Dog Bites Man (23 page)

By nine o'clock the worst was over, and traffic again began to flow. Eldon and Edna watched the untangling with relief on television, between telephoned progress reports from Danny Stephens—and a call from the president asking if the mayor wanted federal troops sent in. But there was a slight chill in the room as an elated Ralph Bernardo, being interviewed, vowed to stage a repeat protest a week hence. "We're going to demonstrate every Wednesday until our animal-hating mayor resigns."

T
hrough the marvels of modern telecommunications, the newspapers were able to assemble their Thursday morning editions, though newsstand deliveries ran behind schedule.
The Times's
coverage began with a restrained lead:

Every dog must have his day, and approximately 200 of them had
theirs yesterday, causing a traffic jam the Police Department called
the worst in New York's history.

Only deep in the story was Eldon's future speculated about:

While the purpose of the Animal Liberation Army rally was to
rouse support to force Mayor Eldon Hoagland to resign, it was not
clear that this objective was advanced. Most political leaders con
tacted expressed anger at the ALA's disruptive tactics and offered
virtually no support for the call for Hoagland's resignation. Many
more refused to comment or made themselves unavailable, includ
ing Artemis Payne, the public advocate, who would step into the
mayor's shoes if he left office.

Governor Randilynn Foote, who witnessed the demonstration
from the Governor's Rooms at City Hall, offered only a terse "No
comment" when she left the building in late afternoon, accompa
nied by her Labrador, Albert.

The
Times
also ran an informative sidebar listing previous noteworthy events in City Hall Park, including the first reading of the Declaration of Independence to George Washington and his troops, the antislavery riots, protests by supporters of Sacco and
Vanzetti and a more recent police demonstration, which had turned ugly.

The Post-News'
s coverage was under the headline

WAMBLI REMEMBERED
AND HOW!

—————

Mayor's Future in Doubt

—————

Resignation was right up front in
The Post-News
story:

The entire metropolitan region was thrown into chaos yesterday
as more than 100,000 protestors in downtown Manhattan de
manded the resignation of Mayor Eldon Hoagland for his conduct
in the brutal slaying of the puppy Wambli last August.

The marchers, from an eclectic assortment of animal rights and
civic groups, including the Patrolmen's Benevolent Association and
the Catholic St. Sebastian Society, united in a persistent chorus,
which at times verged on the ugly, of "Resign! Resign!" and later a
ridiculing "Arf! Arf! Arf!"

Led by members of the Animal Liberation Army, many in the
crowd, bringing dogs along to honor the slain Wambli, let them loose
on the Brooklyn Bridge as the rally came to an end.The resulting tie-
up on the bridge, at the beginning of the rush hour, soon escalated to
all the East River approaches to and from Manhattan. Police, drivers
and spectators agreed that it was the worst tie-up in memory or, as
one onlooker put it,"since the invention of the automobile."

The disruptions continued well into the evening and were severe
enough that, according to the White House, the president called
Mayor Hoagland to offer assistance by federal troops.

It was unclear late last night what effect the rally and the immo
bilization of the city would have on the future of Mayor Hoagland.
Could he ride out the crisis?

Ralph Bernardo, head of the Animal Liberation Army, inter
viewed on television, expressed satisfaction at the day's unruly
events and promised that his group would lead a demonstration
every Wednesday until the mayor resigns.

While politicians were reluctant to speculate on Hoagland's fu
ture, the man in the street was not.

"We've got to get back to normalcy," said Ollie Gilpey, 46, an
auto parts salesman from Bayside, Queens, "and we can't do it while
this dog thing hangs over us. Hoagland should get out so we can get
back to business."

Mona Finca, 28, an executive assistant in Manhattan, agreed.
"It's awful about that dog. Hoagland is a creep who has no business
staying in office after what happened."

The other respondents in the newspaper's cross-section survey agreed, except for one elderly woman who commented noncommittally that the controversy was "the dizziest thing that has happened in New York since the Collyer brothers."

The tabloid's editorial called on Hoagland to quit "in the interest of domestic tranquillity."

.    .    .

Following Governor Foote's orders, Sheila Baine had gone to the law books first thing in the morning after the rally. Both she and Governor Foote were working at the uptown executive office—it was thought politic to stay away from City Hall for the day.

Baine's research in the City Charter confirmed that the public
advocate was first in the line of succession. But she was amazed by something else that she found, both in the charter and the New York State Public Officers Law. She frankly could not believe what she read, so she checked and rechecked her discovery.

Satisfied, she went next door to confer with the governor and Raifeartaigh.

"What's the good word, sister?" the governor asked, feet propped on an open drawer of her desk and sipping a diet soda. Then she took a closer look at her political assistant.

"Are you all right? You look like something the cat dragged in. Or maybe a dog." She guffawed at her own crack as Raifeartaigh winced.

"Yes, yes, I'm okay. But I've found out something you have to know about."

"Spit it out, baby."

"Well, you were right that Artemis Payne would succeed Mayor Hoagland if he left office. He takes over whenever the mayor cannot act. But there is another applicable law that's pretty incredible."

"Like what?"

Baine nervously turned to the law books she had brought with her. "Section nine of the City Charter says, quote, The mayor may be removed from office by the governor upon charges and after service upon him of a copy of the charges and an opportunity to be heard in his defense. Pending the preparation and disposition of charges, the governor may suspend the mayor for a period not exceeding thirty days, close quote."

"Hell and damnation!" the governor yelped.

"Whew!" Raifeartaigh added.

"That's not all, ma'am. Section thirty-three of the State Public Officers Law says that, quote, The chief executive officer of every
city—I'm skipping here—may be removed by the governor after giving such officer a copy of the charges against him and an opportunity to be heard in his defense, close quote."

"Let me see those," Foote demanded, reaching across her desk for the statute books Baine was holding.

She put on her glasses, dangling from a string around her neck, and studied the two texts carefully.

"I'll be damned. What the hell does 'charges' mean?"

"There's absolutely no case law, Governor. 'Charges' is nowhere defined. The Charter says that the mayor—here, give me that book back—quote, shall be responsible for the effectiveness and integrity of city government, close quote. The way I figure it, 'charges' would have to allege some violation of that duty."

"Effectiveness and integrity of city government—like the way those morons in the Police Department handled that riot yesterday? But what about the legislature? Wouldn't those rustics get into the act somehow?"

"Not as far as I can see. The removal power derives from the State Constitution and is vested solely in the governor. You, that is. It's not at all like impeaching the president."

"Raifeartaigh, would I dare to do such a thing?"

"I've no doubt that you would, Governor. Whether it would be wise is a horse of a different color."

"I won't make another dog joke. Well, dearie, you sure have given me something to chew on. However, with all due respect for your Yale Law Journal credentials, I want to check this one out with the attorney general. Do we know where he is today? Up in Albany?"

"I doubt it. You know he's always in the city whenever he can be. He hates Albany."

"If you'd grown up in Skaneateles you'd like to be here in the city, too. Raifeartaigh, get hold of that big oaf and get him in here. ASAP. And as for you, Sheila, you may have done for New York City what Mrs. O'Leary and her cow did for Chicago."

"I'm going to go over everything again, Governor. And you're right, you shouldn't just take my opinion. The AG should certainly be involved."

"It's too good to be true, Raifeartaigh. Removing Eldon from office and getting rid of the only son of a bitch who could give me a run next year. Delicious, but I'm worried about the 'charges.' Ordering the execution of that dog? Probably not enough. But by thereby provoking the worst disruption in the history of the city, is that enough? Let's go over to Le Boeuf Bleu and talk about it. Come on, Albert, we're going to lunch."

.    .    .

The traffic disruptions had delayed the newsstand appearance of
The Surveyor,
less technically outfitted than the dailies, until late morning. But when it appeared, a new ingredient was added to the stew, in the form of Scoop's lead story:

MAYOR PRESIDES AT SLAIN DOG
OWNER'S BIGAMOUS MARRIAGE

—————

Was It a Payoff?

—————

By Frederick P. Rice

A new twist in the Wambli dog-killing saga has emerged. It now
appears that the marriage Mayor Eldon Hoagland performed at the
height of the controversy last week between Sue Nation Brandberg,
owner of the slain Wambli, and her houseboy, Genc Serreqi, was
bigamous.

This was the allegation made to The Surveyor by Greta Kalo
Serreqi, a 25-year-old computer programmer from Tirana, Alba
nia. Ms. Serreqi, who saw a picture of her husband and his new
bride on a newscast in the Albanian capital, flew to New York to
confront her husband. She spoke to this reporter sitting in the
lobby of the modest midtown hotel where she is staying, which she
asked not to be identified.

"Genc and I were married in Kruja, a little town outside Tirana
where my parents live, five years ago. We were having some difficul
ties when he left for America, but he promised we'd work them out
once he was established here. We certainly were never divorced and
never even talked about it."

The striking brunette, who bears a resemblance to Mrs. Brand
berg, the former beauty queen and Manhattan socialite, produced a
copy of their marriage license, which she translated for this re
porter.

She said that she had been in occasional communication with her
husband during his time here, and knew of his employment by Ms.
Brandberg. He had described to her his household duties, which in
cluded caring for his employer's dog, the American Staffordshire
terrier Wambli. Serreqi was walking the dog along Fifth Avenue
last August 16th when the canine was killed in the altercation with
the mayor's bodyguards that has recently gripped the attention of
New Yorkers.

On October 13th, the same day the mayor admitted his complic
ity in the Wambli killing at a press conference, he performed a sur
prise wedding ceremony for Mrs. Brandberg and Serreqi at City
Hall. Cameramen covering the story of the shooting had crowded
City Hall at the time and snapped pictures and made videotapes of
the newlyweds. It was an excerpt from one of these tapes that Ms.
Greta Serreqi saw on television back in Tirana.

"All I can tell you is, I was stunned," she told us. When asked
what she hoped to accomplish on her trip to New York, the woman
said that all she wanted was "my husband back."

The woman said she had confronted Ms. Brandberg at the lat
ter's town house but had been asked to leave when she said she was
Serreqi's wife. The Surveyor has also learned that Serreqi himself
has been evicted from the Brandberg mansion.