If we do not learn from the mistakes of the Missouri History Museum, we are doomed to repeat them.
Based upon the reaction to two news events that glided under the radar during the year-end holidays, I’d say there’s a fair chance that St. Louis’ ruling elite hasn’t done a lot of learning from former museum president Robert Archibald’s painful fall from power a year earlier.
The first was the strange embrace of a report by Circuit Attorney Jennifer Joyce that, while finding no criminality in the activities that prompted Archibald’s demise, offered analysis that clearly validated his critics. Then there was the announcement that County Executive Charlie Dooley refused to reappoint one of those critics, Jerome Glick, to another term on the Zoo-Museum District’s board. It was an ominous combination.
I’m glad Joyce found no basis for criminal charges. Even in criticizing Archibald’s activities, I never felt laws would have been broken regarding the main complaints against him: an awful real-estate deal with former Mayor Freeman Bosley Jr. and Archibald’s receipt of an even more egregious golden parachute.
These weren’t crime stories. They were examples of a cavalier attitude toward the coffers of an important civic institution that happens to receive about $10 million per year—or more than 70 percent of its budget—from city and county taxpayers.
This was the sad tale of how a lack of public accountability allowed Archibald to morph into a potentate at the Missouri History Museum, one who came to control his own Board of Trustees and too many public dollars. And when that private board failed miserably in its duty to protect the resources of taxpayers and donors, things fell apart.
It became public in September 2012, when a ZMD audit revealed that the museum had paid Bosley $875,000—without getting an appraisal—for a property on Delmar Boulevard. Last year, the ZMD commissioned an appraisal retroactively and found it should have been worth just $260,000, slightly more than assessed by the city at the time.
After an environmental study found contaminants that could cost up $300,000 to remediate, the museum complained about it in a letter, but didn’t reduce the purchase price by a dime. Bosley and a partner had paid just $175,000 for the property, but faced multiple liens and back taxes and owed more than $600,000 on it, Joyce reported.
Bosley was a trustee of the museum when he began negotiating with it in 2005, an apparent conflict, and Archibald, who personally completed the deal with Bosley, did not disclose the former mayor’s identity to his board when advising them of the sale. Both Archibald and Bosley incredibly told Joyce’s investigators they had “forgotten” Bosley was on the board. Wow.
(The whole thing is painful. I supported Bosley for mayor when he won and when he lost. He’s a good guy. It’s a shame this is a footnote to his story.)
Within a month of this news breaking, the ZMD and the public learned of the astounding retirement benefits given to Archibald by the trustees before and after the scandal broke. Already earning $515,000 in compensation—including a car, a house allowance, and pensions—Archibald had been offered another $566,000 in back vacation pay.
What’s more, he was given another package for $270,000—ostensibly to cover six months of “consulting” for the museum—after he was essentially forced to resign. This wasn’t merely fiscal irresponsibility: It was an insult to the capabilities of the outstanding staff that Archibald left behind (one of his finest legacies, ironically enough).
It wasn’t criminal—just unfathomable.
Joyce avoided taking sides in her report, but she did repeatedly blame problems and suspicions on poor communication and noncooperation between the museum’s trustees and the two public boards charged with oversight of funds from the Zoo-Museum District. They are the ZMD Board of Directors that administers the overall district and the Commission of the Missouri History Museum Subdistrict (one of five boards assigned to oversee each of the ZMD institutions).
Joyce reported that “an unengaged Subdistrict, ZMD and a large Board of Trustees created an environment where criminal activity, had it existed, could have gone unnoticed.” Those are strong words, even in the context of a finding that nothing criminal transpired.
She also noted, “The two public entities essentially delegated all vision, mission and most financial responsibilities to their private partner—the Board of Trustees. So when questions arose about specific issues, public partners lacked the appropriate information and access needed to provide the public informed, accurate information. The private entity did not transparently operate with respect to its public partners” (emphasis mine).
One might have assumed that Joyce’s blunt language would have offended the museum’s Board of Trustees. Instead, Board Chairman John Roberts celebrated her report as if a finding of “not guilty of criminal conduct” were a great accomplishment.
In a press release, Roberts declared, “We have been poked, prodded and in some cases pilloried, but in the end, have emerged from the gauntlet cleared of the allegations made against us by our critics.”
Actually not. Joyce’s report echoed the charges of those critics, whom Roberts had assailed in the media as “people with an ax to grind.” Somehow, Roberts missed Joyce’s point about his board failing to act transparently and contributing to a climate in which criminal activity might have gone unnoticed.
So, apparently, did Dooley. He isn’t taking media questions these days on accountability and transparency issues at the museum—now there’s some irony for you—but maybe there’s no need. Dooley’s refusal to reappoint Glick to the ZMD spoke volumes.
Glick and fellow board members Charles Valier and Gloria Wessels are the heroes of this story. They, along with Robert Lowery Sr., demanded answers about the real-estate and compensation issues, and they were especially vocal about the secrecy that had surrounded them. The four initially threatened to withhold museum funds for leverage, but Lowery withdrew from that position.
On the other side of the ZMD board were four members sympathetic to Archibald: ZMD board chairman Ben Uchitelle and members Thomas Campbell, Robert Powell, and Thelma Cook. The split was often acrimonious, with the board deadlocking on whether to accept its Audit Committee report on the scandals, along with many other issues.
Without the ZMD critics, it’s likely that no action would have been taken at all and Archibald would have maintained his unbridled power. The trustees were not alone in fighting for Archibald to the end. (Though the most amazing moment was when trustee and real-estate broker Elizabeth Robb suspended disbelief by claiming “I don’t think we are upside down on this one at all” on the Bosley deal after the audit.)
Half of the ZMD was also heaping praise on Archibald and resisting the critics’ calls for corrective action at the height of the public’s outrage. Campbell, for example, told the St. Louis Beacon that an aldermanic investigation called for by the critics “far exceeds the bounds of common decency.” He was effusive in praise of Archibald.
So it’s not insignificant that Dooley reappointed Campbell to another ZMD term in the midst of the controversy—and that Mayor Francis Slay reappointed Powell. Dooley and Slay, each of whom has four appointees to the ZMD, might have chosen new faces to end the tension on the board, but they didn’t. They effectively backed Archibald and his board.
Dooley retained Campbell and threw out Glick, who had asked to continue serving. Through a spokesperson, Dooley told the St. Louis Post-Dispatch he strongly disagreed with many of Glick’s views (without naming specifics), said his accusations were “unproductive,” and suggested Glick contributed to the “hyperbole and atmosphere” at the ZMD.
Unproductive? Calls for transparency and accountability are unproductive?
In fairness, Dooley followed his unceremonious rejection of Glick with the promising appointment of Pat Whitaker, chairman of Arcturis, a downtown architecture and design firm. Whitaker would seem quite qualified for the ZMD position, with a career dating back to 1977 at her firm and membership on numerous civic boards, including those of St. Louis Children’s Hospital, Webster University, the United Way, the RCGA, and the YMCA.
Notably, she announced her resignation last year from the Boy Scouts of America’s local board in protest of its national group’s decision to continue banning gay adults, even as it reluctanly accepted gay scouts.
“They need to stand by their values and not be a discriminator,” she told the St. Louis Business Journal. “They went halfway here.”
It’s not known whether anyone on the Boy Scouts’ board viewed that stance as hyperbole and atmosphere, or as unproductive. But it seems clear that Whitaker is a woman unafraid to stand up for what she thinks is right, just like Glick and other ZMD critics.
There’s no way to know whether Whitaker will share those critics’ views regarding the values of accountability and transparency at the Missouri History Museum. There are plenty of issues about which reasonable people may disagree, and it’s hard to imagine Dooley hasn’t expressed his concern for peace and quiet on a board containing so many wealthy and influential individuals.
Hopefully, though, Whitaker will provide an independent voice. The Missouri History Museum is a terrific institution that deserves the public support and private donations that it receives, and it cannot maintain either if it acts fiscally or institutionally in the manner it did toward the end of Archibald’s tenure.
Archibald will be remembered for doing a lot of good at the museum and in St. Louis—with particular credit for efforts to promote race relations, disability rights, education, and other important causes—but one of his legacies is that he was ultimately given too much power and too little oversight.
So rather than disrespect Glick on his way out—as Dooley did—St. Louis should thank him for standing up for what is right. Glick, too, has a fine legacy: He helped make transparency happen.
History will remember Glick and his fellow critics at the ZMD fondly. Hopefully, we’ll learn something from that.
Editor's Note: This column has been updated from the February issue's print edition to reflect the latest on the situation, including the appointment of Pat Whitaker to the ZMD board.
SLM co-owner Ray Hartmann is a panelist on KETC Channel 9’s Donnybrook, which airs Thursdays at 7 p.m.
Commentary by Ray Hartmann
