The Agenda

By Ted Rao

[This article first appeared in The Agenda #12, November 2005]

Cranston Mayor Steve Laffey is a complete idiot. I don’t care that he’s got an MBA from Harvard; so does our President, and there’s a guy that my cat could beat at Scrabble. He will not, repeat, will not be able to beat Senator Lincoln Chafee in next year’s primary, short of Chafee being caught in bed with a dead hooker. Even then, I doubt it. Besides, even if he did, Sheldon Whitehouse would demolish him in the general election. So screw Laffey. Wait, why do I care? Laffey’s the mayor of Cranston. This column is about Providence, America’s greatest city. Onward.

“Buddy Cianci number one?” “Go Red Sox?” Sounds like just about every idiot in this town, if you ask me. But the man you’re referring to, Walter Miller, is a very interesting and in my opinion, amazing local character. Walter, once described as “a gap-toothed downtown denizen,” first appeared alongside former mayor Buddy Cianci during his second tenure in office, and soon became the mayor’s de facto court jester. A 70 year-old pensioner who originally hails from Providence, Walter was one of Cianci’s most ardent supporters. He could often be found in and around City Hall, singing happy pro-Cianci songs from his beat-up old boom box that was plastered with Cianci bumper stickers. Oftentimes he would also entertain visiting guests in the mayor’s office with card tricks and jokes. Walter was also a fixture at Providence Bruins hockey games, sitting next to the mayor, cheering and waving his lucky shaker alongside Cianci. In his book The Prince of Providence, author Mike Stanton noted that Cianci’s secretaries used to light candles in the office whenever Walter visited to cover up his body odor. The book also recounts a hilarious story involving AS220 Artistic Director Umberto Crenca, who once visited the mayor’s office to renegotiate a city loan. Cianci, who had privately already decided to approve the request, decided to have Crenca pitch his proposal to Walter directly, who listened to Crenca and eventually gave the mayor his thumbs up. Say what you will about Buddy, but the man had a sense of humor. In July of 2002, Cianci held his annual “Walter Miller Day” outside Kennedy Plaza with hundreds of cheering supporters and food donated by local restaurants. As Walter emerged from the mayor’s limousine in dramatic fashion, he was slipped two tickets to the sold-out Rolling Stones concert taking place that evening at the Fleet Center in Boston. Apparently, Miller’s first reaction was “The Rolling Stones? Who are they?” and inquired as to whether the tickets might be worth maybe ten bucks a piece. When told about $150, he simply grinned. Those present doubt that he made it to the show. During Cianci’s Plunder dome trial, Walter could be seen outside the courthouse dressed up like Uncle Sam, shouting “Free Buddy,” and “Pannone’s a phony; he’s throwing the baloney!” See, this stuff would never happen in Baltimore or Cleveland.

One would think that since Buddy’s downfall Walter would have faded away, but thankfully he hasn’t gone anywhere. Since Cianci’s conviction, Walter has become a devoted Cicilline man, but apparently it took a bit of time for him to have a change of heart. After all, his hero had fallen. Yet Providence is a town that seems to love its mayor, and Walter represents that. I happen to think he’s tremendous; in fact, I like Walter about a hundred times more than I like the mayor he used to champion so fervently. He still stands in front of City Hall nearly every day, playing and singing songs about Mayor Cicilline and other local political figures from his beat-up boom box. In fact, as a city council intern this past summer, I was treated to a visit from Walter at least once a week, as he would routinely make the rounds to the different city offices in the building. If you stop by the Washington Street entrance of City Hall you’re likely to find him, and for the record, he’s extremely approachable and friendly. Give him a few minutes; you’ll probably make each other’s day.

Has the “Superman Building” downtown ever actually stood in for the Daily Planet in TV or movies? Also, is there a blimp-port in the same building and if so, has it ever been a functional dock for dirigibles? —Bob Goudie

Per your first question, the answer is no. Contrary to popular belief, the art deco-styled Industrial National Bank Building, which was built in 1928 and stands over twenty-six stories tall, has never been used in any way, shape, or form as the fictional Daily Planet in any Superman-related production whatsoever. Incidentally, this building was built before the Chrysler and Empire State Buildings in New York City, and is the only remaining skyscraper in Providence that was built in the 1920s. Surprisingly, there apparently were plans for a blimp port during its construction, to be used as a dock for dirigibles such as helium balloons. At the time of the building’s construction, dirigibles were seen as the future of mass transportation. Yet according to sources in the city archives office, it is doubtful that such a dock was ever actually used, since no records of such activity seem to exist. Yet it was confirmed to me that a dock might actually exist on the flat parts of the roof that head towards the building’s center. Damn, I’d like to get to that roof.

Who is Pat Rock? —Brian Frye

Oh, Pat Rock, how I miss thee. Let me preface this by stating that Pat Rock is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Only my good friend Noah Hayslip outranks Pat Rock on the friendliness chart. In fact, Pat Rock is so nice that he makes Jack McKenna seem like a mean, bitter old bastard. An early employee of White Electric Coffee (owner Jed Arkley believes Pat to be either employee #001 or #002), Pat Rock is also considered to hold an early place in White Electric’s coveted Hall of Fame, which I’ve never been to but apparently exists, at least in the mind of Arkley. Pat, whose school picture hangs on the White Electric cash register, was also a singer/songwriter who played out often in Providence with Arkley, Dan and Kim in a band called The Liverpool. He also played in an electronic band with Arkley called Advanced Business Machines (which was the name of the business across from the old White Electric on Broadway), and performed solo under his own name. Currently, he lives in Hoboken, New Jersey with his wife Lisa. He works as an elementary school teacher, which is an incredibly fitting occupation for a man so fucking friendly that you actually question whether he might be a cyborg.

What’s going on with all these finger mustaches around town? Pete Burr told me it’s the gayest thing he’s ever seen—to which I said that he’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen, because I have one—and what do you say to that? —Peter Goode

Peter, it seems as though you’re baiting me to give my opinion on the finger-mustache tattoo thing, which incidentally numbers in the fifties at this point. Jesus. I dunno, I guess that in the fall stupidity seems to flow through the air in this town like leaves from a tree. It’s not a gang; it’s not a club. It’s just a stupid tattoo, and people just like to get stupid tattoos together. And that’s cool. So for the record, I think every single one of them is awesome. Except for yours. Looks like a screwed-up noodle.

What’s the deal with the Daggers and the Fox Point Rippers and all this gang activity? Nobody does anything really gang-related around here but yet there are gangs kinda. —P.G.

Well, as far as I’m concerned, the fact that there isn’t any gang rivalry between the Daggers and the Fox Point Rippers is a goddamn shame. I mean, come on, there needs to be an actual rumble here! This town could be like that movie The Warriors! How cool would that be? You, a Ripper (yes, you are) exit the Coffee Exchange one afternoon and the Daggers are all standing there with chains and knives, ready to throw down. Duh-duhh! They’re on your turf, and they want to take over. What are you gonna do now? You know what. You take out your whistle or something, hit it and bang! Out come the rest of the Rippers, like rabid dogs. I wanna see more of that, but no. It seems that all you guys want to do is drink beer, get tattoos and play kickball. Fine, but you’re ruining it for the rest of us social rubberneckers.

How many copies of Neutral Nation’s It’s a Bash LP were pressed? —Liam Gray

Local punk rock stalwarts Neutral Nation released an initial pressing of roughly 2000 copies of their classic It’s a Bash LP (favorite song: “Streets”) in the year 1986 of our lord. The album went through roughly three or four smaller re-pressings, so all in all, about 5000 of those suckers are in existence. And unfortunately, not one of them lives on my record shelf. But I’ve got all their singles, so I’ve got that going for me. (Subliminal message to Tom Buckland: Give Ted a copy of It’s a Bash…)

When did WBRU really start sucking? —L.G.

I think that the post-Nirvana Nevermind period, which saw the merging and homogenization of alternative and mainstream rock, had something to do with it. Prior to Nevermind, there was a clear line of distinction between what a station like WHJY would play (Motley Crue, Guns N’ Roses, Zeppelin, Aerosmith, etc) and what WBRU would play (The Cure, Depeche Mode, R.E.M., Replacements, etc). Traditionally, WHJY had always been much more Stalinist in their approach, like “This is what we play; this is what we’ll always play, and fuck you, too.” WBRU used to be different. Even as a young punk rock kid, I would tolerate WBRU since I could expect to hear the aforementioned bands rather than have to endure hair metal and dinosaur rock. (Now I love dinosaur rock, but that’s a different story.) It was inconceivable to me that a station like WHJY would ever play R.E.M. But when Nevermind (and also Blood Sugar Sex Magik by The Red Hot Chili Peppers) was released, these distinctions began to erode. So WHJY started playing alternative, and WBRU was left with no real alternative to speak of, and instead of digging deeper and playing the indie rock of the day like Superchunk, Sebadoh and Guided By Voices, they found themselves mired in the same Stone Temple Pilots/Pearl Jam swamp as their competitor down the dial. Once Green Day’s Dookie hit in 1994, it all crumbled. Not that these are bad records or anything, but it’s kinda their legacy, if you ask me. Nowadays, there’s hardly any difference between the play lists of the two stations. So I would say around 1991 or 1992. Yeah, doesn’t WBRU just completely suck now with their chirpy yet obviously affected “I’m cool even though I’m not” voices? Just thinking about it makes me sick. Also, please remember that like WHJY, WBRU’s disc jockeys have absolutely no say in the music that they play, at least during peak hours. It’s all outsourced to professional marketing groups that determine what the kids “want to hear.” Bottom line: if the DJ doesn’t have at least some control over the music in front of them, then turn the dial.

Why hasn’t Complex World been released on DVD? —L.G.

Complex World, the late-eighties Providence disaster epic shot almost entirely at the old Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel (that’s two Lupo’s ago, folks) and featuring the music of local legends The Young Adults, may actually be released on DVD in the near future. Rich Lupo, who owns the rights to the film, has been in discussions with the film’s writer/director Jim Wolpaw about the prospect of releasing about a thousand copies of the film on DVD with added footage and interviews. The only problem is determining exactly what the demand is for such a project. Does anybody still care about this film? I’d love to watch it, but I’m sure as hell not buying a thousand of ‘em. This leads to the other question, which is how to get solid distribution. So we’ll have to wait and see.

If you could put together an all-time Providence super-group, who would be in it? (drums, bass, lead guitar, rhythm guitar, and vocals) —John Berard

I wouldn’t. I would just get Thee Hydrogen Terrors back together.

What was the deal with the whole NewPaper/NicePaper thing back in the 90s? —Eric Smith

Okay. In 1978 the NewPaper was created, published by Ty Davis and a few partners. It served as Providence’s weekly alternative arts and culture publication throughout most of the 1980s, until it was bought out by the Boston Phoenix in the year 1988. Davis, who at this point was the sole publisher, began to get pressure from the Phoenix, who allegedly informed him that they were coming into Providence and that it was in his best interests to sell out to them. Davis eventually did, since he didn’t think he could compete. The NewPaper was soon renamed the Phoenix’s Newpaper, and was eventually changed to the Providence Phoenix in the early Nineties. Apparently, the new quasi-corporate environment was a complete drag. According to former NewPaper staffer and NicePaper co-founder Robert Jaz, lots of people just couldn’t take it, including writer Bob Angell, who eventually threw his desk and walked out. Soon after, several NewPaper staffers, including Jaz, Rick Massimo (now the Providence Journal’s music writer) and the late Steve Dubois were canned or left around 1989. Needless to say, a lot of bad blood exists towards the Phoenix among those who eventually started the NicePaper. Jaz views them as a “glorified ad-rag with a leftist front; a nasty organization with a great emphasis on squeezing people and intimidating advertisers.”

Pissed off at the injustice they suffered at the hands of this behemoth corporation, everyone cut loose and celebrated by getting drunk across the street at Blake’s. Soon after, former sales rep Ellen Salter and Dubois met with Jaz and Massimo with the notion of another paper with more freedom. They decided to call it the NicePaper as direct commentary on the NewPaper’s becoming an “asshole paper” to quote Jaz. A lawyer friend of Salter’s named Dan Chaika funded the NicePaper and served as publisher. At first they worked out of the original Kinko’s on Thayer Street, then at Salter’s house, then at a space over by Snookers in the Jewelry district. During this period, the NicePaper was awesome. It had all the show listings of its larger competitor, plus an array of columns by local artists and writers such as Matt Obert, Jaz, Dubois, and the infamous Rob Phelps. Inspired by Manhattan’s long-running New York Press, the NicePaper was based on humor; the emphasis was not to be oppressive, therefore less hard news, more A & E. Jaz would always do the covers, and artists like the now-internationally known Ben Katchor would do comics. My favorite part of the NicePaper, however, was the Refrigerators of the Reasonably Well-Known column, which was a weekly interview with a different local person in the arts and music community, accompanied by a photo of what was in their fridge. Brilliant. We here at The Agenda should start that up again.

Eventually, things got messy. One reason was this RISD girl who initially interned and would also do ad sales. Eventually she started dating the publisher and worked her way into making changes in content and the cover. Now, at the NicePaper, there was no steady paycheck, but a lot of perks. So once the staff started to experience less artistic freedom, the fact that they weren’t getting paid started to wear on them. Also, according to rumor, the ad reps from the Phoenix started offering huge perks and great rates to businesses so long as they didn’t advertise in the NicePaper. Damn. Eventually, they were forced to publish monthly rather than weekly, which was a real drag for the paper in terms of timeliness and relevance. Not long after, they folded completely in the mid-Nineties. So there you go. Obviously, I wasn’t there, and different people are going to have their own opinions on what happened when and why. I’ll say this: whatever people’s feelings are toward the Phoenix today, I would like to point out that there are some truly wonderful and talented people within the organization itself, like Ian Donnis, Bruce Allen and Lou Papineau. Incidentally, Allen and Papineau have been there since the NewPaper’s founding in 1978. Yet Phoenix publisher Stephen M. Mindich may indeed be a toolbox, so there.

What happened to Guy Benoit? —Bill Machon

Nothing, as far as I know. Just talked to him this week, we’re getting lunch. My hero.