novelnext Chapter 88 Community Center
Chapter 88 Community Center
Chapter 88 Community Center (Bonus Chapter 2/3 for Monthly Tickets)
Leo strode down the corridor and into the elevator.
The metal doors slowly closed, the car vibrated slightly, and it began to descend.
Leo looked up at his reflection in the stainless steel elevator door.
He was impeccably dressed in a suit, his hair was styled meticulously, and he looked like a true VIP.
Just now, he was making grand pronouncements to Roosevelt, declaring that being mayor was not the end goal, and that he had even greater ambitions.
That drive was real.
But at this moment, when the adrenaline subsides, the feeling of powerlessness rising from the soles of my feet is also real.
These two are not in conflict.
Ambition is the fuel, while reality is the heavy and rusty engine.
Governing and elections are two completely different things.
Elections are like a raging fire.
In elections, the world is black and white; enemies are enemies, and allies are allies.
As long as you shout loud enough and charge hard enough, as long as you ignite the emotions of the masses, you can break through obstacles like Moses parting the sea.
It was an almost religious, frenzied experience that gave people the illusion that as long as they had the will, they could turn the tide.
However, governing is a mess.
Once you sit in that position, you are no longer a knight charging across the plains.
You became a laborer trying to drag a truck with rusty axles and burst tires through waist-deep mud.
Every step forward comes at a huge cost and consumes an astonishing amount of energy.
You can't just rely on slogans.
You have to fill out forms, attend meetings, shake hands stained with grease, and force a smile at faces you wish you could punch.
Leo looked at his reflection, tugged at his tie, and felt that the collar was a little tight.
He may need to start compromising.
Rationally, he had known all along that this was inevitable.
Roosevelt told him that the word was in every political science textbook.
Politics is the art of compromise, the art of possibility.
He had told himself countless times in the dead of night that for the sake of the bigger picture and for the final victory, he could endure temporary humility and sacrifice his personal dignity.
But when Moretti actually treated him like a homeless beggar.
When he realized that he had to go to Moretti's office for a lecture that day.
His physical reactions were more honest than his reason.
My stomach churned.
He felt nauseous.
And this is only the first hurdle.
He's just the speaker of a city council.
Inside this building were eight councilors with differing opinions, Morganfield, and thousands of former bureaucrats in the city hall, all waiting to see the new mayor make a fool of himself.
If we have to compromise one by one, bow down one by one, and exchange interests one by one.
What will Leo Wallace have left after he finishes his rounds and pulls the truck out of the mud?
The elevator stopped on the first floor with a "ding".
The elevator doors opened, carrying the stuffy smell of the underground parking lot.
Leo loosened his clenched fist; his palms were covered in cold sweat.
He felt suffocated; there was too little oxygen in the air of this building, and too much intrigue.
He needs to get some fresh air.
He needs to go to a real place to confirm whether he is still alive.
Leo got into the car.
"To the South Side," Leo said to the driver. "To the Steelworkers Community Center."
The driver was somewhat surprised. He glanced at the young mayor through the rearview mirror, but he didn't ask anything. He turned the steering wheel and drove towards the other side of the Mononga Hilla River.
The car was parked at the entrance of the community center.
This place is very different from what it was a year ago.
The exterior walls have been repainted, and a brand-new sign hangs at the entrance. Through the glass windows, you can see a large crowd inside.
Leo pushed open the door and went inside.
A wave of heat hit me.
This is the breath of life.
The hall was bustling with activity.
Frank Kowalski was standing in front of a blackboard, loudly directing a group of workers wearing orange vests.
"Listen up! The street cleaning schedule has changed next week! Old Joe, you're in charge of the second block. Don't sweep cigarette butts down the drain again!"
"And you, David, fix that broken snowplow. The weather forecast says there will be a blizzard next week!"
Frank's loud voice made the windows rattle.
Someone spotted Leo.
"Hey! It's Leo!"
"The mayor is here!"
The crowd erupted in cheers.
The workers put down their tools, the old women who were knitting put down their needles and thread, and the children who were doing their homework looked up.
They surrounded them.
Even though Leo is now wearing a suit, even though he is a big shot sitting in the city hall, in the eyes of these people, he is still the young man who ate boxed lunches with them in the prefab house.
"Mr. Mayor, that road is beautifully repaired!"
"Leo, when are you coming over for dinner? I made a pie!"
"Mayor, could you please lower that damn parking fee?"
Various voices rushed towards him.
Leo smiled and responded to each of them, shaking hands with their rough hands and patting their broad shoulders.
This realistic tactile sensation made him feel at ease.
This is his base, his roots.
Just as he was about to go inside to pour himself a cup of coffee, his gaze swept across a corner of the lobby.
His steps abruptly stopped.
There was a small round table in the corner, which was Margaret's favorite spot to sit.
She was always sitting there, energetically directing the volunteers or distributing cookies to the children.
But today, she's sitting there.
Sitting in a metal wheelchair that looks a bit old.
The wheelchair's handles were wrapped with tape, and the seat cushion was somewhat sunken.
Margaret, holding a freshly filled cup of hot coffee, was trying to turn the wheel and emerge from that corner.
But there was a threshold in front of her.
That was a wooden strip connecting the rest area and the lobby, only about three or four centimeters high.
For a normal person, this is nothing at all; they can just lift their foot and walk over it.
But for Margaret, who is in a wheelchair, this is an insurmountable mountain.
She pushed the wheel rim hard, the front wheel hit the door sill and bounced back, spilling some coffee and burning the back of her hand.
She frowned, but didn't cry out. She just gritted her teeth, adjusted her angle, and prepared for a second charge.
Frank had obviously seen it too, and he strode over, wanting to help give it a push.
"Don't touch me!"
Margaret shouted defiantly, her voice shrill.
"I can do it myself! I'm not so useless that I can't even get past the threshold!"
Frank's hand froze in mid-air. He sighed helplessly and stepped aside.
This scene was like a red-hot needle, piercing Leo's eyeballs.
He felt a sharp pain.
He remembered that night.
That night was filled with chaos and screams.
A deliberately created conflict to drive Cartwright into a corner.
He was standing behind his desk, watching the police rush into the crowd.
He watched as Margaret was violently pushed down by riot police shields while protecting the campaign headquarters.
The doctor said it was a comminuted fracture of the articular joint.
For a 70-year-old woman, this means she may never be able to stand up again in her life.
That was the turning point in his election victory.
That was the beginning of Cartwright's moral bankruptcy.
That was the red carpet that led him to the mayor's seat.
But this red carpet was made of Margaret's legs.
Moretti's words echoed in his ears.
"You're a speed demon, Leo. Just floor the gas pedal, drive like the wind, and enjoy the cheers."
Yes, he was driving very fast.
He crossed the finish line and won the championship.
But he hit someone and injured them.
Leo felt like his throat was blocked.
He pushed aside the crowd surrounding him and strode to that corner.
He squatted down.
He knelt down on one knee beside the dilapidated wheelchair.
In this way, his line of sight would be slightly lower than Margaret's.
"sorry."
Leo's voice choked with emotion, a vulnerability he had never shown during the campaign.
"I'm sorry, Margaret."
"It's my fault for not protecting you."
Margaret stopped struggling with the threshold.
She lowered her head and looked at the young mayor.
Looking at this young man who was so spirited on TV, but now squatting at her feet like a child who had done something wrong.
She reached out her hand.
That hand was withered and covered with age spots.
She touched Leo's face.
My palms are rough, but warm.
"Silly child."
Margaret smiled, and the wrinkles on her face smoothed out.
"What's it to you? Did you push me?"
"It was that bad bureau chief, that bad mayor, they gave the order."
"But—if I hadn't insisted on doing that live stream, if I hadn't—" Leo wanted to explain, wanted to repent.
"Shut up."
Margaret interrupted him softly.
She patted her leg.
"This isn't a scar, Leo."
The old lady raised her head, her eyes revealing a pride harder than steel.
"This is my medal."
"Like the burns on Frank's arm, like the dust in George's lungs."
3
"This is the price we paid to protect this home."
"As long as you can win, as long as you can drive those vampires out of City Hall, as long as you can give the children in this community a place to go to school and have food to eat."
"What are my legs anyway?"
"I've stood long enough in my life, it's good to sit down and rest for a while."
Leo grasped her hand and buried his face in her palm.
He felt his eyes burning.
He had prepared a wealth of political rhetoric and a grand theory about urban revitalization.
But at this moment, in the face of an old man's tolerance, all those things seemed so frivolous.
"However, Mr. Mayor."
Margaret withdrew her hand and pointed to the threshold blocking her way under the wheelchair.
His tone became as if he were instructing a clumsy grandson.
"If you really feel guilty, and really want to do something to help me."
"Could you please get someone to fix this damn threshold?"
"Every time I pass through it, I feel like I'm crossing the Alps."
Leo paused for a moment.
He looked down at the threshold.
It was just an ordinary oak trim strip, but because it had been neglected for years, one corner of it had warped up, only a few centimeters high.
He recalled the grand plans he had devised in the city hall.
The expansion of the inland port will cost hundreds of millions of US dollars.
The second phase of the revitalization plan, worth 20 million US dollars.
Those numbers are huge and dazzling.
But they are far from that threshold.
Moretti can block his budget, scrutinize his $20 million, and prevent him from implementing his grand plan citywide.
However, Moretti couldn't handle this.
"Leo".
Roosevelt's voice echoed in his mind.
"Look."
"Politics is not just about budgets of tens of millions of dollars, nor is it just about the power struggle with the Speaker in his office, nor is it just about the cheers on election night."
"Politics is sometimes this threshold."
"It's a specific obstacle, a small inconvenience that makes life difficult for ordinary people."
"You may not be able to change the city's financial structure for the time being, and you may not be able to defeat Moretti for the time being."
"However, repairing a threshold is still no problem."
Leo stood up.
He took off his suit jacket and casually tossed it onto the chair next to him.
He unbuttoned his cuffs and was about to roll up his shirt sleeves.
"Stop, Leo."
Roosevelt snapped, "Put your sleeves down and put your suit back on."
Leo froze in mid-air, puzzled. "Why? Didn't you tell me to get rid of the pain right now? I'll go get the hammer right now—"
"You are the mayor of Pittsburgh now, not a carpenter on a construction site," Roosevelt interrupted him, his tone stern with disappointment. "Even if you were kneeling on the ground right now, sweating profusely as you planed this piece of wood, it would have no political significance other than providing some cheap relief for your overwhelming sense of guilt."
Leo was stunned.
"Use your brain," Roosevelt continued, slowing his pace and guiding the conversation. "You've fixed this one threshold yourself, and Margaret will thank you. But there are thousands upon thousands of people like Margaret in this city, and thousands upon thousands of thresholds like these that are blocking their wheelchairs."
"Are you going to fix them one by one? Can you even finish fixing them all?"
"Have you forgotten the weapon you hold in your hand by drowning yourself in mundane manual labor?"
"Leo, this requires a radical shift in mindset," Roosevelt said. "This is a shift that you can't learn by stirring up emotions on the streets or engaging in political infighting in the office."
"This is an instinct inherent in political beings."
"What you need to fix is not this piece of wood, but a set of rules, a set of attitudes."
"You must use executive orders to fix it, use taxpayers' money to fix it, and make sure everyone knows that it was you—Mayor Leo Wallace—who used your power to quickly resolve the people's suffering."
Leo's eyes gradually cleared, and his breathing became steady.
He slowly lowered the half-rolled-up cuffs, fastened the cufflinks again, then picked up the suit jacket, put it back on, and smoothed out the wrinkles.
"Frank!" Leo shouted.
Frank, who was pointing not far away, turned his head, saw Leo's serious expression, paused for a moment, and then quickly ran over.
"What's wrong, Leo? Should I go find someone to borrow some tools? I have a good saw in my car."
"No."
"
Leo shook his head.
He took out a pen and his notebook from his pocket, scribbled down a line, tore it off, and handed it to Frank.
"Take this note first thing tomorrow morning and go find someone from the Municipal Works Bureau immediately."
"Tell them that there is a serious safety hazard here, threatening the personal safety of citizens. I ordered them to send a professional repair team immediately."
"I want them to level this threshold and pave a non-slip ramp within a day, with the cost deducted directly from the General Fund's emergency spending."
Frank held the note, staring blankly at the messy handwriting.
"But—Leo, this is such a small job. I can just grab a hammer from the tool shed and finish it in two minutes. Is it really necessary to bother those old men at the Public Works Bureau? And even use emergency funds?"
"Do as I say, Frank."
Instead of lowering his voice, Leo deliberately raised it so that the surrounding residents could hear him.
"This is not just about fixing a threshold; it's a procedure, a rule. More importantly, it's the city hall's meticulous care for our community residents."
Immediately afterward, Leo leaned closer to Frank and quickly added in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Also, send a message to Sarah. Have her send someone over to take pictures of the Public Works Department at work. I've already thought of the headline: 'Mayor on-site, resolving community problems in five minutes'"
"This isn't just about building roads; it's about achieving political success, understand?"
After saying that, Leo blinked his left eye gently at Frank, who looked completely bewildered.
It was an extremely fast movement, tinged with a hint of cunning.
Frank paused for a moment.
He looked at Leo's serious face, then at the note in his hand that read "Emergency Funding".
A glint flashed in his eyes, and he grinned, revealing a knowing smile.
This kid is becoming more and more like a real politician.
"Understood, Mr. Mayor." Frank solemnly stuffed the note into his jacket pocket and responded loudly, playing along with Leo's performance. "This is a serious public safety hazard. We must follow official procedures and handle this as a special case. I'll make the call first thing tomorrow morning. If they dare to delay, I'll file a complaint against them for disregarding human life!"
Leo nodded in satisfaction, straightened his suit collar, turned and waved goodbye to Margaret and the other residents, then strode out of the community center.
I got into the black Lincoln sedan, the door closed, shutting out the cold wind from outside.
"Going home, sir?" the driver asked.
Leo leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and tapped his knees rhythmically with his fingers.
The scene kept replaying in my mind.
Small amount of capital.
Emergency potential hazard.
Administrative procedures.
Discretionary power.
Suddenly, a flash of lightning struck his mind.
Since repairing a threshold can be done under the guise of "safety hazards," bypassing the city council and using emergency funds—
So, how about fixing a street light?
How about fixing a manhole cover?
How about repairing a cracked step?
Moretti blocked his "revitalization plan" budget by using the legislative approval power of parliament.
He wanted to use a lengthy hearing and voting process to drag out the $20 million fund.
However, for emergency repairs involving small sums of money but concerning public safety, the mayor has direct administrative authority.
As long as it is identified as an "emergency safety hazard" and the amount of a single item is below a certain limit, the executive branch can directly use existing municipal maintenance funds without going through the lengthy hearings of the council.
Leo's mind suddenly clicked.
What if we broke down those grand projects into ten thousand small "emergency repairs"?
What if all these "emergency repairs" were concentrated in the communities planned in Phase II of the revitalization plan?
He suddenly opened his eyes.
In the hilly areas and Brooklyn, which are part of their "second phase of revitalization plan," there must be countless "thresholds" like today waiting for repair, countless shaky streetlights, and countless potholed streets.
"No, I'm not going home."
Leo's voice carried an excitement akin to discovering a new continent.
"Back to City Hall."
"Now."
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