BRIAN MCGRORY
Bad hair day in Boston
By Brian McGrory, Globe Columnist | February 2, 2007
Here's the column I was going to write for this morning's paper.
I was going to write that if Deval Patrick and Martha Coakley had any guts, they would have put a couple of troopers on an airplane bound for Atlanta Wednesday night and arrested the head of marketing at Turner Broadcasting.
They would have dispatched troopers to New York to bring back the owner of Interference Inc., the genius firm behind the guerrilla ad campaign that brought our city to its knees.
If they weren't going to do that, then it was only because they knew the chairman of Turner was going to appear in Boston yesterday with a pair of half-million dollar checks -- one for the city, the other for the state -- and a heartfelt apology to every inconvenienced resident.
I was going to write that it's certainly laudable that we're vigilant and -- given what happened on Sept. 11, 2001, and Boston's incidental role -- understandable why. In this day and age, you can't hang circuit boards with dangling wires from sensitive structures like bridges and buildings. But weren't we all getting a little carried away when Thomas M. Menino and Patrick would only talk inside the Cone of Silence all day?
Most of all, I was going to write that it was a bush league overreaction by Coakley to arrest those two 20- something artists Wednesday night and make them scapegoats for something that was obviously out of their control. It was unconscionable that the two guys, Sean Stevens and Peter Berdovsky, spent a night in jail.
The stunt wasn't their idea. They were told where to put the light boards. They were paid a mere $300 apiece for their work, and they haven't even received their checks yet.
I was going to write about how I was chatting in the lobby at Charlestown District Court yesterday with a nice woman who identified herself as Berdovsky's surrogate mother. While she waited for him to post bail, she described how Berdovsky came here as an exchange student from Belarus, was granted political asylum, and has lived with her family for most of the last 10 years.
"He is a sweet guy, very funny, great with kids, great with animals," she said. "He's the most peaceful guy you could imagine."
She said her name was Betty Rich.
Rich as in wealthy?
"Like I wish I was," she said.
Her husband, Michael Rich, served as their lawyer. In the lobby, he said of Berdovsky: "Wonderful, unique, brilliant, artistic, creative."
Josh Kastorf approached us and explained that the reason his friend, Stevens, had laughed during the arraignment was that "he was trying to show people he was OK."
The authorities, I was going to conclude, owe these guys an apology.
But an odd thing happened on the way to clarity. Berdovsky and Stevens made bail. They appeared outside the courthouse in front of the news media. Everyone prepared for what would undoubtedly be an expression of contrition. Instead, they got in front of the cameras and talked about hair, not any kind of hair, but "haircuts in the '70s." Seriously, they wouldn't talk about anything else.
They were asked if they were sorry.
"Do you guys have any hair questions?" Stevens replied.
What was it like to spend the night in jail?
"That's not a hair question," Berdovsky answered. And so forth.
Ah, an on-camera gag -- how clever. They probably even considered it art. Instead, it was sophomoric, a thumb in the eye to the public at large.
Finally, someone asked Rich, their earnest lawyer, if he was embarrassed by his clients' behavior.
He was, certainly, but responded, shrugging, "They're performance artists."
Perfect. So make idiocy a crime and let them perform about a thousand hours of community service because last night's formal apology was, literally, an afterthought.
Then let this whole strange episode be over, because nobody, nobody came out looking particularly good.
Brian McGrory is a Globe columnist.