Wilson Goode

CITY COUNCIL is scheduled to hold hearings today on the budget and a raft of sweeping tax reform bills. How ready is Council? The Daily News asked all 17 members the following question: 1Have you read the 500-page Tax Reform Commission report, which explains the need for each tax reform bill now before City Council? (The report was released in November.) 2Will you support all or some of the 13 tax reform bills put forth by the Tax Reform Commission? 1Yes, absolutely.

W. Wilson Goode is on the pulpit of Zion Baptist Church at Broad and Venango, fidgeting with his BlackBerry. It is a familiar place for Goode, filled with sympathetic and longtime allies, a place where his famously stiff delivery can give way to an only slightly awkward Baptist preacher's brimstone. A place where, at 72, he can flap his arms and do a little hop and wipe sweat from his brow and tell stories of how a woman with a spoon in the dirt ended up building an entire church.

Wilson Goode is a good man. Philadelphians can confidently expect him to continue to contribute to our city in his new role as private citizen. We may be blessed with our own local version of Jimmy Carter, who has become a nearly revered figure after leaving the presidency. The parallel with Carter runs deep. Like Carter, Goode is a deeply religious man. Like Carter, his lack of political skill and effectiveness cost him dearly. Like Carter, he seemed to believe that people would do the right thing simply because it was the right thing.

W. Wilson Goode swept into office four years ago on a tide of good will. He had served ably as managing director in the Green administration, bested former Mayor Frank Rizzo in a 1983 primary that was free of the race-baiting that infected big-city elections elsewhere and won broad support - including more than 20 percent of the white vote - by projecting a button-down, no- nonsense, professional image. He stands for election to a second term considerably diminished. The MOVE bombing in 1985 mocked his promise of hands-on management; the trash crisis is still growing and is as urgent and unresolved as the day he took charge in City Hall.

It was to be the book that let Philadelphia see the man behind that stolid, methodical and guarded presence. A man who once stuttered so badly that counting to 10 was agony. A man born in poverty and bitter circumstance who turned his escapist daydreams of fame into reality. Yet as somehow seems to happen in the life of W. Wilson Goode, things somehow went awry along the way. The news of the very real and intimate disclosures in the former mayor's new autobiography, In Goode Faith, was lost last week amid the clamor over - what else?

The man who presided over the 1985 MOVE disaster says yesterday's jury verdict contained a message - not for him, but for the people he once served: Philadelphia, heal thyself. "I hope people will accept the verdict and move on without a lot of commentary and conversation and respect that these seven [jurors] did the very best they could do," W. Wilson Goode said within hours after the $1.5 million verdict against the city was announced. "My prayer is that this city will - on this issue - heal itself.

Patrick O'Leary, a 40-year-old New Yorker wearing a black shirt and cowboy boots, sat across an aisle from Marlene Johnson, a grandmother from Alaska, who wore all white. They appeared to have nothing in common. Except Bill Clinton. And, for the first time in a long time, elation over the Democratic ticket. "To me, it's a lot more exciting than the last 12 years. It's a new outlook, new blood," said O'Leary. "That's exciting. " "In Perot's words, we've been revitalized.

It was just another day at the office yesterday for Wilson Goode - in before 8 a.m., off to a public appearance, lunch at his desk, out way past 5 p.m. The location had changed, but the routine was the same. On the day when the city celebrated the inauguration of his successor as mayor, Edward G. Rendell, Goode worked his way through the transition from public to private life. Except for the two-hour inauguration ceremony at the Academy of Music, Goode spent the day ensconced in his new Center City high-rise office.

W. Wilson Goode is stretched out on a massage table in a pair of maroon Jockey briefs, getting Rolfed. Sitting on a stool next to him is Robert Toporek, a Messianic masseur with a checkered past and a history of involvement in est, acupuncture, Gestalt Therapy, Silva Mind Control, Mastery of Empowerment and just about every other alternative, holistic or self-help movement that has hit America in the last quarter-century. Toporek, who has the pitchman's gift of gab, is kneading the smooth, light- brown skin of Philadelphia's former mayor and talking nonstop about his vision of the future.

A STAR OF THE URBS, Wilson Goode, pitches to the Burbs in the annual softball game between city and suburban officials. But the Burbs won yesterday, the suburban team's first victory since the games began four years ago.

LIKE MANY PEOPLE, Najee Goode likes to type his name into Google and see what pops up. He was doing exactly that in the fall of 2009 when, surprise, surprise, he discovered a guy named Najee Goode was a promising football player at West Virginia University. "That was pretty exciting. A guy with my name who was good in football," this Najee (pronounced nah-GEE) said. That Najee, a rookie, is now a backup linebacker with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. "Oh, yeah. I'm a big fan," this Goode said.

LIKE MANY PEOPLE, Najee Goode likes to type his name into Google and see what pops up. He was doing exactly that in the fall of 2009 when, surprise, surprise, he discovered a guy named Najee Goode was a promising football player at West Virginia University. "That was pretty exciting. A guy with my name who was good in football," said this Najee (pronounced nah-GEE). That Najee, a rookie, is now a backup linebacker with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. "Oh, yeah. I'm a big fan," this Goode said.

'Day of Service' misses King's point I have watched with dismay as the so-called Martin Luther King Day of Service has grown more popular each year ("More than 75,000 help put King's legacy into action," Tuesday). I believe that Dr. King would not have participated in one of these days of service. Dr. King was not a servant. He was a rebel. He fought and struggled for justice and equality. While I do believe that volunteer service is laudable, I don't believe we are honoring him by doing it on his holiday.

W. Wilson Goode is on the pulpit of Zion Baptist Church at Broad and Venango, fidgeting with his BlackBerry. It is a familiar place for Goode, filled with sympathetic and longtime allies, a place where his famously stiff delivery can give way to an only slightly awkward Baptist preacher's brimstone. A place where, at 72, he can flap his arms and do a little hop and wipe sweat from his brow and tell stories of how a woman with a spoon in the dirt ended up building an entire church.

IN J. MATTHEW Wolfe's Aug. 16 op-ed ( "Brownouts: Unsafe & Unsound" ), he states his opinion on several local laws that he believes are unnecessary, including "a law that requires any company seeking to do business with the city pay all of its employees, even those not involved in city work, 150 percent of the higher of the state or federal minimum wage," and that "all of these laws apply nowhere else in Pennsylvania. " First, the local living wage and benefits laws that I sponsored require that certain city contractors pay at least 150 percent of the federal minimum wage with comparable basic health benefits for full-time employees.

CHARLES W. Bowser, who died yesterday at 79, tried twice to become the city's first black mayor. As an independent in 1975, Bowser came in second to Democrat Frank Rizzo but ahead of Republican Tom Foglietta. In '79, he came within 37,000 votes of winning the Democratic primary against eventual mayor Bill Green. But while his own candidacies were unsuccessful, Bowser blazed a trail for African-American leaders in this city. His advice, support and political savvy were critical to the election of the man who did reach that milestone in 1983, W. Wilson Goode.

When he left office in 1992, W. Wilson Goode Sr. set about putting what he called his "real feelings" about the MOVE tragedy into writing. "Sadly I realized that the police had killed two birds with one stone - MOVE and me," Goode wrote in his autobiography, In Goode Faith. But today, at 71, with two more decades of perspective, a doctorate from a Baptist seminary, and a distinguished gray goatee, the city's first black mayor says he has moved on from such a harsh assessment of the significance of May 13, 1985.

When he left office in 1992, W. Wilson Goode Sr. set about putting what he called his "real feelings" about the MOVE tragedy into writing. "Sadly I realized that the police had killed two birds with one stone - MOVE and me," Goode wrote in his autobiography, In Goode Faith. But today, at 71, with two more decades of perspective, a doctorate from a Baptist seminary, and a distinguished gray goatee, the city's first black mayor says he has moved on from such a harsh assessment of the significance of May 13, 1985.

It was the shock heard 'round the world. Ever since a Philadelphia police officer Tased a runaway fan at Citizens Bank Park this week, baseball and the world beyond have been debating the action. But during the clinching Game 6 of the 1980 World Series, the Phillies didn't need Taser-armed cops to deter unruly fans. They had policemen with horses and dogs. "You don't have to worry about Tasers when you've got cops on horses," City Councilman Frank Rizzo, whose father had resurrected the Police Department's mounted unit a decade before the Phillies won their first World Series, said on Friday.

W. WILSON GOODE Sr. was just 16 months into his tenure as the city's first African-American mayor when the MOVE conflict reached its breaking point. In the months prior, Goode had taken a position of "appeasement, non-confrontation and avoidance" with MOVE until enough pressure from the group's neighbors and the media pushed him to action, according to the MOVE Commission report. Goode delegated the leadership and coordination of a plan to the police commissioner and the city's managing director while he monitored the events from City Hall, the commission said.