Park Avenue Armory.

Art world heavy hitters Agnes Gund, Ronald and Jo Carole Lauder, Lisa and David Schiff, and Aby Rosen and Samantha Boardman are a few of the hosts of the preview of The Art Show, which is celebrating 25 years at the Park Avenue Armory and benefiting the Henry Street Settlement. The show represents over 70 of the nation’s leading galleries with paintings, drawings, prints, sculpture and photographs, all under one big roof. Dorsey Waxter, the president of the Art Dealers Association of America, promises pieces in “all price ranges,” but don’t expect a Damien Hirst dot painting for pennies. This is where deep-pocketed collectors convene to freshen up the walls of their Park Avenue pads with big-ticket masterpieces.

Park Avenue Armory, 643 Park Avenue, (212) 616-3930, 5:30pm-9:30pm, tickets range from $150 for a “Sponsor Preview” to $2,000 for a “Millennium Circle Preview.”

Last night, at the Neue Galerie's 6th annual Winter Gala, Zac Posen talked to us about art. While a number of art-world folks are abuzz over the current, exploding art market, the 27-year old fashion phenom said he's not impressed with the way things are going.

"Nothing new has happened really since Andy Warhol," he told The Daily Transom, adding that Damien Hirst, the British creator of the infamous $100 million dollar diamond-encrusted skull, "is really a modern-day replica of Andy Warhol, you know, the whole idea of repetition."

"I'm not into chic safety or chic banality, just in creating art," added the designer, clad in his signature scarf, black boots and a stand-out plaid suit that was, of course, extremely well-tailored. "I feel on my artistic side I've been able to take more risks than anybody in the U.S."

Perhaps Mr. Posen's disenchantment with contemporary, post-Warhol art stems from his recent collaboration with Warhol protégé René Ricard. As the son of a painter, Mr. Posen said that he "likes to be a cultural receive dish," consistently gaining inspiration from such past visual artists as Marcel Duchamp, Diego Velázquez, Francisco Goya and Brice Marden, the American Minimalist painter.

"The work that I do is consistently a balance between art and commerce and developing commercial and creative art," explaining that his ability to "inspire" others comes from both his creative pieces on the runway as well as "that great black dress."

"I'm making a piece that's about finding a new structural form and shape on the body that hasn't been seen ever, creating something that's new," he said. "That's what every young artist asks themselves, whether they're in fashion or in art."

This new structural form, he revealed, was motivated by his desire to reunite the human emotion he felt is being stifled by technology. "I think in the age and time where emotions have been taken away through technology I'm into the idea now of emotions coming through technology." Thus, his new creative breakthrough on the runway will be all about something he calls "outfits inside outfits,” which he described as “like going to work in the gas station but, you know, you look like Aerin Lauder.”

What an impossible vision! Ms. Lauder Zinterhoffer, the daughter of the Neue Galerie’s co-founder, Ronald Lauder, was, at last night’s fête, impeccably clad in a short black and white dress and black matte tights—super premium unleaded, to be sure.

But for two American-Jewish dynasties who covet control of the World Jewish Congress, the Bronfmans and the Lauders, Monday, May 7, will go down as the day that saw one family’s ambitions collapse in a heap, while another’s rose to heady new possibilities.

In the late hours of Monday morning, in a modern office in the sleek Seagram Building, Edgar Bronfman Sr., 77, announced that he was resigning as president of the W.J.C., a venerable organization whose tiny and relatively modest American presence belies its hefty international clout. For 71 years, it has defined itself as “the representative body” of the Jewish people, a federation fighting anti-Semitism and the last ravages of the Holocaust (it pioneered the restitution fight against the Swiss banks). And while its profile has been on the wane of late, its historic reputation—and the entrée it provides its leaders to presidents, popes and kings—has made it a coveted perch for a certain brand of billionaire.

That was certainly the case with Mr. Bronfman, who has been all but synonymous with the organization since taking charge in 1979. During his nearly three decades at the helm, he has hopscotched the globe in the name of world Jewry, earning himself the semi-serious nickname “the king of the Jews.” Until recently, he had dreamed of passing the title on to his son, Matthew.

But with his resignation—which came after months of such acrimonious infighting that at least one member had called for Mr. Bronfman to step down—his hopes for passing the crown to his son faltered, and the ambitions of another younger son, Ronald Lauder, were resurrected.

As of press time, Mr. Lauder had not formally declared his candidacy. But sources close to the cosmetics company heir say that he is actively considering a bid, reigniting a hope he harbored years ago of becoming the head of the fractious organization.

“He has a track record of leading important American Jewish organizations and doing so successfully and with distinction,” said Isi Leibler, a Bronfman critic who is encouraging Mr. Lauder to stand for the presidency.

Like other Lauder supporters, Mr. Leibler sees a potential Lauder presidency as a marked departure from the Bronfman model, a chance to lead the organization in ways that Matthew—had he been given the chance—never could.

Yet some observers wonder whether the two heirs are so different after all: Both are scions of some of the world’s most powerful Jewish families, both younger sons who have eschewed—or were perhaps passed over for—leadership positions in the family business. Instead, they have chosen to carve out positions in the world of philanthropy and Jewry, taking on a range of causes that have earned them praise from some quarters and charges of dilettantism from others.

At 63, Mr. Lauder is the better known of the two, a voracious art collector and serial board chairman who has used his ample resources to shape Jewish affairs, particularly in Israel and Eastern Europe. Tall and expensively dressed (he always wears suits, even in Israel, according to a New Yorker profile), he has managed to parlay his philanthropy into power, erasing some of the disappointments of his earlier life (most notably a costly bid for the Mayoralty in 1989).

Indeed, his unrequited desire to lead the W.J.C. notwithstanding, he has previously headed some of the world’s heavyweight Jewish organizations—from the Jewish National Fund to the influential Conference of Presidents of Major American Jewish Organizations.

Among the most common comments made to The Observer by his acquaintances was the following: He is smarter than people think.

The younger Mr. Bronfman, an investor by trade, is still struggling for that recognition. At 47 years of age, his Jewish leadership credentials are limited to a stint as W.J.C. finance chairman and several years as chairman of the 92nd Street Y. In addition to the attention that comes with being born into an immensely wealthy family, he has received publicity for undergoing two rather public divorces, and he made headlines when he resigned from the board of the Israel Discount Bank. (He stepped down in April after a member of the bank’s board launched an investigation into whether he had used his position at the bank to advance his own interests. The report has not been made public, but according to an account in Crain’s, it did not come to any conclusions about Matthew’s activities.)

A Soap Opera Storyline

The story of the fall of Bronfman—and the potential rise of Lauder—is the culmination of nearly three years of internecine struggles within the W.J.C.: of ancient friendships shattered, loyalties betrayed, finances mismanaged and enough high drama to fill an afternoon soap opera. The only difference, perhaps, is that the characters in this drama just happen to include Bronfmans, Lauders and a former fix-it man for Donald Rumsfeld, rather than Quartermaines and Cassadines.

The tale begins in 2004. At the time, the organization—which had been led by the elder Bronfman and his trusted ally, Rabbi Israel Singer, for some 25 years—was still coasting on its role in leading the restitution effort that had returned billions of dollars to Holocaust survivors. But in August of that year, Mr. Leibler, then the senior vice president of the W.J.C., raised allegations of serious financial mismanagement within the organization: He complained that the Bronfman-Singer duo had run the World Jewish Congress like their own “private fiefdom” and demanded an explanation for $1.2 million in funds that had been transferred to a Swiss bank account controlled by Mr. Singer. (The organization’s annual budget hovers around $10 million, according to newspaper accounts.)

Mr. Leibler’s claims led to a torrent of charges and countercharges, as well as an investigation by the office of New York State Attorney General Eliot Spitzer. (The investigation, which was completed in 2006, concluded that the organization “lacked appropriate financial controls” and “failed to keep adequate records regarding their fund-raising activities,” but found no criminal conduct. The organization agreed to adopt stricter governance and accounting policies, and Mr. Singer was given a new, non-fiduciary role.)

To help reassert control over the organization, Mr. Bronfman brought in Stephen Herbits, his deputy back in the days when he was still running the Seagram Company and, more recently, a special assistant to Donald Rumsfeld at the U.S. Department of Defense. For an initial salary of $420,000 a year (it was eventually lowered), he was charged with bringing his notorious pit-bull style to bear toward bringing the organization, and its finances, back in line.

But the enforced calm, if there ever was any, was fleeting. In recent months, the tensions bubbled over: The organization’s Israeli branch went to battle with Mr. Herbits over what they considered to be his autocratic management style; in March, Mr. Bronfman unilaterally fired Mr. Singer, sparking additional accusations of a Bronfman-Herbits autocracy; and throughout, frustration continued to build over Matthew’s aggressive presidential campaign.

When an explosive strategy memo, allegedly written by Mr. Herbits to Matthew, surfaced in The Jerusalem Post late last week, critics’ worst fears about the Bronfmans’ determination to maintain control of the organization wer
e confirmed.

“There is no doubt in my mind, drawing on all my various backgrounds, that you have what it takes to be a great leader of the Jewish people,” Mr. Herbits wrote in the Nov. 16, 2006, memo laying out how Matthew might go about vanquishing his opponents and winning the presidential prize. “As with your father, you will get better and better over time.”

This was not a universal opinion, however. For all the power of the Bronfman name, the young liquor heir was not an obvious future leader of the Jewish people. Nonetheless, armed with his Bronfman pedigree, Matthew began pressing to take control of the W.J.C.

“Matthew talked with me very openly about it,” Shai Hermesh, a member of both the Israeli Knesset and the W.J.C. steering committee, told The Observer several days before the committee’s meeting. “But I told Matthew that the World Jewish Congress is a democratic organization.”

The Bronfmans seem to have been well aware of the hurdles they might face in convincing the putatively meritocratic W.J.C. to accept a legacy candidate as their leader. In the Nov. 16 strategy memo, Mr. Herbits identified the dynasty factor as one of the chief reasons that Pierre Besnainou, leader of the European Jewish Congress, opposed Matthew’s presidential bid.

“He believes that the image of ‘dynasty’ is not appropriate for such an organization,” Mr. Herbits quoted the Tunisian-born leader as saying—and then proceeded to analyze how the Bronfmans should approach le problème Besnainou.

“He is French. Don’t discount this. He cannot be trusted,” Mr. Herbits advised. And then: “He is Tunisian. Do not discount this either. He works like an Arab.”

In one section of the document, Mr. Herbits quite bluntly suggests “an infusion of cash—say $5 million” from Matthew’s father, uncle Charles Bronfman, and siblings and friends to serve as a “transition vote of confidence” in the heir. “You would, of course, have to make a substantial gift yourself,” he reminds the candidate.

Another section of the document is titled, quite simply, “Engage, fight and win”—a clear reminder of the author’s Pentagon roots.

(Mr. Herbits didn’t respond to calls for comment. Mr. Besnainou told The Observer that he received an apology from Mr. Herbits at Monday’s meeting.)

The now-infamous memo, combined with his father’s resignation, have all but assured that Matthew won’t be running for W.J.C. president anytime soon. But in his absence, one candidate, a South African steel magnate named Mendel Kaplan, has already surfaced; Mr. Lauder could be a second. An election will be held in New York on June 10.

Mr. Lauder first took on a prominent role in the W.J.C. in the mid-1990’s, when the organization decided to expand its restitution campaign to include art stolen from Jews during World War II. Mr. Lauder—an aggressive art collector who made his first purchases with his bar-mitzvah money—chaired the newly created Commission for Art Recovery, overseeing the auction of plundered artwork that had gone unclaimed.

It seemed like the perfect assignment for Mr. Lauder, but there were complications. At that time, he also chaired the board of the Museum of Modern Art, an appointment that put him in an awkward position in leading the crusade to return looted artwork. In one high-profile instance, Mr. Lauder presided over an exhibition of work by an Austrian collector whose acquisition tactics were being challenged. Mr. Lauder sided with the museum—against the families.

According to several sources, Mr. Lauder first expressed interest in the W.J.C.’s top post more than five years ago, around the time Mr. Bronfman indicated for the first time that he might resign.

At the time, Mr. Lauder was serving as the W.J.C.’s treasurer. But then his interest seemed to wane—a change of heart that has inspired various theories. One theory is that he was frustrated by limited access to the organization’s financial records; the other view is that his bid was quashed by Mr. Bronfman in private, and then painfully in public.

In an article in The New York Times in January 2002, Edgar dismissed Mr. Lauder’s prospects. “He’s not a serious contender at this point in time—at least I don’t think he is,” Mr. Bronfman said. “But I can’t tell him what to do and what not to do.”

Among other things, Mr. Lauder, who is a close supporter of Likud hawk Benjamin Netanyahu and patron of the conservative Shalem Center think tank in Jerusalem, and Mr. Bronfman, who is an ally of the dovish former Labor Party leader Shimon Peres, hold politically divergent views on Israeli matters.

A special assistant to Mr. Lauder, Warren Kozak, said that Mr. Lauder hadn’t made a decision yet about running. But given the reports that some on the board are already throwing their weight behind Mr. Kaplan, who is currently the chairman of the W.J.C., Mr. Lauder’s spokesman seemed to want to keep his boss’ foot in the door. “There should be fair, open elections, after all that has gone on,” Mr. Kozak said.

Still, it was perhaps the candidate himself who spoke most revealingly about his intentions.

This January, as news circulated that Mr. Bronfman was preparing to resign for real, Mr. Lauder’s friends pushed him to run, and his interest in the position swelled. He told Page Six: “This is not a monarchy. This is not something you can just hand over to your son, and say, ‘Here it is.’”

Now, just as the organization’s steering committee meets today to discuss the organization’s future leadership, an explosive memo outlining plans for Mr. Bronfman’s second son Matthew to take control has surfaced, promising yet another episode of in-fighting and scandal.

The memo, a copy of which was obtained by the Observer and which was written about in the Jerusalem Post on Friday, was written by Stephen Herbits, the Congress’s secretary general and therefore a supposedly impartial player in the organization. However, Mr. Herbits is also a longtime advisor to Edgar Bronfman Sr., a trusted deputy with an unforgiving reputation who worked for him at the Seagram Company. He took a break from Bronfman-duty to serve as an assistant to Donald Rumsfeld during his first term as secretary of defense – a position in which he further burnished his reputation as a hard-charging “fixer” – but returned to Edgar Sr.’s side in 2004. His ostensible role was to bring the World Jewish Congress back to a place of transparent, good-governance, but as the memo makes clear, at least part of his energy during the last few months has been devoted to maneuvering Bronfman heir Matthew to the top of the organization.

Mr. Bronfman’s potential rivals for the chairmanship of the WJC include cosmetics billionaire Ron Lauder and Mendel Kaplan, a South African steel magnate.

“There is no doubt in my mind, drawing on all my various backgrounds, that you have what it takes to be a great leader of the Jewish people,” Mr. Herbits wrote in the November 16, 2006 memo to Matthew, who is 47. “As with your father, you will get better and better over time. But it will take some time, some practice, and some greater devotion in the early years to meeting preparation and policy development. This goes to time availability, of course; but also a willingness to see out experts, listen, learn and incorporate. All easily doable, but nonetheless required.”

Mr. Herbits did not immediately return a call for comment, nor did another WJC official, Pinchas Shapiro.

The memo is essentially a strategy document for dealing with one of the most vocal opponents of Matthew’s presidential bid, a French-Tunisian leader of the European Jewish community named Pierre Besnainou. It opens by recounting some of Mr. Besnainou’s stated reasons for opposing the Bronfman candidacy - “He believes that the image of ‘dynasty’ is not appropriate for such an organization,” Mr. Herbits writes – but then quickly proceeds to characterize <le probleme Besnainou> in unflattering terms.

“He is French. Don’t discount this. He cannot be trusted,” Mr. Herbits advised.

Also: “He is Tunisian. Do not discount this either. He works like an Arab.”

The memo makes it sensationally clear what assets the Bronfmans would have at their disposal in their mini-campaign for the WJC leadership: money, connections and of course Mr. Herbits would all be deployed to assure Matthew the presidency.

In one section of the document, Mr. Herbits quite bluntly suggests “an infusion of cash – say $5 million” from Matthew’s father, uncle Charles Bronfman, siblings and friends to serve as a “‘transition vote of confidence’” in the heir. “You would, of course, have to make a substantial gift yourself,” he reminds the candidate.

In another section, he assures Matthew that, despite his opponent Pierre Besnainou’s apparent friendship with Israeli statesman Shimon Peres, he will be able to count on the Israeli leader’s support, thanks once again to “Charles and Edgar” and their long history with Peres. And in a clear nod to his Pentagon past, Mr. Herbits even outlines a strategy for fending off Besnainou titled, “Engage, fight and win” – a plan that includes using Edgar to “call in some ‘chits’” and “being sure enough of the results to avoid an election.”

Beyond the section on dealing with Mr. Besnainou, Mr. Herbits also dedicates a full paragraph to outlining how Matthew can deal with “the Liebler factor” – a reference to Isi Liebler, a longtime Bronfman nemesis and the man whose allegations of corruption sent the WJC into its three-year downward spiral.

Mr. Herbits dedicates five paragraphs, headlined “Singer’s role,” to dealing with Israel Singer, the fallen former leader of the World Jewish Congress who served as Edgar Sr.’s consigliere until the elder Bronfman fired him in March. (Singer was at the center of the Attorney General’s investigation into financial mismanagement at the Congress). In the section, he speculates that Mr. Singer, who still played a prominent role in the organization at the time, may not have been fully supportive of Matthew’s rise to president and concludes: “This is a subject that Edgar will need to put on the table with Singer at some point.”

Mr. Bronfman’s candidacy had already taken several hits in recent weeks, most notably in the form his forced resignation from the board of Israel Discount Bank following an investigation into whether he had used his position at the bank to advance his own interests. The memo may finally put an end to the possibility of the heir inheriting his father’s throne.

With the Mayoral election over and a mad race underway for Speaker of the City Council, word comes that many Council members would like to see a change made in the city’s term-limits law. That change would extend Council members’ terms from two to three.

The proposal has inspired lots of righteous indignation from commentators, good-government groups and the leader of the term-limits campaign, Ronald Lauder.

In one sense, these critics have a point. New York’s voters approved the term-limits law not once, but twice—in 1993 and 1996. The law states that Council members, like the Mayor, Comptroller and Public Advocate, are limited to two four-year terms.

But many leading Council members, including most of the candidates for Council Speaker, believe that it’s time to revisit the term-limits law again. It would be easy to dismiss this as the work of scheming mediocrities who are attempting to get themselves a nice sinecure and a fat pension. Indeed, that has been the general reaction in the press.

But what if the Council members have a point? What if they could make an argument that the current term-limits law dismisses Council members far too quickly? Could the public interest be served better if Council members had an extra four years to make an impact before they start looking for another job?

These are questions we ought to be asking, rather than simply dismissing the idea out of hand. The problem with the Council’s approach thus far is that members say they will simply pass legislation changing the term-limits law, rather than submit their proposal to the very voters who approved the legislation.

This is a foolish and self-defeating approach. It looks like the Council is, in fact, trying to foil the will of the voters.

If Council members feel strongly that they would be more effective if they didn’t have to start looking for a new job midway through their second term, they should make that case to the voters. If they believe they’re right, they should have nothing to fear from their constituents.

The current Speaker of the City Council, Gifford Miller, ran for Mayor this year at the age of 35 because, thanks to term limits, he will be out of work in December. Had he been able to serve another four years in the Council, he might have been a far more impressive candidate for Mayor.

The Council has a point about the rigidity of term limits. But members must make their case to the voters, rather than act on their own accord.

Travesty at Indian Point

Why is Indian Point still in business?

We’ve asked that very question several times on this page, and we ask it again. Why is Indian Point, a nuclear danger to millions of residents in one of the most crowded regions of the country, still in business?

There are no answers, only rhetoric and assertions.

Here is the latest evidence in favor of closing Indian Point: Small quantities of radioactive water are leaking from a pool that stores spent fuel rods. Nobody can quite figure out the source of the leak. That in itself is a scary thought.

Word of the leak comes after the plant’s sirens, which are supposed to signal an emergency, failed several tests. With good reason, federal officials are investigating security at this dangerous and unnecessary power plant.

Indian Point’s owners, the Entergy Corp., say they’re doing everything they can to find the source of the radioactive leak. Residents have been told that there is nothing to fear, that the leak amounts to only about a quart or two a day.

But, of course, the problems at Indian Point go beyond this leak—which is hardly a minor issue anyway. Indian Point is a national-security threat to the city of New York and its surrounding communities. A terrorist strike there would be a global catastrophe, so horrible that, as Nikita Khrushchev said in another era of nuclear-powered fears, the living would envy the dead.

It is infuriating to realize that Governor George Pataki could shut down Indian Point single-handedly. But once again, the lame-duck Governor is demonstrating his stupidity on an issue that means so much to so many New Yorkers. He will be remembered as a passive man who did nothing—after the horror of 9/11—to prevent this disaster in the making.

Why is Indian Point still in business? Because the Governor of New York is afraid to act. That’s why.

Auto Makers vs. Clean Air in New York

There’s good news for New Yorkers who care about the quality of the air we breathe and who see the folly of ignoring the dangers of global warming. This month, the State Environmental Board put New York on track to adopt California’s strict regulations curtailing automotive emissions of carbon dioxide and similar greenhouse gases. The plan would make the air cleaner—reducing carbon-dioxide emissions by 30 percent by 2016—and lower our dependence on foreign oil, by requiring a 40 percent improvement in fuel economy for cars sold in the state. New York plans to implement the new rules in 2009, along with 10 other states, including our neighbors New Jersey, Connecticut and Pennsylvania.

Naturally, the auto industry has rushed to court to stop this eminently sane, healthy and economically sound plan. The Detroit “Big Three,” as well as carmakers from Japan and elsewhere, claim that the new standards will add $3,000 to the cost of a new car, and that they won’t be able to make as many S.U.V. and large cars. The state, however, estimates that car prices will increase by only about $1,000, and says, rightly, that drivers will more than make this up in money saved on gasoline, since the new cars will get significantly better gas mileage. Meanwhile, New York State will be doing its part to reduce global warming, since the new restrictions will force car manufacturers to make more cars using gas-and-electric hybrid technology and corn-based ethanol.

The Big Three—General Motors, Ford and Chrysler—are being dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century. They have lawsuits against the California emission regulations pending in federal courts and California state courts, and are starting to flood the courts here, too. They can whine all they like, but they have nothing to blame but their own complacency and arrogance over the years. Last spring, G.M. posted a loss of almost $1 billion for a six-month period—a portent of disaster. The company’s recent announcement of 30,000 layoffs isn’t likely to reverse G.M.’s downward spiral. Forty years ago, G.M.’s share of the U.S. market was over 50 percent; today, they have just 25 percent. Ford and Chrysler are likewise on the skids. In 1999, Ford’s stock reached a high of about $60; since then, $57 billion of the company’s value has evaporated. Now, rather than be good corporate citizens and accept the inevitability of the need for cleaner cars, they’re doing all they can to avoid responsibility.

New York residents shouldn’t have to pay the price—at the pump and in the air we breathe—for the financial mismanagement of the automakers. Fortunately, State Attorney General Eliot Spitzer is prepared for the seedy legal onslaught. The new regulations are a smart investment toward improving the health of our population.

In choosing not to contest a runoff election with front-runner Fernando Ferrer, Mr. Weiner looked like a gentleman to the many and a savior to the few (i.e., the Democratic Party operatives who had reason to fear the divisive effects of a runoff). Democrats will rightly remember Mr. Weiner fondly for his actions, marking him as a young man with a future in New York politics.

Even as this heart-pounding, thrill-a-minute drama played itself out in the days after the primary, another young man watched his future disappear—for now, anyway. Gifford Miller, the first City Council leader in recent history with nary a crease on his face nor a sliver of silver in his hair, chose to contest the Mayoral election this year, not necessarily because he felt himself ready for the job, but because he didn’t have much of a choice. Thanks to term limits, Mr. Miller’s short time as City Council Speaker will conclude at the end of the year.

Before the city’s voters decided that Ronald Lauder was right about the deleterious effects of long-term incumbency, City Council leaders tended to be veteran lawmakers whose years in office had taught them how government works and how it doesn’t. With the passage of term limits in 1993, propelled by Mr. Lauder’s millions in advocacy and television ads, the long-termers were dismissed from office and the Council itself embarked on an era in which inexperience is considered a virtue, and contempt for precedent a sign of wisdom.

And so Mr. Miller, at the age of 35, will be “retiring” as Council Speaker in a few months, having held the position only since 2002. In another era, he, like Mr. Weiner, would have been marked as a young politician with a future. But the future seems to beckon only to Mr. Weiner, because his position is subject to those old-fashioned term limits known as “elections,” and he will continue to serve in Congress for as long as the voters in his district wish. Mr. Miller, however, will soon be without public position, finished (perhaps) when he ought to have been just getting started.

As luck would have it, the current Council Speaker is preparing for the end of his reign even as his long-serving predecessor, Peter Vallone, has published a book about his years as a lawmaker. It bears a title that some might regard as provocative: Learning to Govern. The phrase suggests that governance is indeed something that requires an education in the arts and wiles of politics and human behavior. Those who tout term limits as the solution to what ails us apparently believe that governance requires no special training or insight.

Mr. Vallone served as the City Council’s leader, first as majority leader and then as Council Speaker, from 1986 until his forced retirement four years ago. Like Mr. Miller, Mr. Vallone’s final months as Speaker were spent in a vain attempt to win the Democratic primary for Mayor. When he lost, he, like Mr. Miller, was finished. But Mr. Vallone’s career ended when he was in his mid-60’s, after decades in politics.

Mr. Vallone’s predecessor as majority leader of the Council was Thomas Cuite of Brooklyn, who simply retired in 1985. He, too, was a long-serving Council member who spent years learning to govern.

It is fashionable to dismiss the likes of Mr. Vallone and other tenured members of the political class as dull-witted time-servers for whom experience means not the accumulation of special knowledge, but of time served in the city’s pension system. There is some merit in that statement, but as a sweeping generalization, it is no more valid than any other argument in that genre.

Mr. Vallone’s book serves as a reminder that there is something to be said for the notion that political leaders ought to have some experience in their chosen profession, and that voters would be foolish to equate time served with ineptitude or corruption.

The term-limit campaign, which gives Council members just two four-year terms, was born of frustration not so much with long-term incumbency, but with incumbents who become unaccountable thanks to other sorts of corruption: Political districts drawn to assist incumbents, taxpayer-supported projects funneled to incumbents in need of a happy photo-op, and election laws which make the act of challenging an incumbent prohibitive.

If New York had competitive elections, voters might well have been able to impose term limits on their own terms—that is, by voting incumbents out of office.

Instead, the city has installed a system requiring young politicians to be dispatched to retirement when, in any other profession, they would just be entering their most knowledgeable and productive years.

Who, then, is learning to govern?

As a State Senator and a Tammany man from the West Side in the 1890's, Plunkitt watched with some amusement as various do-gooders tried to drive his friends out of government. They usually failed, because they simply didn't have the knowledge and stamina for the fight. "There have been reform committees of fifty, of sixty, of seventy, of one hundred and all sorts of numbers that started out to do up the regular political organizations," he said. "They were mornin' glories-looked lovely in the mornin' and withered up in a short time, while the regular machines went on flourishin' forever, like fine old oaks."

A hundred years after Plunkitt offered his insights into New York politics, a mornin' glory by the name of Ronald Lauder surveyed the city's body politic with some dismay and then announced that he held the solution to better government. He spent millions in the 1990's to persuade New Yorkers that term limits were the answer to what ailed city politics. The people were quite taken with this very simple solution and, indeed, became so ecstatic that they forgot they had the power to impose term limits all along: All they needed to do was vote in large numbers against incumbents and-hurrah!-he barnacle-brained time-servers would be forced out of office without resort to legislative mandates.

Ah, but the Lauder solution was neat and clean and simple: Two terms and you're done. That is the law in New York now. Reformers considered this a triumph.

Not surprisingly, however, the term-limits law has not made city government conspicuously better, and may indeed have made matters worse, since the only people who remember anything are the unelected and unaccountable staff members. Mornin'-glory Lauder thought he knew what evil lurked in the heart of the body politic. If only ….

Had he "been brought up in the difficult business of politics," in Plunkitt's words, Mr. Lauder would have understood that the solution to better government in the city and in Albany is a good deal more subtle than term limits, and probably more effective. If the mornin' glories demanded that members of the City Council and State Assembly work at their jobs full-time, with no opportunity to use their law firms and other businesses to cash in on their connections, why, the dreaded occasion of sin would rarely present itself.

The recent case of State Senator Guy Velella of the Bronx offers a case in point. To the mornin' glories, Mr. Velella would seem to be a classic example of the need for term limits in Albany. He has been hanging around the city since 1971, first in the Assembly, then in the State Senate. A Republican-Conservative, he talked the small-government game, but he was legendary for his prowess at the pork barrel. He was a well-known and powerful figure in state politics because he wheeled and dealed and played the inside game. Oh, and let's not forget nepotism-his 90-year-old father has a patronage job with the Board of Elections.

So, when Mr. Velella's career came to an abrupt end the other day with his resignation and his subsequent guilty plea in a corruption case, the mornin' glories muttered yet again about the corrosive effects of long-term membership in any political house of ill repute.

In fact, the real scandal involving the ex-Senator has nothing to do with longevity and everything to do with availability. State Senators and Assembly members, like members of the City Council, are considered part-time workers and so are available to work outside the house. Some do not, which if nothing else suggests that the spirit of public service has not been snuffed out entirely. But many lawmakers, like Mr. Velella, practice law on the side. News accounts of his plea bargain, in which he pleaded guilty to taking kickbacks from contractors seeking business from the state, noted that among his law firm's clients were major insurance companies. Did these giants of the industry just happen to find Mr. Velella's firm in the telephone book? Certainly not-Mr. Velella, when he was not practicing law, happened to be the chairman of the State Senate's Insurance Committee.

As is so often the case with political corruption, what's shocking here is what's legal. Lawyer-lawmakers like Mr. Velella regularly use their political influence and reputation on behalf of their clients.

Depriving City Council members and state lawmakers of outside earnings would go a long way towards ending the sleazy deals that muck up city and state politics. Too bad the mornin' glories didn't understand that.

look like a stogie-chomping Tammany boss, Michael Bloomberg, the

anti-politician, offers little raw material for political speculators. What

kind of Mayor will he be? Presumably not the kind of C.E.O. he has been,

otherwise eight million New Yorkers had better be prepared to have their

movements monitored at all times.

Dragging out gassy pronouncements from the campaign trail

probably qualifies as unsportsmanlike conduct, yet what else do we have?

Several months ago, candidate  Bloomberg

told an audience of fellow business types that they shouldn't hire people from

the suburbs because they aren't "the best and brightest." He said this without

the requisite irony-"the best and brightest" being a term associated with those

who brought about a certain debacle in Southeast Asia-and went on to compound

the offense.

"People that want to go [to the suburbs] aren't the people that

you want to have in your company," he said. Emigration from New York, he said,

is a "self-selection process."

By now, Mr. Bloomberg no doubt has been advised to refer to

people as "who" and not "that." Whether anybody has briefed him on the reality

of New York's relationship with its suburbs-for example, the noteworthy fact

that so many of the heroes of Sept. 11 lived on Long Island or in Westchester,

Orange, Putnam and Dutchess counties-remains to be seen.

Cheerleading is part of a

Mayor's job, so perhaps Mr. Bloomberg can be forgiven for giving it his best on

the campaign trail. Nevertheless, one suspects that he really does believe that

the people who leave New York-most often to rear their middle-class families in

nearby suburbs-actually are losers unworthy of employment in the great

corporate towers of Gotham. And that is a frightening thought, because it shows

the new Mayor as an isolated, insular product of Manhattan's society circuit,

with little appreciation of how life is lived in other parts of his new empire,

those provinces where an upsurge in crime or a bad economic downturn will lead

to streets clogged with moving vans.

Rudolph Giuliani-a native of Brooklyn whose family moved to, yes,

the Long Island suburbs when he was a child-understood the importance of

keeping the city as middle-class-friendly as possible. The results speak for

themselves. The exodus from New York during the early 1990's, of which I was a

part, slowed during the Giuliani years precisely because he understood the

importance of making the city safer, more accessible and more family-friendly.

He didn't dismiss those who looked beyond the boroughs; he listened to their

complaints, and did his best to resolve them.

Mr. Bloomberg, however, comes from a world that views the Sunday

Styles section of The New York Times

as society's version of the Daily Racing

Form. As they move from party to party in the comfort of their private

automobiles, they surely cannot understand why anyone would prefer the suburbs

to New York--that is, New York County, or more specifically, Manhattan south of

96th Street.

Of course, one of the great

secrets of Manhattan life is how dependent it is on the very suburbanites Mr.

Bloomberg regards as intellectually challenged. We already know about the

heroes of Sept. 11, who represented the best of New York-even if they didn't

live here. The other casualties of Sept. 11 further proved the point: the young

traders from the New Jersey suburbs of Middletown and Basking Ridge and Summit.

Were they not deserving of employment in elite Manhattan, home to the best and

brightest?

And what of the reporters and editorial-board members with whom

Mr. Bloomberg will soon be fighting? They may

pride themselves on being combative in a New York kind of way, but more

than a few spend their evenings in bedroom communities and small towns beyond

the boroughs. This fact may be used to support Mr. Bloomberg's thesis about

where the best and brightest reside and where they don't; however, it surely is

worthy of note in seeking to understand the intimate links between city and

suburbs. Thousands who consider themselves genuine New Yorkers-who make

important contributions to the city's intellectual and economic life, who if

asked on a London street corner where they come from would reply "New

York"-actually live elsewhere.

New York taxpayers may grumble

about this, and with some justification, but it's a fact all the same. New

York's political boundaries are at odds with its intellectual and psychic

boundaries, which is why two football teams representing New York play their

games in New Jersey, and why so many tributes to New York post–Sept. 11 were

delivered to people who "merely" worked in the city. It seems possible that Mr.

Bloomberg and his circle do not understand this, and that doesn't bode well for

the next four years.

New Yorkers-the best of

them-will leave if they feel unsafe, if their children are poorly served in

public schools, if their taxes are too high and service delivery too spotty.

Mr. Bloomberg and his crowd may regard such flight as evidence of low IQ.

Others would suggest that those who leave under such circumstances are a good

deal smarter than those who boast of their authentic New York credentials in

the back seats of their town cars.

Ah, what memories such a question inspires! Remember the Charles Schumer-Alfonse D'Amato spendathon in 1998? What about the Mario Cuomo-George Pataki contest in 1994? How about the self-financed campaigns of Ronald Lauder and Lewis Lehrman, who spread millions around in their vain attempts to win the mayoralty in 1989 and the governorship in 1981, respectively. Nelson Rockefeller spent his own money on campaigns back in the days when a dollar was a dollar. And what about the ongoing spectacle featuring Hillary Rodham Clinton and Mayor Rudolph Giuliani? That one figures to break $50 million, to the delight of campaign consultants and television station owners.

All of these admirable supply-side efforts, however, seem like spare change when compared to a famous State Senate campaign in Rockland and Orange counties last year. The winner, as you no doubt recall, was Republican Thomas P. Morahan, and the campaign he ran surely was the costliest ever inflicted on the bedraggled citizens of New York. The bill comes in at $360 million, and unlike standard campaigns, this will be an annual charge. And the tab will be presented not to the twisted arms of campaign contributors, but to New York City taxpayers.

What's that? You don't recall the famous Rockland-Orange special election for State Senate in 1999? And you've never heard of the Honorable Thomas P. Morahan? Well, that's unfortunate, because this city of crumbling school buildings, underpaid teachers and police officers, poorly maintained infrastructure, etc., will be paying for cheap politics in Rockland and Orange counties for years to come.

Last spring, in an obscure local election for an obscure position in the obscure state Senate, a stout-hearted tax-cutter, i.e., Mr. Morahan, decided to play demagogue on the issue of New York City's miniscule commuter tax, which has been in effect since 1966. Oh, how he went on and on about its horrors and injustices, rarely pointing out that at .45 percent, it wasn't exactly forcing Rockland County residents who worked in the city to choose between paying the mortgage or paying the city. (Several years ago, I spent a couple of hours in Grand Central Terminal interviewing commuters about the commuter tax. More than half didn't even know they were paying a paltry $45 for every $10,000 they were earning.)

Mr. Morahan's careful analysis of the subject inspired a brilliant response. The Democrats shouted "Me, too!" This clever tactic meant that the Republicans would not be the only demagogues in the campaign. By gum, a Democrat can pander as well as any Republican tax-hater!

For reasons that hardly need elaboration, it was decided that the true test of a genuine city-hating, tax-loathing demagogue is action, not words. So a bill to end the city's commuter tax on in-state residents was hastily drawn up so that the Republican-led State Senate and the Republican Governor could express their enthusiasm and then point to the nasty Democratic-led Assembly, filled with all kinds of unsavory city politicos, as the fleecers of suburban purses.

Ah, but Assembly Speaker Sheldon Silver, guardian of the city's interests in Albany, was too clever for these ham-handed Republicans. Nobody was going to make him into a defender of the poor, a champion of immigrants, a patron of patronage. No, sir: Mr. Silver announced that he, too, would support an end to the commuter tax. And so it was done. Commuters from Long Island and the counties north of the Bronx were relieved of the .45 percent charge, and the city lost an annual revenue stream of $210 million. Commuters from out of state, however, were still contributing a small amount to support the city. They, after all, could not vote in obscure state Senate races in the New York suburbs.

On April 4, New York's Court of Appeals announced, not surprisingly, that out-of-state commuters were entitled to the same tax benefit, which meant that the city lost an additional $150 million a year. Splendid. Thanks to a cheap political stunt gone mad, the city lost $360 million a year to help make Thomas P. Morahan a State Senator.

Critics of campaign finance reform scream in horror at the very thought of setting aside public funds to pay for political campaigns. But, as any student of politics in this well-governed state knows, the public already pays for political campaigns. They do so unknowingly, by paying the public salaries of political operatives disguised as "policy experts" and by contributing to a state budget filled with gimmicks designed to make incumbents look invincible.

And now city residents will have to pay for a $360 million hole in the city budget created because a man in Rockland County wished to be called "Honorable."