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How sick is City Hall? (continued)

BY KRISTEN LOMBARDI

The few employees who will talk about the issue stand behind the year-old petition. Take the man who initiated it. In a brief phone conversation with the Phoenix from his City Hall desk, Michael Connery, who works for the Parking Clerk, in room 224, confirmed that he launched the signature drive in response to "all the complaints about this building." When asked if the complaints are still legitimate, he replied, "Yes, of course."

Still, that’s as far as Connery would go. He spoke about the issue with palpable anger, as if disillusioned by the whole affair. He went through the hassle of collecting signatures, only to watch fellow employees clam up when the council responded. Asked why so many colleagues signed his appeal yet failed to turn out at hearings, he said, "I busted my ass and only four City Hall employees show up." He continued: "I told Mickey Roache I’ve had it. I give up." On that note, he hung up.

If Connery keeps things close to his vest, so do those who spoke at the most recent public hearing. One City Hall employee who appeared before the health committee is Deborah Boyd, who works for the Elderly Commission, in room 271. On March 26, Boyd testified that she and her 50-odd co-workers battle a host of problems. There is the windowless office, which seals out sunlight. There are the pungent odors, similar to smoke, vomit, and chemicals, that force even the most dedicated workhorses to go home early. Finally, there is the bizarre "burning sensation" that attacks the eyes for weeks at a time. Boyd told councilors that as much as 80 percent of the Elderly Commission staff suffer from symptoms affiliated with sick-building syndrome.

Clearly, Boyd has valid health concerns. But when the Phoenix approached her to request an interview just two days later, she balked. "I’m not ready to talk about this with a newspaper," she explained, adding that she did what she "had to do" by testifying. "But there’s a big difference between testifying and talking to a newspaper," she argued, rather unconvincingly. Again, that’s where the conversation ended.

These are, no doubt, curious responses. But talk to union officials and you begin to understand the behavior. According to David Barclay, of the Service International Employees Union (SEIU) Local 285, which represents nearly 400 City Hall employees, many members (like Boyd and Connery) remain convinced the municipal building is eroding their health. And it is widely recognized that some offices seem worse than others; the Elderly Commission stands out as the worst. As Barclay puts it, "Room 271 is blatantly ill." Troublesome spots include the Assessing Department, in room 302, and the Treasury Department, in room M5. Yet these employees refuse to talk — even to Barclay. "They have called Roache’s office," he says, "which has informed me that these members do not want to be named."

To hear Barclay tell it, reluctance among personnel to voice concerns stems from what he calls "street smarts." City Hall employees tend to think of themselves as "family." Those who jeopardize this unified image — by, say, stirring up negative publicity — could face consequences. "If I worked in City Hall and went to the press about an issue," he says, "it might be difficult for me to get a promotion."

City Hall insiders echo the sentiment. Menino, the theory goes, boasts a reputation as a leader who does not tolerate action that, in the words of one insider, "goes against the team." Naturally, the attitude trickles down to administrators and filters through corridors to the rank and file. Thus, many observers attribute the silence to fear. Two city officials told the Phoenix that, soon after the petition was delivered to Menino’s office last April, employees who had signed it began approaching Connery and requesting that their names be erased. Another City Hall insider lauds the "sheer courage" displayed by Boyd for offering two minutes’ worth of testimony. "When city workers make public complaints," the insider claims, "they take it seriously because of the administration’s heavy-handedness."

It should be noted that no one can cite attempts by the administration to muzzle its workforce. Roache, for one, attests that no employee has blamed intimidation for the silence. At the same time, he and others cannot help but notice how edgy people seem when discussing this issue. "One employee was very uptight and anxious just talking to me in the hall," Roache says. The employee later produced medical records to back up the sick-building claims, yet refused to hand them over, as though afraid it would come back to haunt him. City Hall workers, after all, know the administration must grapple with a financial shortfall. Cuts and layoffs are imminent. People, in short, might fear doing anything that could set them up as targets.

Administration officials, for their part, deny that employees would suffer for their dissent. Nagle, Menino’s spokesperson, maintains "anyone and everyone" who felt compelled to testify about sick-building syndrome did so at the December and March hearings. "There isn’t any retribution going on," he insists. "That’s not an element accepted by the mayor or anyone in his administration."

Basic City Services chief Galvin contends he hasn’t even seen the year-old petition, although he knows it exists. He refuses to look at it precisely because "I don’t want to spot someone in the hall and have him think I’m upset [with him for signing]." As far as he’s concerned, employees worried about the building’s effects on their health should speak out. "I respect their right to do so."

In any event, Galvin thinks the debate is moot, since City Hall got the thumbs up from three environmental consultants. The first, Woburn-based ATC Associates, conducted an indoor-air-quality study at the facility in April and May 2001. Two months later, Occuhealth, in Mansfield, performed another air study. In August 2001, Galvin hired Boston-based Hygienetics Environmental Services to appraise City Hall "in the spirit of cooperation," he says. All three firms carried out a basic survey of seven elements indicative of air quality, including carbon dioxide, temperature, humidity, and airborne particles. While measurements varied from floor to floor, and some measured elements exceeded safety guidelines, consultants effectively found nothing amiss. They also inspected City Hall for water damage and visible mold, but uncovered no evidence of trouble — save for the occasional "overflowing drip pan" in the ventilation system. Simply put, City Hall passed with flying colors. The ATC Associates report of May 11, 2001, concludes, "We did not identify any building-wide or acute air-quality issues."

For Galvin, all this proves that City Hall does not make people sick. He recognizes that some employees are "sensitive" to workplaces, but reads the reports as a vindication. "The administration is on the right track maintaining a 33-year-old building," he says. Though he hastens to add that "we don’t rest on our laurels. We will monitor problems."

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Issue Date: April 11 - 18, 2002
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