Through history with Philadelphia Magazine

“Listen, I wasn’t around for Mayor Rendell,” writes its author, Malcolm Burnley. “And I know — I’ve heard a million times why you love him. A parrot in Rittenhouse could repeat the oft-spoken bipartisan praise: Wages went up, unemployment went down, the unions buckled, the criminals bowed. Ed got rid of Rizzo’s stench and Goode’s garbage. He was the cheesesteak personified. In Ed we trusted.”

Um, that’s actually not why Philadelphians over 40 revere Rendell. Their high regard concerns two awesome achievements during his tenure as mayor.

Stunning turnabout

First, he rescued the city from a seemingly hopeless financial crisis. Before Rendell took office in 1992, Philadelphia’s city government had posted four consecutive deficits, had been saddled with a $250 million cumulative deficit and a junk credit rating, and had lost 40 percent of its tax base within the previous ten years, 24 percent of its jobs within the previous 20 years, and 20 percent of its population within the previous 30 years. Three days after Rendell took office, the city almost failed to meet its payroll.

Yet in Rendell’s first year in office, the city produced a small operating surplus, restored its credit rating, signed four-year contracts with blue- and white-collar unions that saved $78 million a year, passed a budget on time without the customary bickering between the mayor and City Council, sold $474 million in bonds to pay off its debts and buy some time, and wangled a $60.5 million grant from the Pennsylvania Legislature to launch what became the Avenue of the Arts project on South Broad Street.

The New York Times called that performance “one of the most stunning turnabouts in recent urban history.” The Economist called it “a miracle.”

Second, and perhaps even more astonishing, in just a few years Rendell’s exuberant approach to his presumably thankless job somehow transformed a city with a 300-year tradition of pessimism and self-deprecation into a bright new metropolis of unabashed optimists.

I know what you’re thinking, Malcolm Burnley: Anybody could have done that.

Say this for Burnley: He is heir to a rich heritage at Philadelphia Magazine (my alma mater), as I recently discovered by perusing its back issues. For example:

October 1985:

“What did Twiggy and Martin Luther King have in common? Cool in the ‘60s? Check. Enduring popularity? Check. Always seeking approval? Check. Wusses? Regrettably, a firm check.

“Listen, I wasn’t around for Martin Luther King. And I know why you love him: He gave stirring speeches. Led groovy demonstrations. Turned the other cheek. Shook up the bigots. Yada yada yada. But what has he done lately? Did he put a black man in the White House? Not hardly.

“Marty, you’ve been gone 17 years. So why won’t you go away?”

May 1893:

“Listen, I wasn’t around for President Lincoln. And I know — I’ve heard a million times why you love him: He freed the slaves. Saved the union. Told funny stories. Grew a cool beard. But what did he do for women and gays? Zilch.

“We’re supposed to feel sorry for this dude because he was shot in a theater by an actor? Didn’t he know that actors are crazy? So why did he go to the theater in the first place? And once he was there, why didn’t he hide under his seat?”

January 1776:

“Enough with Franklin, already.

“Listen, I wasn’t around for Ben’s prime time, but I know why you love him. A parrot in Headhouse Square could repeat the oft-spoken bipartisan praise: He flew a kite. Spouted witty aphorisms. Dazzled Parisians. He was Fish House punch personified. In Ben we trusted.

“Except Ben won’t go away. By now he resembles a past-prime athlete who stubbornly won’t retire. There’s a gaggle of buffoons clamoring for Fast Benny to take a seat in the Continental Congress.

“Are they kidding? He’s 70 years old!

“You’ve done so much already, Ben. Let us simply remember yesteryear. Quiet nostalgia can be bliss. So just stop talking for a while.”

November 1454:

“Listen, I wasn’t around for Jesus Christ. But a parrot in St. Peter’s Square could repeat the oft-spoken bipartisan praise: He walked on water. Cured lepers. Made pigs fly. Spread peace and love up and down Judea and Samaria. It was a bitchin’ audition for a would-be Messiah, until the Romans squashed him like an ant.

“Now there’s a gaggle of buffoons clamoring for Fast Jesus to return, as if the grizzled stallion could save us again come 1456.

“Jesus 2.0? Are you nuts?”