Published first on The Weeklings then on Salon: THE FROST GLITTERS darkly. It sparkles as if all the constellations of the sky are knit to the ground. Walking down the block in the predawn light, I have on a hat, ridiculous orange, I’m embarrassed of even with no cars on the street and no one to see. It’s 5:30 AM, and I wear two of everything as if I’m preparing to flee or dressed for some Noah’s Ark of winter: two pairs of long johns, two wool sweaters, two hats, two pairs of gloves (plus hand warmers) and one old down jacket (dark purple, just to add to my ridiculous color scheme. I also carry an orange backpack, less bright than the hat, but still…). My winter boots have soles so thick I’m a full inch and a half taller. I’m not sure how to dress, but it’s 17 out, and I’ll be sitting for hours – not moving, not talking. Waiting, watching things rustle and the sun rise and the day shape over a hill by a field in upstate New York. I am going hunting.
Entries in Catskill Mountain News (16)
Here in the NYC watershed, I'm fascinated by the issues of just being in the watershed. They're complex and weird. I mean, NYC has five reservoirs upstate, and in many communities is the largest landowner. In my own community they just argued to get their tax assessment cut, putting a huge strain on the village. People here feel very uncomfortable with the city. And, there seems to be distrust on every side. The city also maintains a police force upstate, which is, I think, the only example of a city having a police force outside its municipal boundaries, but all to protect the water. Of course water isn't simply water but the land and people. And, it gets complex. The police are unhappy, the locals unhappy. My guess? The city is also unhappy. I wrote about some of this in this week's Catskill Mountain News. Or read on:
Living in New York City’s watershed, it can be hard to find sympathy for the City’s Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) Cops when people have “DEP get off my back” bumper stickers on their cars, the scars of having land taken by eminent domain still seem fresh, and the city is always trying to buck their property tax assessments.
The DEP police are often the agency’s most visual representatives – the white cars, the green graphics and uniforms… Then, there’s the way the officers can be dismissed as “toy cops” and a “joke” – alongside complaints of “no taxation without representation.” To many just having a NYC police force here feels like a colonial power exercising undue influence. But, the DEP police are suffering at the hands of the city as much as – and sometimes more than –others. It’s a David and Goliath story (so far David hasn’t won either) that entails complex labor law, terrorism, poor morale, an Upstate/Downstate divide and a secret report the DEP will barely even acknowledge exists.
Pay rate is stalled
DEP Police haven’t had a pay rise since 2004, and they have been without a contract for seven years, spending the last two of them in arbitration. Now the city has petitioned the state supreme court to get the arbitrator’s recommendations thrown out – all because the city doesn’t believe it should have to issue a 53-month contract, according to the DEP police union’s lawyers.
Meanwhile, during all this time the police have had little recourse to challenge the city. They can’t strike because, according to the state, they’re police. The city, however, only recognizes them as having civilian status, puzzling, given that the DEP officers carry guns, can arrest people and have had their authority to do this affirmed in the courts.
The force includes divisions like K-9, detectives, marine patrol, aviation and an ESU (a swat team which was deployed in Arkville during the Travis Trimm standoff). Officers have received specialized training at the US Marshalls Academy in Glynco, Georgia, while the force has their own dedicated police academy in Kingston. The one thing the troops are not allowed to do anymore (for those liking to speed on watershed roads): issue traffic tickets.
Lack of power
While potentially popular, one EPO, that is an environmental police officer as the DEP cops are known, says it leaves them powerless.
“They took away our radar units in 2004, even though many of us were still radar certified. By doing that we lost a tool that could be instrumental in making a traffic stop that turns out to reveal a terrorist, or a wanted person,” he said.
The city watershed has had a police or security detail since they started building dams. Those officers were and often still are from local families. These are men and women who live here, raise their kids here, spend their money here. The tenor of the force started changing around 2000 with the EPA’s enforcing the Clean Water Act and the Filtration Avoidance Determination (FAD).
Many elements of that agreement are familiar to local communities where the city is stipulated to build sewage plants in Catskills’ towns and buy up as much land as possible to protect the water quality. All this was a bid to avoid building a costly filtration plant the city says it could never afford. The FAD led to the establishment of the Catskill Watershed Corporation, which helps people pay to replace septic systems and also provides funds to invest in local businesses. There is one other element of the FAD: police. The city promised the EPA a better force to protect the reservoirs. In 2001 meeting this demand changed the force drastically. Officers were now Environmental Police Officers. Their duties and training were increased. Recruits were, for the first time, given a civil service exam and background checks and sent to the police academy. In fact, they were given the exact same exam given to the NYPD recruits and the very same background and financial checks though the DEP police get none of the NYPD’s rights or protections.
The officers also had no contract that recognized them as police. They were represented by a civilian union – and the DEP police’s current union LEEBA alleges that state and city labor laws were broken. According to state and city statutes, the job reclassification meant the DEP officers had to be compared to other workers in the city doing the same or similar work and get the same or similar pay. The only other police force NYC has? The NYPD. LEEBA’s head Kenneth Wynder insists the jobs were never compared, that there was a backroom pact not to. True or not, the officers certainly aren’t paid what NYPD is. DEP officers get about half of what NYPD and the state police receive. The DEP force has no pension and suffers from city foot dragging and tactics that might sound familiar to many here. With teams of lawyers in tow, the city has successfully challenged its property tax assessments, wiggling out of paying school tax in upstate towns. Or, in Margaretville, NYC has argued down the assessment for the wastewater treatment plant by half.
To be fair, the DEP force is small and complex, only on average 180-odd officers. Based in Yonkers and New York City and the Catskills, they fall between the cracks of upstate and down, civilian and police – issues that have seemingly given the city the excuse to shove them around and ignore them. The force is largely out of sight in the city where few even know if the DEP is a city or state agency and don’t realize it has a police force let alone all this land upstate. And, here people have little sympathy. Even in 2000 the EPA was advising the DEP to have their police force meet with local communities to explain their mandate and ease tensions.
In reporting this, the News approached several NYC agencies including the DEP and the Office of Labor Relations, the agency tasked with negotiating with the police union, for comment. None of them would. The most anyone would say is that they can’t comment until the court case is resolved and sighed, “We hope it is soon.” Officials also said off the record that this is a tricky situation. “The city has many unions, and they’re all watching.”
There is also one even bigger problem for the police: DEP officers get no line of duty pay. All other police in New York State are protected if they’re injured on the job, meaning their position and pay is protected and their medical costs covered. Not DEP officers like Ed Klan who was driving to a home where shots had been fire on an icy night and had a rollover accident that pinned him in his car. He had to refinance his house to pay his medical costs. Or, take Officer Eric Hoffman who, three years ago, was chasing two suspects in an ATV and rolled over. He was on a ventilator for three weeks with injuries to both lungs, collarbone, pelvis, broken arm and a fractured skull. Adding insult to his multiple injuries, he has just had to resign from the force because his injuries prevent him from doing his job.
The specifics of what no line of duty pay means are explained in stark detail by union head Wynder:
“An officer hurt today would first have to exhaust all of his leave time he has banked, then he requests a three-month grant of additional leave that he has to pay back when he returns to work.” By paying back, Wynder means literally paying back, “They take a portion out of your check every two weeks.” After the three-month grant if an officer still can’t return to duty, he says, “The officer goes on leave without pay and applies for workers comp, which will be based on his salary. If an officer just entered job, he won’t have time and will be in trouble. After a year of leave without pay, you’re terminated. Also during leave you lose your benefits so you can’t be treated.” Which is why Klan had to refinance his house.
Line of duty pay is an essential assurance of police work. Without it, who would want to protect a bank being robbed? Or, as union vice president DEP police Sergeant Joseph Andreani says about his own officers in Yonkers, “If they saw a bunch of terrorists jumping a fence with a backpack and C4 and machine guns, why would an officer put his life on the line? I’d fully expect him to hightail it out of there.”
To put it in a context an officer is more likely to find upstate, who would want to enforce trespassing laws in hunting season? There’s the chance of meeting a stray bullet or an angry hunter with a gun, an angry hunter with a gun who already feels the DEP has little or no authority. These trespassing violations, though, are just the sort of statutes the city still wants its officers to enforce.
The city has a morale problem, to say the least. Officers already have poor motivation and high attrition rates, both of which were problems the EPA commented on back in 2000. Now eight years without a pay hike has exacerbated the problem. Add to that the repeated broken promises for a new contract. In the last year alone they were promised one first in the autumn, then by Christmas, then New Year, then come May…. Officers are at the end of their rope. In reporting this story the News has heard from ones thinking of changing careers, going back to school, leaving for other forces, anything but the DEP. Losing officers is also expensive for the city. Each officer who leaves (and in the last three weeks there have been nine who have—a big number for a department of 180 people) costs the city around $50-$100,000, union representatives estimate. That includes the partial pay recruits get while at the academy for seven months as well as the academy itself (built in 2004), so infrastructure costs and instructors and equipment.
This all leaves the watershed vulnerable. One officer downstate said, “I can show you where half the cameras are out and we can all scale the fence and go swimming in the Yonkers Reservoir. That is treated water going straight to faucets in the city.” Another in one of the upstate precincts said, “They have cameras on us everywhere in our precinct house, but none on the dam. That sends a really bad message. They don’t pay us and they don’t trust us while the dam is vulnerable.” The implicit message is that the system is open for terrorism
Because the watershed and its reservoir system are so vast and seem so tranquil, it can be hard to imagine an actual threat. Reputedly the Ashokan Reservoir was second on the list of targets for the 1993 World Trade Center attackers, and when Bin Laden was killed, the list of targets found in his possessions were said to include trains, water supply systems and dams. The last two suggest New York City’s would have to be high on that list. You don’t have to poison the water either, which is nearly impossible. One DEP officer said, “I can take you to places where you could take out 100 percent of the water supply to the city with one backpack and one gun. That would shut down the sewers and sprinkler systems in buildings, so no one could be in skyscrapers because anything over three stories requires sprinklers. You couldn’t fight fires. The city –” as the officer put it bluntly, “would become a ghost town.” It’s scenarios like this that caused the Ashokan’s spillway road to be closed to traffic in 2001.
In frustration several officers are applying for whistleblower status with the EPA. “We had guys coming in saying we’re here to clean up a hydrochloride spill,” one officer explains. “You’d ask them a question and they’d say very quickly, ‘yeah yeah, oh it’s just a couple gallons.’ Because the city wants these things un- or underreported. They don’t want stories like that getting out to the EPA like happened with mercury releases.”
The employee who reported the mercury issues – not a police officer but a maintenance worker – says after he cooperated with the EPA and FBI, he was made to cool his heels in an office with no windows, no phone, nothing for eight hours a day. This is a strategy the city also uses on teachers they want to get rid of, putting them in what’s called a “rubber room,” where officials can essentially make an employee suffer enough to resign without breaking employment agreements.
Then, there’s the mystery report. Commissioned by Emily Lloyd when she headed the agency, the Dennis Smith Report was written by a public policy professor at NYU. Having analyzed the NYPD after 9/11. He was hired to assess the DEP police force and potential problems in the watershed including terrorism. Some have read a redacted version; New York City Councilman Peter Vallone was allowed to read it in his office. The report was apparently brought in by guards who also had to take it away with them when he finished. According to Wynder, the report includes lines like, “A 7-11 is better protected than the watershed.” He also says the report discusses that the force is too small and morale dangerously low, while poor pay, lack of respect and lack of a contract make the city vulnerable. The union’s lawyer Richard Merritt says, “If something did happen, you can bet that report will be at the forefront and under scrutiny.” He’s petitioning to make it public as part of counter petition to be heard by state supreme court on July 27. Will we ever find out what it says? Probably not any time soon. New York City has already filed for another 45-day delay in proceedings.
It’s no wonder that Joseph Andreani, union VP and DEP police sergeant, is taking matters into his own hands. A Brooklyn resident, he’s stopped paying his water bill. “It’s issued by the same office that pays me. Each month it comes, I refuse to pay. It’s my own small personal protest.”
Fleischmanns is a village up here, named for the yeast and margerine family who got the village name changed after they donated the land for the village park. The same village park that was wiped out in last summer's floods. To say Fleischmanns is challenged is a bit of an understatement. It's one of those places that's a diamond in the rough, where often people talk about a revival. "If just this would happen..." "If just that...." There was a moment when the artist Rob Pruitt got a house there and his gallery Gavin Brown's Enterprise bussed art worldy folk up for weekend tours. Then Rob sold it, deciding to be closer to the city.
The village (formerly Griffin's Corners) was once a happening resort town. Fancy dancy where people would dress up for strolls outside. Not just the Fleischmanns were there but the Steinways (original owners of Pruitt's former home). What I love about it though is its roughness (so to speak). Local historian Bill Birns talks about the amazing diversity there, that he can hear Yiddish and Spanish. And, this is what I love about Fleischmanns -- urban, heterogenous – with awesome Mexican food. Check out the tamales on Saturdays at Mi Lupita. Oh, and at the grocery store you can get indian curries if you call ahead.
Mark Birman who I profiled for the Catskill Mountain News is working on the village's revival and wants to keep it the place that it is. He's grown up spending all of his summers here and now like his dad, lives here fulltime.
Mark Birman stands in a storefront across from the post office and grocery on Main Street in Fleischmanns. The walls have been stripped to the studs and insulation, and exposed I-beams cross the ceiling overhead. The floor is raw wood, and the room itself is raw, chilly this late April afternoon. Birman waves broadly, painting a picture of what he envisions for the space: a restaurant, a bakery café, a gallery, a destination.
“We have this special thing here,” he says, “and I want a restaurant to come in that is fully dedicated to that what’s seasonal and local and to promoting the area.” The way he talks about his vision makes you want to see it too. Upstairs are bright apartments with refinished wood floors and the smell of new carpets in the hallways. All four apartments are now currently for rent.
Birman might be the local tennis pro, but he has bigger interests than simply serves and backhands. He owns property in Manhattan, and his ventures here, two buildings in Fleischmanns, are somewhere between Field of Dreams and a small-town Trump. Like Trump, the buildings are named for him. The first, where we stand now, is the “Birman Building,” and he laughs wondering how he’ll get Birman into the name of the second, which he just bought. “The woman at the bank,” he chuckles, “was suggesting, ‘The Other Birman Building.’”
Standing outside on the gravel where a neighboring building once stood, he talks of landscaping and picnic tables. You can nearly see the folks here in summer. He calls the purchases “a good investment” – and he’s not simply talking about what he paid. The cost might have been low but he’s invested a great deal in the property for everything from stripping it back to the raw elements to reconfiguring the apartments upstairs.
Sees strong value
“The value will hold,” he says emphatically. “It’s certainly not getting any worse in Fleischmanns, and more than that, I live here. I go to the post office every day, drive by it every day. This is my village, and I want this town to be as vibrant as it can be. The elements are in place, but far from my personal feelings, the value was good and the timing was good. I’m not just on a mission to save Fleischmanns.
Today Birman wears a white dress shirt and baseball cap emblazoned “Tennis Everyone,” the name of his coaching business. His leather shoes are of the sort that is soft and luxuriant and probably Italian. His voice sounds like that of an unreconstructed New Yorker’s, few of whom exist anymore, and it’s rare to hear that heavy an accent up in the Catskills these days. He grew up in the city, the son of Polish immigrants who both survived the concentration camps, and spent much of his childhood here. He took his first steps at the old Patria Hotel, and by the early ’70s his parents had built the house where Birman lives now in Halcott Center. He has a long and abiding love of the area, describing it as “ home” even if he did not literally grow up here. When rethinking his career in the law, he decided to move back.
Down the street, his second building is at the eastern side of the village. A rambling structure, it’s been known variously over the years as the Evergreen and Emory Brook. Inside stands a grand piano and chairs and tables strewn about like the occupants left in a hurry. The place has a ghostly sense, like you can practically still hear someone at piano. The kitchen has all the professional equipment restaurants require, something Birman would know having attended The Culinary Institute. He says the place could be up and running in a couple of months.
He talks about his ideal tenant: someone like Alice Waters. She brought a revolution to Northern California where she changed how people ate and is credited with spurring the growth of farmers’ markets in and around San Francisco.
“I don’t see why it can’t work here,” he says and sees that the building could be a destination with rooms and dining. At a time when local food is particularly hip, with its own catchphrase, “locavore,” and people downstate are flocking to the Catskills to get married for that rural-farm vibe, his plans seem sensible. He wants, though, to find the right tenant to take it forward instead of running it himself. That could be a long shot, particularly when restaurants are notoriously risky ventures and Fleischmanns a long way from its former status as a tourist haven.
Up two dark staircases is a strange warren of single rooms Birman plans on turning into spacious suites. Looking out a bathroom window at the village parking lot, he say he wants to lease it back from the village, not for his or his tenant’s sole use, but to landscape it and make it look inviting.
He turns back and says, “People keep asking if I got a steal. I didn’t, the seller should be happy with the price paid, but it’s an investment, and with the Belleayre Resort and ORDA and stores like the Tinderbox, changes are afoot in Fleischmanns. And my time scale?” he asks rhetorically. “Long. I’m patient. I want the right tenant that’s right for the village. One property prospers, the next property prospers.”
Esther Snyder is just one of the people I love to write about. Full of contradictions and character, she has glamour, style, taste – and a sense of humor. She grew up on a 500 acre dairy farm -- before the advent of milking machines. Or at least before her parents got them. I got to write a profile of her for the local paper the Catskill Mountain News when she retired recently. She was their copy-chief but also their standards-bearer, and adjudicator in all sorts of matters.
“Restroom.” That word drives Esther Snyder crazy. So does “school teacher” when it’s spelled as one word or “fundraising” minus the hyphen. She also can be impecunious where dashes are concerned. Last week the Catskill Mountain News lost its “conscience,” as editor Dick Sanford describes her.
Esther Snyder retired. She was not only the paper’s typist and proofreader but she also kept the publication on the straight and narrow (and I have to say it’s thanks to her memory that I remembered to use a “not only… but also” construction in that sentence). “There was no swearing around her, and her presence created respect,” Sanford says.
Over her tenure, she worked for three generations of Sanfords at the paper. She first started there just after WWII and returned in 1986. She shakes her head, recounting her first stint serving as vacation cover for Clarke Sanford’s secretary. “I don’t know how he picked me. I didn’t know him. I was still in school when he called and asked me to work for him.”
She recalls how farmers would come in and visit with him in the office, and true to what a stickler and pack rat she is, she still has her pay stubs from that time. Now at a desk downstairs in the paper’s office, she laughs about them. Her hair is up in a net and pinned back in a swirl, and she still looks as she might have when she started at the paper in the ’40s. She wears a pleated skirt and bowed blouse with red dots under a pale blue cardigan, the same ocean shade as her eyes.
In 1946 when she graduated Roxbury Central School as Valedictorian, Snyder had no plans to stay in Denver. Let alone work at the Catskill Mountain News “My sister wanted to be a nurse,” she explains, “and my ambition was to work in a five-and-dime as a cashier.” She went to Kingston and got a job at Newbury’s, but got cold feet. She didn’t want to move to the city.
“I was a homebody,” she says and credits her change of heart to God. “I have a great faith in God and prayer, and He worked it out for me to come back.” Talk of religion peppers her conversation. She often says, “You’re not ready to live till you’re ready to die,” and she was relieved to be home because her father died soon after of appendicitis. She wanted to be home to help.
After the News, she went to work at Roxbury Central School as a secretary and clerk and even bus driver. She puts her hand to her mouth as she describes her first time driving. She was a substitute and it was in the rain.
“The principal came with me,” she shakes her head. “I had a desire to drive the school bus, so I took the exam. I couldn’t drive a bus now though,” she laughs. “There’s no way I could wake that early anymore, but I used to drive the Gilboa route.”
Snyder grew up in Denver on a 500-acre farm. “We didn’t have milking machines,” she recalls, “and my sister and me and mother and father and grandparents and the hired man, we’d all do the milking.”She tells stories of haying and threshing oats and skiing down the pastures in winter. She also credits milking with helping her learn French.“I’d pin the vocabulary words to my overalls to learn the words while I milked.”
That dedication to language shows her early promise for her duties at the paper. In 1986 she retired from RCS and returned to the News as typist and proofreader. True to form she can recall the exact date: October 22. A perfectionist and teetotaler, she served as the guardian of language and mores. About the proofreading she says it wasn’t “a natural skill” for her. “I worked myself into it.”
SHE WROTE THE BOOK
She has left behind not only fond memories but also a 20-page manual of words that are often misused like that “restroom” spelled as one word or the hyphen-free “fundraising.” She reports that it should only be used that way when it’s a verb, not a noun.
Sanford pays great homage to her and her abilities. At her retirement luncheon on Tuesday he said, “The world would be a better place with more people like her in it. She created a respectful atmosphere. She also represents the end of an era in newspapers. Everyone just uses spell check today. Even the great New York Times is now full of typos. We will miss her.” Sanford added, “We’re all living in mortal fear that next Wednesday or Thursday she’s going to come walking in the door with a marked-up copy of the paper, and all of the typos we missed will be highlighted in red ink.”
I meant to post this before the New Year, so the George Bailey ref seemed more topical. But hey, it's not 12th night yet, so I'm getting this in under the wire. And the subject -- Mike Triolo – has been like Bailey for our neck of the sticks... This was in last week's Catskill Mountain News.
Meeting with Mike Triolo is a bit like stepping into It’s A Wonderful Life. Not because it’s Christmastime, and he certainly doesn’t look like Jimmy Stewart. Instead Triolo is the small-town banker working to help his community.
More than just one town, however, he’s been working for the entire region. Until this week, he’s been the Catskill Watershed Corporation’s (CWC) Economic Development Director, a job he’s held for the past nine years.
He came to the CWC from a background in small rural banks where he served several banks in a number of roles including president and chief financial officer. Having been reelected in November, he is also the supervisor of the Town of Stamford. He still lives in the house, just up the Back River Road from South Kortright, where he grew up, raised his own kids – and worked the family dairy farm, selling most of the land when it came time to retool.
“The kids didn’t want anything to do with it, and I looked at my hands and had all 10 fingers.” He wiggles them as he speaks, “And said that’s enough.” Far from the tall, rangy Stewart, Triolo is soft spoken, dressed in Dockers and a checked shirt, with balding hair that befits his age.
He came to the CWC thinking he could make a difference, and, no doubt he has if you see what he’s funded. There’ve been companies who make goalposts for football fields (their posts have been in the Super Bowl), a microbrewery, a distillery and a hairdresser, plus more than a few B&Bs. Since he started, the CWC’s business loan portfolio has grown from $8 million to $48 million. Reading the business plans and tax returns that companies submit with their loan applications has given him a unique perspective on the region. Add to that his job as supervisor and his farming background, and
Triolo is an authority on the region’s economy.
He calls making loans, “an art not a science.” As he speaks you can almost see George Bailey himself.
“We’re builders,” he says. With the amount of money they’ve lent, “We certainly have been a key instrument in the economy of the Watershed.” The CWC though has a limited pool. There is only $59.7 million so he has to treat the money responsibly. The only way they can keep lending is for the existing loans to be repaid – and not written off.
Serving big region
The CWC serves part of five counties west of the Hudson, and while he says there’s no universal truth for the region’s economy, there’s not even a “monolithic economy” in Delaware County. “It’s the state’s second or third poorest area,” he explains, “depending on the year” – topped only by The Bronx. The western part has a larger farming and manufacturing base with a thousand manufacturing jobs in Hobart and Stamford alone. The Route 28 corridor is primarily a second homeowner and tourism economy. “In all honesty,” he sighs, “those jobs aren’t the highest paying.”
What he doesn’t have to say is they’re also often only seasonal and rarely come with benefits.
He describes the area as “stably depressed,” something of an irony, and says our economy here will start to grow once the second homeowners start to feel a bit more comfortable financially. There are bright spots, he insists, “glimmers of hope,” he calls them across the county like Delhi-based Clark Companies, which builds sports fields. It’s grown by developing business outside the region, while its employees still live locally.
Another growth area? Farming. Yes, agriculture is a key economic driver. The dairy industry continues to suffer where a two to three percent fluctuation can drive prices radically and producers compete against a national market when it comes to milk.
But, other products like cold weather crops from cauliflower to kale and locally produced beef, maple syrup and cheese all are important.
He reaches for a wrapped piece of cheddar from Palatine Bridge on his desk. “You have to be able to transition from selling milk with a regular paycheck to making cheese where it takes six months to age, but eventually producers who do, make a pretty substantial living.”
Healthcare too is growing. “Clinics are opening with doctors in Delhi, Walton and here in Margaretville. Those jobs are above the county average wage and come with benefits.”
Still employers can have problems attracting staff from outside the region thanks to issues ranging from schools to culture, shopping and even housing.
“People seem to want those new” (and he shakes his head as he says this) “2,500 to 3,000 foot homes built in the last 10 years.”
What pains Triolo most as he prepares to leave his job is the flood.
“The economy had survived the recession fairly well, that is until August 28. Since, it’s been a battle.”
Lots of funding
The CWC has made $5 million available in grant money with more than $2 million of it out in the community. “But,” he says, “it’s depressing.” He has a harrowed looked on his face as he describes the outlook now. This is his fourth major disaster.
“In my experience at least a quarter, if not more, of these businesses will not survive.” The statistic is stark and when asked what people can do, he says, “If nine million people drinking water from the Catskills each gave a dollar, that would be $9 million for flood recovery.” As he describes it, it sounds as hopeful as It’s A Wonderful Life. Maybe, if a bell rang every time someone turned on a tap in New York City.