Night moves

Doing a better job of managing the headaches that come with nightlife -- not changing the closing time to 1 a.m. -- is the solution for curbing problems in Providence

by Ian Donnis

From the start, the carjacking slayings in June of college students Amy Shute and Jason Burgeson were a dubious rallying point for rolling back the weekend closing time for bars and clubs in Providence. The killing of the pair, who were accosted near the Arcade and robbed of $18 before being shot in the head at an unfinished Johnston golf course, was certainly chilling. But the crime occurred after a Thursday night out -- when clubs close at 1 a.m. -- and only the victims, not the five suspects charged in the case, had been out at a nightspot.

Still, just as the shooting death in January of Providence police Officer Cornel Young Jr. spoke to minorities' anxiety about being singled out because of their race, the slayings of Shute and Burgeson crystallized suburbanites' worst fears about predatory violence in the city. And although the proposed 1 a.m. weekend closing time was a classic knee-jerk reaction, the proposed rollback grew out of legitimate concerns about late-night misbehavior.

But let's be real about this. Vibrant nightlife befits a city like Providence. It would be wrong to punish the majority of law-abiding patrons, and responsible bar and club owners, because of the misdeeds of relatively few people. There are now more than 150 2 a.m. licenses in Providence -- far more than there were when the 2 a.m. weekend closing time was introduced in the 1960s -- and it's clear that the expansion hasn't been matched by a sufficient amount of administrative attention. As put by Ward 10 Councilor Luis Aponte, "We're a victim of our own success." But rather than trying to shut down the city, the solution is doing a better job of managing the problems that invariably come with nightlife.

To their credit, Aponte and Ward 12 Councilor Terrence M. Hassett recognized as much during an October 4 meeting of the City Council's Ordinance Committee, and as a result, the proposed 1 a.m. rollback is dead. Councilors plan to back an effort in the General Assembly to create a separate licensing category for nightclubs, so that complaints with particular establishments can be handled individually, rather than with a misguided blanket approach. Critics also remain intent on using the legislature to go after the sale of alcohol during under-21 nights.

For now, club and bar owners are breathing a collective sigh of relief. But the closing time clash was never a fight between hip libertines on one side and Puritanical scolds on the other -- and it would be a mistake if the beneficiaries of the status quo dismiss the concerns that got us to this point in the first place.

Lawyer Herbert F. DeSimone Jr., who represents Michael Kent's Kentco Development, owner of The Complex, one of the most popular downtown dance clubs, and a half-dozen other local establishments, notes that the club voluntarily employs two police details on Thursday through Saturday nights, to the tune of about $13,000 over the past five months.

"I think we have been doing our part," says DeSimone, who touts the use at The Complex of spotters, experienced managers and other measures to guard against problems such as underage drinking. "If there are problems, we are accessible. In all our years, we've never been closed a day in any of our establishments. We've worked very hard to build that record."

At the same time, it's an accumulated sense of grievance about a panoply of closing time headaches in the downtown club district -- from fighting and assaults to drunken dimwits smashing bottles and pissing on the street -- that led critics to try to lower the boom. As put by Michael E. Hogue, who lives in a Chestnut Street building that went residential in 1978, "I know what city life is like, and that's why you move to the city. What it doesn't mean is that our streets are unsafe, that our cars and our building are vandalized, that there's violence in front of the building, where people are being beaten. That's not part of living in the city. That's just out of control."

The Jewelry District is pretty sleepy by day, and this volatile tableaux might come as news to a lot of people. But Hogue, who once lived in downtown Philadelphia and now heads the Jewelry District Association, has been trying to tame these kinds of concerns for about two years. Launching a fresh counter-offensive earlier this year, he screened videotaped neighborhood lowlights for Police Chief Urbano Prignano Jr. And then, the murders of Shute and Burgeson sparked a sudden sense of urgency about downtown safety, leading Ward One Councilor Robert M. Clarkin and Council President John J. Lombardi to sponsor the effort to switch the weekend closing time from 2 a.m. to 1 a.m.

Just how serious the situation is depends on who you talk with. Pot Au Feu owner Bob Burke, an outspoken critic, says drunk clubgoers are undoing a lot of the good that has been accomplished in the city, and he describes a scenario in which police are so preoccupied by clearing snarled traffic near the dance clubs that they can't enforce the law shortly before and after weekend closings. Public Safety Commissioner John Partington concedes, "There are some nights when it's almost impossible" for officers to respond to all the complaints in the area at such times. But in contrast to Burke, who describes the carjacking as the logical byproduct of lawlessness, Partington calls it an isolated crime, and he says police are coming to grips with the closing time problems.

There are doubtlessly loads of people who go to see a weekend play at Trinity, catch a band at the Green Room or hoist some beers at Nick-a-Nee's, and never have a problem on the nearby streets. But for a city as small and manageable as Providence, there sometimes is a surprisingly nasty edge to what happens in the Jewelry District-Weybosset Street nexus on Thursday through Saturday nights. Even some grizzled nightlife denizens make it a point to quickly get to their cars and clear out of the area. At the same time, the carjacking murders -- which unfolded within walking distance of police headquarters -- were clearly an anomaly. It's the poor residents of South Providence, not nightlife denizens, who have real cause to worry about gunplay.

CRITICS LIKE BURKE seized on Prignano's estimate that between 5000 and 10,000 young revelers flock to Providence after 1 a.m. for an additional hour of drinking on the top party nights. Citing this figure, Burke reasons that the marauding masses would significantly diminish if Providence's closing time was brought into line with the rest of the state. (North Providence and Woonsocket are said to be the only other Rhode Island communities that have the 2 a.m. closing on weekends.) But Prignano, who declined to be interviewed, seems to have pulled his estimate out of thin air. The department's spokesman, Capt. John Ryan, also dodged three weeks of attempts by the Phoenix to interview him.

Do some people come to Providence from Johnston or East Providence to catch a few more drinks toward the end of the night? Sure. Does clogged traffic sometimes back all the way to the Biltmore on Dorrance Street during the peak of the weekend action? Absolutely. But most of these people are paying customers, not vandals, and it's plain silly to suggest than an extra hour of drinking, rather than Providence's enhanced appeal as a nightlife destination, is the draw that brings throngs of clubgoers into the city. And the notion of Providence as a Renaissance City would be pretty weak if our response to nightlife problems is to roll up the sidewalks.

Even some of the proponents of the 1 a.m. closing, like Clarkin, expressed doubt about whether the earlier shut-down would reduce rowdyism and other problems, rather than just moving the hassles to a different time or even exacerbating them.

One thing that virtually everyone agrees upon, however, is that cities are safer, and far more fun and desirable, when they're vibrant and full of people. Providence is a case in point: WaterFire is the signature event that draws scores of out-of-town visitors and, with Mayor Vincent A. "Buddy" Cianci's incessant cheerleading and support for the arts, has helped to make the city a national symbol, albeit an overhyped one, of urban rejuvenation. In the same way, after other Northeast cities shed population during the suburban post-World War II migration, Providence, Boston and New York boomed during the '90s because they possess a kind of excitement that isn't going to be found in the `burbs. It's no coincidence that New York has become a case study in how one of the largest and most chaotic cities in the world can dramatically reduce crime problems that were once seen as insurmountable.

But even in the old days, when Times Square was a salty spectacle of flagrant drug sales and adult theaters, "It was still safe, because there were police everywhere," recalls former New York resident Jay Litman, an architect with Newport Collaborative Architects, whose office is on Mathewson Street in downtown Providence. Sure, the cops didn't worry about the more petty crimes, but they were there to prevent more serious offenses. And then in the mid-'90s, along came the famous implementation of Broken Windows. The theory, developed by criminologists George Kelling and James Q. Wilson, posits that serious crime will diminish if an intolerant atmosphere is created for quality-of-life offenses like public urination and vandalism.

These two examples from New York are instructive. Although the Providence police still have a ways to go in embracing community policing (see "Whose force is it anyway," News, September 16, 1999), a greater presence would in itself help to change the dynamic in the club district. Although a Broken Windows approach would represent outside-the-box thinking for Prignano's old-school management style, it offers great promise for making nightlife in Providence safer and more enjoyable. It's relatively few nightlife patrons who cause most of the problems -- 10 percent in Hogue's estimate -- and a crackdown on abusive behavior on the streets, coupled with fines and a mobile court in a retrofitted bus, would send a clear message to the yahoos. After all, if New York City can manage its nightlife, it should be a snap to do the same thing in Providence.

Some club owners, such as Rich Lupo, whose Heartbreak Hotel is one of the main downtown attractions, have indicated a willingness to contribute toward more mounted police patrols on weekends, with a cost of about $2000 per week. "We all want to survive," says Lupo. "We want to stay in business and we're willing to stay flexible." The idea of establishing an earlier shutoff point for admitting new patrons to clubs, such as 1:15 a.m., also remains in play as an informal coalition of club representatives and neighborhood advocates like Hogue, area colleges and merchants' groups, continues to periodically meet.

Critics describe the sale of alcohol during under-21 nights as a fundamentally bad idea, since many underage patrons will -- surprise -- be steadily trying to get something to drink. But just as it was a bad idea to use a blanket earlier closing time to target a few problem spots, it would be a mistake to target proprietors who have demonstrated their responsibility. Lupo says the elimination of under-21 nights, a staple at his music club -- would threaten his business. And the possibility of successfully managing such events is evident, he says, by how police inspectors have repeatedly commended him and his staff.

In fact, Hogue says some improvement in the nightlife climate has taken place, thanks to beefed-up patrols, since he met in the spring with Prignano. And there are other changes on the way: the city is moving ahead with plans to hire 30 additional officers; patrol officers are being joined in the field by more experienced majors; a special patrol is targeting downtown crime; and two more officers have been detailed to the license division.

On the surface at least, Cianci remained uncharacteristically quiet as the closing hour debate played out -- particularly considering how Downcity's evolution as a residential arts and entertainment district is one of his pet projects -- and questions about the city's response to the proposed 1 a.m. closing were referred to City Solicitor Charles R. Mansolillo. "The ultimate issue is providing adequate protection," Mansolillo says. "We're all in this together. If the city gets a black eye because of its inability to protect the safety of visitors downtown, it will have a great effect [in decreasing the appeal of the area]."

That said, creative thinking needs to be applied to improve the situation. If Providence's ability to hire sufficient police is constrained by the city's weak tax base, perhaps the state should help to pick up the tab, as Litman says, since the capital city effectively serves as the downtown for the rest of the state. In fact, the Downcity Providence Merchants Association, which recently unveiled a series of recommendations, suggests the use of state troopers for traffic control during peak activity in the club district, so Providence officers can remain at their posts. But some observers, like Burke, question whether a significant increase in police spending can be justified by the troublemakers who mar weekend activity in Providence.

Critics also see a need for more rigorous licensing enforcement, including standardized penalties for specific violations, and they rap some club owners as being more interested in maximizing door receipts than in improving the downtown climate.

THERE'S A lingering streak of Puritanism that runs strong when it comes to late-night activity in New England. The 2 a.m. closing time for bars and clubs in Boston, the largest and most vital city in the region, has long drawn brickbats from those who yearn for the more expansive nightlife of New York. Motivated by the prospect of enhancing the city's status as a major tourism and convention site, Boston Mayor Thomas Menino last year floated a proposal to allow some bars in commercial districts to stay to open until 3 and possibly even 4 a.m. Nightlife enthusiasts were excited, but the idea quickly vanished.

It's heartening here in Providence that even critics of the status quo recognize the importance of vibrant nightlife. And it's clear that an enhanced variety of local destinations add to the city's appeal. If there were more late-night cafes and restaurants in the Jewelry District and Downcity, the mix of uses might mean that the streets aren't given over to would-be troublemakers. Certainly, the three main downtown property owners -- Buff Chace, Stanley Weiss, and the Paolinos -- have a vested interest in seeing an even more diverse array of activities in the area if Downcity's evolution as a residential district is going to be realized.

Maurice (pronounced "Morris") Collins is a prime example of how a bar -- yes, a bar -- can have a constructive effect on city life. A native of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, Collins felt there wasn't enough to do when he came to Providence 13 years ago to attend grad school at Brown. But after working several jobs, including a tenure-track teaching post at College Misericordia in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, and periodically returning to visit, Collins realized it was here that he was truly happy. It didn't hurt that Providence had gotten better, and that his needs changed as he married, got a little older and started an unpretentiously hip tavern, the Wild Colonial on South Water Street, after relocating here with his wife, Michele Davis Collins.

"What we wanted to do when we came back here was not just get me another job, but create a place for people like us to go and create a sense of community," says the 35-year-old Collins. "It's corny, but that's what we were after."

Taking over a space that had been problematic in the past, Collins and his wife waged a campaign to convince neighbors of their good intentions. They've proved as good as their word, and the Wild, part of which dates to the 18th century, has proved a pleasant gathering point for a mix of grad students, firefighters and tow truck drivers. The genial Collins restricts the number of shots people can have during a visit (two), takes care to stock good products, and he doesn't suffer lunkheads, racists or homophobes gladly. The character of the bar is further evidenced in such offerings as an annual Bloomsday reading of James Joyce's Ulysses and the lunch box theater series, which features 10-minute plays.

It's these small manifestations of the convivial community -- places like the Wild Colonial, Nick-a-Nee's and Blake's on Washington Street -- that would have been hardest and most unfairly hit by a 1 a.m. closing on weekends, and their proprietors are naturally pleased that that concept is history. For Collins, who cast his life's lot in Providence, it's an important sign that the city is going to face its problems in a progressive, rather than a reactive, way.

Ian Donnis can be reached at idonnis[a]phx.com.