Two very different models of public engagement are being played out right now about some of the same Buffalo public space. 

One is by the Albright-Knox Art Gallery, which sits at the border of two large plots of land that, in the 19th century, were designed by Frederick Law Olmsted. The gallery is at the western edge of Delaware Park and it abuts what used to be part of the open landscape designed by Olmsted for the mental institution designed by his friend, Henry H. Richardson. (More than half of that property was later occupied by SUNY Buffalo State.)

The other is by the group currently entrusted with maintaining what remains of Olmsted’s astonishing work here, the Olmsted Conservancy.

The Albright-Knox Art Gallery, a state-chartered entity dedicated to operate on the cutting edge of modern art, has adopted a model of full public engagement. The Olmsted Conservancy has adopted a model of keeping the public out until all decisions have been made, all deals have been cut. 

So, ironically, while coping with the present and planning for the future, a grand neoclassical building on Elmwood Avenue keeps operating in daylight, while the Olmsted system, which spreads all over the city, works very hard in the dark. 

Working on the sly 

Two major projects are in process at the Conservancy. The public hasn’t been invited at all into conversation about one of them, and the public involvement in the other has been bogus. (See “Loaded Dice at the Marcy Casino” in the August 3, 2016 edition of The Public.)  

One is the double golf course plus educational enterprise proposed by local gadfly Kevin Gaughan. It would reconfigure the golf course in Delaware Park, redesign South Park, set up a private golf course somewhere in South Buffalo, construct an arboretum envisioned by Olmsted but never fully realized, and establish a new educational institution that would magically be an accredited element in the Buffalo school system. 

The Conservancy is considering that without any public conversation whatsoever. There has been nothing other than announcements and very long planted articles in the Buffalo News and on the Buffalo Rising website.

Were it not for what happened with the Marcy Casino, we might assume that, if Gaughan’s plans ever got close to being feasible, the Conservancy would admit the public into the conversation. 

But they didn’t do that with the Casino. They made the deal first, in secret, then had two informational public meetings at which they announced what they were going to do (April 6 and April 28), and a third meeting (July 27) that was supposed to engage public input, but resulted in a report that ignored all that input and resulted in a conclusion identical to the deal cut in secret. The third meeting took place only because of public kickback about lack of consultation all along.

The report (you can read it here) is almost entirely in the passive voice. As any English teacher will tell you, the passive voice is a way of saying things happened without admitting anyone was responsible for them. It’s okay to say, “It rained.” It’s not okay to say, “The gun went off and that guy got shot.”

The report starts with the premise that the Conservancy can partner with a private operator to turn a public facility into a destination restaurant/bar, without asking the public if it might prefer other uses for that building, and without asking other operators for alternate proposals for utilization of that space and providing services to park users. It tells of votes it solicited on behalf of that restaurant/bar, some of which took place in other restaurant/bars operated by the people who want to operate this one, and none of which offered an opportunity to vote on anything else.

In a recent conference call with board members (according to one of those board members), Olmsted executive director Stephanie Crockatt said all objections had been met, all questions had been answered, and a report was being sent to Mayor Byron Brown, and that Brown was ready to sign off on it.

So, basically, they cut a deal in secret, then held two meetings telling the public what they’d done. Then, after public pressure, they held a third (conducted by UB Architecture dean Robert Shibley, who permitted no discussion and no questions at that meeting) that was supposed to introduce public input into the process, and then arrived where they started. 

Working in daylight

The Albright-Knox Art Gallery has taken exactly the opposite approach. They’ve known for years that they needed more space: They can currently exhibit only a fraction of their huge collection, and if they use their available space for more items from the collection, they can’t put on shows of new work.

Last year, they had several public meetings, asking everyone to suggest anything. They’re calling the expansion process “AK360.” In subsequent meetings they engaged the public again and again. They held a competition among architects, the results of which were public. Last Friday, the Albright-Knox held a public event to announce that—thanks to an astonishing $42.5 million gift by Los Angeles bond trader Jeffrey Gundlach (who grew up in Buffalo) and an enthusiastic responses from Erie County, New York State, and Buffalo foundations and individuals—it had raised $103 million, $23 million beyond its original goal. 

The gallery could stop now and do what its board and staff want to do. But they’ve chosen a different route. Along with their architectural partner, OMA, the gallery had a large interactive meeting at the Buffalo Convention Center on September 27. There will be more once they engage landscape architects to ensure that the new structure is in harmony with Olmsted’s design.

So why is one in secret and one in public?

The Olmsted Conservancy, so far as I know, owns nothing. Its power in the city of Buffalo is entirely dependent on the contractual agreement it has with the city of Buffalo. 

The city of Buffalo does not provide the Conservancy with sufficient funds to maintain the Olmsted system. So the Conservancy has become an entity of well-meaning hustlers. It is desperately scuffling for money to do work for the community, but, in the process, it has decided to lock the community out of its fundraising efforts and its mission. It refuses to release its operating budget or its contract with the Marcy Casino operators. Under pressure, it put on a sham “public consultation” session that affected nothing. The report it submitted to the mayor contains everything but specificity.

The property it maintains is all open space. But for openness of process, go to the magnificent E. B. Green building where Delaware Park ends.

Bruce Jackson is SUNY Distinguished Professor and James Agee Professor of American Culture at the University at Buffalo.