Professor Lydia W. Tang, Chair of the Governance Committee, sat steady at the helm. At her side were Meghan Anderson, the Chair’s designee representing RuthAnne Visnauskas of New York State Homes & Community Renewal, and Conway Ekpo, board member and practicing attorney. Melissa A. Wade, Director of the Board, also joined—though it was unclear whether she was seated as a full member of the committee or as a special guest. In a future act, Fay Christian will make her cameo appearance, in like a soap opera character—full of drama, no clear storyline. Tune in next episode for her purpose, if I ever figure it out. Margie Smith returned as an ‘advisor.’ That’s like putting a fox back in the henhouse and calling it a consultant. The advisors at the table included Margie Smith, past Board Member and former Governance Committee Chair, and Audrey Tannen, District Office Director for Senator Kruger. From RIOC staff came Dhruvika Patel Amin, Vice President & Chief Financial Officer, and Lada V. Stasko, Deputy General Counsel, along with others who flickered in and out of Zoom tiles and Motorgate’s echoing concrete room. The Governance Committee gathered on August 27, tucked away in the concrete belly of Motorgate. The air carried that echo you get in parking garages—as though every promise made might rebound back to you if you weren’t careful. Meghan’s iced drink caught the light, condensation slipping down its glass wall, lifted, then paused in mid-air as though the room itself held its breath. Lydia opened with calm precision, reading aloud feedback from Morris Peters from the State Division of Budget, her tone measured, deliberate. At a glance: quiet, measured, the business of governance. But governance, when listened to closely, always reveals more than it intends. The Dry BitsLydia explained to the panel that she would begin by reading aloud feedback from Morris in Budget regarding the Code of Ethics policy they were about to review. His suggestion was straightforward: remove Sections 1 through 9 entirely and replace them with a simple reference back to state law. Why duplicate statutes, he argued, when the law itself evolves? It sounded tidy enough, at least on paper. While I thought, RIOC’s record on ethics is so thin, they should laminate the few they’ve got. The debate unspooled quickly. Meghan Anderson nodded along at first, then corrected herself, then returned to agreement in a loop that seemed more rehearsed than reflective. Conway agreed it could be efficient, while others shifted uneasily. Lada Stacko, the deputy counsel, interjected firmly: outside counsel had advised that these provisions remain spelled out for clarity. Policies must be accessible, she said, not just to lawyers but to the staff expected to follow them. Audrey and Melissa echoed her sense that clarity carried weight, while Meghan drifted back into her loop of qualified assent. Lada’s conclusion carried the most force. A code of ethics is only as useful as it is understood. Why strip it bare until it’s just a legal pointer? RIOC is not exactly known for its sterling record on ethics—shouldn’t we make the rules as readable as possible? I found myself admiring her for stating the obvious, the kind of plain truth that often goes unsaid. After all, if ethics are to matter, they must be legible. Perhaps, I thought, the only way RIOC employees would truly grasp them would be if we staged an ethics musical—singing the code in chorus. Picture Meghan in tap shoes: agree, disagree, agree again—it’s already a Broadway routine. Conway could play the usher—because efficiency’s his thing, he’ll get you to your seat fast, even if the show makes no sense. And for the grand finale, Lada belts out, “Read the Rules!” while Morris shreds the script backstage. A spectacle, yes—but still clearer than sending staff off to decipher dry legal pads in search of what it means to do right. Margie’s Tension (Or How to Sell Ice to a Snowman)Audrey Tannen tried to bring the conversation back into focus, noting that it seemed everyone agreed on the content of Sections 1–9 and that the only question was whether to state them explicitly or simply refer to the law. But that was the moment Margie woke up. She leaned forward, voice sharpening enough to change the rhythm in the room. This was no longer about tidy edits or readability—it became, suddenly, about the marrow of RIOC’s authority: ground leases. Every board member, she insisted, was compromised. Didn’t they all live here? Didn’t every home on the island tie back to those leases? With a practiced shrug, she suggested the unthinkable—that perhaps the board should not approve them at all. It was a pitch at war with common sense. The way she pushed the board away from ground leases, you’d think she had a condo development brochure tucked in her purse. The pause that followed was brief but telling. Meghan’s iced drink stopped midair, her head shaking in a violent but wordless no. For once she did not sip, and she was wise enough not to speak—just letting the moment unfold around her as her glasses nearly rattled from the force of her disapproval. Margie pressed on, inserting herself into every thread. Her eyes kept searching the room for an ally who might buy her words, but none met her gaze, even the janitor looked busy. As she continued, the charm slipped, and a shadow of disappointment—almost sadness—crossed her face. Audrey tried to redirect, but Margie cut her off. Lydia asked if she had concluded her remarks, but Margie pressed further. Melissa waited her turn, but Margie interrupted again, unwilling to let any voice finish before hers returned. Meghan, in turn, slipped into a sulky register, snapping back at Lydia like a teenager protesting the rules of the classroom. She already mastered the eye-roll—she just needed a TikTok filter. The interplay left the air taut, the meeting unspooling into crosstalk. Margie’s persistence hinted at more than she would say aloud. The way she circled back, the way she pressed on distancing the board from the ground leases above all else, suggested objectives beyond the table. Why was she willing to go so far to block the board from this matter? For years her charm could sell ice to a snowman, tonight she couldn’t even get a free sample at Costco. The tension thickened, the rhythm broke apart, and still she would not yield.
My Dream with David*That night I found myself back when the RI sign was just a temporary mock-up at the plaza. Beside me in the swaying car was David, the city stretched beyond the glass. “David, why would you let them put this monstrosity up?” I asked. “You realize our hidden gem won’t stay hidden much longer.” He shrugged. “Our island is ugly cement blocks. The contractors promise it will increase the value of our properties. I’m not a massive fan, but I’m not going to oppose them. Margie is leading the front—she’s doing the dirty work.” “Why would Margie do that? She’s loved by everyone. She says she fights for the people. Doesn’t she?” Even then my voice carried doubt. Margie fighting for the people? the only people she fights for are wearing hard hats and carrying blueprints. David’s reply cut sharp. “Margie has a seat at the table because she does what’s needed. She shows just enough resistance so people follow her, but never enough to cause real trouble. On this, she’s fully aligned with the contractors. She wants real estate values to climb, and in return she gets access and a permanent chair at the table.” I looked down at the island below, thinking of Judy. Poor Judy, still believing the promise of a fence to protect the kiosk lawn if she stayed quiet. She wouldn’t get it. The fence was never coming. Margie’s voice drifted through even in the dream, smooth and dismissive, flattening dissent until it sounded like nothing at all. She stood at the center, smiling as though inevitability itself were her ally. David’s words lingered beside me: The sign, the leases—different objects, same pattern. She clears the path not for the people, but for those who build above them. In my dream, Margie’s voice was smooth and dismissive, even my subconscious needed earplugs.
Holding the LineAudrey, ever deft, offered a timely refocus. She turned Margie’s disruption into an opportunity to remind the table what real conflict and real ethics looked like. Her example—how disclosure works, how transparency shields a board from impropriety—restored the rhythm of a conversation that had nearly run away. Audrey gave a masterclass on ethics. Margie thought ethics was a spa treatment. Melissa Wade followed, patient but firm. She spoke of stewardship, not profit, of protecting the island’s fabric rather than inflating revenues. Her words cut through Margie’s haze with the clarity of common sense: raising ground leases until neighbors were forced out would betray RIOC’s duty, not fulfill it. Melissa said stewardship, not profit. Margie heard, “Profit, but say it with jazz hands.” And then Lydia closed. Her tone was calm, her words plain but steady: “We are a public benefit corporation. Our duty is to the people we serve, and the ground lease is part of that mission.” The iced drink was finally set down. At this point, it deserved its own vote on the board. The condensation pooling on the table. For a moment, amid the concrete walls and glowing screens, her words lingered. Not dramatic, not dressed in flourish—simply true. Melissa said the board’s duty is to protect the community. Margie’s duty? To make Zillow blush. *This is a work of narrative storytelling inspired by real events. Some characters, dialogue, and scenes are imagined to convey broader truths and do not depict actual conversations or individuals. Subscribe for free to receive updates on new posts and support our work.
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Friday, 19 September 2025
A Pause Between Sips: A Public Benefit
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