Friday, Jan. 14, 1966
Fresh Style at City Hall
Originally, John Lindsay's inauguration as New York's first Republican mayor in 20 years was planned to be the city's most gala political fling since George Washington's presidential inauguration in 1789. There was to be a sort of floating celebration, with swinging parties in all five boroughs and a glittering inaugural ball in Manhattan. Mike Quill's strike fixed all that--everything was canceled except the ball--but it could not subdue the high spirit and fresh style that John Lindsay brought to a tired office. In the inaugural ballroom at the Americana Hotel, only floors away from strike negotiation headquarters, the mayor and his wife Mary acted as if they had not a care in the world, danced across the bandstand to the tune of Oh, Johnny as a crowd of 4,000 applauded.
New Light. For years New York's mayors have traditionally taken their oath of office on the city hall steps at 12:01 a.m. Jan. 1, but Lindsay decided to make a change. The father of four young children (aged 5 to 15), he ordered the ceremony for 6 p.m. on New Year's Eve so that the kids could see it without missing their bedtimes. Next day he repeated the oath and delivered his inaugural address on the steps of city hall only hours after the city had been paralyzed by the strike. "New Yorkers have always sought out the newest and best in their own lives," he said. "As citizens, however, they collectively tolerated a government possessing neither attribute. Until now."
Lindsay's address made it very clear that he was well aware of the new atmosphere that he was bringing to New York. He spoke of creating "The Proud City," and told the crowd of 2,500: "Let those who compile riches from the misery of slums hear this message as their eviction notice: there will be no compromise with the profiteers of poverty. Let those who exploit human [narcotics] addiction hear me clearly: New York will no longer be your marketplace. We will combat terror in the streets. And we will do so with full respect for the rights and privileges of every citizen. The New York for which we are fighting is as old as the vision of brotherhood. It is a city in which there will be new light in tired eyes."
With the exception of his appearance at his inaugural ball that night, John Lindsay was deeply immersed in the strike for the rest of the week. Day after day, he lunched at his desk, mainly on sandwiches and milk. Night after night, he went to bed in his Roosevelt Hotel suite after 1 a.m., rose before 6 a.m. For the first four days of the week, he set an example for New Yorkers by walking the four miles from hotel to city hall--until Mary Lindsay asked: "Don't you think this is a little silly?" Reporters who had scampered desperately to keep up with Lindsay's seven-league strides were delighted to see the walks end.
Health Buff. For most of the time, Lindsay seemed to thrive on his exhausting schedule. Again and again he appeared on television--reasonably clear-eyed and full of confidence--to encourage and inform New Yorkers. One day he spent almost 18 marathon bargaining hours at the Americana in what proved to be a futile hope that a settlement was near. Between the hours devoured by the strike, he discussed with aides some of the issues that will face his administration: the city's $200 million deficit, his plans to streamline the government, appointments to key posts. He even found time to slip away to the City Athletic Club, where he took a swim, did two sets of 20 push-ups and had a steam bath. One of his early goals as mayor is to renovate the gym in city hall--a facility rarely used during previous administrations.
By week's end the strain and tension began to show. Lindsay's shoulders were stooped a bit; his step was slightly slower. When a reporter asked him about his first week in office, Lindsay grinned and said, "You mean it's only been a week?" He had had so much exposure that many New Yorkers already felt that they knew him as well as they had ever known Bob Wagner.
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