News

Please, Not Mark Dottore!

The savior of Myers University makes one bad step.

Cuyahoga County Judge Daniel Gaul deserves a congratulatory man-hug. When Myers University President Richard Scaldini decided to inexplicably plunge the business school into bankruptcy in December — even though he had a buyer at the door — Gaul stepped in. It was a rare moment of activism from the county bench, where the main priorities have always been lunch and bolting by 2 p.m. to get a really early jump on rush hour.

Instead of cashing the school in, Gaul had Scaldini jailed for violating a gag order, then kept Myers afloat in hopes of finding a solid buyer. In the meantime, he's appointed a special master to oversee the school's finances.

Unfortunately, that master is Mark Dottore, whose résumé includes stripping an impressive list of dying businesses to pad his own pockets ["King Nothing," February 9, 2005].

In 2002, for example, a judge placed him in charge of Snyder Brewing, where Dottore canceled employees' health insurance, while he and his cronies requested $800,000 in fees.

That same year, as Dottore was overseeing the bankruptcy of Fortran, he asked for $600,000 in fees for himself and his lawyers. At the time, Judge Nancy Russo had never seen a bill for such work higher than $4,000 a quarter, and said she'd never appoint Dottore again.

Gaul defends the choice, contending he was forced to act swiftly. "Look, this case came to me very, very shortly before Christmas. I had to find someone to bring in immediately. I've known Mark and his reputation. No one is perfect. But he has been a very key guy, without any question."

The judge assures Punch that he'll be closely scrutinizing the school's finances. "I don't want anybody to loot this university," says Gaul. "He will only do what is necessary. The county has a substantial investment in Myers. He is under my supervision and direction . . . I think I'm on the side of the angels here."

Surely he's right . . . as long as Dottore doesn't abscond with the angels' wings.

Up in Smoke Thieves
While Cleveland belatedly tackles its crime problem, the city's ritzier suburbs are dealing with a more sinister crime wave: Someone keeps stealing their smokes.

The reign of terror dates back to August, when nicotine bandits hit convenience stores in Bay Village and Westlake. They used large rocks and bricks to break windows, then quickly filled garbage cans with a small fortune in cigarettes and cigars. "I guarantee you these schmoes are selling these things," says Westlake Police Captain Guy Turner.

The fall seemed to pass without further incident. But last week, police in Mayfield were called to the Village Food Mart on SOM Center Road. It was just like old times. Someone had chucked a rock through the store's rear window, then packed another garbage can with 30 cartons of delicious American tobacco products. The haul was worth about $1,300, says Detective Don Smith.

Just a few hours earlier, a similar theft was reported at the BP on Columbia Road in Westlake. Cameras recorded the break-in, but Turner couldn't make out any faces — just another big honking rock. "It took two hands to lift that thing," he says.

Convenience stores and gas stations in at least five other suburbs have been hit. And while Mayfield's Smith says there are no plans to convene a Joint Cig Task Force, the departments are beginning to "compare notes."

But the crime wave has apparently put officers in Bay Village on high alert. Detective Jay Elish confirmed that another store in the western suburb had been hit, yet refused to say more. The situation has gotten so bad that not even Punch is above suspicion. "I don't even know who I'm talking to," Elish said, shortly before hanging up.

Tony the Lonely Fireboat
Like any large city on a body of water, Cleveland has a fireboat. And considering that our river has a history of catching fire, that's probably a good thing. Now, if only we could use it.

Riverfront Fire Station 21, located on the West Bank of the Flats, houses 18 firemen specially trained to use the Anthony J. Celebrezze firetug, a venerable 47-year-old rig that can spray 6,000 gallons of water a minute. The boat's used for cleaning spills, recovering bodies, rescuing bridge-jumpers, and helping police, who don't have their own boat.

"In terms of a contingency plan for everything along the river and the lake, it's a great tool," says one fireman.

But Station 21 has been "idled" since the new year. Whenever the number of firefighters on duty dips below 187, the station is closed and its workers are dispersed to other stations around the city. Which means West Bank residents, who already see few police patrols, don't have a firehouse either.

Those who work Station 21 believe the current idling is a prelude to a permanent shutdown. Four stations that were "browned out" for similar reasons in 2004 are still closed. "It's a deceptive term," says the fireman. "Those companies won't come back. Those trucks are gone."

And if that happens, the fireboat will be done as well. If there's an emergency, its crew will have to be pulled from stations around the city, meaning their response time will be measured in hours, not minutes. And since fires aren't especially courteous, they probably won't wait till firefighters show up to start burning.

Says one fireman: "If there's a fire and two of us happen to be in some battalion somewhere crawling through a warehouse, and they need us to leave that place and get to the boat — it's like a drill the Chinese fire department would put together. It's silly."

But the decision may have less to do with reason than politics. Last year, when the city tried to close Station 42 on Pearl Road, residents raised hell to keep it open — and the department above budget.

The more industrial West Bank is an easier target, especially since the neighborhood's councilman, Joe Santiago, has supported the idling.

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