It is likely that some of the young professionals living high in the luxury of The 9 are concerned by the news that Cuyahoga County is in such debt that it might have to forgo any major improvements over the next decade. But they might not know that where they reside symbolizes the deficit.
Unfortunately, the news was discouraging and inevitable. Stories of the city's renaissance had been building, reported with pride and gusto, hailing the 2016 Republican National Convention here as a crowning achievement.
So when county executive Armond Budish announced in March that the county's overspending on downtown building projects severely limited its borrowing power, the city's gleam of achievement was seriously dimmed.
If Budish's projections are correct, Cuyahoga County won't be able to fully finance critical projects such as the refurbishment of MetroHealth Medical Center and the building of a new Justice Center.
Corrupt government and poor public policy are ironically reflected by the imposing building at East Ninth Street and Euclid Avenue. In its former life, The 9 was known as the Ameritrust Tower and rotunda, which sat empty for 13 years until the Jimmy Dimora-era county government bought it for $21.7 million.
Back in 2005, the county originally planned to use the tower for a new government headquarters. But after pumping millions more into the project, it proved unfeasible.
The mysterious deal, with ties back to the massive corruption cases that sent dozens of public officials to prison, remains part of a pending lawsuit filed by Ed FitzGerald.
The building was eventually sold at a loss to private developers who created what has become the marvelous apartment, hotel and restaurant complex.
The county's financial plight was compounded by the $460 million Cleveland Convention renovation that included the Global Center for Health Innovation. Sold to the public as a medical mart that would draw convention business, its future success remains uncertain. The convention center operated at a $4.1 million loss last year, which was to be expected. But the new building only produced an estimated economic impact of $111 million, far from the $330 million it was predicted to generate.
In yet another costly move that appeared hastily made, Cuyahoga County spent $270 million on a convention hotel. The county also spent some $80 million on new East Ninth Street administrative headquarters in the shadow of The 9.
While business leaders tout the economic benefits of these projects, critics complain that taxpayers heft the bill to benefit a small group of downtown interests like restaurants and hotels.
While this decades-old argument usually centers on major sports facilities, the spate of building projects has revived the debate over whether public money should be used to underwrite private businesses or if downtown development would occur without public incentives.
Roldo Bartimole, the only journalist who follows the incentive issue regularly, argues that in Cuyahoga County more than $750 million worth of real estate is receiving tax abatements. Likewise, another $2.3 billion worth of properties are receiving some form of tax increment financing, according to Bartimole.
This money has become a life-support system for the core city at the expense of neighborhoods and the school system.
Still, downtown has taken on a new energy in recent years, fueled by an influx of young professionals yearning to live in the city. To accommodate, developers have been converting aging office buildings into pricey apartments. The Downtown Cleveland Alliance lists another 14 projects, including the historic Halle, Standard and Leader buildings, as planned or under construction.
I've written of Cleveland's painful vicissitudes for half of a century: failed urban renewal, riots, municipal default, corruption and racial politics. Over time, these observations have become an exercise in cynicism, largely because the city fathers have used hail and hype to mask the town's miseries.
But the return to the city by thousands of millennials — the largest single generation in our country's history — created an optimism not felt here in decades. I'd hoped that these young professionals would take an interest in the city and the way it was run. I wanted them to establish a new sense of political and civic leadership. But they may never get a chance.
My good feelings began to wane as the story broke of the Flats East Bank development seeking to create a special tax for its district. To me, the request signified that the business community had no confidence in the city government. It raised a question about whether the city could even support all the new government-backed development. Had local government given up so much in tax deferments over the years that it can no longer provide the most basic services?
Back in the 1980s, the Flats had grown into an exciting regional entertainment venue. Over time, the city could not provide enough safety forces to maintain order. Drownings, shootings, beatings and other violence began to drive crowds away — until the Flats went dark.
The current Flats East Bank project consists of an eight-story riverfront development with a hotel, office building and restaurants. Its second phase, expected to open in late July, includes 241 apartments, more restaurants, an outdoor dance club and a boardwalk along the Cuyahoga River.
With more than $60 million of public money invested in the project, the developers sought a special zone to be created that would collect a tax from sales, parking and hotel stays on top of the standard rate. The money, expected to be approximately $1 million annually, would be used for security and public improvements, services normally offered by a city. City Council approved the measure, but Mayor Frank Jackson vetoed it. (He had to or every downtown district would have asked for its own bit of public money.)
It's evident that Cleveland does not have enough money to provide basic services. Recent snow removal in the city has bordered on fiction, the potholes may be at an all time low, and safety is such an issue that the Justice Department has intervened. Government seems to provide little more than jobs.
So Budish's declaration of a budgeting shortfall sounds like an early morning alarm against the dreamy promise of millennials bringing a fresh era with them in their downtown migration.
The harsh truth is that we will likely bask in the glow of the Republican National Convention until its embers die out. In the meantime, government will find more ways to give away the future of the city.
