August 1–8, 1996

pretzel logic

The Pirates Of Penn's Landing

Why did Camden allow Philadelphia to hijack the Moshulu?

By Howard Altman

It was yo-ho-ho time on the good ship Moshulu Wednesday night.

It didn't matter that Ed Rendell found three different ways to pronounce the four-masted sailing vessel during his celebratory speech. And it didn't matter that thick clouds threatened to wash out the party.

All that mattered on this night was that the ship was docked in Philadelphia, shanghaied back from those buffoons across the water.

The plan, originally, was to have the Moshulu moored at the waterfront of New Jersey's poorest city. The restaurant would have been a building block for further development of the Camden riverfront because it would have provided a first-rate eatery for Blockbuster-Sony Entertainment Centre and aquarium visitors.

Such a venue, in theory, would have helped transform Camden from a city where guests get out as soon as possible to one where they linger, and spend even more money than they do at the aforementioned tourist traps, or in the more underground tourist economy that thrives on crack and sex.

If Camden Mayor Arnold Webster had stopped twiddling his thumbs long enough to pick up a phone and make things happen, this shipboard party might have been taking place on the Delaware River's eastern shore.

But Webster is a thumb-twiddler of epic proportions — a toady of the Camden County Democratic machine who almost blew tens of millions in federal empowerment zone development funds by his sheer inability to handle his job.

So it was westward ho! for the 394-foot floating restaurant.

And party time for the Pirates of Penn's Landing.

Ed Rendell's thumbs are generally too busy for twiddling.

Especially on a night like this, when there were so many hands to squeeze, so many goodies to glom from silver trays.

It's not that Ed Rendell was single-handedly responsible for the Moshulu's arrival. In fact, persistence by ship owner Eli Karetny, dumb luck and incompetence across the Delaware played a much larger role than Rendell.

But luck, as Branch Rickey once said, is the residue of design, and the only residue oozing out of Camden City Hall is the oily slick of inertia and ennui.

To be fair, Webster was up against a tough battle to begin with.

That's according to Karetny, who put together the $6 million deal to refurbish the once burned-out hulk that sat unused and unloved on the South Jersey waterfront.

"There was a lot of construction to do," says Karetny. "They had to take down the old RCA buildings for this to work."

Camden was at a disadvantage, says Karetny, because as a government entity, it had to seek competitive bidders, thus slowing the process.

Meanwhile, Karetny already had obtained the necessary permits and licenses to dock the ship in Philly.

So when he heard from Camden officials that they wouldn't be able to get their act together until next year, Karetny was faced with a no-brainer.

Especially since Webster did little to convince Karetny that he could make things happen any quicker. Or at all, for that matter.

"I think they moved too slowly," says Karetny politely. "We couldn't wait that long."

When the deal was starting to become problematic, did Webster take the initiative?

Did he bang the phones, trying to get help to keep the Moshulu in Jersey waters?

Did he wheel? Did he deal? Did he do what a mayor is supposed to do when he governs a dying city in desperate need of any financial boost?

Especially when private investors would pick up the refurbishing tab. Especially when Karetny and his crew were willing to buck conventional wisdom that says you don't gamble so much money, when there were no guarantees that attendance at Camden's waterfront attractions would translate into the foot traffic necessary to keep the Moshulu from sinking into a sea of red ink?

Apparently not, says Karetny.

"We had very little dealings with Webster," says the restaurateur. "We only had three meetings. They were interested, but there was no follow-up. We rarely heard from them."

I guess I can understand where old Arnold is coming from.

I tried and tried to pick up a phone and twiddle my thumbs at the same time.

But you know what?

I couldn't do it either.

I don't know if the Moshulu will work.

It was very expensive to repair and, as I learned from my skipper father-in-law, ships are basically waterborne money pits when it comes to keeping them afloat.

But I do know that if a city is to thrive, it needs to do what it can to generate new business.

Even if that means resorting to piracy, of a sort.

"Rendell was very cooperative," said Karetny. The Rendell administration was "very enthusiastic about [the Moshulu] coming to Philadelphia when we went to them."

Standing at the Moshulu's posh mahogany bar with the rest of the freeloaders, I could not help but think that instead of wearing suits and sipping Scotch, the revelers should have been wearing pantaloons and eye patches and guzzling rum by the barrel.

I posed the pirate scenario to the mayor, the only man in the city who can beat me to an hors d'oeuvre platter.

Rendell demurred.

He did a shuffle step and shook his entire body.

"The Moshulu belonged here in the first place," said Ed, visibly holding back the gloat that was bubbling up deep within.

Finally, after several minutes of prodding, the gloat erupted.

Well, at least a little bit.

"They shouldn't have let this happen," said Rendell.

A sentiment that is even more galling considering that for Philadelphia and Camden to prosper, both cities must come together and realize that the Delaware is one river.

And the only way to fully take advantage of the river is to ensure that: A) Rendell gives up on riverboat gambling (which is dead in the water anyway) and concentrates on non-gambling development of the waterfront. And B) The voters of Camden force Webster to walk the political plank, allowing somebody who has better things to do with his or her thumbs to take charge.