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The Unmentioned Section

Part 2 of 3. When Ethics Takes the Local Train and Forgets the Express

Eleanor Rivers

Oct 3

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We pick up where we left off. The Governance Committee meeting of August 27th—still in Motorgate’s echoing belly—moves from theater to table work. Ethics in a parking garage. Only on Roosevelt Island do we test our moral compass next to a concrete pylon. A Code of Ethics debate in Motorgate—ethics in a parking garage. If that’s not poetic foreshadowing, I don’t know what is.

Part one closed with Margie attempting unsuccessfully to untether the board from ground leases. We are midway through a session where board members and advisors attempt to shape a Code of Ethics that, in its very construction, reveals how fragile the word can be.

They turned next to Sections 11 and 12—straightforward clarifications that directors too must comply. No objections. The rhythm seemed steady. Then came Section 13, the so‑called revolving door.

Conway Ekpo leans in. He’s a gifted lawyer and a careful public orator; you can spend an hour with him and leave with no quotable sentence, yet somehow the furniture’s been rearranged. He prefers momentum to ownership, agreement to fingerprints—especially when the push seems to originate just outside the room. And with that, we arrive at Section 13.

The Revolving Door

Here, Lada explained what the law (Public Officers Law §73(8)(a)) says: when you leave a state authority, you cannot come back for two years through another organization requesting funding or contracts. But you could return as an employee, as illustrated by Gerrald Ellis, who stepped down and quickly reappeared seeking the president’s role. Conway added that this restriction includes directors as well, to make clear the board is not exempt.

Theo (for the record): “§73(8)(a) is a post-employment bar for compensated officers and employees. Unpaid board directors aren’t covered by that clause.”

Bless him. At RIOC, facts are optional, but confidence is mandatory. So far, the guidance only sounded straightforward —like IKEA instructions. Until you try to build it, and suddenly you’re missing three screws and the Allen key.

Meghan laid down her rule with the confidence of a GPS in a tunnel—loud, certain, and completely wrong. Meghan offered an example: what if a board member resigned and immediately joined a nonprofit that later sought Public Purpose Funds from RIOC? Would that trigger the two‑year ban? Her reading was that it would, and she said it with the confidence of someone laying down a rule.

I was pinging Theo like a teenager texting at midnight—except instead of crushes, it was subsections of the Public Officers Law. He helped me untangle them. He explained that technically she was wrong. It is true in her own case, as she is a paid employee, but for unpaid RIOC board members §73(8)(a) has no bite for unpaid directors. Perfect metaphor: all bark, no teeth—like half the committee meetings I’ve sat through. Nothing stops them from stepping down and advising nonprofits or even for‑profit organizations in an uncompensated capacity. The part that actually matters for board members is §73(8)(b)—the lifetime bar—which they never even discussed. They debated subsection (a) like it was the whole story. Subsection (b) sat in the corner like the cousin no one invites to dinner, even though he’s the one who pays the bill. Thankfully, Theo noted later that the legal counsel revised the draft to cite the whole of §73, as it should have, instead of singling out only subsection (a).

Margie then spoke up, agreeing in principle that it would be improper for any board member who had just stepped down to immediately engage with nonprofits—or even, for example, a building board like RiverCross—for two years because of the knowledge they carried. But she quickly added that it did not apply to her since she had been off the board for many years. At RIOC, self-exemptions are the one policy everyone can agree on. Once again she was wrong, but it was striking to hear her raise the idea at all, and it left me wondering what her intention was behind introducing it. Theo later confirmed she was technically off‑base, Off-base? she wasn’t even in the stadium—she was selling hot dogs in the parking lot. Lada, caught between the claims, admitted the distinction was tricky and said she would consult outside counsel before giving a firm answer.

The Unmentioned Section – 73(8)(b)

The discussion circled Section 73(8)(a) at length and, at last, concluded it didn’t apply to board members because they receive no compensation. But the room never mentioned its twin—§73(8)(b), the lifetime bar. Not in writing, not aloud. It hovered like an uninvited guest.

Theo later explained to me: 73(8)(a) is the short leash—you can’t cash in for two years. Think of it as a sabbatical from influence. 73(8)(b) is sterner. It bars you forever from touching any matter you once touched inside. Forever is longer than iced coffee lasts—though at RIOC, the ice melts faster than any change in administration after an ethics snafu.

Picture this: if a board member voted on RIVAA funding in 2018, they cannot later walk in representing RIVAA for that same grant. Paid or unpaid. The law doesn’t care if you were given a check or a thank‑you card. And if that same board member tries? Well, it begins to look less like public service and more like auditioning for a sequel nobody asked for.

The irony? The ethics draft in front of the committee cited only §73(8)(a), as if the lifetime bar had been mislaid with last year’s binders. Meanwhile, off-agenda and unmentioned, Rossana at the Wildlife Freedom Foundation doesn’t even invoice RIOC for her middle-of-the-night emergency calls; she knows the Foundation won’t be paid and chooses the animals’ welfare over paperwork. That’s the kind of ethics that never makes the packet: substance over optics. Inside the room, they debated the “appearance of impropriety.” Outside, the bills no one submits—and the help that never stops.

Delayed Due to Contract Work*

That night I was not on the tram. I was in a subway station, crumbs at my feet, pigeons at my side. Or were they rats? Age makes it hard to tell. The trains thundered past, each painted with familiar letters:

RIVAA came first—a sleek modern train, shining twice as bright, as though double‑funded. It roared past with polished windows, too clean, too glossy, as if money alone could scrub its cars. RIVAA’s train was so shiny I thought it came with a grant for window cleaner.

Then RISA rumbled in, a darker sight. The conductor appeared in chains, rattling louder than the wheels. The cars looked empty, hollow, the echo of a guilty plea still clanging through its frame. RISA’s conductor was in chains—finally, someone on the island taking accountability, even if it was symbolic.

After that crawled WFF—not powered but dragged, a car without an engine. What moved it forward was not machinery but what looked like a lone woman straining against the weight, pulling with every step.

And then RIRA clattered along, not even a train at all but a bus forced onto the rails. Its wheels squealed against the wrong track, pretending to fit the railing while never quite belonging.

I asked myself: which train deserved funding? David appeared beside me—or perhaps he was the pigeon perched at my elbow—and whispered, “It doesn’t matter which deserves it. The only train that runs is the one with the right contacts.”

And there was Judy, admiring the new railings bolted to the platform for safety. I could see her pondering how to have them relocated to the tram plaza, her old dream not quite gone.

What the Rules Really Say

By the end, the debate circled more than it clarified. What the law actually provides is this: §73(8)(a) applies to compensated officers and employees, not to unpaid RIOC directors. That is why Meghan’s example was misplaced and why Conway’s insistence was wrong. For board members, the relevant part is §73(8)(b), the lifetime bar, which prevents them from ever representing another party on matters they personally handled. That section was not discussed in the room, not in writing or in theory.

“Ethics opinions from JCOPE and COELIG have sometimes softened the edges, noting that recurring or annualized funding cycles may be treated as separate matters. A grant decision in 2015 may not forever bar involvement in a new application in 2025. Still, the optics remain sticky—when a former board member returns to advocate for funding, it can look like inside access leveraged, even if legally permitted.”
(Theo Gobblevelt)

Melissa Wade captured that spirit. She said plainly that while the letter of §73(8)(a) might not bind unpaid directors, the appearance matters. Finally—a board member who realizes Motorgate has mirrors (and a streaming video). It looks wrong for a board member to step down one day and lead a nonprofit the next, even without pay. Her suggestion to formalize that in policy was sound—less about legal mechanics, more about preserving public trust.

The Conclusion

Margie Smith surprised the table, proposing language that would bar any director from appearing before RIOC for two years after leaving. Odd that she pressed for it, odder still to guess who she meant to target. Was it aimed at someone specific? And could a rule passed now even apply to those who left before its enactment? The questions linger.

What the board finally ratified, at the September 11, 2025 meeting, was a more inclusive, accurate clause. The lawyers widened the language, citing all of §73 rather than carving out a single subsection. The new provision reads in full:

“Directors and employees are prohibited from appearing or practicing before the Corporation for two years following employment with the Corporation, consistent with Section 73 of the Public Officers Law.”

It was a clause truer to the statute and broader than what the committee had debated. It captured the board’s instinct to expand restrictions while grounding them in law. In short: they asked for more, and counsel gave them something firmer to stand on. Next question: will they read it, or wait for my column to understand what they just affirmed.

And yet, even as the ink dried, the IG’s report suggested there was more to the last ethics encounter RIOC has grappled with. Theo’s sources connected the dots to Howard Polivy, whose ties and actions pointed to the very conflicts the committee claimed to be fortifying against. The new ethics guidelines speak of two years and lifetime bars, but do they speak to the quiet, ongoing entanglements that already exist? Or do they leave those threads hanging, as if ethics were something always written forward, never backward?

*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.