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8 CHICAGO READER | JANUARY 20, 2006 | SECTION ONE
The Works
By Ben Joravsky
O n January 4, ChicagoTransit Authority presi-dent Frank Kruesi called
a press conference to announcethat the CTA had decided toreject Citgo’s offer of a discounton fuel for its buses. Kruesi saidthe $15 million proposal wasdoomed because Citgo was offer-ing the wrong kind of fuel. “If weaccepted this proposal, we wouldnot be able to run reliable transitservice,” Kruesi told reporters.“Our buses would be stranded allover the region, and we would bedoubling our emissions in thebuses that use it.”
Problem was, apparentlyKruesi was using the royal we.Though it sounded like he wasspeaking for the CTA, in factneither the CTA board nor itschair, Carole Brown, knew thathe’d been entertaining an offerfrom Citgo for several weeks.“The board found out about the
cuts. Even with the extra mil-lions supplied by the state, it’sonly a matter of time before the
multimillion-dollar offer prob-ably should have been consid-ered by its policy makers.
details of the offer by readingthem in the newspaper, likeeveryone else,” says CTA boardsecretary Greg Longhini.
The offer was part of a recenteffort by Venezuela to share afraction of its oil wealth withthe poor in the United States.Putting aside the question ofwhether Venezuelan presidentHugo Chavez is just looking toembarrass President Bush, $15million worth of free gasolineisn’t chump change. It repre-sents a little less than a third ofthe CTA’s escalating annual fuel budget, and it comes at atime when the agency desper-ately needs all the cash it canget—the CTA is nearly bank-rupt, as Kruesi repeatedlyreminds riders. Most recently,it took a last-minute bailout bythe state legislature and a 25-cent fare hike to avert Kruesi’sproposed layoffs and service
CTA faces another budget crisis, in part because of skyrocketing gas prices. A
LAU
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Frank Kruesi Doesn’t Do DiplomacyThat offer of cheap bus fuel from Hugo Chavez might have gone over a lot better if Kruesi had mentioned it to anyone else at the CTA.
“Frank reversed everything,”says Jacqueline Leavy,executive director of theNeighborhood Capital BudgetGroup, a watchdog organiza-tion. “By law, the board mem-bers are the decision makers atthe CTA. Frank Kruesi worksfor them—he’s paid staff—notthe other way around. If the
board doesn’t know about theoffer, they can’t realistically puttheir budget together.”
Citgo initially extended theoffer in mid-October as part ofinformal discussions with 26thWard alderman Billy Ocasio andCongressman Luis Gutierrez.“They said they were makingrecord profits because of thespike in gas prices afterHurricane Katrina and theywanted to give something back,”says Gutierrez. “In New Englandand New York they were offeringheating fuel. That wouldn’t workhere because we use a differenttype of heating fuel. Billy and Ithought about gasoline for buses.It made sense because the CTAwas talking about going broke.”
Ocasio says he called Kruesiand invited him to a meeting inlate October with representa-tives from Venezuela and Citgo.“Frank said, ‘I’m willing to listen to a proposal, but I willfeel very uncomfortable sittingat a table with someone fromthe Venezuelan government,’”
says Ocasio. “Frank didn’t cometo the meeting—no one fromthe CTA attended, which was alittle surprising since the offerwas for them.”
At that meeting—attended by Ocasio, 19th Ward aldermanVirginia Rugai (chair of the CityCouncil’s energy committee),and a representative of the
city’s Department ofEnvironment—Citgo officialsgot a little more specific, saysGutierrez. “They said theywould give us up to $15 millionin savings by selling us fuel at60 cents on the dollar—a 40percent reduction—on 7.2 million gallons of diesel fuel for buses.”
In early November, Ocasiosays, he called Kruesi again. “Iinvited him to another meeting,on November 4, to discuss theoffer,” says Ocasio. “This timehe came.”
Citgo and Venezuelan officialsdid not attend this meeting. “Imet with Frank and AldermanRugai and the commissioner ofthe environment and I laid outthe offer,” says Ocasio. “Franksaid, ‘That’s a very generousoffer, but I don’t want to getinvolved in foreign policy.’”
According to Ocasio, Kruesifelt that if the CTA tookVenezuela’s money, it wouldanger congressionalRepublicans and Bush adminis-
tration officials, who mightretaliate by cutting Chicago’sfederal transportation funds.“He said, ‘I don’t want to takethe risk of accepting $15 millionhere and losing $30 millionfrom the feds,’” says Ocasio. “Hewas very definitive about it, verycertain.” But Ocasio researchedthe matter and discovered thatthe Bush administration hadnot opposed Citgo’s offers inother cities. “Citgo is anAmerican company,” StateDepartment spokesman AdamEreli told reporters at aDecember 8 press briefing.“They’re helping Americans inneed. That is a good thing. Thatis as it should be.” (Actually,though the company’s still basedin Houston, Citgo’s been ownedby Venezuela since 1990.)
When a reporter asked if theadministration “objects to vari-ous politicians at local and statelevels making their own deals forsuch discounted oil,” Ereliresponded, “Local politicians dowhat local politicians do—theyhelp their constituents. . . . Wedon’t see this as a political issue.We don’t see this as an issue thatconcerns the U.S. and Venezuela.We see this as an issue of anAmerican company helpingAmerican people, which is goodand right and proper.”
Ocasio says he sent Kruesi acopy of Ereli’s statement, thenfollowed up with a phone call. “Isaid, ‘Frank, everyone’s gettingstuff—New York, Maine,Massachusetts,’” says Ocasio. “Hesaid, ‘I’ve been on the Internet,and it’s only being done withcommunity organizations, notgovernmental entities.’ I toldhim, ‘No, San Francisco’s makinga request.’ He said, ‘But their fuelis dirty fuel. It burns too muchemissions.’ I said, ‘But we don’tcontinued on page 10
Boutique of the Week
Is West Lake Street going the way ofNew York’s meatpacking district?Though until recently its next-doorneighbor was a bakery equipment
shop, the block where six-month-old luxu-ry boutique Koros Art + Style is located isgetting dotted with Range Rovers ratherthan forklifts. Inside, the cavernous spaceresembles a church—perhaps dedicated to
the Greek goddess ofextravagant joy fromwhich the shop takes itsname—with soaring ceil-ings, iron chandeliers, andantiques that include a
wooden altar from London and a set of sixsinks from a convent, now used to displaydenim. Owner Kristen Skordilis offers a
rigorously edited collection of qualitybasics, party frocks, and high-end acces-sories like sleek, sculptural clutches oflaminated wood by Tivi. A pair of super-flattering black Alvin Valley trousers willset you back $242, though Skordilis makesthe case that unlike the four pairs of blackpants that never leave your closet you’llactually wear these. There are also floatykimono tops and caftans in watery green,blue, and purple prints by Mustique-baseddesigner Lotty B. and luxurious Creo Carehair products. Skordilis goes out of herway to make customers feel welcome,offering glasses of wine to browsers andinviting them to events featuring theartists whose work she exhibits in thefront of the store. —Heather Kenny
MIR
EYA
ACI
ERTO
Koros Art + Style
Koros Art+ Style1019 W. Lake312-738-0155
Kristen Skordilis
CHICAGO READER | JANUARY 20, 2006 | SECTION ONE 9
The multimillion-dollar offer represents a little less than a third of the CTA’s escalating annual fuelbudget, and it comes at a time when the agency is nearly bankrupt. It probably should have been considered by its policy makers.
to take a few swipes at Kruesi. “Ican assure CTA managementthat they will not be wellreceived in Springfield as weprepare the 2007 budget,” saidnorth-side state rep LarryMcKeon. “When you come withyour hat in your hand, there bet-ter be a check for $15 million init,” added south-side state repMarlow Colvin.
A few hours later Kruesi calledhis own press conference, echo-ing the dirty-gas argument hehad earlier made to Ocasio.“When I heard him talkingabout dirty fuel, spewing emis-sions, I thought, ‘Cute, Frank’snow an environmentalist—he’splaying the environmental card,’”says Gutierrez. “But the thing is,Billy had already told him thatCitgo was willing to swap fuel.”
After news of the dueling pressconferences broke, a new char-acter entered the fray—CTAboard chair Carole Brown. “Iwas intrigued to learn frommedia reports about your inter-est in helping to reduce theimpact of high fuel costs on CTAcustomers,” Brown wrote in aJanuary 5 letter to Venezuela’sconsul general here. “As you
10 CHICAGO READER | JANUARY 20, 2006 | SECTION ONE
The Works
know, the dramatic increase infuel prices has exacerbated CTA’sstructural funding shortfall. In2006 CTA was forced to budget$48 million for fuel purchases,compared with just $12.5 mil-lion in 1999. I would be interest-ed in learning more about yourthoughts on ways to help easethe burden these higher costsplace on the CTA and its cus-tomers. I look forward to hear-ing from you.”
Gutierrez and Ocasio say theywere surprised to read Brown’sletter. “Could this be possible?”says Gutierrez. “Did the presi-dent of the board really learnabout the offer by reading thepapers? Did Frank keep theboard in the dark?”
The answer is yes: Kruesinever told Brown or the otherboard members about the offer,much less his meeting andphone calls with Ocasio. “Thefirst Carole ever heard of[Citgo’s offer] was when sheran into [22nd Ward aldermanRicardo Munoz] in her gymsometime in November,” saysLonghini. “Munoz didn’t haveany details, just the vague idea.Then the matter came up at an
internal meeting with stafferson December 9. Again, therewere no details offered—it wasmentioned in passing at ameeting dealing with othermatters. After that she didn’thear about it until she saw it inthe newspapers.”
The blindsiding illustratesthe reality of sitting on a public board. By law, boardmembers are supposed to make policy. In real life theDaley administration expectsthem to keep a low profile anddo what they’re told.
“I guess Frank decided thathe’s the man—he doesn’t have totell the board anything, not evenabout a $15 million gift,” saysone CTA insider. “The board wasreally pissed. We’d like to look asthough we know what’s going onaround here. The fact is, thisdoesn’t make our jobs any easier.We need money, and now wehave state reps like LarryMcKeon saying, ‘Don’t bothercoming to Springfield.’”
There may yet be a happy end-ing. After Brown wrote her letterto the consul, Kruesi startedsinging a different tune. OnJanuary 6 he attended a meeting
continued from page 9
have to use that kind of fuel.Citgo said they’re willing tomake a swap—trade their fuelfor the kind you use.’ But I neverheard from him, and I began tothink he’s just looking for rea-sons to turn Citgo down.”
By now it was the end ofDecember, and Ocasio andGutierrez had to get back toCitgo with some sort ofresponse. “I don’t want to starta new year with a fight,” saysGutierrez. “But we got $15 million on the table for a transit company that’s raisingfares and Kruesi’s saying no?We got to fight.”
So they asked state reps andaldermen to attend a press con-ference, demanding that theCTA at least meet with Citgo. Itwasn’t hard finding politicianswilling to attend. “I like Frankall right,” says Gutierrez, “butFrank can be—oh, how do I saythis without getting into evenmore of a fight?—sort of arrogant to people.”
On January 4 they held theirpress conference, with white,black, and Hispanic politicianscoming in from all over the city
arranged by Ocasio with Citgoand Venezuelan officials.Afterward he told reporters hethought the CTA might be ableto work out a deal.
Citgo officials say they’re meet-ing with the CTA to iron outlogistical problems. “There’s a lotof details aside from the gasswap,” says another board insid-er. “We have to make sure thatthe feds sign off, and we have tosee that it doesn’t affect ourfunding from the RegionalTransit Authority. Of course, wehave to figure out how to makethe $15 million translate intolower fares for low-income rid-ers. None of these are insur-mountable, but I wish we hadthe full agency working on thisback in October, when it wasfirst offered.”
Gutierrez says he’s learned alesson. “We went to Frank withthe offer because we figured,you know, he’s the guy who runs the day-to-day, he getsthings done—the executivewould consult with the board,”he says. “We never thought hewouldn’t tell anyone about theoffer. In the future, we’ll justcall Carole.” v
CHICAGO READER | JANUARY 20, 2006 | SECTION ONE 11
Chicago Antisocial
By Liz Armstrong
I couldn’t wait for lastThursday to end so I could gohome, lie down, and think
about what I’d just done. I feltlike I’d entered a place fromwhich I would never be able toreturn. My life had changedirreversibly, and not necessarilyfor the better.
End-of-season designer clear-ance sales are a dizzying reversalof fortune, like when the guy whodumped you and broke your heartand whom you’ve finally gottenover starts drunk-dialing youevery night, begging you to takehim back. That camel-coloredwoven-leather Bottega Veneta bagthat used to mock you from insidethe glass case at Neiman’s is sit-ting in a bin with the rest of theunwanteds, a red line across itsprice tag. It’s no longer too goodfor you. Now it needs you.
Still drunk from the $2.50 welldrinks at Club Foot the nightbefore, I came unglued on theGold Coast. First I found a zebra-print Moschino suit in my size atField’s, marked down 80 percent.
Leaving the store with a giantwhite shopping bag with the let-ters YSL printed in elegant blacktype, I felt way too conspicuous,like when I was 11 and had justfrenched a boy for the first time.I’d walked home as fast as Icould and shut myself in myroom, paranoid that my parentswould be able to tell what I’ddone just by looking at me.
Reality came crashing downthe next day, when the mostglamorous event on my schedulewas taking place at a bowlingalley. The annual Chicago Readerstaff party, which always hap-pens after the holidays, was heldat Lincoln Square Lanes, a kick-ass old-fashioned establishmentlocated above a hardware store.
Most staff parties are heavy-boozing free-for-alls designed toshame employees into not want-ing to talk to one another foranother year. But we at theReader have no shame. There isno dress code here and nohygiene code, nor do there seemto be strict rules of conduct.
(Proof: I still have a job.)By the time I got to the party,
more than half the staff wasbowling, and nearly everyone,including the supposedlyreformed, was puffing away,determined to suck down asmany cigarettes as possiblebefore the ban took effect.
In the middle of thebar/lounge area a wobbly tablewas piled high with stacks ofwhite pastry boxes. Music writerJessica Hopper was attackingthem like a vulture, pulling outsesame ball after croissantLorraine and shoving them inher mouth, trying to gross peopleout. It was working. “These arereally good for the skin,” she said,squeezing out the bean pastefrom a sesame ball—it lookedlike coagulated blood—and rub-bing the oil into her hands.
Someone—I wish I couldremember who—told me peoplewere doing coke and having sexin the bathroom. I ran into theladies’ with my notepad and wasgreeted by our human resources
director, innocently washing herhands. I’d taken the bait, but Ididn’t feel that foolish—at oneReader party I actually witnessedillicit substances and near-fornication in the loo. Anotheryear my then-boyfriend tried toget an employee’s wife to givehim a blow job in a stall. At stillanother party I came dangerouslyclose to making out in publicwith a coworker. In fact, therewere two years when people toldme they weren’t bringing datesspecifically so they could hook up with colleagues.
This year’s bash seemed farmore innocent—possibly becauseno one had told the newbies toleave their significant others athome. Highlights included theMagic Fork, which, if held inone’s left hand while bowling,was believed to guarantee astrike; newly hired editor Davidtelling our boss, Alison, after theopen bar closed, to “buy [him] adrink, bitch,” then challengingher to a drinking contest; musiceditor Philip bringing his veryown bowling ball (it even has aname: the Hammer of Bill).
The veterans seemed disap-pointed by the excessiverestraint. “I keep waiting for thenext generation to step up,” saida member of the editorial staffwho’d rather not be identifiedby name. “I’ve done my partwith the inappropriate makingout in the past.”
Afterward, I headed to a birth-day party in a cement-flooredhovel inside a Garfield Parkwarehouse. (I won’t name thebirthday boy so he doesn’t get introuble with his landlord.) Likethe Reader party, it was loads offun for no good reason.
The place looked like Santa’spsychedelic workshop:Christmas lights, troll dolls, andmanly tools were strewn overtables, benches, and utility cabi-nets full of hardware. On acounter near the door, platters ofcheese cubes and julienned veg-etables surrounded a big pinkham that had been ripped apartRen-faire style. A four-foot stagebounced as several young ladiesdanced on it to bad 80s music.
I joined the dancing girls, andafter a few songs I felt likeJennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing.“Ready?” I asked my boyfriend,who was standing on the floorand couldn’t see very well, as hewas wearing a friend’s glasses. Helooked at me, which I took tomean yes, and I took a runningstart into what I imagined was agraceful leap into his arms. I bellyflopped onto him, knocking himbackward into some filing cabi-nets and onto the floor, crackingthe back of his head on the keg.
We got up and took inventory:I had a giant welt on my hip, myright hand was puffy and sore,and my pants were ripped in theass; Ringo had a matching hipwelt, a cut above his right eye-brow, and scratches down hisback. “What were you thinking?”he asked me. I struggled to findan answer. v
Never mind that I rarely haveoccasion to look that grown up—Ihad to have it. I rode the momen-tum of that purchase into thequiet, imposing Yves SaintLaurent shop on Oak Street. Theash-blond saleswoman took onelook at my corduroy jeans, thrift-store necklace, and greasy hairand could barely mask her disgust.
That’s when I saw it: a blacksuede tasseled handbag that mademe shiver with desire. No otherpurse has ever made me feel sovulnerable, so desperate. I enter-tained visions of myself at exclu-sive, arty affairs, wearing my zebrasuit, fancy bag in one hand, extra-dirty martini in the other, pinkyerect. I’d impress my new friendswith some wild but charmingstory and they’d throw their headsback and laugh heartily. “Oh, goon,” they’d urge. And I would.
The saleswoman cleared her throat. “It’s been markeddown twice,” she said. My heartstarted pounding and my armswent numb; I was sweatingthrough my top.
Reader revelers (top left and adjacent); birthday love and . . . treats
AN
DRE
A B
AUER
Shopping: the AntidrugHigh on Handbags, Bowling, and Dirty Dancing
