The WIRE: Two Futures, One Empty ChairDavid Stone is preparing to take over. Dick Lutz is preparing him. Somewhere between January and July, the same plan begins moving in two directions.
It is December 6, 2015, and David Stone is writing to Dr. Jack Resnick about a chair that will soon be empty. Dick Lutz is preparing to leave the Main Street WIRE, and Stone has been encouraged to ask whether he might replace him. Seven years of covering art, Cornell Tech and questionable practices inside Public Safety have taught Stone how the paper tells an Island story. He knows the bylines and deadlines. He is also candid about what remains hidden from a writer: the work required to publish everyone else. Two days later, Lutz sends an email to the people keeping the paper alive. Briana Warsing will edit the January issues. Lutz will remain listed as publisher temporarily so the WIRE can continue using the Rivercross community room for stuffing and distribution. Dr. Resnick should keep searching for the next editor-publisher. The arrangement rescues January while leaving everything behind it unsettled. Stone waits for Resnick to respond. By December 29, his patience has thinned enough that he tells Lutz he considers his relationship with the WIRE finished. Lutz writes back the next morning. Resnick has been sluggish and difficult to reach, he explains, and may be considering separate people for the financial and editorial responsibilities. Stone is asking about one chair. Somewhere outside the conversation, Resnick may already be imagining two.
The discussions revive. By February, Stone is no longer asking about the position from a safe distance. Lutz invites him to Riverwalk Bar & Grill at noon, with the meeting continuing afterward at his apartment. His outline turns the job into a formidable list: editorial staffing, pay, advertising, mailing permits, transportation, budgets, storage and the transition from himself and Warsing to Stone. The chair has acquired weight. “Congratulations” is apparently considered unnecessary padding. I have watched enough Roosevelt Island institutions to recognize this kind of survival. A role can remain undefined while the work surrounding it becomes very specific. Nobody has decided who owns the circus, but Stone is already following the elephants with a shovel. Lutz needs the paper to continue. Stone needs to understand what he is to inherit. Resnick has not settled the structure. Everyone can keep moving for a while because the next issue still requires more attention than the next owner. Two Words in an EmailOn March 5, 2016, ordinary publishing duties arrive in Stone’s inbox when Lutz forwards a RIOC notice about the Motorgate elevators, suggesting it be included in Stone’s daily roundup, which is already underway. The exchange also prompts discussion of Lutz’s former community email alerts, which Stone wants to revive as part of the new system and use to direct readers back to the WIRE’s website. The Motorgate item becomes the entry point because, on Roosevelt Island, even a future disagreement tends to begin with something already out of service. Less than half an hour later, Lutz replies with instructions. Go to Mailchimp and open an account. The service is free unless too many messages go out in one day, when the price rises to $15 a month. Lutz attaches the existing list, a chart showing how many recipients open the alerts and information about the current plan. He explains where Stone can obtain the smaller “wonky W” logo and recommends staying on the free plan as long as possible. The WIRE’s future remains uncertain, but its monthly software expense is being handled beautifully. Then come the two words that will acquire more weight than either man appears to give them that afternoon. Lutz tells Stone that he should be able to import the file into Mailchimp as “your list.” He plans to discontinue the old $15 plan the following week. They have saved $15 a month. Clarity, it seems, was available with the paid version. The list contains more than 700 addresses, down from an earlier peak above 1,000, and between 40 and 50 percent of recipients open the alerts. Lutz suggests that an advertiser might eventually sponsor them. His purpose appears practical. He wants the dormant service revived without another charge landing on his credit card. Nothing says “we have not decided whether you are the publisher” quite like handing you 700 readers and cancelling your own account. Yet the transfer already functions as more than planning. Without a contract, resolution or formal paper trail, Stone is being handed the infrastructure of the newsletter. By accepting the list and beginning to operate it, he is no longer merely being considered for a future role. He is already performing one.
What holds my attention is how naturally the file crosses between them. Lutz may understand “your list” as the working list Stone will manage for the WIRE. Stone may hear it as another operational asset being placed in his care for the newspaper he expects to run. Nothing defines ownership, limits the addresses to WIRE business or requires their return. They do not need to settle those questions while they remain inside the same future. Trust saves enormous time. Memory sends the invoice later. Everyone Has a Different JulyBy April 7, Stone is sending WIRE alerts. Former WIRE legal counsel Ross Wollen replies to one and refers to Stone’s new role at the newspaper, something Resnick has apparently mentioned to him. Stone forwards the exchange to Lutz and Warsing. The alert carries the WIRE’s name, copyright notice and mailing address. Stone’s succession has become visible to someone outside the central conversation, even though the people inside it have yet to settle what that succession means. A second future is also taking shape. Warsing wants to continue editing through the end of June. Lutz tells Stone that he feels promise-bound to support her and believes the additional time will help him prepare. He also notes that completing the year could matter to Warsing’s résumé. From her side, remaining through June may feel like finishing work she has already been asked to carry. From Lutz’s side, it protects continuity while Resnick remains difficult to pin down. Stone experiences the delay differently. He has repeatedly asked Warsing to meet with him, but her limited availability begins to carry a more ambiguous weight in his mind. What appears on the surface as scheduling friction also raises another possibility for Stone: that Warsing is not yet emotionally or professionally prepared to accelerate a handover she has not fully relinquished. Everyone agrees the baton must pass. The only dispute is whether Warsing can find an opening in her calendar large enough to fit it. Stone objects to a transition organized around her continued control, and writes that he is putting the brakes on his own efforts until there is a real commitment. July is beginning to mean two different things. Stone sees the date when responsibility becomes his. Lutz sees a date that may still have to accommodate Warsing, Resnick and whatever keeps the paper from missing an issue. I do not read a secret plot in these exchanges. A conspiracy requires a plan, and these people cannot agree what July means. I read people protecting different versions of reality. Lutz is trying to honor his commitment to Warsing while keeping Stone engaged. Warsing occupies a real role and may not yet be ready to leave it. Stone, meanwhile, is being asked to prepare for authority without receiving enough of it to control the preparation. He has the responsibilities of a publisher, the authority of an intern and the confidence of a man who has been assured the keys are coming. Resnick remains the one person whose decision could settle the arrangement. Until he makes it, his uncertainty has become the only decision everyone can rely upon. The financial planning continues as though the disagreement can be solved while everyone is moving. On April 10, Lutz recommends that Stone obtain a business credit card for The Main Street Wire, Inc. He says Stone and Resnick should visit the bank so Stone can become a signatory on the new account. Printing charges made in June will come due in July, and Lutz wants the larger expenses moved before the beginning of what he calls Stone’s “reign.” The succession has no contract, but it is already shopping for a credit card. Making the Future RealStone responds to uncertainty by creating motion. On April 13, he circulates a detailed proposal to Resnick, Lutz, Warsing and webmaster Jeff Prekopa. An integrated transition now seems unlikely, he writes, so he lays out another path. The WIRE will continue under Lutz through June 25. Stone will prepare a new publishing system and begin producing issues every two weeks after that. His plan reaches into every part of the operation. He will develop a new group of writers, rebuild the website, organize editing and layout, work with advertising manager Ellen Levy, preserve the printing relationship and establish a new distribution system. He also intends to store the historical issues until they find a permanent home and eventually place the digital archive online. Stone is no longer waiting for the future to be explained. He is writing it down and sending copies. The email also allows him to set the narrative inside the organization. Everyone can see the date, the responsibilities and the structure he believes they are moving toward. It reveals how strongly Stone needs to make the transition concrete. He has already experienced one period of silence from Resnick and one delay centered around Warsing. Another vague assurance is unlikely to feel like protection. Eleven minutes later, Stone sends a separate financial email to Resnick and Lutz. He will invest no more money beyond a few small purchases until after the June 25 issue. Before assuming the expenses, he wants a complete accounting of cash, receivables, payables, taxes and anything not yet recorded. The balance sheet must show at least $15,000 on the positive side, which he understands to represent Resnick’s investment in the paper. The email does not establish whether that amount is a loan, an investment or another form of support. Stone is preparing to accept responsibility, but he will not accept a mystery wearing a necktie and calling itself a balance sheet. At 8:59 that evening, Resnick replies to the financial email. “We’re not anywhere near an agreement on going forward,” he writes. His discussions with Stone, Lutz and Warsing “have not been encouraging.” Months of practical planning now collide with the sentence Stone has been trying to force into the open. Resnick does not describe a succession awaiting final details. In his mind, the negotiations have not reached anything close to an agreement. Stone answers at 10:15 p.m. He will not be backed into a corner. His single intention has been to keep the WIRE viable. “So, I’m out.” I cannot know whether Resnick believes Stone has moved beyond what was authorized, or Stone believes the terms have remained vague until he is too invested to retreat. The record establishes the result. Seventy-six minutes after Resnick says there is no agreement, Stone ends the succession attempt. The transition has finally produced something everyone can understand. Unfortunately, it is the exit. The Night “Your” Changes MeaningTwelve days after Stone withdraws from the succession talks, another RIOC alert arrives, this time about emergency repairs on the Roosevelt Island Bridge helix. Stone sends a notice through the system under the Roosevelt Island Daily name, although the old WIRE footer remains at the bottom. It tells recipients that they subscribed to receive alerts from the WIRE. The new publication is speaking through a mailing system that still carries the identity of the old one. I can imagine what Lutz sees when that message appears. The list he supplied for WIRE alerts is now delivering an announcement from a different publication. The old name, address and copyright language remain attached, making the boundary he left undefined suddenly visible in the least comfortable way. At 8:33 that evening, he sends seven numbered instructions. Stone may not use the WIRE bulletin list, name, mailing address or copyright notice. Subscribers must affirmatively join the Daily’s list. Stone must build his audience from scratch. Ten minutes later, Stone responds, and anger is no longer hiding between the lines. He asks whether he should tell recipients that updates are stopping because Lutz had a “hissy fit.” He accuses Lutz of ruining his assumption of responsibility for the paper and dragging Resnick through the trouble. The language reaches backward. Stone has already withdrawn, yet he is still arguing from the months when he believed he was preparing to take charge. Leaving the succession has not settled what happened to the tools placed in his hands. Lutz may believe he is protecting the WIRE from a competing publication using its identity. Stone may believe he is continuing a service through tools transferred to him without clear restrictions. The disagreement is no longer about who will publish the WIRE. It is about what, if anything, Stone carried away when that future collapsed. Nobody needs to be dishonest for the result to feel like betrayal. The handoff has already ended. The April 25 exchange does something else. It turns a failed succession into a dispute over the WIRE’s identity, audience and property. The Daily continues. The WIRE continues under different leadership. Criticism hardens, advertisers enter the argument and the conflict reaches New York Supreme Court in November 2017. By then, each side has built a coherent account. Lutz gave Stone access for the WIRE’s use. Stone received the tools of a succession others appeared to recognize. The space between those accounts is where the lawsuit begins. Yet Stone’s unfinished plan for the archive remains on the page. Before the succession collapses, he imagines the old issues stored safely and the digital history opened to readers. That future goes with it. Warsing assumes the WIRE’s editorship, Stone builds the Daily, the mailing list acquires two histories and Roosevelt Island’s past waits in boxes for someone to decide what “your” was supposed to mean.
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