Are Politicians Getting More Crooked?

The rap sheets at city hall are growing long indeed: Philadelphia's former city treasurer was sentenced recently to 10 years in prison for corruption. Former Atlanta Mayor Bill Campbell is going on trial in September. Two San Diego city council members were found guilty of conspiracy, extortion and fraud. Chicago is in the midst of a scandal over rigged civil service exams. Question: Are politicians more crooked today than in the past? Answer: no.

True, this has been a busy year. The U.S. Justice Department's Public Integrity Section, which prosecutes political corruption cases, reports that it had secured 43 convictions or guilty pleas by mid-year. That compares with 51 for all of 2004 and 48 in 2003. But otherwise, observers say, it's business as usual. "I don't think statistically there's been any kind of dramatic spike," said one former prosecutor.

The Dallas Morning News took at look recently at the Public Integrity Section and found it to be a fearsome and unusually effective squad. (There's a federal investigation of city officials in Dallas underway, as well.) Between 1984 and 2003, the feds obtained convictions for 20,393 of the 23,320 people they indicted. Reason for success: Prosecutors are careful to indict only when the evidence is strong. That usually means wiretaps, incriminating documents, "body bugs" (where one person is wearing a recording device) and lots of corroborating testimony. The easiest people in a public corruption case to "turn" (agree to cooperate with authorities) are usually the business people supplying the bribes.

OK, but what exactly is a bribe? Politicians receive campaign contributions from business people all the time, and contributors often want something for their money. What separates a legal contribution from an illegal payoff? Answer: When it's tied to something specific, a "quid pro quo," in legal jargon — something along the lines of, if you give me $5,000, I'll make sure you get a $100,000 city contract. "Basically, you want to get dead-to-rights evidence . . . getting the defendant on tape stating unequivocally what the quid pro quo is," a former prosecutor told the Morning News.

But why make a federal case of local corruption? After all, states and localities have prosecutors; why aren't they the ones hauling crooked city council members into court? Two reasons: The feds make it a priority. The Justice Department's Public Integrity Section was created in 1976 and has been supported by attorneys general ever since. And, like Elliot Ness, federal authorities are more or less untouchable. "(Public corruption) is a crime the federal government believes it is uniquely qualified to investigate because it's not beholden to any particular local constituency," a former prosecutor pointed out, "and it's an area which it has developed a great deal off experience in."

Footnote: Of the corruption cases cited above, the Chicago scandal is unusual in that it doesn't appear to involve money for contracts or legislation. Rather it seems to center around penny-ante patronage. Still, the embarrassment factor is high here. Among the cases the news media have seized on: one in which an applicant for a city dispatcher's job was ranked as qualified on the basis of interviews. Only problem: The applicant had died before the alleged interviews took place.

The Value of an Urban Park

Ask people to value an urban park and they might talk about the benefits of recreation or how green spaces can keep city air cleaner and temperatures cooler in summers. Or they might talk about social capital and how parks offer gathering places for conversation and celebrations. But Chicago's new downtown park, Millennium Park, is adding another value: that of cold, hard cash.

Millennium Park opened in 2004 with two big strikes against it. It was four years late. (It was supposed to have opened in the millennium year.) And it was embarrassingly expensive. Originally budgeted at $150 million, the park's final cost was $475 million. But when people laid eyes on this 25-acre jewel of a park, which is part green space and part art space, none of that mattered. Since opening day, crowds have been drawn to its stunning sculptures and playful architecture.

And, it turns out, so are real estate developers. A study this year by Chicago's planning department estimated that Millennium Park would create $1.4 billion in residential development in the next decade. How? Because the park has created a huge demand for apartments and condos nearby. "Millennium Park has become a status symbol, a focal point, a magnet for the surrounding neighborhood, making properties around the park extremely desirable," a real estate analyst told the Chicago Tribune.

What makes this all the more impressive is that the East Loop area, where the park is located, wasn't a very desirable neighborhood before 2004. "Before, (it) was an eyesore with railroad tracks and parking lots," a development consultant told the Tribune. "Now, it is a premium environment."

Is this a fluke, or could another new urban park have a similar impact? We may find out in the years ahead as Atlanta moves forward with its Beltline project. On the surface, the Beltline is nothing like Millennium Park. It's a 22-mile circuit of abandoned rail corridors, some in gentrifying areas, others in poor neighborhoods. The idea: Use this corridor to create a ribbon of parks, trails and light-rail transit circling the city. But clearly Atlanta officials are expecting something like the Millennium Park effect to occur near the Beltway.

Among other things, they'll need a wave of development to pay for the park. Under the city's plan, the Beltline would be built and maintained with tax-allocation financing, which uses future increases in property tax assessments to pay for today's improvements. No rise in property values, no repayment of the debt.

But could the Beltline's impact be anything like Millennium Park's? If not, it won't be for lack of ambition. As the Atlanta Journal-Constitution reported recently, advocates predict that, in the next quarter-century, the Beltline's impact on Atlanta will rank with "the arrival of professional sports teams, the growth of Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport . . . and the (1996) Olympic Games."

Last Call for Chicago's Bars

Here's an interesting trend: Alcohol consumption is declining in America, apparently because Baby Boomers are swearing it off. In the early 1980s, consumption of beer, wine and spirits peaked at 2.76 gallons per person over age 15. Today, it's at 2.20. What does this have to do with cities? It may be a big reason for the disappearance of neighborhood taverns.

Take Chicago, where generations of workers have stopped off for a beer or a shot of whiskey on the way home. In 1915, there was a saloon for every 355 people in the city and, in some neighborhoods, one for every 50 men. Historians figure that, in the late 19th century, half the city's total population entered a saloon every day. "The neighborhood bar used to be the country club of the community," one bar owner said. Not any more. In the past century, the number of bars in Chicago has declined from 7,600 to just over 1,300.

So what's killing the bars of Chicago? Well, check the decline in alcohol consumption above. (The big decline has been in spirits, off more than 40 percent per capita since the mid-1970s. Beer consumption has declined somewhat; wine drinking has held steady.) In short, business isn't good.

But there are other reasons. Saloons used to be more important to socializing than they are now. They were places men went to watch a baseball game or meet buddies. Now, people can watch wide-screen TV at home and chat with their friends on the Internet. As a result, some friendly neighborhood taverns have degenerated into joints for drug-dealing and prostitution. And even where saloons haven't declined, neighbors may not be as open as they once were to tipsy people wandering in and out of corner bars at midnight. Gentrification has been tough on beer joints.

The political climate has changed, as well. Mayor Richard Daley has led several crackdowns on raucous bars. Now, he wants to give neighborhood groups new powers to shut down undesirable establishments. For years, individual precincts have been able to vote themselves "dry," which meant closing all neighborhood tavern and liquor stores. Daley is now proposing an ordinance that would allow groups to take on individual saloons. Under his proposal, if these places are challenged by residents, they have to prove they aren't harming the neighbors.

Why so hard on the bars? Daley thinks saloons and liquor stores can be good for a neighborhood or bad — and he wants the bad ones gone. "A good liquor store can be a worthwhile part of a commercial strip," the mayor said in announcing his proposal. "But a bad liquor establishment can destroy the quality of life. If a business is having an adverse effect on quality of life, then it should shape up or shut down."

Goodbye Historic Department Stores

One of the saddest trends of the last 20 years has been the decline of the grand old department stores in many downtowns. Nearly everyone over 40 can remember the trek downtown at Christmas to see the decorations and sit on Santa's lap. (If you can't remember it, rent the movie "Miracle on 34th Street" and you'll get the idea.) Almost as sad as the stores' decline: Where downtown stores have hung on, they've been renamed. The latest great old retail name to disappear: Marshall Field's in Chicago.

Marshall Field's wasn't just a big store. It was the big store in Chicago, a place so familiar and cherished that, if you wanted to be sure to meet someone, you told them to stand "under the Field's clock" on State Street. Field's didn't invent the department store (the first true department store was Bon Marche in Paris in the 1850s), nor was it the first in America (there was one in New York by the early 1860s, but none was more beloved. Field's motto was, "Give the Lady What She Wants," and it was in customer service that the store made its mark.

It was also appreciated for its longevity. Rebuilt after the Chicago fire of 1871, the downtown Marshall Field's store was rebuilt again after a second fire and eventually located at Washington and State, an intersection it still commands like a fortress. But come next year, the fortress will have a new name, Macy's. As you can imagine, this does not sit well with many Chicagoans. "Macy's should stay in New York, and Field's should stay in Chicago," one shopper told the Chicago Tribune. Some of the sales people in the store weren't pleased either. "People really come here for the name," one told the Tribune. "It's a Chicago icon."

Don't take it personally, Chicago. Other cities have lost cherished retail names: Rich's in Atlanta, Lazarus in Cincinnati, Goldsmith's in Memphis, Burdines in Miami. All are now known as Macy's. Why the changes? The owner of these stores, Federated Department Stores, thinks having the same name on all its stores will help with marketing and other costs.

And what do Chicago's political leaders think of losing the Marshall Field's name? Actually, they've been uncharacteristically calm about it. "Retailing has changed and lifestyles have changed and business has changed," Mayor Richard M. Daley said. "But we should never be afraid of change."

War of the Suburbs

If you want to make people in a neighboring town foot-stomping mad, what could you do? Here's a sure-fire way: Put up a barricade between the cities. Think this sort of thing doesn't go on? It happens all the time.

It's happening now in suburban Chicago, where the neighboring cities of Hammond, Ind., and Calumet City, Ill., are in nasty dispute because Hammond wants to close off access along State Line Road, which forms the border between the two. Why? Hammond officials say it's because their residents are seeing a rash of property crimes and suspect the criminals are driving in from Calumet City.

This, of course, infuriates Calumet City residents. "The thought of having my access to my car mechanic, to my eye doctor, to the little grocery store, to the little churches . . . we just couldn't see that cut off," an 80-year-old resident told the Chicago Tribune. And what about Hammond's fear of Calumet City's criminals? She hooted, "There are just as many thieves in Hammond as Cal City."

The real reason for the proposed barricade, some Calumet City residents say, is that their city has a more diverse population. As one pointed out, the two places have lived side by side for years without significant problems. "The only thing that's changed is that African-Americans have moved in," he added. No, it really is about crime, Hammond's mayor insisted. "This has nothing to do with race," he told the Tribune.

After Calumet City angrily refused to allow Hammond to build a six-inch curb-like barricade along State Line Road's median, Hammond officials are considering other ideas, including adding a lane on the Indiana side and placing the barricade there or turning some of Hammond's westernmost streets into cul-de-sacs, to prevent Calumet City residents from getting very far into Hammond.

Hey, but at least a six-inch curb is discrete. There's nothing subtle about the bright orange gates and five-foot barricades that the Miami suburb of Southwest Ranches has erected to keep out residents of neighboring Pembroke Pines. The dispute: Not crime but traffic, say Southwest Ranches residents. According to one city council member, leadfoot suburbanites from Pembroke Pines roar through rural Southwest Ranches, where families keep horses and ostriches. "They're running over our animals," he told the Miami Herald. "They've aimed at people getting mail."

Pembroke Pines residents are offended, of course. "It makes us feel like our neighbors don't like us," said one whose house looks out on the padlocked barricades. It also slows emergency vehicles, others pointed out.

Footnote: So what are these barricades really about? Probably not about crime or traffic, said one professor of conflict resolution who was interviewed by the Herald. Those are usually excuses for something deeper, a fear or dislike of others' lifestyles. "You can't sue people because their lifestyle is different than yours," she added, "but that is actually the concern most of the time."