (Fattah and Brady) with a tirade of commercials attacking business as usual in Philadelphia, and just as they — and the media — were striking back with a close interrogation of Knox's record, Nutter went on the air with a reform message of his own (and, memorably, with an ad featuring his precocious daughter, Olivia). He peaked at just the right time and won in a walk, garnering 37 percent of the vote in a five-way race. —DT

Fattah's "Mike Nutter is not black enough." Nothing like a little desperate last-minute race baiting to really go out ugly. You should have come in dead last, Congressman.Runner Up: "Let Bob be Bob," as in Brady, the U.S. representative and city Democratic party head. In a year of change, saying voters should back the ultimate insider/business-as-usual candidate because he brings people together was a bad decision. —TI

As Jannie Blackwell toted mayoral wannabe Knox through West Philly on Election Day, a stack of bright-red fliers sat inside her field office. With ominous close-ups of the front of a cop car and a jet-black hand being cuffed, it boldly stated, "Nutter is for Stop & Frisk ... Racial Profiling!" Can't we all just tell the truth without inciting racial discord? —H

Blackwell on Knox's. For months, she slammed Knox, but when it looked like he might win — and that he would support her for City Council president — she had a change of heart. Now, she's so far out of contention for council president, she may lose her slot as majority leader. —TI

Anti-casino activist and reform candidate Anne Dicker will step up against a wounded state Sen. Vince Fumo in April, hoping to capitalize on his scandalous federal indictment, embarrassing mansion sale and overall Snidley-ism. Dicker will also court several niche voting blocs, like astute activists and men who fantasize over alpha-women in power suits. —TN

Fattah: from front-runner to fourth place.'Nuff said. —TI

When Bob Brady stopped by our office before the primary, he wowed us with his analogy of the city's crime problem as a "gaping wound" that needs to be closed. Loved. It. Especially when, with his man hands, he displayed precisely how he'd patch up a chest wound. A gaping chest wound which we still talk about today, that is. —H

In truth, neither Fattah nor Dwight Evans was particularly obnoxious about disclosing, when announcing their crime plans, that they'd once taken bullets in their youth. But if they thought their stories would endear them to the electorate, they were sadly mistaken. Perhaps Philadelphia was collectively asking them, "Just once?" —DT

Knox, of the I-will-buy-City-Hall-and-stomp-Bob-Brady fame, said in August that he'll keep moving on a mayoral primary idea to open neighborhood health clinics where service is guaranteed in 30 minutes — or it's free! His TV ads were great and all, but maybe he should have just done this instead of running for mayor? —TN

It didn't look good for Ellen Green-Ceisler. In her second run for a seat on the Court of Common Pleas, the highly qualified candidate drew a bad ballot position and was unable to secure the endorsement of the Democratic party — generally the two determinant factors in a judicial campaign. But by writing a lot of checks and shaking a lot of hands, Ceisler managed to come in third in a race for four spots. "Can you believe I won?" Ceisler asked when we called her. We couldn't, but we were glad. —DT

Bit of a mea culpa here: When, late last year, the Democratic party called a "special election" to fill three vacant council seats, we were skeptical. We even ran a cover that read, "Hey Philly, Meet Your New Councilpeople! *Election Not Included." We believed, as many did, that the special election was an attempt on the part of the party to anoint new members without subjecting them to a real election (since special elections tend to be won by party nominees, and regular elections by incumbents). But this past May, two of the three "special electees" went down to challenges in their primaries: Carol Campbell to Curtis Jones Jr. and Danny Savage to Maria Quiñones-Sanchez. Only Bill Greenlee survived. Maybe he actually deserved to. —DT

Every relevant American city already has a 311 line — a little marvel that can track anything from potholes to parking problems to abandoned lots. Except us. So, who will finally get one of these things up and running here? In January, Michael Nutter said he would. In April, Councilman Jim Kenney said he would. And in September, Council-elect Bill Green said, no, he would. In the meantime, those abandoned lots just collect more garbage. —TN

Construction of the Youth Study Center (read: bad-kid detention center) in West Philly got held up this year when Councilwoman Jannie Blackwell demanded $10 million in projects for her district. Newspaper editors, government watchdogs and citizens outside of West Philly were "outraged." Are you kidding?! This is how politics gets done in the country every single day. As Blackwell said, "If you want me to announce a jail, then you have to give me something else." It's not like she's building a chain of Lucien the Solution candy stores: She wants a direly needed recreation center, affordable apartments and a new West Philadelphia High School — you know, the place students were setting on fire earlier this year. This only caused a stir because Blackwell is untouchable enough ... OK, temporarily insane enough ... OK, ballsy enough to go public with her ransom. Westside. —TN

Yeah, we know Jim Kenney is as tight as can be with Vince Fumo. And we know Vince Fumo almost sued this paper into submission a few years back. But Kenney is the kind of leader we dig: direct, with good ideas, and willing to put himself out there to see them to fruition. You got our vote in '15. —H

Dear Curtis Jones, We don't really know much about you, other than the fact that you beat my neighbor, Matt McClure, and Jabba in the primary, but might we offer you a suggestion: Why not clear up those tax liens and whatnot before you ask people to elect you into office? —H

Only after the election did the media report on Curtis Jones' problems with the tax man and rudimentary competence. Now, with an Inspector General investigation under way, Jones is in the hot seat and Philadelphia is once again done proud by the people who run for office. —TI

Casino-Free Philadelphia's "citizen election" was a really creative idea that the media bought into hook, line and sinker — even if it had no impact. You know, like the rest of their actions. Zing! —TI

John Street literally phoned it in this summer when he sat outside an AT&T store waiting to buy an iPhone, fighting off rain, hecklers and the national media. Street's technophilia oddly got the best of him in the midst of a homicide epidemic, budget crisis and general hatred of his person, which only leads us to think: Dude's burnt. Fried. The citizenry should've done him a solid and recalled him from office. It's all laid out in the city charter: "The petition shall contain signatures equal in number to at least twenty-five percent of the vote cast for the office of Mayor at the last preceding mayoralty election." That's only 114,470 signatures. —TN

In early September, Mayor Street announced a plan to go after tax delinquents. "We will spare no one," he said. Well, lo and behold, by late September, it turned out that Street hadn't paid almost $5,000 of taxes on two North Philly properties. "That is personal and obviously I'm not going to get into how I pay my bills," Street said. Then, by settling up the bill, he spared himself. —TN

Michael T. Regan Hon-Mentionables: Cahn let some radio hanger-on named Danny something-or-other get away with only so much. (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

There they stood, like the couple that just broke up, yet were still voted Prom Royalty and forced into the floodlight for one last dance. The powerhouse, media's nightmare of a lawyer. The media's now-wildest-dream of a power broker fighting off his shame. Both wanted to be elsewhere. So incomplete. Dick Sprague and Vince Fumo separated on the almost-eve of the latter's corruption trial. Enter the Inquirer: " ... at opposite ends of an L-shaped defense table. ... 'Is this seating arrangement intentional, designed to telegraph something?' Sprague laughed and said, 'Yes.' After the hearing, Sprague walked over to Fumo, held his hand and gripped his elbow for about 20 seconds. The two old friends laughed and spoke privately for about another 30 seconds. 'Dick came over and said that I am still in his heart ... '"

And you both, in ours. —H

In February, Gov. Rendell announced his Energy Independence Strategy, an initiative designed to green the state by seeking out oil alternatives and bolstering in-state energy production and technology. (Just last month, Pennsylvania became the only state listed on the EPA's Top 25 Green Power Partnership list; they say we're now 30 percent "green" thanks to renewable energy purchases.) Yeah, saving $10 billion over a decade is pretty cool, but having leadership that understands the people want to protect the environment is ice-cold Jaeger. —H

"That's what I think of TV news."

So said former CP staffer Larry Richette as he opened his bathrobe when confronted by an NBC 10 reporter on his front stoop. —DT

Philly Mag's unmasking of Inky food critic Craig LaBan was the most irrelevant media scoop since, well, we can't remember anything so irrelevant, but it carried as much weight as their "Pets Rule!" edition. Foodie bloggers scowled, The New York Times pontificated, and LaBan whined. Let's face it, people: Before the photo was published, every waitress, hostess, maître d', busboy and sous chef should've known what LaBan looked like; Stephen Starr was passing out photos to his staff, for chrissakes! The only person who benefits here is the Main Line blowhard who gets to impress his friends when he picks LaBan out of a crowd at some suburban "trattoria." —TN

When I heard A.J. Daulerio would launch the Daily Examiner over at Philadelphia magazine's Web site in August, I was intrigued but speculative. Could the frequent contributor to world-conquering sports blog Deadspin, known for coining sexual acts like the Smoky Tornado and infiltrating the cavorting ring of ESPN anchors at Super Bowl week, emerge from his cloak of dick jokes to capture the hearts of soccer moms across the Main Line? The Balls, as he's known throughout the blogosphere, not only maintained his rapist wit but has done what few bloggers ever have before: reporting, breaking news and (presumably) wearing pants. www.phillymag.com/blogs/philly. —JT

He may still be delivering pompous, ear-destroying diatribes on ESPN, but it's been a tough year for Screamin' Stephen A. Smith. In addition to his "talk" "show" being canceled in January, and his cameo on General Hospital failing to reap daytime soap success, the Inquirer sacked him in late August, offering a general assignment position instead. Maybe the idea of covering Temple football and semi-professional lacrosse was not appealing to Smith, as he has not graced the city of Philadelphia with his wisdom since. —JT

From Dunder Mifflin Infinity to the Clog, everybody's still trying to tap into the elusive formula to turn the Web into a hand-over-fist cash machine. Putting concerns about too much anonymity aside for a moment, phillyblog.com could ultimately offer a better model, unless city advertisers remind themselves of the inherent, perpetual value of being affiliated with newspapers, which contribute to the greater good. Across the city, people share information and talk about everything from last night's police activity around the corner to finding lost kittens. This is the unfiltered citizen journalism you want — as long as you can stomach nobody being held accountable for their reportage and sourcing.

Runner-up: We're totally down with R. Bradley Maule over at phillyskyline.com because, while we love our words, pics always make them prettier. Especially the pretty pictures. —H

First thought upon seeing Buzz Bissinger's 58-million-word "Gone Like the Wind" opus teased on the cover of the August issue of Vanity Fair: Barbaro's has been dead for nine months, yo, and he ain't coming back; let it go. Then we mounted the saddle for the start of the heart-wrenching ride — "It was a cardinal rule of horse racing for any owner, and Gretchen Jackson, straightforward and no-nonsense, with a voice of silky gravel, knew it as well as anyone: Never fall in love with a horse" — and the prose captured us. Now, we actually want to see the movie that Buzzie's cousin, Peter Berg, optioned after falling in love with an equine tale. —H

There's that news minx again! A Penn State grad from Bethlehem, doe-eyed meteorologist Erica Grow turned up on Channel 6 in January and provided the proof we needed that Cecily Tynan wasn't the end-all-be-all weather hottie. (Strangely attractive. That's as far as we're willing to go.) Erica makes every forecast feel like that smiley sun on the old weather map — which, it bears repeating, everybody misses. —H

A "comedian" walks into a TV personality's house for a party while the owner's away with a pervy parrot on his shoulder. Goes through said personality's panty drawer, then goes on the radio to make mention of her unmentionables. Well, nuts to him, says sassy Channel 10 reporter Lu Ann "The Investigator" Cahn, who takes a camera over to Danny Ozark's house and shows the world — OK, whoever watches a third-rated newscast — the squalor in which he wallows, exposing him as a degenerate who can't even wash his own drawers. Fifteen minutes later, Ozark is, well we don't know, but Cahn's on our favorites list. Respect. —H

We could've lived with the inflatable bees, especially since they've been in our face nonstop during My Name is Earl. But front-page ads? C'mon, Inquirer, we know we're tough on you — it's love, and the expectation that a news organization with 2,000 percent more resources than we have would shake this city up a wee bit more — but this would be the equivalent of taking a leak on Gene Roberts' grave, if he were dead, which he'd want to be if he still worked with you. —H

No, says Channel 3 Co-Anchor Alycia Lane, my lips don't look fuller and puffier and sassier on account of collagen injections. Where, two years ago she put the blame on a pesky lobster allergy, Ms. Lane came clean, telling the New York Post she was merely "overlining" then. Works for us, darlin'. —H

In a crowded field filled with perennial giants like Glenn Beck and Michael Smerconish, an upset was pulled off by the Daily News' own Stu Bykofsky. Byko, for whom there's much love over at CP's International Headquarters, took a lot of heat for saying that America might benefit from another 9/11, but perhaps not enough attention was paid to the fact that he said we needed it to stop partisan bickering. Really? We didn't realize the back-and-forth between Bill O'Reilly and Keith Olbermann was so destructive; maybe we just need to pay more attention. —DT

We had our doubts about whether any good would come of the Inquirer's DHS series, and the jury is still out on whether the agency will really do better work now that it's under a harsh spotlight. But there's no denying that in launching an investigation of the oft-ignored agency, the Inky played a more proactive, intellectually engaged role than local papers tend to play in these days of shrinking budgets and sound bytes. The city could use some more of that from its "paper of record," if such a thing even exists anymore. —DT

The Chris Hansen Perv-Snatching Award

We watch To Catch a Predator religiously, always happy that Hansen gets pervs off the cyber-streets and always uneasy about the public shaming. Luckily, the state attorney general's office rebukes reporters who wants to embed in the Child Predator Unit, which has snagged at least 100 wackos since its January 2005 inception. But to feed the fascination, here's an excerpt from an Oct. 5 press release involving Clifford G. Hayes, aka "horndoggie777," a 53-year-old Jersey guy posing as a 17-year-old, hitting on an underage girl:

"According to the criminal charges, Hayes immediately told the girl, 'Hi, I'm naked, want to watch me jerk it on cam,' and proceeded to send the girl a nude webcam video of a man masturbating." I speak for all of us when I say, 1) No, horndoggie777, we weely don't; and 2) bravo, CPU, for enforcing the law, but not perv-perp-walking those troubled souls you capture. —H

When Channel 3, et al., departed their Independence Mall studios for new high-def digs on Spring Garden Street, we wondered what would take its place in America's most-historic square mile. Well, lo and behold, in the middle of the war on terror, they're erecting the National Museum of American Jewish History within dirty-bomb-shot of both Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell! Listen, we're totally down with our Jewish brothers and sisters — Eastside — but we can't help but wonder how this'll play out in a cave somewhere in the hilly northern-border regions of Pakistan. Or Afghanistan. Or wherever that scumbag bin Laden is. Remember him? Yeah, us, too. —H

It's just 1,406 days till Joey Merlino's scheduled release from the federal pen in Marion, Ill. —H

Tajideen M. Whitaker, 17, surrendered to police in September after stabbing a 19-year-old several times in a South Philadelphia home. With a samurai sword. —TN

Go apeshit on a maid with a bag of carrots, shame on the help. Go apeshit and stop a nanny and her 9-year-old daughter from leaving the house, shame on you. Susan Tabas Tepper, you're fuckin' badass. —H

Say you're defending a Villanova heiress who went apeshit on a maid and a nanny. Tough spot? Hell-to-the-no, said a defense attorney who used a little something-some called the "anniversary syndrome" to help explain why Tepper tends to lash out "about the third week of May." Result? Bye-bye, jail time. Marc Steinberg, you're fuckin' badass, too. Here's a tip, Steiney: Look for Eagles fans "about the last week of the season." —H

In a city where the daily paper is justified in running a homicide tally each morning, with four TV stations always leading with the bleeding, you'd think an elderly town watcher in a low-crime nook taking a bullet in the foot would warrant a wee bit of coverage, right? Wrong. Dick Clark, a well-known walker about East Falls, was doing his thing on Sept. 20 when two men confronted him with a long-nosed black gun and told him to give it up. He didn't. So as they backed away, a bullet flew into his right foot, leaving a puddle of blood at Conrad and Sunnyside. Thankfully, Dick's fine — and the neighborhood's a better place for people like him. —H

Seagulls are the beach-bound flying rat. They're dirty scavengers. Pigeons with sand between their toes. They're not to be trusted, because they'll turn on you in a heartbeat. But when longshoreman Daniel Gallagher took out 189 of them with his pickup truck down by the river in South Philly, they called him a criminal and hit him with a $14,175 fine. What kind of way is that to treat a hero? Had they been pigeons, he'd have gotten a medal — or a take-down Philly Weekly cover. —H

Lyin' Eyed: Langleben helped create the No Lie MRI. But what kind of world will the No Lie MRI create? (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

Martin Schneider, an antiques dealer from Blue Bell, pleaded guilty in April after getting wrapped up in an international smuggling ring that pushed scrimshawed sperm whale teeth into the country through Philadelphia International Airport. Prosecutors said Schneider sold 10 teeth for a cool half-mil. That is, until federal agents searched his flight luggage coming back from England, marked the teeth and sent in an undercover agent for a sting. OK, a chomp. —TN

The most unsettling thing about Courtroom 306 in the Criminal Justice Center — the room where every accused murderer makes a first appearance — isn't the bulletproof glass separating the legal minds from the people. It's what the people, particularly on the victim's side, wear: garish, airbrushed, oversize "memorial T-shirts" marking the name of the most recent murder victim, an iron-on image and the date he or she was gunned down. Who is making money off these things? And do they plan on expanding? Sure looks that way, since, in the same courtroom in October, one young woman donned an image of the defendant on the back of her shirt. Across the top was the word: "Innocent." We'll get back to you on that one. —TN

In June, U.S. Attorney Pat Meehan announced an indictment against Donald "Gus" Dougherty, the president of Dougherty Electric, which is tied to the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers Local 98 union. It charged him with running an illegal cash payroll, bribing a bank official, swanking up a Wildwood condo and flipping it to a friend for less than market value, tax evasion and more. The only question at the press conference: Was the indictment's IBEW Local 98 Official No. 1 John "Doc" Dougherty? Meehan consistently refused to confirm or deny. C'mon, bro-piece. We're hip to your game. Now, go take a shot at Arlen's seat already. —TN

"Yeah, hi, this is Fusion jeans on South Street. Listen, we just opened up a FedEx overnight box. It was cabinets. But when we opened the cabinets up, there was, like, a 5-gallon orange bucket filled with marijuana. Can you come take it away? Thanks!" —H

Hour later: "Yeah, hi, Fusion jeans on South Street again. You're not going to believe this. We just got another box from DHL and there was even more weed in it. Sorry to bother you, but can you come seize this, too? —H

It's called the No Lie MRI and it's advertised as "the first and only direct measure of truth verification and lie detection in human history!" This scares us more than the original Saw did. The local hook: According to the July 2 New Yorker, the technology that's bringing us one step closer to codifying laws based on criminal thoughts — thinking it's time to kill the landlord: six months — is based in large part on research by UPenn psychiatrist Daniel Langleben. Psst, hey Dan, want your own scare? Read our thoughts about you right now. —H

From the school's Asian American Studies program Web site: "Mr. Kal Penn (Kalpen Modi) will teach ASAM 109/CINE 109/SOCI 109 'Asian Americans in the Media' for Asian American Studies, Cinema Studies, and Sociology in Spring 2008!" Yep, Professor Kumar, bitches. Alas, neither Harold nor Freak Show will serve as T.A. Because that would just be way too trippy. —H

The twinks, gym rats, bears, lesbians and trannies all still call it the Gayborhood. And for darn good reason. "Midtown Village" is the only neighborhood in Philly where you'll find a dozen gay bars/restaurants within four square blocks. You're also more likely to see same-sex hand-holding, drag queens teetering on size 13 pumps, and a slew of rainbow flags streaming down Locust and Walnut streets than anywhere else in the city. The community's true colors (lavender, by all accounts) become especially apparent every October during Outfest when LGBTQs and friends engage in a very public penis-shaped-bagel-eating contest. www.midtownvillage.org.

—NHM

It's one thing to live right across the Delaware, having grown up within close-enough eyeshot of the PSFS sign to have the right to say you're as much a Philadelphian as someone about 10 miles away in the "Great" part of town. It's quite a different thing to grow up in North Jersey, be a friggin' Giants fan, yet somehow find yourself embraced, in these arms, as a 215 rep. Then again, most people aren't Jon Bon Jovi. Yet, as his namesake band has been inexplicably resurgent, he who rides a steel horse has pulled it off somehow. Beyond the good work he's done with Project H.O.M.E., Jon Bon all but painted on his "Philly Soul" T-shirt during a recent hosting turn on Saturday Night Live. Consider this your crowning moment, Bon Jovi: You're officially a Philly boy. Use the powers wisely. (By the way, we know a bunch of chicks who want to meet you, so drop a line.) —H

Wah, they force-feed ducks. Wah, then they sell them as a gourmet treat. Wah, we should go stand outside restaurants and — as the self-appointed guardians of the evolutionary chart — scream and whine and moan until we ruin everybody's meal. Even if they aren't eating foie gras, because we're spoiled, ignorant brats. Please, Nick Cooney, take your Hugs for Puppies drones and buzz off. Shoo. Git. —H

Cardinal Justin Rigali, head of the Philly archdiocese, is totally into dudes! (In that way.) OK, OK, there was something wrong with the scoop. Primarily, Holy Dude says he's wholly un-gay. Secondarily, some people didn't quite catch the vibe that it was in the Saint Joe's University paper's April Fools' issue. Short and long: Editor apologized to the city's highest-ranking straight Catholic — and was placed on the guest list (+1) to hell. Whoops! —H

Race will always be an issue in the 215, whether McNabb's QB or not, so we really needn't manufacture issues. Well, some people with way too much time on their hands decided to draw their line in the sand outside the Franklin Institute's King Tut exhibition anyway. Their gripe: Despite a disclaimer posted on the forensic reconstruction of the Boy King's head and shoulders stating, "the exact color of his skin ... cannot be determined with full certainty," they decided to hoot and holler that Tut was too white. Utter. Waste. Of. Everybody's. Time. —H

In this, the land where everybody feels they're entitled to anything they want for free, Comcast's been taking a beating for trying to dam up the free pipeline to copywrited material. And, oh, how those who like feeding at the trough are whining about it. Enough's enough. Ninety-nine cents is not too much to ask for a song. Find something else to protest, like, I don't know, a lily-white King Tut or those misguided people who called the seagull slayer a criminal. —H

It's fair to criticize local media — ourselves included — for not writing enough "good news." But Philly's gone crazy, batshit crazy, and so have we. But when four teenagers from Germantown and West Philadelphia high schools saw a house on fire near their track meet in April, they dropped their shot puts — we hope — and ran over to save an elderly woman from the flames. So bravo, Dwyne Hall, Jerome Plant, Sharod Graham and Kyle Young. Each of you is a hero. —H

The police come only if you get shot. By no fault of our shamefully overworked medics, EMS response times are among the nation's worst. DHS is undergoing a structural overhaul. SEPTA is SEPTA. But you know which agency always gets its job done, even if the Guv and Inky have been getting all up in its patronage grill lately? The Parking Authority. Try leaving your car at a meter for 10 minutes past expiration on a Saturday night. We've never seen such an efficient bureaucracy. Honestly, we don't know how the Parking Authority does it, but it's a goddamn machine. Unless, of course, you've received a ticket in error. Then it's a slouching beast like the rest of them. —DT

In April, inspectors found 800 pounds of ammunition and guns in a seventh-floor storage room without fire sprinklers in City Hall. It turns out that the police department's evidence unit was storing the payload there for, oh, about 50 years for use in the nearby criminal courts. Needless to say, the fire commish told the Daily News he was not pleased: "If there is a fire near any ammunition, you have a problem." Chalk this one up as an almost-very-very-big problem. —TN