Distraught at being characterized as a "do-nothing developer" in last week's Reporter editorial, Buffalo's own Carl Paladino decided to do something. A lawyer himself, Paladino showed up unannounced at our fashionable Niagara Business Center offices with another lawyer, Paul Gregory, in an apparent attempt to out-lawyer us.
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His plan went awry, however. It seems that, on that particular day, the entire Reporter staff had decided not to show up for work. As our publisher, Bruce Battaglia, is always fond of pointing out, we work in mysterious ways.
Unlike most people who would go to an office and find the lights out and the door locked, Paladino chose to bang on the door with his fist, a course of action that attracted the attention of workers in nearby offices.
One ventured out into the hallway to see what the ruckus was all about.
After insulting the man with a coarse slur, Paladino then found his way to the nearby office of Frank Amendola, our landlord and friend.
The editorial had been about the United Office Building, a piece of property Paladino picked up a couple years ago for the princely price of $1, despite the fact that the people of Niagara Falls had a $1.4 million investment in the property. It further suggested that, had Paladino spent as much time working on the building as he had working the press in order to be portrayed in a favorable light, the place would probably be open by now.
Carl's known Frank for years and must have figured he could get us into hot water there. A shrewd real estate man in his own right, Amendola offered Paladino a piece of advice.
"Carl, the only way you're ever going to make any money with that property is to dig a hole next to it so it leans over like that tower in Pisa," he said.
Paladino then charged that the Reporter is owned by Niagara Falls Redevelopment, a patently false accusation that former mayor Irene Elia also leveled.
To tell you the truth, I wouldn't half mind if Howard Milstein or any other billionaire owned the paper. It would make this whole nonsense of paying our printer every week and trying to find enough left over to pay ourselves a lot easier.
Such is not the case, however.
Anyway, Paladino's visit got us to thinking. Perhaps we hadn't been fair. Perhaps the fact that he hasn't done diddly-squat at the United Office Building since being gifted with it more than two years ago isn't really representative of the kind of can-do spirit he believes he personifies.
So we did a little digging.
Paladino, it turns out, was a major backer of Buffalo's "Committee for Council Reduction," formed in 2002 for the express purpose of eliminating African-American members on the Buffalo City Council. Working alongside other creepy white guys like NOCO Energy Chairman Reginald Newman and former Buffalo Destroyers owner Mark Hamister, Paladino put up $20,000 of his own money to ensure that James Pitts, former Buffalo Common Council president, would be turned from office.
The committee's literature -- replete with photographs of giddy white people -- claimed that reducing the size of the council would result in a restoration of positions lost in the police and fire departments, a renewal of Buffalo's moribund economy and a restoration of civic pride.
Subsequently, the city went into receivership and a control board was appointed to oversee the city's finances.
All right, maybe he's not so politically savvy, you say. But he could still be a good developer, couldn't he? A perfect choice to administer an Art Deco masterpiece thought by many to be the most architecturally significant building in Niagara Falls?
Prior to being given the United Office Building, Paladino vowed to restore another historic structure, the ancient Harbor Inn, located in Buffalo's Cobblestone District.
Today, all that's left of the three-story, triangular, brick structure that stood at the corner of Ohio and Chicago streets for 134 years are chunks of brick and wood. In April of last year, Paladino obtained a demolition permit from the city late one Friday afternoon, despite Mayor Anthony Masiello's stated policy against such quickie demolitions. By the following Monday, the Harbor Inn was a pile of rubble.
"You have to keep your eye on things, otherwise stuff like this happens," said Tim Tielman, executive director of the Campaign for Buffalo History, Architecture and Culture. "He's a very, very powerful man and he contributes to a lot of politicians, so he gets these Friday afternoon permits and things."
Yeah. Things like the United Office Building. Some say there's a more than casual connection between Paladino's status as a major campaign contributor to Gov. George Pataki and the fact he was gifted with the property by USA Niagara, a state agency Pataki created.
Paladino's stewardship of Buffalo's Webb Building, a Pearl Street landmark since 1878, may provide further insight on the level of his dedication to historic preservation.
Paladino bought the building after the Webb Company, which manufactured the canvas webbing and belts that operated factory machinery, went out of business. Today, the five-story building sits vacant on the same block as the popular Pearl Street Grill and Brewery, its arched windows filled with plywood.
After taking over the building, Paladino applied for permission to tear it down. He owns a parking lot next door and said he could use the additional space. The Buffalo Preservation Board turned him down, and Paladino has been cited a number of times by building inspectors for allowing the property to deteriorate.
The building, he argued, could not be saved. A wind storm had blown out many of the windows, with ensuing weather causing irrevocable damage to the interior, he said.
Tim Tielman, who toured the Webb Building shortly afterward, didn't buy it.
"I saw hammer marks on all the window frames and sashes stacked neatly next to each window," Tielman said. "And some of the windows were facing a building across the alley. That must have been some wind. Panes of glass blow in occasionally, but sashes don't. It was obviously deliberately done."
One could go on. The saga of the historic Hurst Building, at the corner of Franklin and Huron streets in Buffalo, for example. Paladino and others successfully lobbied the bankrupt city to shell out $500,000 for the property and then pay for knocking it down. Like most of Paladino's other "developments," the space is now a parking lot.
But what would be the point? The fact of the matter is that Paladino's history shows he has much the same distaste for historic buildings as a vampire has for garlic.
He'll quite likely sue us for our coverage of the $1 he so graciously invested here in Niagara Falls. We would welcome the discovery process.
In the meantime -- and this applies not only to Paladino but to anyone else who might wish to talk to me, Staba, Bruce or the Redhead in person -- try calling first.
| Niagara Falls Reporter | www.niagarafallsreporter.com | Nov. 23 2004 |