All the Mayor's Men

Fresh from his latest blockbuster Plan of Attack, a tell-all about the Bush II administration's path to war, Watergate star reporter Bob Woodward is set to release another shocking political exposé. This one hits even closer to home. Behind These Walls, Woodward's forthcoming book, provides a no-holds-barred look at the last two years of Nashville Mayor Bill Purcell's administration. After getting unprecedented access to Purcell's inner sanctum, along with dozens of interviews with the typically guarded mayor himself, Woodward offers an inside glimpse as only he can into the way Nashville's top executive runs one of Tennessee's largest cities. Perhaps most surprising are the odd similarities between Woodward's current book and his new one. Some juicy excerpts:

Page 4: Last November, Deputy Mayor Bill Phillips, in a lunchtime meeting with Mt. Juliet Mayor Kevin Mack at The Palm, revealed Metro's decision to cut the school budget by at least $40 million in light of the city's projected budget shortfall. Later that afternoon, Mack ran into Purcell and expressed surprise that he wasn't going to exempt public education from the city's belt-tightening. Purcell replied curtly, "No decision has been made yet. We are going to explore different options." Shortly thereafter, reports indicated Metro schools director Pedro Garcia had gone into hiding.

Page 6: The decision to slash the school budget exposed a serious rift in the Purcell administration between hardliners and more moderate voices. Of the latter, the mayor's counselor, Patrick Willard, argued that the mayor's office should not act unilaterally against the deeply entrenched teachers' union. With legislative director Jane Alvis, Willard tried to negotiate a compromise, asking for extra support from the city's school board. What Willard did not know was that Purcell's budget hawks, finance chief David Manning and Deputy Mayor Bill Phillips, already had the mayor's ear. Over a lunch of extra-rare steaks at The Palm, Purcell sided with Manning and Phillips, while the blissfully unaware Willard was out for a run at Shelby Bottoms.

Page 6: Notes from the lunch meeting also show that Purcell was already considering "the Williamson County question" as early as last November. Tucking into his braised filet at The Palm, Phillips argued that the explosive growth of the suburban county threatened Nashville. Aerial photographs showed what could be a Cheesecake Factory logo and a new J. Crew outlet, indicating the capability for mass development. "If developers had their way," Phillips said in his coldly rational way, "they could overtake Metro in 45 minutes." But when Purcell discussed the potential danger with his chief intelligence operative, Metro Planning Department executive director Rick Bernhardt, the planning chief dismissed his worries. While the sprawl of the bordering county was "tacky and nauseating," Bernhardt said, "it didn't represent a imminent threat." Later, Phillips and Manning conspired to keep Bernhardt and Willard out of the loop on all discussions regarding "Operation Outback Freedom."

Page 7: In perhaps the first sign that the mayor's office underestimated its enemies, a fanatical fringe element of the Metro Council loyal to the deposed Tony Derryberry regime torpedoed the selection of Eileen Beehan to the Metro Traffic and Parking Commission. Inside Purcell's "War Room" at The Palm, under the stern gaze of Rudy Kalis' caricature, Phillips vowed swift retaliation. Sawing off chunks of an iceberg wedge drizzled with minced almonds and a low-carb vinaigrette, Phillips urged Purcell to send four patrol cars to the home of Harold White, the doddering council member who led the opposition. With allowances for plausible deniability, Phillips suggested that Metro's finest "dig up that nitwit from his spider hole" and toss him in Stones River. But the moderates, Alvis and Willard, argued that such a move "would set a bad precedent." In a measured strike, Purcell agreed to cancel refilling a pothole near White's Leatherwood Drive residence. Purcell smiled in satisfaction, lifted a forkful of mushrooms sautéed in wine and garlic, and said, "It is done."

Page 8: By video conference at The Palm, Phillips tells a gathering at the Elks Lodge that Metro's proposed cuts to the schools budget "won't result in one single teacher position being eliminated." Upon hearing the news secondhand, Willard goes ballistic and makes a U-turn on the "Iron Man" trail at Shelby Bottoms. When he gets to his office, Willard learns that he was literally the last person to hear it from Purcell, right after council member Feller Brown, Round Table co-host Karlen Evins, a dry cleaner in Antioch and WSMV weatherman Tim Ross.

Page 10: A report from the Metro Finance Department suggests that Metro schools director Pedro Garcia has a $500,000 slush fund, four Hummers and a $5 million summer home in South Beach. Willard and Alvis, between bites of The Palm's signature flourless chocolate ganache, dispute the report as "bogus intelligence." Buried in the report is evidence of numerous phone calls to Garcia from undisclosed numbers in Miami.

Page 11: When Purcell was considering candidates for Metro finance chief, an intriguing selection came up: TSU President Jim Hefner, a former economics professor. During the interview process, over a second helping of The Palm's a la carte au-gratin potatoes, Purcell asked Hefner how he would handle a budget crisis. Hefner's response: Metro should simply stall creditors by sending checks out without signing them. The job was his until he made a sticking point of Titans skybox seats.