The Shark Tank: Working for America's Most Dangerous City - Camden, New Jersey

By William E. Lutz

The Shark Tank is a work of non-fiction based upon several years of selected journal entries that probably would not have seen the light of day had not friends and family suggested I put it all down on paper into a single work - this, after years of sharing work stories that few would ever believe.

Camden is no stranger to national and international news. Camden, New Jersey has often appeared among the nation's listings of the poorest and most dangerous cities and recently has been cited for it's unprecedented layoffs of nearly half it's police force, a third of it's firemen and half of it's civilian workforce along with the closure of it's municipal library system.

Working for Camden municipal government is not for the faint of heart; some compare working in Camden City Hall to Beau Geste, Hell, or a Kafka theme park on steroids; it’s probably accurate to consider all of the above.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William E. Lutz
• Release date: Feb 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9780983359807

William E. Lutz

William E. Lutz possesses a Project Management Professional (PMP) certification from Rutgers School of Business, along with a Master's in Public Administration as well as an A+ from CompTIA and a Geomatics certification (GIS) from Cook College, Rutgers University. Among other talents, Mr. Lutz is a writer with a strong technical background, having worked with such entities as Verisign, A.M. Best and a host of others ranging on issues from telecommunications (future trends) as well as AES (American Encryption Standard) development along with analysis of social trends. Some of his technology and social trend analysis can be found at his "Shockwaverider Blog" at http://shockwaveriderblog.wordpress.com. If you’re looking for a consummate and skilled professional in the realm of technical writing, grants / proposal, non-profit management and records management services, along with website design and development, check out: http://www.welassociates.co Mr. Lutz is also an author of several books which can also be found on Barnes and Nobles and Amazon (click on the "Published Books" link above). Mr. Lutz's work profile inclusive of extensive professional references, skills, projects and works completed can be viewed here: http://www.linkedin.com/in/williamelutz. Some of his work samples can also be found here: http://www.scribd.com/welutz. Mr. Lutz is also available for public / conference speaking, instructional services (including webinars), whether in person or via Skype.

Book preview

THE SHARK TANK

William Lutz

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Published by:

William Lutz at Smashwords

Copyright (c) 2011 by William Lutz

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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

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The Shark Tank:

Working for America’s Most Dangerous City

Camden, New Jersey

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Contents

Introduction

Another Day in Paradise

A Thousand and One Invoices

Calling Officer Mark Unit

The Thermodynamics of Chaos

The Toe Zone

Snot on the Walls

The Dreams of Traffic Lights

My Mel Torme Morning

In The Shark Tank

Introduction

This is a work of non-fiction based upon several years of journal entries that probably would not have seen the light of day had not several friends and family suggested I put it all down on paper into a single work - this, after years of sharing work stories that few would ever believe.

The Shark Tank is less about personal absolution and more about psychological resolution; some things had to get released from the system, so to speak. The book is about Camden, New Jersey, a place noted in national news for a variety of reasons – all of them not so good. Depending upon who you’re talking to, Camden is the 1) most dangerous city, 2) the poorest city, 3) the most corrupt city in the United States. I and others may beg to differ, but one thing cannot be denied by even Camden’s strongest supporters: Camden is consistently in the top ten.

Working in Camden is not for the faint of heart; some compare working here to Beau Geste, Hell, or a Kafka theme park on steroids; it’s probably accurate to consider all of the above. But what makes Camden both a joy and a Hell on earth are the people. It is people who make places and things what they are – and sadly, despite the few decent folk still hanging around who add moments of light, that isn’t saying too much either, given Camden’s situation.

With few exceptions, the names weren’t changed to protect the innocent, for there really isn’t anyone left who’s innocent. In this book, the majority of the people depicted are 1) retired; 2) serving time in jail; 3) dead.

The book fails in that there’s so much more to tell; but then again, there’s always plenty more material to publish.

And no, it’s not gotten any better: it’s only gotten worse.

* * *

Author’s Note

This book is written as a part of a death bed request from my grandfather, who among his last instructions urged me to continue writing and become published.

I can only pray that I do not disappoint him.

* * *

There's no point in asking

you'll get no reply

I just remembered, I'm terribly sorry

I've got no reason, there is no Why?

Say No future! and that's just fine

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don't ask us to attend

cause we're not all there

oh I don't pretend cause I don't care

I don't believe illusions

cause too much is real

stop your cheap comments

cause we know what we feel

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oh we're so pretty

oh so pretty we're vacant

oh we're so pretty

oh so pretty we're vacant

---

Ah but now and we don't care

there's no point in asking

you'll get no reply

oh just remember I don't decide

I got no reason it's all too much

you'll always find me out to lunch

---

oh we're so pretty

oh so pretty we're vacant

oh we're so pretty

oh so pretty we're vacant

oh we're so pretty

oh so pretty ah

but now and we don't care

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Sex Pistols, Pretty Vacant

The unofficial Civil Servant’s anthem

Another Day in Paradise

There’s money to be made in poverty.

- Ralph Natale, former Philadelphia Mob Boss testifying during his trial regarding his criminal involvement with certain elected officials of the City of Camden

*

It’s springtime, a time when a young man's fancy turns to random shootings and stolen manhole covers; something to keep in mind as you're driving through Camden – or, in this case, riding public transportation so as to avoid open manhole covers. As usual, I’m riding the subway, reading today's news item about how the local police has been conducting large scale traffic ticketing. This, in itself would be of little note save for the fact that the police ticketed some several dozen drivers trapped in a traffic jam , awaiting to exit off the highway during the morning rush hour – a number of whom were politically connected to the local power elite.

I read with interest the quote from the Adjutant to the Chief about how ‘we’re cleaning up Camden’ and ‘making things a little better here‘– despite the fact that Camden, had (at the time) some 150 open air drug corners generating on an individual basis [1] - some generating $1 million annually in cash sales. Camden is a wholesaler’s paradise, a place where groups of individuals buy out control of drug corners – often for as much as $250,00 to $300,000 [2] per year for the right to sell drugs (no differently than, say, a fast food franchise) – or where groups come into Camden to buy large amounts of drugs to sell in other locales.

Do the math: 150 x $ 1million comes to $150 million cash coming out of Camden. Camden is, in effect, a regional economic powerhouse, whose cash helps float the multitudes of car dealerships (although it’s illegal to purchase a car with cash, still, one can make a ‘quick loan’, buy a car and then promptly pay off the car – all within the space of mere hours), furniture stores, shopping malls and the like.

But the cost is human misery, generational poverty and the ability to make money open only to those who fight their way into positions of power – only to likely face a violent death.

Poverty is indeed big money.

But all of this was lost on those who received the traffic tickets and know little for the realities of Camden (or care) so naturally, the press was having a field day with the matter.

Big – and ugly - issues are hard to digest and sell. Better to keep it light. So, as the train lurched along, I read today's latest editorial slam-dunk against the Mayor of our city. A recent theft of City Hall's main entranceway stairway railings occurred; stolen for scrap by 'a group of unknown homeless individuals' (also known in city parlance as ‘geezers’). It's not hard being categorized as homeless in these parts. It was but several years ago to qualify for municipal welfare all one had to do was to obtain a local postal office mailbox, find a place to stay in Camden for 24 hours and voila! You were eligible for Municipal Welfare and all the loose change you could collect while begging on the streets. Thus, it was only appropriate that Camden Hall stairway rails were stolen; everything else is for sale – or is simply taken.

City Hall - sans railings - looked awkward in the early morning light. Metal sticks stuck out of the ground where handrails should go. Local television station crews gathered around the railings supports, taking shots of the metal sticks sticking out of the ground while the print media vainly sought the Mayor. I knew that the Mayor was jetting off to far-away Caribbean islands as his travel voucher was submitted to the Purchasing Bureau several weeks ago, but there was still no reason why I should say anything to the piranha press. Snapping and tripping over each other, handing out press releases to the local press seeking news items is done only at the personal risk of losing their hands and arms.

The Mayor was meeting with 'sister cities' for mutual trade agreements. In this case, this particular trip involved traveling to the island paradise of Dominica, noted for drug trafficking, nude beaches and non-extradition to the United States. Reporters and others attempting to find out the details were informed that what an elective official does on our time is ‘none of our business’ – this, despite the Mayor taking along the local state representative for the ride - a somewhat attractive (and some stated was a slightly mentally deficient woman – while others, in the words of a former state government colleagues, was regarded as 'a major lightweight' (which may, in part, explain why this woman was being groomed for higher political offices).

I recall helping this woman out on her computer years ago when she served as a secretary in a nearby quasi-governmental agency. Apparently, she had no idea that all one had to do to stop a computer screen saver was to move the computer mouse; and now she was among those who determined how the state budget was being spent and distributed and was on her way to an island paradise. Note to myself: first chance I get, I’ll run for elective office.

The Mayor of Camden is always a busy person; assiduously avoiding any contact with reporters - and for some Mayors, traveling to sunny locales was a major part of the job. By tonight, the story of our stolen railings will be all over the world and copied by Reuters, Associated Press and the usual gang of suspects, illustrating yet another day in paradise.

I walk up the giant granite City Hall stairway. The railing supports stand in mute silence while piles of cigarette butts, assorted wind-blown trash and a sleeping wino crumbled in the corner keep guard over the decay. Above the entranceway is the No Exit sign which the Public Works crew mistakenly placed (in their Departmental Director's zeal to impress City Council after word had gotten round about his request to have a sex change covered by his health insurance. Not that the Director of Public Works requesting a sex change was an issue, but the fact that he requested that the City health insurance cover his sex change was viewed as a problem - a problem that was ranked nearly as bad as his attempt at getting his dog and cat health coverage through City health program as well).

Dead Man Laughing. I laughed each morning at the No Exit sign posted on Camden Hall entranceway. I laughed alone, silently looking up at the towering bulk of City Hall, as the morning crowd surges around me unaware of the great irony in which they reside.

The City Hall structure dates back to the 1920's. Ancient, tarnished brass eagles stylized a.k.a. W.P.A. works style fly amongst the ceilings, looking to fly away from here. The flooring - fine imported Italian marble - is grimy beyond any hope of cleaning while inside, rent-a-cops ignore the surveillance monitors stationed about in strategic places throughout City Hall, occasionally giggling like children while they play with the City Hall loudspeaker system or find quiet corners to play with each other. Inside City Hall, the homeless ramble about with purpose, while employees move with little reason.

City Hall holds many memories and forgotten people. Doorways bear administrative and agency inscriptions long since gone, but not completely removed, leaving echoes and residues of their presence. The hallways are a hodgepodge of broken furniture while the office computers silently collect their multitudes of unread emails. Scattered within City Hall are the apocalyptic toilets, challenging you to use them in the flickering fluorescent light. Stepping in a City Hall bathroom makes you wonder if anybody would notice the difference between the condition the stalls are now and what will they would be after the fall of civilization. But who's to say the apocalypse hasn't arrived? Maybe the application from is merely delayed behind office bureaucracy, waiting for its moment of approval.

Purchasing is on the 2nd floor, formerly occupying space on the 4th floor. My telephone always rings, signaling the beginning of the games. It is my friend Creed who immediately launches the conversation: You know, there's a theory that since computers are made by humans, their life cycles are the same. And it's funny how in areas where the disease rates are higher the computers break down more often. You have to be quick with Creed - no time for hesitation. Talking with Creed is good practice for the workplace; gotta think fast on your feet. So the way I understand this, I instantly reply, as we die, so do our computers. Do you think when a computer screams, there's nobody there to hear?

Put it to you this way, I wouldn't want to lose any data over an unhappy computer.

Hm. I think I'll go and share that with my colleagues over at the Cubicle of Universal Knowledge.

So I hear you've lost your railings?

Aw, don't tell me you've heard about it already!

It's on the radio.

Great. Another sterling example of our urban redevelopment.

Ever thought of selling off City Hall scrap as a means to balance Camden budget?

With our deficit, we might as well sell the whole operation off and close up shop. But then again, who'd buy us?

Interesting. Privatize City Hall. I like it; very public administration chic. Any other great ideas?

Read my articles; nobody else pays me for my ideas so what the hell? I gotta go upstairs to the Cubicle before the pigs slop up all the coffee.

Happy coffee.

Later.

*

I made it a point to regularly stop by the Cubicle of Universal Knowledge. The coffee sucks, but the company was intelligent and somewhat enlightened. The Cubicle was located in the Department of Water and Sewers - a place of unrelenting political patronage and assorted weirdness, whose unofficial motto consisted of 'No shit is too good for us'.

I first started working for the Department of Water and Sewer as an intern. I was a jet sprayer, assigned a hydraulic hose and sent to clean the settling tanks for the drinking water. Camden's water system is an old distribution service, dispensing ancient artesian well water through ancient pipes nearly 140 years old and sewer lines having little more than old brick lining the walls. I was among those who climbed into the settling tanks and gave the tank walls a good spray so as to insure drinking purity by making sure the sentiment and sludge remained behind, as opposed to being consumed (oddly enough, however, whenever work was performed on the system, the sludge already within the pipes would re-appear, making our efforts somewhat useless but at least it was fun to play with the high pressure hoses). Since then, I've moved on to other municipal assignments (often being asked to use the bureaucratic equivalent of a high-pressure hose and to clean up the occasional scum which gummed up the works), but I'm familiar with the department, and the Cubicle was a comfortable place for me to be.

The Cubicle of Universal Knowledge developed in a moment of spontaneity amongst several staffers who decided to merge their collective cubicle furniture into one medium sized area and, at the same time, create a walled enclosure to keep the zombies out – those who were regarded as being ignorant, incompetent or political hacks seeking to take ideas from others for their own self-aggrandizement. A last stand against encroaching stupidity which sadly, failed, the Cubicle of Universal Knowledge consisted of Jim, Frank, Don and Wei-Lee, with me serving as a floating non-resident member.

Jim was idly reviewing his water revenue collection program that nobody in the Administration was really interested in (despite having a proven 95% plus collection rate). (Actually, that wasn’t an accurate representation: certain elected officials were interested in this program so far as they could give ‘rebates’ to their chosen friends or family members. As a result, the collection rate dropped from it’s rather impressive 95% level back down to it’s normal 70%). A graduate of the Fels program at the University of Pennsylvania, Jim had a rather stellar public service career up to this point, working for such entities as the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, City of Trenton, along with a host of other locales – until he wound up here. Once happy to be working here, Jim was desperately seeking any way out of City employment. Every day Jim would say something insulting to Fred (aka 'Fred the Head' as in Head Case, the Departmental Director who enjoyed viewing pornographic images on his office computer) so as to get fired - but sadly, to no avail. Fred, instead, took Jim under his wing and insisted that Jim continue his practices so as to 'bring a fresh and unbiased outlook to the Department' - much to Jim's consternation. Jim now had to attend more meetings and, given his growing power and influence within the department of a city he couldn't stand, Jim was daily bombarded with individuals seeking favors and promotion from the very zombies whom he detested. Thus, in his very efforts to escape that which he truly hated, he found it embracing him in his sticky tentacles; it had become a true hell for Jim.

Frank ate degrees, holding two PhD's (and, unlike other city employees – among them a former Mayor who was later on convicted – Frank’s degrees were not mail order) along with several other assorted degrees. Frank was among those who idly take civil service exams, attaining high scores by dint of his presence and actually being able to breathe. Having a house several blocks away from City Hall, Frank also wanted to get out of Camden - something about 'tired of the gun fights by the drug dealers on the street in front of his row house' being the primary cause of his wanting to get out. Crime in the city is an obvious problem.The cops hold their own (unspoken) reasons for not enforcing the law on our streets: plain survival. In Camden, kids don't play baseball; rather, they conduct dog fights with pit bulls. Bits of trash, snow fencing and whatnot are pieced together into little makeshift arenas. Stray dogs are rounded up, fight each other with the losing dog doused with gasoline and set on fire. In winter, snowballs aren't thrown; ice balls packed with rocks are, while the older junior high school students shoot bullets at the occasional marked police units (in prior years, grenades were thrown between rival gangs seeking to control street corners).

In fact, things had gotten so busy that the local hospital had undertaken a special program