Doc, you probably don't remember
when Euclid Beach closed in the fall of '69. It was an amusement park loved by kids and
grown-ups alike. Something like that marvelous park you had in Grinzing, with that
great ferris wheel. Remember that movie "The Third Man"? It was filmed there.
One of my favorite rides at Euclid Beach
was called the American Racing
Derby, a very fast merry-go-round.
The horses really raced each other.
We loved it, but as I recall, when
it stopped we all came out a little dizzy.
Which takes me to my story.
Leading the Public Affairs team at
Tri-C was like that merry-go-round.
You have great fun, Doc, going round
and round, but it also had its ups and
downs. Looking back I would say there were more ups than downs. But when
the music stopped, it was a real downer.
Some of the most inspiring moments
for me were our Monday staff
meetings. The team loved them. Each member
had an opportunity to describe their project; be it a celebration, a fund
raising campaign, the catalog, television advertising, what have you.
It was an amazing group, including Sandy
and Leslie, who I found deep in the bowels of the Tri-C Metro Campus. I had
known Sandy from her winning reputation as journalism instructor. Leslie was
like her unindentical twin. We found Marcia, of all places, at Mt. Sinai
Hospital. I knew she was right for the team when she withstood a withering
cross-examination by Ellison in his office.
"We got a gem!" I told Sandy.
"We got a gem!" I told Sandy.
Joyce was already on board as fundraiser
and levy expert, and her expertise was invaluable. Audrey was rock solid as our administrative assistant, bringing
order out of chaos, and Dolores and Joanne
were assigned to cover our outposts at the Western and Eastern campuses.
It may sound corny, but we, and
others not mentioned, almost instinctively made beautiful music together, and I
saw myself as sort of a concert master. Our work brought us great rewards, even at the top, where
President Ellison loved parties, making speeches, and raising money
touting tax levies. We did that all with great creativity and teamwork.
We won
fifty-two national awards for excellence in nine years, including the national
award for best education marketing and public relations project of the year
from CASE. (The Council for the Advancement and Support of Education) With the
help of the $500 prize, I took members of the team to San Diego to be on hand for
the awards ceremony.
Teamwork. Here's one for the books.
When the U.S Maritime Academy approached the college for a partnership, Ellison
asked us to get the word out. It was a creative challenge. Somehow we thought
of one of those huge ore ships that docked on the Cuyahoga. Why not, we asked
one another.
“I know the PR guy at the Mather Steamship,”
sandy said. And we
were off and running.
“I'll get the NCJW to manage the
hosting and the food,” said Joyce. Audrey, bless her heart reminded us that
this might cost considerable money. “We'll get it from Ellison,” I promised.
And so the bizarre encounter with
the flats, a huge ore carrier, police boats, and balking labor unions, fell
into place. It wasn't easy but it worked. Except it turned out to be a freezing
day with snow coming in off the lake. A highlight was
the dedication of the tech center, where ground was broken by a robot.
I must tip my hat to that team, who still
gather annually for a reunion these last 26 years. Love those folks. Geniuses
all.
When Ellison and the president of CSU, had a disagreement
in a meeting at CSU, he stripped off his suit coat and his glasses and went
after President Waetjen, a one time college football player, he responded in
kind. It took the entire group at the meeting to pull them apart. Again, the word
was "what fight?" and nobody leaked. Nobody. I thought myself, "A
hell of a story.”
I must say, Ellison was a master at
playing the good guy. And he truly believed believed that I was doing my job of
polishing his image and the image of the college.
That was, until an unpleasant young reporter
from the Plain Dealer, don't recall her name, Doctor, started asking some hard
questions in a meeting I attended. I could see Ellison’s his face turning red.
“Are you investigating me?” he
snarled. “Get out of my office. I don't ever want to see you again!”
He lunged at her as she left. I was
stunned. I knew this woman. She was the kind who would do anything for a story;
anything to destroy someone's image.
I met with her the next day and got
the gist of her story. Ellison had hired the former
President of the University of the District of Columbia to come to work at Tri-C full time with a lofty salary,
for a special urban studies project.
What had been leaked to the PD was that the new hire had been fired in DC, and then
charged by a grand jury for stealing valuable property from the president's house. (Also and he came without a
job description or a signed application.)
There was no way I could stop the
publishing of the story the next morning. Ellison raged.
I did all I could to diminish the
flames. The personnel office produced an after-the-fact signed job application
and job description, not really kosher, to soften the blow. I arranged a
meeting between Ellision and Tom Vail, the publisher and editor of the Plain
Dealer. We went to Vail's office. I tried to calm Ellison down by
talking about my experiences in WW II with General
Patton, telling him how scared I was, but how I pulled myself together and survived. (At that moment I
wished I was back in Germany instead of in this hot seat in Cleveland.) But my guy calmed down and walked
into Vail's office, sweet as a pussy cat. After a number of exchanges, Vail attempted to assure
him that the Plain Dealer has been leading
the fight for racial equality. Vail promised to look into the matter of this young
reporter. Ellison seemed satisfied and thought he had seen the last of the
reporter, but of course he was wrong.
I saw danger down the road.
The next morning at the top of the
editorial page was a sizeable editorial: "Seeing Red About Green.” (Green
was the DC guy's name.) The boss went into a rage again. It was a fairly mild
editorial in my mind, but there was no way of calming the boss.
“Racist bastards!,” he howled.
Dr. Green was a reasonable guy and
things settled down when the Grand Jury in Washington found him not guilty on
all six counts. This soft spoken academic had gotten himself embroiled in ugly
DC politics, and had paid the price. But he survived.
But the PD wasn't through. One more scandal brought us very close to a parting of the ways. It involved the president of the
Eastern Campus. She was a bit arrogant and not
liked by much the faculty. One day word came downtown that she was in a brawl with
the faculty over her thoughtless and stupid habit of parking her Mercedes in a
garage built for ambulances and vans dropping off handicapped students. As news guy I saw this as a potential disaster, and I told Ellison at a meeting in his office
on a Saturday, that it would probably appear on page one the next morning.
“What should we do? What should we
say?”
“Don't do anything,”
Ellison said, as we walked out.
"It will give her some
humility".
“Yes sir,” I said, and left.
“This is it,” I said to myself.
I called the Eastern Campus pres. at
her Gold Coast home in Lakewood, and told her not to say anything to reporters.
I learned later that she had spilled the beans herself, calling the Tri-C
faculty "a bunch of children."
The next morning, there it was
across the bottom of page one: A photo of her and the
Mercedes in the handicapped garage. And a side story
about a disabled young student in a wheel chair, describing how they had to
push him through the snow to get into the building from his parent's van.
It was awful. But I did nothing.
What she did was indefensible. I knew
that after nine mostly rewarding years my time was about up. And
I was the fall guy.
Or was I?
Tell you next time.
