THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, June 5, 1994 TAG: 9406040208
SECTION: BUSINESS PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY EARL SWIFT, Staff writer
DATELINE: 940605 LENGTH: Long
For years they'd danced around one another - Mackie, a vice president at Nordstrom Inc., the nation's premier department store chain, and Smithwick, Norfolk's chief business recruiter.
{REST} The two men had come to know each other well, and a partnership between City Hall and the Seattle-based company had evolved from remote fantasy to intriguing possibility.
Enough so that Smithwick had come to believe that a deal was simply a matter of time and persistence. He'd arrived feeling upbeat for this meeting, bringing along a lieutenant, Charlie Bauman.
When he began his pitch, however, his host interrupted. ``You know, Bob, I really hate to say this to you, but we're just not going to do the Norfolk deal.''
The memory of that morning - May 21, 1993 - still makes Smithwick wince.
Though Nordstrom had gently rebuffed Norfolk's advances in the past, it had never given the city a hard-and-fast ``No.'' Mackie's words seemed to signal the death of a long courtship.
They would not, however, be his last.
Smithwick's letter to James Nordstrom 5 1/2 years ago is known among salesmen as a ``cold call.'' It was aimed at a buyer who didn't know him or his product, and like spiels spun door-to-door, it arrived unannounced.
``Dear Mr. Nordstrom,'' the Sept. 7, 1988, letter began. ``I recently read with great interest your 1987 annual report describing Nordstrom's outstanding contributions to the retail industry.
``Norfolk, Virginia, has also received recognition as one of the most dynamic and innovative of American cities . . .''
Like many cold calls, Smithwick's effort didn't accomplish much. He followed it with a second letter, 13 months later, again to James Nordstrom, one of four co-chairmen of the company's board.
``I have been following with interest Nordstrom's bold series of expansions in the retail industry,'' he wrote, adding that he planned to visit Seattle and would welcome a meeting.
When Smithwick's assistant, Margaret Beane, called the company a few days later, she learned that Nordstrom had passed the letter on to David Mackie, the chain's vice president for real estate. On Oct. 25, Mackie wrote to Smithwick that he'd be happy to speak with him.
They were to get to know one another well. Mackie, now 46, is a former accountant who'd had Nordstrom as a client for 10 years before joining the firm himself. Tall, dark-haired and athletic, with a quiet, slow speaking style, he is often at his desk in downtown Seattle at 6:30 a.m.
Smithwick, 67, is a lifelong salesman, a former Texaco vice president who rose through the ranks in a career that spanned 30 years. Six feet, 4 inches tall, blessed with an expressive baritone voice and fond of dark suits and crisp white shirts, he looks and sounds like one of the corporate bosses he woos as Norfolk's director of development.
He'd been hired after his retirement to help the city lure big corporate fish. Expectations were high.
But his 1986 switch to the public sector had not been entirely smooth. Accustomed to getting his way, right away, Smithwick struck many of his new colleagues as imperious and condescending. ``Smithwickian'' became an adjective understood by all in Norfolk government.
``He's a pain in the ass in a lot of ways,'' Assistant City Manager Ronald W. Massie said. ``He can really get under your skin. But he delivers.''
Smithwick and Mackie's first meeting came in Seattle on Dec. 1, 1989. Smithwick and Beane showed Mackie drawings and slides depicting downtown Norfolk's central location in the region. They outlined embryonic plans for an office and retail park around artificial lakes. A Nordstrom store would fit nicely, they suggested.
Mackie was cordial. He suggested they make their presentation to John Whitacre, who headed the company's Capital Region from an office in Tyson's Corner in Northern Virginia.
But Mackie also made clear that Nordstrom ``normally'' preferred traditional shopping centers to downtown locations.
This complicated the city's pitch, for a downtown store would best answer Norfolk's needs, particularly if it were built on a weedy asphalt desert north of the MacArthur Memorial.
Of the open land in Hampton Roads, little offers as much potential as this hole in downtown's heart - an expanse so lacking noteworthy features that for decades it has been known simply by its physical area: the ``17 Acres.''
Thirty-five years ago, the tract was slums and warehouses. It has spent the time since as a parking lot, awaiting that white knight project the city insisted would someday cap downtown's revitalization.
Each proposal has been vexed, however. An enclosed shopping mall, revolutionary when it was proposed in 1963, died for lack of willing tenants. A decade later, ``Norfolk Gardens,'' a domed complex of shops, offices and an amusement park, turned turtle amid political haggling.
In the mid-1980s, suggestions for a landscaped campus of offices, shops and hotel rooms withered in a market downturn. A few years later, the city's ``Downtown Norfolk 2000'' plan would have dotted the property with office towers and man-made lakes.
Downtown suffered no shortage of office space, however, and now City Hall was again eyeing the site as a home for retail.
Not just any retail. The piecemeal death of Granby Street had made it clear that most downtown department stores couldn't compete with their suburban brethren. Rices Nachmans and Smith & Welton, once anchors of downtown retail, had packed up for the hinterlands.
If retail was to succeed, it would have to come in the form of a shopping experience not offered by existing malls. Something so enticing that shoppers from throughout the region, and beyond, would forsake old haunts and habits to trek to the inner city.
The 74-store Nordstrom chain seemed that sort of draw. The Seattle-based company had won a reputation for quality goods and exceptional service. Its no-questions-asked return policy was legend: In one memorable episode, a store clerk accepted the return of a used car tire, though no Nordstrom store had ever sold automotive products.
``That was sort of a symbol of the standard you would aspire to if there were no limitations,'' City Manager James B. Oliver Jr. said. ``In the early stages, we were trying to conceptualize: What is it that we want? And Nordstrom got to be the adjective we used to describe what that was. Rather than saying `one of a kind,' it sent a message as to what you were trying to visualize as your goal.''
Mackie offered hope in a Dec. 4, 1989, note thanking Smithwick for the visit: ``Norfolk holds interest to us as a future opportunity.''
The next month, Smithwick and Beane met Whitacre in his office on the third floor of Nordstrom's Tyson's Corner store, the first the company had built on the East Coast.
Their objective: Get Whitacre to Norfolk, where he could see the 17 Acres and meet the city's public and private-sector leaders.
They succeeded. On the morning of Feb. 21, 1990, Whitacre met with Smithwick's staff in the Development Department's sharply appointed conference room, on City Hall's sixth floor. The city people walked through their vision for downtown's resurgence and spoke at length about the site's potential.
What followed was the sort of red-carpet afternoon the city uses to impress major clients: lunch at the Town Point Club with Oliver, then-Mayor Joseph A. Leafe, Councilman Mason C. Andrews, and a Sovran Bank vice president; then a helicopter tour of Hampton Roads, buzzing over eight of the region's nine big malls.
``We didn't fool ourselves about what it was,'' Oliver said, ``but he was saying, `Hey, this is pretty impressive. There's a lot more to this than I thought there was.' ''
Indeed, Whitacre appeared a bit overwhelmed. ``What a great place,'' he wrote to Leafe. ``It's obvious that you, Mr. Smithwick and all of the other nice people I met take a great deal of pride in your city. How could anyone not be interested in your plan?''
Smithwick wrote later that before he left, Whitacre promised that ``if we put together a presentation . . .,'' they would win an audience with James Nordstrom, his brothers John and Bruce, and their brother-in-law, John McMillan.
The meeting proved elusive. In April and May, Smithwick shipped Whitacre demographic information.
Whitacre reported he had passed it on to Seattle. ``Please keep us up-to-date as to any changes, and we will try to determine if or when we should consider a store for your market,'' he wrote in May 1990. ``At this point, with our existing plans for new stores in so many areas . . . it is impossible to be more specific.''
Quite cooler than his earlier letter to the mayor. Seeking to maintain momentum, Smithwick, Beane and Charlie Bauman headed to Tyson's Corner in June.
They came away with a suggestion for ``a common-sense agreement'' between the city, a developer and the store, ``with minimal risk being taken by Nordstrom,'' Smithwick wrote later. ``We are looking at a time frame of October-November 1990 for a visit to Seattle for the presentation.''
Mackie wrote Smithwick to call ``sometime after Sept. 7, the date we open our first Northeast store,'' to arrange a summit.
On Sept. 10, the city made an appointment with the Nordstrom brass for Nov. 1. But every time Smithwick's assistant called to confirm the date, she was told the company would get back to her. Finally, on Oct. 15, Mackie called and said the appointment was premature; Nordstrom had filled its expansion plans through 1995.
Twice put off, Smithwick again visited Whitacre. This time he proposed that Nordstrom consider the vacant Smith & Welton store at Granby Street and College Place.
As they eyed artist's sketches of the place, Whitacre's comments suggested that the only suitable Nordstrom for that location was a ``rack store,'' a discount outlet.
``It appeared clear that that should not be our objective,'' Smithwick wrote the next day, ``and we then moved to pursue Nordstrom establishing a full-service store on the 17-acre site.''
Whitacre was firm in his belief that the company wouldn't be interested for several years. Smithwick asked what it would take to bring the store to Norfolk sooner. An answer, of sorts, came in a letter from Mackie in January 1991.
``Bob, as I mentioned, our first hurdle is determining if a specific market has the kind of characteristics which we believe will make us successful,'' he wrote. ``Our second hurdle is the actual development, with the third hurdle being the financial nature of our involvement.
``In order for you to provide a better analysis of the market, I suggest you commission a market study by a reputable retail consultant.''
And so, City Hall began looking into recent Nordstrom deals with Denver and Indianapolis, and talking with Simon Development, which was handling the Indianapolis project.
``One of Bob's bywords is that you sell from the customer's point of view,'' said Massie, the assistant city manager.
``He found out a lot of things about what impressed them - found out what developers they were comfortable working with, and talked with them.''
In May 1991, Whitacre was transferred to Seattle and promoted to the co-presidency of Nordstrom. Norfolk now had a friend at the top, and a chance to woo his replacement in Washington.
The new Capital Region boss, Marty Wikstrom, arrived May 30.
That June, Norfolk was the starting point of the Great American Race pitting 100 antique cars in a 13-day journey to Seattle. The sole Virginia entry was Oliver Farinholt, a Virginia Beach builder responsible for several Norfolk public projects.
Seeing a chance to grab Nordstrom's attention, the Development Department signed on as one of Farinholt's sponsors and asked him to deliver a letter from the mayor to James Nordstrom after the race.
``Please accept this as my personal invitation, as well as that of our City Council, and our private sector partners, to have Nordstrom come and be a part of this great community,'' Leafe wrote. ``As mayor of the city, you have my assurance that we will do everything possible to assist your company in establishing its retail presence in our city, and then work with you toward a successful venture.''
But Farinholt, dogged by mechanical troubles, didn't deliver the letter, forcing Smithwick to fax it to Nordstrom July 8.
Still, it was effective. Seattle passed it on to Marty Wikstrom, who answered: ``I must say how flattered I was and pleased that you think highly enough of our company to make such an invitation.''
A Norfolk store ``may take many years,'' she wrote, ``but I'm sure that your interest is highly appreciated and considered by the Nordstrom family.''
So encouraged, Smithwick and Beane headed to Tyson's Corner on July 23, 1991, to introduce themselves. Wikstrom agreed to visit Norfolk.
But she postponed the trip several times, and it wasn't until June 22, 1992, 11 months later, that she and Mackie made good on the promise.
As with Whitacre's visit, Smithwick took pains to orchestrate a memorable stay for the pair. ``The OBJECTIVE of the meeting is SINGLEFOLD,'' he wrote to his staff beforehand. ``To convince them that our site will produce the economic results they seek in new store development.''
Two potential hurdles loomed. ``1. This is a downtown location. We must convince them of its CENTRAL location and the GREAT ACCESSIBILITY, and
``2. The public safety facts as they relate to the site and those things in close proximity.''
The second concern was understandable. Just east of the 17 Acres sprawled the Tidewater Gardens public housing project, and suburban perception held that it and other stretches of downtown were dangerous - whether or not the facts bore that out.
On June 23, 1992, Smithwick and Bauman met Mackie and Wikstrom for breakfast at the Waterside Marriott, then took them to City Hall for a slide presentation.
After visiting the 17 Acres and having lunch, Smithwick and guests drove over to the Taiwanese pagoda on downtown's west side, where they boarded a helicopter for an aerial tour.
``You and your group provided us with a most enjoyable and interesting day,'' Mackie wrote later. ``I was particularly impressed by the redevelopment successes (Norfolk) has accomplished.
``After we have had a chance to digest what we learned, I will get back to you . . . on how we should proceed.''
Meanwhile, Smithwick's team was trying to line up a second high-end store for what was beginning to look like a large urban mall. After Nordstrom, the name that most frequently came up was Macy's.
Norfolk's even lengthier pursuit of Macy's had started with pie-in-the-sky wishfulness. In May 1984, then-City Manager Julian F. Hirst heard that the chain planned 40 new stores. Hirst fired off a memo to Development, wondering ``whether there was any possibility the city could look into it and make an effort to get a Macy's to Norfolk.''
But later that month, Macy's told a Development staffer that the chain wasn't interested.
Two years later, the newly arrived Smithwick sent Macy's then-Chairman Edward S. Finkelstein a letter introducing himself. A meeting came 10 months later. The upshot: Macy's still wasn't interested.
In the summer of 1991, Smithwick tried again: He and Bauman met with Arthur Burak, Mackie's counterpart at Macy's. Burak suggested they contact Larry Smith & Co., a consulting firm Macy's used for demographic research.
By the following January, Burak was promising that if the Larry Smith study indicated that Macy's would do well in Norfolk, the chain would take a hard look at joining the project.
Though the Smith firm did not divulge its findings, William Head, who prepared the report, wrote to Dave Rice of the Norfolk Redevelopment and Housing Authority that he had ``enjoyed this assignment. Norfolk is truly a city coming back and it is a pleasure to have a role in that process.''
In the late fall of 1992, Smithwick struck on a novel approach to clinching Macy's involvement. He convinced then-Gov. L. Douglas Wilder, who was planning to attend a luncheon in New York City, to stop in at Macy's offices and invite the company to Norfolk.
On Nov. 5, Smithwick met Wilder in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt and they rode in the governor's car to the big Macy's store on 34th Street. There, they met company Chairman Myron E. ``Mike'' Ullman.
Wilder told Ullman that Virginia was proud to have a Macy's at Pentagon City and would be excited to have the company in Hampton Roads. His comments ``had great impact,'' Bauman wrote later. ``In later conversations with Art Burak, it was stated that a signed agreement would be forthcoming in the next four weeks.''
Ullman said as much in a Nov. 24 note to Smithwick: ``As we discussed, we would give serious consideration to the project if Nordstrom were the other major anchor.''
What once seemed fantasy was beginning to become the stuff of realistic conversation. One anchor was ready to commit.
Months had passed without meaningful progress in the Nordstrom negotiations, however. Smithwick had been busy trying to line up a private developer, a search that eventually would produce Alexius Conroy of Greenwich, Conn.
Now Smithwick wanted to see Mackie to try to shake something loose. His chance came in May 1993.
Smithwick asked whether Mackie would be at the annual convention of the International Council of Shopping Centers in Las Vegas, a summit of store bosses, developers and mall officials.
Mackie said he'd signed up but planned to skip it. Smithwick arranged to go anyway and visit Nordstrom afterwards.
Smithwick said later that he and Bauman ``flew from Vegas to L.A., changed planes and went up to Seattle, and met him in his office'' at 8 a.m. on Friday, May 21, 1993.
``We remained to be convinced,'' Mackie said of the conversation that followed. ``Convinced that the market was appropriate for us, that the deal was appropriate for us, that the city could put together the requisite project.''
So Mackie announced that his company was ``not going to do the Norfolk deal.''
Smithwick and Bauman sat stunned. ``Well, I understand how you might feel that way,'' Smithwick said, fighting not to show his ``alarming sense of rejection.''
Privately, he struggled to come up with something intelligent to say. ``Is my timing bad?'' he wondered. Does he have a problem that I don't know about?
``I thought we were moving the process along pretty effectively,'' he recalled last month. ``And I guess more than anything, I asked myself, `Well, why would he agree to let me come out here? It's a long haul from Vegas to Seattle. Just to tell me they weren't going to do it?' ''
Mackie said he believed he'd been pretty straight with Smithwick. ``I think I told Bob all along that there'd never be a deal,'' he said. ``But Bob is very persistent - Bob and the rest of your civic leaders.''
Smithwick asked that he at least be given a chance to appear before the co-chairmen. It was, he said later, ``the only way we had a chance to resurrect all this.''
Mackie agreed to leave the door cracked. Barely.
When Nordstrom gave the word, the city would have one shot at the chain's leaders.
On the red-eye flight back to Norfolk, Smithwick called the city manager. ``Well, I'm pleased to tell you that Dave Mackie has agreed to arrange a meeting,'' he told Oliver. He didn't mention Mackie's announcement. ``I didn't burden him with that problem. That was my problem.''
For the next several weeks, City Hall awaited an invitation. Then, in July, the city received a Scarborough Report, a survey that showed the market's buying population, its tastes, its financial wherewithal.
The report bore good news: Hampton Roads compared with Portland, Ore., already home to Nordstrom stores. In fact, it blew Portland away in its demand for women's wear and shoes, a strong majority of Nordstrom sales.
On July 12, 1993, Mackie called to say he had read the report. The meeting was on.
In Norfolk, Smithwick's team began to prepare a slide and video presentation championing the site and the region's hunger for top-drawer retail. On Aug. 17 Smithwick made the presentation to an assortment of city officials and behind-the-scenes movers and shakers, among them Mason C. Andrews - by now the mayor - and Leafe, Councilman Paul D. Fraim, Norfolk Southern executive John Turbyfill and auto dealer Joshua Darden.
Other previews followed. Smithwick came away with suggestions on beefing up parts of the spiel and replaced his city-produced slides with slicker versions by private-side allies.
On Aug. 24, Smithwick and Bauman flew to Seattle. The mayor, Oliver, NRHA's Dave Rice and developer Conroy joined them a day later at the Four Seasons Hotel, within blocks of Nordstrom headquarters.
That night, the group met in Smithwick's room and again walked through the presentation. ``We knew that this was a do-or-die day,'' Smithwick recalled. ``I wanted to feel comfortable that I could make the presentation in my sleep, if I had to.''
On the morning of Aug. 26, Smithwick received a fax from his staff back in Norfolk. ``Hit a home run!'' wrote C.C. ``Bud'' Shelton, the office's real estate man. ``Do it!'' scribbled Ernie Franklin.
So fortified, the team walked to the Nordstrom offices, on the second floor of the chain's first store. They waited in a conference room.
``David Mackie was very warm, and he came in earlier than the others,'' Oliver recalled. ``Apparently, they were in a meeting somewhere else.''
The six chatted with Mackie and David P. Lindsey, Nordstrom's vice president for store planning. Whit-acre joined them, as did Jim Nordstrom. Then Bruce Nordstrom strode in. ``Let's go ahead and start,'' he said.
Andrews suggested that they wait for the rest of the executive committee members to arrive.
No, Bruce Nordstrom said.
``I had the feeling, `They're just processing us here,' '' Oliver said. `` `The others aren't even going to hear the presentation.' The feeling was that we were getting a courtesy.''
Andrews sensed it, too. ``They didn't look like they were just salivating for this particular project. The meeting began at a certain time by schedule, and these various people came in and out in a not terribly scheduled manner.''
But as Smithwick began the presentation, others wandered in. He showed the videos: one, a cartoon depicting downtown Norfolk as the region's hub and the ``17 Acres'' as a highway interchange; another, a clip of a Tides game at Harbor Park, using computer special effects to simulate members of the audience flipping cards to read NORFOLK WANTS NORDSTROM.
The Nordstroms chuckled. ``Guys like you and me laugh at guys like Bob for doing that,'' Oliver commented later, ``but to people on the West Coast, they see that as an indication of your sincerity.''
It was ``cute,'' Mackie said. ``Very flattering.''
Smithwick moved on to the slides, underlining the market's strengths, its likeness to Portland. The meeting began to turn.
``I thought we had a strong point,'' Smithwick said last month. ``I think they saw that we had a strong point.''
Andrews issued an official invitation to the company. The Norfolk group presented souvenir pewter cups to those present, then packed up. The meeting had lasted little more than an hour.
``We went back to the hotel and had this intense post-mortem,'' Oliver said. ``I, being my cynical self, said, `Well, that didn't go too well.' '' Andrews, too, admitted that he hadn't been bowled over by the Nordstrom reaction.
But Smithwick was buoyed. ``I left that meeting saying, `We overcame the May obstacle, and we're on our way,' '' he said. ``Charlie (Bauman) and I walked back in the hotel together, and Charlie gave me a high-five. He saw it as a real coup.''
Massie, the assistant city manager, viewed the morning as a watershed. ``Until that meeting, it really appeared to be a long shot,'' he said. ``I don't think anybody would have voted it better than 50-50.''
Mackie seemed to back that impression. ``Your presentation was very good,'' he wrote the next day. ``I believe it gave the Nordstroms a much better idea of the opportunity for our business in Norfolk.''
In a recent interview, Mackie described the meeting as key. ``You have a very impressive group of civic leaders, and they convinced us to continue the dialogue,'' he said.
The store had not committed to a deal, however. Ahead lay months of negotiations over the specifics.
On Sept. 21, 1993, Conroy faxed Smithwick a draft of a letter he planned to send to Mackie. In it were proposed terms for a Nordstrom store in a downtown mall, such as the rent - 4 percent of gross sales totalling less than $100 million and smaller percentages for sales topping that figure.
Mackie sketched out his own proposal Oct. 5, in a letter describing ``the type of financial deal which I believe we will need to proceed.'' Its terms differed substantially from Conroy's.
The developer would be expected to ante up $40 million for the store's construction, Mackie proposed. Nordstrom's rent would be $200,000 per year.
Smithwick didn't like what he read. ``I felt that deal was very lopsided,'' he said later.
He called Mackie and asked about the developer contribution. Mackie said the amount likely would be bigger: If construction costs rose, so would the contribution. If they dropped, the contribution would not. ``It's a one-way street,'' he said.
``I can see that,'' Smithwick replied. ``I'm beginning to get the message.'' He hoped, he said, that Nordstrom would pay increased rent if the store proved a huge success.
``Anything is possible, Bob,'' Mackie said, noting that his letter paralleled a deal Nordstrom had in Indianapolis. ``Frankly, I think it will take something very close to that to buy us to go to Norfolk.''
Smithwick uttered an oft-repeated observation: ``It's got to be reasonably good for both of us or it isn't any good.''
``Oh, yeah,'' Mackie agreed. He added: ``If it doesn't work for you, then don't do it.''
After five years of hard work, Smithwick finally had the makings of a deal and now realized that it might be too dear.
``Well, that's something we're going to have to take a long, hard look at,'' the Norfolk official said. ``My personal feeling is that if you're not there, (the mall) is not going to be as good. But it would be foolhardy not to face the reality that it will be good, no matter.''
The conversation left both men to chew on the situation. Six weeks passed before Smithwick and Bauman again flew to Seattle. In a 2 1/2-hour meeting at the airport's Delta Crown Room, the Norfolk team asked for a host of amendments to Mackie's thumbnail proposal, and an important promise: that Nordstrom refrain from opening another store in southeastern Virginia.
Mackie agreed to consider the suggestions, telling Smithwick he'd send a revision within a week.
The draft letter of intent that Mackie faxed to Smithwick last Nov. 23 was modified several times over the next five months, but it set out the basic tenets of an agreement between the store, the city and Conroy.
By March 1, the give-and-take had produced an agreement that all sides could accept. ``This will serve to inform you,'' Smithwick wrote Mackie that day, ``that the city of Norfolk, the Norfolk Redevelopment and Housing Authority and Conroy Development are prepared to execute the letter of intent. . . . ''
That Norfolk was wooing Nordstrom and Macy's was widely known: Periodic stories about the downtown mall had appeared in The Virginian-Pilot and The Ledger-Star since March 1990.
As the deal drew close, however, Smithwick worried that publicity could upset the city's delicate efforts. Nordstrom was notoriously press-shy, and Smithwick was infamous among local reporters for his complaints about unsolicited media attention.
In March he approached the press with an offer: He would open his files on the development, provided no stories appeared until the city announced it was a sure thing. By cooperating, the media would get the whole story.
Even as he won agreement from several local news outfits, municipal Norfolk was practicing an old habit - briefing selected business leaders and friends of City Hall about the mall behind closed doors, at times in rather large groups.
This unofficial means of getting private-side leadership ``on board'' a Norfolk project before it becomes common knowledge dates back decades.
But as the local business community began to talk more openly about the project, it became clear to the newspaper and at least two television stations that the deal had to be reported. The story broke April 20.
Details remained. Last Tuesday, at long last, Smithwick's moment came. At a packed City Council meeting, Mayor Andrews shared a speakerphone conversation with Macy's Chairman Ullman.
A formal agreement with Macy's had been the last remaining detail to complete before announcing the project. Ullman had signed on after visiting Norfolk a few days before, and the city had announced the Nordstrom deal April 26.
The result: A shopping center about equal in size to Virginia Beach's Lynnhaven Mall, an infusion of tax dollars, and what City Hall describes as 3,000 permanent jobs and 1,500 construction slots.
``We're very enthusiastic about this fine project,'' Ullman's voice crackled over the speakerphone. ``We're not only prepared, but we're enthusiastic about it.''
When Andrews hung up, he called Smithwick to the front of the room. ``This has been a horse race,'' the mayor said. ``In the Kentucky Derby they compete enormously to see who is best, and they reward the winning horse.''
Then he produced a red-and-white lei and draped it around Smithwick's neck. Council members rose to their feet. The chambers erupted in applause.
by CNB