Entitlement
Indeed, on the very evening of our fearless proprietor’s heartfelt plea before the City Council—January 13th, mark it well—he whose property it is made his own unscheduled entrance. Under cover of darkness, he removed any physical inconvenience to his future access. Henceforth, dear reader, we shall call him..................
Erie Basin Marina RFQ
A Most Scandalous Chronicle of Power, Favor, and a Curious Contagion
Dearest Reader,
As I sit by the window, my tea long since gone cold, contemplating the unfortunate affairs of that most coveted waterfront jewel known as The Marina, I find myself quite overcome—not with surprise, mind you, but with a weary familiarity. Why dwell on how we arrived at this pass? For when impropriety dons the costume of process, it rarely troubles itself to perform convincingly.
Pray, consider the particulars of our tale:
A mere thirteen days granted for an RFQ—scarcely enough time to starch one’s cuffs, let alone assemble a serious bid.
The curious and ill-advised marriage of hospitality and marina operations, solemnized despite the City Comptroller’s very public objections (one presumes he was not invited to the wedding).
Whispers—nay, declarations—of bid collusion and artful steering.
A contract bestowed upon an employee of the very concern that previously ran the property aground, both figuratively and, one suspects, spiritually.
The relentless harassment of existing tenants by the triumphant awardees.
And finally, a new administration hastily circling its wagons, eager to rescue a process that appears not merely flawed, but possibly unlawful.
It does warm the heart, dear reader, to know that such a version of semi-democracy cannot endure indefinitely without consequence. History, after all, is most unkind to unchecked arrogance. One feels another shoe must surely drop—preferably in a crowded ballroom.
Nor is it lost on this author that the charged climate of our present immigration debates bears an uncanny resemblance to this civic performance. The bombast with which federal authorities enforce political agendas differs little from the manner in which this RFQ has been rammed through—subtlety discarded, lubrication forgotten.
Even after Geoff’s most masterful reporting in the Investigative Post, your faithful correspondent was treated not to reflection or restraint, but to breaking and entering, attempted lock changes, and a steady campaign of harassment by the ultimate awardee.
Indeed, on the very evening of our fearless proprietor’s heartfelt plea before the City Council—January 13th, mark it well—he whose property it is made his own unscheduled entrance. Under cover of darkness, he removed any physical inconvenience to his future access. Henceforth, dear reader, we shall call him J2.
(For clarity’s sake: J1 shall remain the Smith boy’s holdover, J2’s marina partner, and—if the winds continue as they blow—our eventual landlord.)
A subsequent and coordinated attempt to lock us out entirely was narrowly thwarted. Frustration then curdled into tantrum, which escalated—most predictably—into a report to the Erie County Health Department alleging we were operating without a license.
Ah—but the delivery of this accusation was a spectacle unto itself.
The letter was of such gravity that J1 himself felt compelled to assist the remarkably motivated Health Inspector in affixing our Cease and Desist notice upon the front door. When I later spoke with a most obliging supervisor at the Health Department, he assured me—quite earnestly—that it was mere coincidence the complainant happened to be present at the precise moment the notice was posted.
He further lamented that the notice had to be placed upon the door because, alas, they possessed no contact information for us—though he did manage to spell both our personal and business names with impeccable accuracy. A marvel of intuition.
Today, dear reader, I listened as Curious Members posed the questions any reasonable mind might ask:
Why were hospitality and marina operations combined?
Sean Ryan’s Administration: ……… (silence)
What will be done to make the current tenant whole?
Sean Ryan’s Administration: Nothing. She may take it up with her business partner. The City bears no liability.
Could the City issue two contracts—one for the marina, one for the restaurant?
Sean Ryan’s Administration: Yes, certainly—but it was not in the RFQ.
And then—ah, then—the unchaperoned truth slipped forth from Deputy Mayor Swannekamp himself:
J2 enjoys a fine relationship with the City and owns two successful restaurants that survived COVID. We are confident he will do a good job.
To the practiced ear, this was no reassurance at all, but a confession. Evidence not of a fair and open RFQ, but of a carefully groomed answer to a foregone conclusion: how best to deliver this property into J2’s waiting hands, with as much legal cover as appearances would allow.
When asked whether it was true the City was now negotiating with the very outfit that once offered us less than one percent of its revenue, the response came swiftly:
Sean Ryan’s Administration: He did not control the purse, and he knows the marina inside and out—thus, he is the best option.
At which point, dear reader, one cannot help but wonder: if the outcome was so plainly desired, why not simply conjure a lease from thin cloth for Js 1 and 2? Why endure this elaborate masquerade—this performative RFQ—unless the performance itself was the point?
But do not fret. This season is far from its finale.
More to come, dear reader.
More to come.