Gary Tischler • July 26, 2011

A weekday afternoon at the Peacock Café is one of the few quiet times in the popular Georgetown Restaurant at 3251 Prospect Street. With the tables fully white-clothed and less foot traffic outside, you can get an appreciation of the graceful style of the place. Sitting at the bar, there’s a tennis match on the television between a Russian and a Ukrainian playing at the French Open, which adds to a vaguely casual international atmosphere here.

We talked the Shahab and Maziar Farivar, the brothers who own the Peacock Café, at a table by the back window looking out into an inviting patio. The whole scene looks and feels pleasantly prosperous, like the brothers themselves—Shahab in shirt and tie with a touch of gray in his hair, Maziar in his chef’s uniform, also a little gray, with some ounces added to his frame.

They will be celebrating the Peacock Café’s 20th anniversary on this stretch of Prospect Street, where they first opened back in 1991 as a six-seat restaurant/carryout without a real stove or kitchen. They have become a Georgetown neighborhood fixture in an area where competition includes the high end and glitzy likes of Morton’s and Café Milano.

In a way, the brothers Farivar are a classic American success story with an edge to it, given the times we live in. The brothers immigrated to the United States at a young age, sent here from Iran by their parents who would join them later in the wake of the Iranian revolution that toppled the Shah in the 1970s.

Even though Iranian family tradition of the educated classes are still a part of their way of doing things in America—politeness and manners seems to be a natural and genuine part of their makeup—the men see themselves as Americans, blessed with the opportunities that this country can provide to immigrants who work hard, have adventurous imaginations and have the courage not to be afraid to fail. Like all Americans, they were appalled by 9/11. “We could see the smoke from the Pentagon on Wisconsin Avenue,” Maziar recalls, uneasy with the friction between Iran and the United States.

Some of us at the Georgetowner were regular customers of the first Peacock Café location, 1,200 square feet filled with the smell of fresh bread and sweets. The division of labor back then already existed: Shahab was the front man, the greeter, the person customers and employees dealt with.

“He is the best,” Maziar says. “The best at his job because, you know how people can be in this business. Not everyone is good at the people part. But Shahab is. He’s more than good. He’s interested in people, he likes people, he’s got tons of charm, and everything he does and says is genuine, authentic. People can pick up on that.”

That’s one of those intangibles that make this restaurant—a bigger version of the original—a success. It’s hard to peg, for instance, what the restaurant is supposed to be. You wouldn’t, for instance, guess that the restaurant and the menu is the work of two gentlemen from Iran, “except that sometimes, I sneak some seasoning, some flavors in,” says Maziar. On its website, it bills itself as a contemporary American Restaurant and Bar, which is to say that the menu, eclectic as all get out, does include an array of burgers and maybe one of the best filet mignons around.

“Sometimes I think it must have seemed crazy at the time,” Maziar says. “We put together everything we had and we put it in this place. It was upstairs, in the square right by Wisconsin Avenue, but it fronted the courtyard on Prospect. We thought of it as a café and market, and we thought we might last a couple of years if we were lucky, and sometimes we weren’t sure about that. But you know, we did what we do now, except it’s bigger, with lots more employees, bigger costs to make the nut and a profit.

“Sometimes my mom and dad, they would sit there—there were only six seats, really—so that it would appear that we would have customers there all the time. Crazy, I know. A friend of mine would come in a lot too. But what people liked then was the unusual stuff. We did healthy, fresh before there was Whole Foods, we did gourmet coffee before there was Starbucks. People liked that.”

When they were busy back then, the line stretched out the door.

I liked the vegetarian chili, which is still on the menu and still as good as before. And for me to even admit proximity to vegetarian is the stuff of amazement to friends. But I’m not alone—Secretary of State Hilary Clinton recently celebrated her birthday here with husband Bill, and the ex-prez ate a healthy vegan dinner—quite a thing for a man who was something of a notorious burger king.

It’s hard to exactly identify the quality of Peacock, until you talk to the brothers. Their personalities and tastes, their eager curiosity about the world, their love affair with quality, are like thumbprints all over the restaurant. And Maziar is a talented chef with a lot of soul, who adds an extra kick and a little song to some signature dishes, like the filet mignon with mushroom sauce, roasted duck Provencal, grilled lamb, the Bistro burger with gorgonzola cheese, and the seared tuna sandwich. If you’ve been absent for a long time, they treat and greet you like you were there last Saturday.

They’ve got art on the walls, currently Fashion Week photographs whose proceeds from purchase benefit various charities. They’ve got lots of light and lots of space. You can bring your parents there, your hip artist cousin, your significant other, your grandchild. You don’t hear much from food critics—except for a pair of local bloggers who call themselves the Bitches Who Brunch. Yes indeed. They loved the place and raved about the poached eggs and a smoothie called the Mango Tango.

It’s the quality of the food and offerings that count, to be sure, but often restaurants are more than just food. The story of the Peacock Café is in the event itself, the 20th anniversary, and the story of the brothers and the longtime employees. Several generations of Georgetown University students and their parents have eaten here on graduation day, for instance. “It’s graduation time now, and you know that’s always a bittersweet time for us,” Shahab said. “The kids and their parents that have been coming here will be gone, and that’s sad.”

And it’s really the story of these two men. For a long time, they lived together in Virginia, until Shahab married wife Micky ten years ago. They have two daughters, Ava, six, and Ella Rose, four. “He is the best uncle,” Shahab said. “But I had to kick him out.”

You will also notice that they’re close and comfortable, and that this is the house they built together. The Peacock—and the brothers Farivar—are a Georgetown institution, as much as any restaurant of long standing. They are a part of the Prospect block and a part of the daily life of Georgetowners, from brunchers and students, to residents and families. They’ve made three different attempts to expand—once in Dupont Circle, another time in Baltimore, and another more recently on K Street, right as the big economic meltdown hit.

They both agree there have been some mistakes. “But we learned from them, I like to think,” Shahab says. “I mean, we haven’t given up on expansion, but not right now. We’re here to stay, that’s for sure.”

Maybe, like some fictional character named Dorothy, they’ve learned that there’s no place like home. And home, for the immigrant brothers from Iran, is right here in Georgetown. [gallery ids="102558,102559,102560,102561,102562,102563,102564,102565" nav="thumbs"]

Gary Tischler •

When Kaya Henderson was chosen to be Interim Chancellor of the District of Columbia School System in the midst of a turbulent political sea change, things in her life began to change in a big way.

It’s not like she didn’t have a big job before: she had been Michelle Rhee’s right-hand person for years, first at The New Teacher Project, then as Deputy Director, running the Office of Human Capital at DCPS when Rhee became the District’s first chancellor.

“I was used to being kind of under the radar. You could talk to people without talking shop, or that ‘hey—you’re so and so, wow!’ kind of thing,” she said. “Before this happened, I could come home to Brentwood, stop at the nearby tavern because their kitchen stayed open until closing, talk to my friends, have a hamburger and relax.”

“Now, you can’t do it anymore,” she said. “People come up to you all of the time. You end up talking about the schools even among my friends.”

Henderson has become kind of famous in her own way. People write articles about her now. They want to know not only about the efficacy of the Impact Evaluation System for evaluating teachers, but about her dog and her boyfriend.

That’s not likely to get any better soon. Rumors have been swirling in the press this week that Mayor Vincent Gray was going to announce that he would make Henderson’s status as DCPS Chancellor permanent.

When I asked her if she actually wanted the job, which she’s probably been asked hundreds of times by now, she shot her head back and sighed. “People said I was, I don’t know, ambivalent about it,” she said. “I just don’t like that word, that’s all. This is a job you have to get used to. You have to decide to do it and do it right, that you make progress, that you make it better for the kids. The mayor and I get along. We meet once a week. I think he wants reform as much as anybody.

“So however it works out, I’ll be fine with it.”

“You know what happens when you get at the center of things like this job,” she said, not entirely happily. “People get to know your business. They want to know your business.”

That probably comes with the territory, which brings with it the media. She knows that, pretty well too.

Her first foray into the land of flashbulbs came when she was introduced to the public as interim chancellor in a giant hug-a-thon, featuring presumptive mayor Vincent Gray, then-acting Mayor Adrian Fenty and Michelle Rhee, who had just announced her resignation.

The appointment came at a tumultuous time. Gray had only a short time ago upset Fenty in a Democratic Primary election, a seismic political event which many saw as a referendum against school reform, Rhee and Fenty.

“That whole thing was a shock in some ways,” she said. “If you told me when we first got here that I would be here, where I am, interim chancellor and all that, I’d have said you got to be kidding. We all thought we would be in the midst of a second Fenty term, doing our jobs, continuing on with the work that had begun and so on. But it was Michelle who asked me to do this. She said: You’ve got to make sure this continues, and that’s why a lot of the team remained, assuring continuity.”

Now she’s here, and very much a public figure. Not that she’s exactly shy.

Henderson, 40, can command a room, even when its practically empty, as when she went with Gray on a series of town hall meet-and-greets that not only introduced Gray to the folks in the various wards of the city, but also Henderson.

She came in out of her office hands outstretched to sit with me at one of those big long conference tables. This is a woman who doesn’t leave you much room not to like her. She’s direct, with an open, animated face that breaks easily into a smile or laughter. She is also a serious person, something of a wonk whose comfort zone is probably three-hour banter about policy.

Nobody should make any mistakes: she is totally committed to school reform, which includes notions that you ought to be able to fire bad teachers and reward good ones, and that the Impact Evaluation System is an excellent and fair way of evaluation. Listen to her talk, and you get the notion that she’s spent a lot of time with Michelle Rhee: “I believe with all my heart that a great teacher can change a classroom, can change your life.” This is practically a mantra of reform—just the other day the governor of Indiana used almost the exact phrase talking about teacher’s unions.

She is also a patient worker and a relationship-builder; that much talked about revolutionary, dynamic contract signed by the Washington Teachers Union under George Parker was led by Henderson. “It’s about trust, it’s about relationships and building a process,” she said. “We all—our team, Parker’s team—worked on this long and hard under difficult conditions, but in the end we got there…Now we sort of have to start all over.”

Nathan Saunders, a strong critic of the Impact Evaluation System, defeated Parker in an election for the WTU’s presidency.

“Philosophically, I agree with Michelle,” Henderson said. “She has been and is my best friend. But that doesn’t mean I’m her, or that I work like she does, or have a similar personality, or always agree with her.”

Henderson exudes certain straightforward warmth, a no-nonsense straight talk, and an optimism that is obvious. She’s had some hurdles to deal with—a faction-driven problem over principals at Hardy School in Georgetown for one, facing budget cuts and possible school closings.

You’d think that Henderson would have been a natural fit for the education world, given that her mother Kathleen was a teacher and a principal. But in fact, she went to Georgetown University and the School Of Foreign Service. Because she was interested in policy, she ended up at Teach for America, teaching middle school in the South Bronx.

“Still, I grew up in the suburbs, Westchester. And my mom was a huge influence on me, that’s absolutely true,” she said. “We lost her in 2003 to colon cancer. She was 53. Just 53…We decided—she decided—to make the most of the time she had left. We spent a lot of time together, with her friends, teachers, principals and superintendents, and it was such a time. It was full of life. She wanted to spend her last hours with her friends and that was a blessing.”

Just with the open tone that she talks about her mother, you can tell this might have happened last year and that she thinks a lot about her. “Oh yes,” she said, “You have to wonder what she would have thought about this. It’s funny…I talk to her old pals, superintendents some of them, and I look where I am and I think about her, sure.”

And when the interim tag comes off, she’ll think about her again.

As of Wednesday, March 9, the day of The Georgetowner’s publication, Ms. Henderson was officially named Chancellor of the District of Columbia Public School system.

Gary Tischler •

The last time Vincent Orange had a seat on the city council in 2006 after representing Ward 5 for eight years, he decided to run for mayor. Adrian Fenty rolled over him, just like every other candidate in a knockout victory.

Now, Orange is back as the newly-elected at-large city councilman, winning a special election to fill the seat formerly held by Kwame Brown, who was elected council chairman last year in a race against Orange. Talk about perseverance.

Orange won a tight race, considering the low voter turnout citywide, that featured a strong challenge by Republican Patrick Mara, who was endorsed by the Washington Post and won impressive pluralities in Wards 2, 3 and 6. Orange, boosted by a strong lead in fundraising late in the campaign, name recognition and experience ended up taking 28 percent of the vote to Mara’s almost 26 percent. Orange won by a margin of over 1,000 votes.

Sekou Biddle, a Shepherd Park resident and Teach for America worker, was the nominal incumbent, having been appointed to fill the seat on an interim basis by the DC Democratic Committee, with support from Mayor Vincent Gray and Chairman Brown. Incumbency was not enough to push Biddle across the finish line in the lead. He finished third, winning 20 percent of the vote.

Bryan Weaver, a Ward 1 activist and ANC Commissioner, made a credible showing at 13 percent (he won a majority in Ward One), followed by Josh Lopez, the young Hispanic candidate who worked on former Mayor Adrian Fenty’s campaign and helped lead a write-in campaign for him.

Looked at from a distance, the results of this race appear to be almost a replay of the results in the mayoral race, which saw Gray upset Fenty by winning heavily in the primarily black wards of 8, 7, 4 and 5, while Fenty took a large majority in the primarily white wards of 3, 2 and 6. Orange scored big in the same wards as Gray, while Mara took large majorities as Fenty. What’s clear is that Mayor Gray’s campaign slogan of “One City” remains no more than just a slogan.

Voter turnout, as usual in such special elections, was not even respectable, coming in at 9.48 percent of eligible voters, according to DC Board of Election figures. Before DC voters again rail against interference from the federal government or for voting rights in congress, they might look long and hard at that figure: 43,208 voters out of 455,842 eligible voters voted in this election.

True, special elections don’t draw a heavy turnout, but for an election deemed critical by many observers, it’s a poor showing that needs to be improved.

Both Orange and Mara indicated they would not support a tax increase on the $200,000 plus earners in the city, something of a surprise from Orange, but not from a GOP candidate. The tax increase is a critical part of Mayor Gray’s budget and the election results probably doesn’t bode well for it. Expect a big budget fight ahead in the upcoming weeks.

What the results showed is that the city, while losing black residents, remains a deeply divided city. Mayor Gray, under a continually raining cloud over hiring practices and investigations from a variety of sources, has been so far unable to effectively lead. School reform was probably not a major issue, since there wasn’t a candidate that doesn’t support reform. The ethical scandals surrounding the mayor, the chairman and some members of the council, however, was a big talking point in the candidate forums.

Orange returns to a council that is different from the one that he left. Brown, the man who defeated him in the chairman race, remains chairman but is a considerably weaker leader almost in as much hot water as Gray and even more unpopular.

For Orange, it’s something of a major comeback and triumph. He won in spite of having lost convincingly in his last two campaigns. He won in spite of a majority of the council support for his opponents. That signals a divided council, which Orange may have difficulty in influencing. On the other hand, Orange brings one quality that is healthy in these tense times to the council: he is an unwavering enthusiast and optimist, not the worst attitude for an elected official.

Gary Tischler •

Walk into the offices of DC City Council Chairman Vincent Gray, and it’s like walking into two different
worlds.

Along a small corridor of offices and cubicles, there are people talking on the phone; computers are on. It’s got all the signs of any busy bureaucratic office. Walk into his office, with Gray leading the way, and the busy sounds die down. His office is reminiscent of an expansive drawing room — leather chairs, a large desk, books and pictures on the wall.

The two-world metaphor works in another way now: Gray, who prevailed over incumbent Mayor Adrian Fenty in the race for the Democratic mayoral nomination on September 14, now has his feet in two different places. He’s still the Council Chairman, but he’s also the presumptive mayor of the District of Columbia.

It’s presumptive because usually, in this heavily Democratic city, if you win the Democratic Party’s nomination you become mayor. There are only ever nominal Republican or third-party opposition in the general election, which this year is November 2. This will probably be the case again, even though some disaffected folks have started a Fenty write-in website.

“People don’t know what to call me or how to describe my status,” Gray joked as we settled in for an interview.

Gray’s victory has unsettled people. While it’s sometimes jarring even to Gray, it’s even more jarring to Fenty supporters and supporters of DCPS Chancellor Michelle Rhee, who had trouble imaging such a result ever coming to pass. Some of the same people have painted the results in the darkest of terms.

That included Rhee, who at first, in the aftermath of the Newseum’s premiere of “Waiting for Superman”, used the word “devastating” describing the election results. Of course she later backtracked.

Gray, who says he hasn’t yet seen the film, said that he’s not making personnel decisions at the moment. So the oft-asked question about Rhee’s status, asked almost routinely throughout the campaign, goes largely unanswered when I asked it yet again. “I know, I know,” he said. “But I haven’t made a decision on that yet. Honestly, when she and I met we didn’t talk about any of that. We talked about educational issues, education philosophy, ideas about schools and children and teachers. It was a pretty far-ranging conversation, so we didn’t get to that. We’ll obviously be talking again.” But if pictures and video of the two emerging from their recent meetings were any indication
— the two literally stood at some distance from each other, and Rhee left quickly — than clearly the discussions had some heft to them.

“Right now, nothing is off the table,” Gray said. Asked if that included Rhee staying on as chancellor, in some form or another, he said, “I haven’t ruled it out.”

As usual, Gray is being deliberative, not making up his mind quickly even if there is a certain amount of pressure — most of it coming from the media.

“Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that we are where we are,” Gray said. “I feel most of the time incredibly humbled by what’s transpired, but I was confident in making that decision to run. I never thought we couldn’t win. And as those first polls about the mayor surfaced, and later on, it was pretty clear to me that there were a lot of unhappy people out there, some angry people.”

“Of course, when some early polls came in election night they had us behind,” he said. “That had a chilling effect, to say the least.”

Back in the summer, when we first had a long conversation with Gray at the Busboys and Poets site near his campaign headquarters, he stated emphatically that this city was more divided today than at any time in its history of home rule. He turned out to be acutely accurate.

“I get these questions all the time,” he said. “What are you going to do about Marion Barry? Are we going to go back to the old politics? That sort of thing.”

“I understand that, believe me. But…people should remember that I wasn’t part of all that. I’m not a career politician, who’s been doing this stuff all of my life. I didn’t run for office until 2004, the first time,” he said. “And when it comes to Mr. Barry, I’m interested in responding to the needs of his constituents, as well as the constituents in all of the city’s wards. I’m not obligated to Mr. Barry.”

It’s fair to say he proved that earlier this year, when Mr. Barry once again came under fire, and the council as a whole voted to censure Barry and strip him of his committee chair position. When the vote came, it was Gray who handled it with both dignity and toughness, unwavering, because it was the correct thing to do, in spite of Mr. Barry’s emotional importuning during the proceedings.

“We did what we had to do. People seem to forget that,” Gray said.

There is certain toughness in Gray that isn’t always readily self-evident. He has what in old-school terms you might call good manners, but there are fires burning there. A widower, he’s lived alone, in a house in the Hillcrest neighborhood, in Ward 7 since the death of his wife Loretta, a schoolteacher, in 1998. He has almost a courtly way about him. He’s a man who believes in observing the formalities.
There’s almost an idiosyncratic dynamic about him. You saw it in the campaign. He carries himself with authority and confidence, fully aware of the importance of position and endeavor. But at the same time, he has the very quality that many people thought Fenty lacked: a consideration for and curiosity about people.

At candidate forums, he could get prickly and combative, but he also looked like somebody that was enjoying himself. His theme is that he will run a One-City government, inclusive of the participation and the views of others. “Don’t stand on the sidelines,” he urges people when it comes to issues. “Be a part of the debate, a part of the discussion.” Put him in a parade, and he might take hours to get through, as you could see, at the Adams Morgan Festival, two days before the election. His supporters surged forward only to lose the candidate, who had been buttonholed by someone he knew, jaw-boning as the parade passed by.

“Yeah, I guess it does take me a while to get through a parade,” he said. “I just think it’s important to talk with people and even more important to listen.”

He knows he’s got his work cut out for him. “We’re facing a huge $175 million budget deficit
— more than that I’m told — and we need everybody working together on that. We’re all in this together.”

He knows too that the election results, which showed him winning by huge margins in the mostly black wards and losing by large margins in the mostly white ward, exposed the great divide that he had identified. “It’s not just race. It’s economic; it’s perceptions of government,” he said. Nationally, his win was being touted by media types as a rejection of education reform.

Gray typically resented that notion. “That’s just not an accurate perception or reality,” he said. “I am firmly committed to education reform, and I think a lot of good things have already been done in that direction. The election wasn’t about whether or not to reform the schools or that they needed reform. They did. I want to continue to do that. In fact, I want education reform to expand to include early education, [with] more emphasis on charter schools, vocational schools. We have to tackle the other issues that impact schools — the lack of jobs in the poor wards. It’s disgraceful. My approach, I think, is a little more holistic.”

“We’re going to move forward,” he said. “Make no mistake about that.”

Gray’s vision of “One City” was tested in a previous race for the council chairmanship. There he defeated Kathy Patterson, the council member from predominantly white Ward 3, by a double-digit margin. “One City” was put into practice again this week, when he embarked on the first of eight promised town hall meetings across all of the city’s wards.

“We’re going to be there to listen to people,” he said. “We’ll have groups on different topics so that there won’t be redundancy. I want to know what’s on people’s minds — what they’re concerned about when it comes to myself.”

“I want to be the man that unites the city,” he said. “I want people to feel that they’re not forgotten — that they’re part of the debate, part of the discussion.”

He also said that he would revive Mayor Anthony Williams’ Citizens Summit, probably in November, in which residents from all wards can come together to provide input on planning and budget issues.

Gray is known as a consensus seeker, deliberative, and even “plodding,” as one critic described it. “That’s not it at all,” he said. “Leadership to me is not just about making decisions per se. It’s about making decisions and getting people to come with you — to understand what you’re doing, hopefully by inspiring people.”

Gray knows he’s walking a bit of a tightrope — allaying the fears of the people who voted against him while meeting the expectations of the people who voted for him.

“I think my wife would have warned me not to get a big head,” he said. “But I can tell you this much, nobody has to worry that I’m going to be wearing a hat that doesn’t fit me.”

There’s a solidity about the man. It’s not that he’s got a thousand close friends but that he has a solid life; his children, Jonice Gray Tucker and Vincent Carlos Gray, and grandchildren are proudly exhibited in photographs on the wall. There’s his Catholic faith and his best friend Lorrain Green, who was his campaign chairman and “the person I’ll talk with, go over things with” he said. “I’ve known her for 20 years or more.” Gray, who once was a highly touted high school baseball player at Dunbar High School — enough to make major league scouts look at him — still plays in a Washington Recreation League at first base. “Keeps me in shape,” said Gray, who at 67 is the city’s oldest elected mayor. He also has a cat named Samurai and is, apparently, known to be quite the hand-dancer.

Dignity and respect mean a lot to him. “I’ve always believed you treat people with respect,” he said. “Everyone.” [gallery ids="99204,103437" nav="thumbs"]

Gary Tischler •

The real deal begins Wednesday.

Ever since DC City Council Chairman Vince Gray scored a solid and surprising win over incumbent mayor Adrian Fenty back in September, there was a certain air of calm before the storm throughout the city, as voters waited in place for the validating election that occurred this week.

While everywhere else across the country, Democrats are all but shaking in their collective boots awaiting an impending wave of national discontent that seemed likely to take away their control of the House of Representatives, here in Washington, Democrat stalwarts can rest assured that they’ll stay in control of the city, in as much as the city has control over itself.

It’s pretty safe to say that what the Democratic primary brought about in September will pretty much stand as the election result. So, we feel safe in saying that, even though we went to press before the election results were tabulated, Gray will officially become the city’s sixth mayor, Kwame Brown will become it’s City Council Chairman, and the makeup of the city council, sans Brown’s seat, will stand pat.

The bigger question becomes what happens next, and what will be the major issue confronting the new mayor, chairman and council?

Hint: It’s probably not school reform.

The big cloud looming over Washington and its governing types is the huge ($175 million and counting) budget deficit, which, if it isn’t solved could lead the city back into the control of a control board. The city is required by law to present a balanced to congress or see the return of the bad old days of control board authority.

Nobody’s making predictions, but Ward 2 Councilman Jack Evans, who was the only council member to vote against the last budget and who’s something of an expert on city finances, said that tough decisions are ahead, and to him, that means severe cuts up and down the line.

Others on the council, Michael Brown and Ward 6 Councilman Tommy Wells among them, have talked about raising taxes. This would certainly fly in the face of all the mighty political winds blowing across the country, where tax cuts for anybody making a salary, however meager or large, are being proposed and will be the focus of major debates once the electoral blood-letting is done.

Not in DC. Presumptive mayor Gray hasn’t chimed in on that, although at the last of the town hall meetings held in all of the city’s eight wards, he did opine that he himself wouldn’t mind paying additional taxes. Which is not to say that everyone else in the city might not.

Gray has spent much of his time on the town hall meetings throughout the city, drawing largely favorable reviews from those attending. Ever since the resignation of DCPS Chancellor Michelle Rhee and the ensuing commentary, things have been quiet. Too quiet.

As Gray himself acknowledges, people throughout the city haven’t yet gotten a handle on what a Gray administration might look and feel like, and how it would differ from the previous tenant. It’s probably fair to say that it will be, as Gray promised, more inclusionary, less breathlessly active, more thoughtful, and more cognizant of the entire city. The city remains divided, as Gray was the first to truly see, and the post-election doings haven’t done much to bridge that gap. The town hall meetings were meant to give people an idea of who Gray was, and to begin healing that divide.

While there were initial rumblings in the media and in different parts of the city in the aftermath of victory (or defeat, depending upon where you lived and who you supported), the grumblings so far haven’t amounted to much. Except for the write-in effort for Fenty which will allow people to vote for Fenty as a write-in-candidate.

In typically contemporary fashion, the effort had its start on Facebook and launched to raise funds and support for Fenty. Never mind that Fenty lost by a clear10 percentage point and that nobody is questioning the result. It’s an effort by folks who fear and think that Gray, whom they otherwise like, is somehow going to derail school reform in the district which, depending on where you sat, was a big success under Fenty and Rhee.

Fenty disavowed any support for the effort, said he was supporting Gray repeatedly, and assured that he was going to vote for him. Although he stopped short of sharply discouraging the effort. “I can’t tell people what they can or can’t do,” he said.

The effort, while perfectly legal, only exasperates the divisions existing in the city. It is a peculiarly undemocratic approach that says: We won’t accept the election results that we don’t like and we’re going to try and change them.

They’re not the only ones who have some of that attitude. Consider the Washington Post. The media always plays a heavy role in politics. It’s the nature of the best that we are. But the Post holds a particularly influential position on matters of local importance in this city.

During the course of this campaign, the Post looked almost schizophrenic
in its coverage, with the editorial page supporting team Fenty-Rhee consistently, strongly, and with all guns firing. On the other hand, the reporting has been, for the most part, consistently excellent and even-handed. There is no small amount of irony in the fact that it was a Washington Post poll which discovered early on that there was a growing groundswell of discontent around Fenty and Rhee—not against reform or policy, but against the high-handedness of their methods. That discovery was made early in January and no doubt helped a still undecided Gray jump into the fray. The fact that neither Fenty nor Rhee heeded the warning signs resulted in yet another late-election Post poll which showed the same results only more so. But by then it was probably too late.

Not that the Post has given up. This year, the Post editorial board appears to have discovered Republicans in our midst, something it hadn’t previously noticed outside of Carole Schwartz, the most unorthodox Republican that ever lived. The local GOP has avoided the mayor’s race, but has fielded candidates in the council races. Two of them managed to gain the support of the Post, in the name of political diversity. That would be David Hedgepeth, running against incumbent Democrat Mary Cheh in Ward 3, and Timothy Day in Ward 5 running against Harry Thomas Jr.

“They’ve come out of the closet,” a neighbor of mine suggested. But it’s doubtful that the Post suddenly got GOP fever, even with the ill political winds blowing out there. They chided Ms. Cheh for what they saw as her tepid support of school reform and, not coincidentally, her support of Gray during the primary election. Thomas is also a strong Gray supporter.

But still there seems to be a watch-and-wait attitude in the city. Even the announced and impending resignation of DC Fire Chief Dennis L. Rubin caused barely a ripple in the media. The announcement was made via mass e-mail recently. Rubin said he would be working as a consultant through January 2.

Rubin’s departure, and a sure change in the city attorney’s office come January, along with Rhee’s departure mark three pairs of shoes that dropped. The rest await the workings of transition, a process that Gray hopes to finance through private donations, as opposition to tax funds. Speaking of taxes…we’ll that’s going to have to wait for now, too.

Gary Tischler •

Sitting in the balcony seats at Arena Stage’s Kreeger Theatre overlooking the stage, I had a disquieting thought as I watched George and Martha go at each other in Edward Albee’s “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.”

I thought: there are no fictional characters. Everything I experienced at this compelling, raw production, even in its few calmer moments, felt realer than anything called “reality show.” It felt realer than anything on the nightly local news. George and Martha and their unfortunate guests Nick and Honey are famous in theatre history, and they churned up the stage, kick-started your memories, made you grin and laugh. They made you see yourself in their revelations, their brawling, their need to compete, hurt, connect, disengage, wound and understand.

In the more intimate confines of the Kreeger, the only escape is the Exit signs. Unlike the Kennedy Center production at the Eisenhower Theater, which gave you breathing room and distance, or the Liz-and-Dick movie version, witnessing this show at the Kreeger (and I think that’s what the audience is doing, bearing witness) is like being dropped into a combat zone.

The authenticity, the “real,” is not only created by a quartet of terrific actors and actresses, but by director Pam McKinnon’s sharp pacing, creating little puddles of reflections in a roiling sea, before combat begins anew. That pace keeps the play—two acts and well over three hours—from lagging. You may feel punchy, a little beat up afterwards, but you are never disinterested, sleepy or bored.

Part of the reason too is that the set by Todd Rosenthal looks so large and detailed. It’s a living room/disorganized library where steps, stairs a hallway and a door lead off to other spaces unseen, but imaginable. It looks rumpled, lived in, dominated by sprawling, scattered books and a stand-up bar to which the characters retreat to renew. Combat is not too strong a word for what happens during the long, nightmarish all-nighter we see—in fact the play has a fight choreographer and a fight captain listed in its credits (for the record, Nick Sandys and Carrie Coon, respectively).

Meet George and Martha, if you haven’t already. They are the creatures and creations of Playwright Edward Albee, who’s having quite a time for himself in Washington, being honored here with an Albee festival, a reading of all of his plays, and his presence at Georgetown University for part of a Tennessee Williams festival.

George and Martha live raggedly, furiously on the campus of a Northeastern university where George is a history professor married to the irascibly sharp-tongued, combative Martha, daughter of the university president, which makes contact with her a prize for a young biology professor like Nick and his hot-house flower of a wife, Honey.

George and Martha, who appeared to have finessed themselves into a rough marriage full of disappointments, carnage and games, hold court in the wee hours with Nick and Honey for an evening of horrible trash talk and insults hurled in equal parts like stilettos or rocks.

Amy Morton, half-blonde and all fury, with edges even in her hair, is like some sultry, long-striding lioness of displeasure, discontent, and just plain dissing. She’s hungry for the fight, but also hungry for all the lost love between the two. Periodically, she’s looking for physical comfort from George, who turns his back and picks up a book, or wards her off with a biting insult, one of which he repeats often: “I am seven years older than you, my love, and no matter what I will always be seven years older than you.”

The quartet drinks—a lot. And then some more. Honey, who appears to have tricked her hubby into a marriage by way of a false pregnancy, gets sick. The two men spar like intellectual gladiators, Nick using his youth, George his infinite, bottomless gift for expressing disgust with the best of words, wit and viciousness.

These four don’t just sit around. They pace, they hurl themselves at each other, they come close to blows, and they lounge askew on the couch. It’s clear what the games are: the famous “Hump the Hostess” and “Get the Guests” among them.

And in this production we give you Traci Letts as George, the feral historian. We’ve seen diffident, cruelly distanced and impossibly nuanced Georges, but never quite this furious and ferocious a George. Letts, who is also a playwright—with plays full of familial combat in them—gets that just so; he convinces you that this very public, teeth-bared cruelty is somehow just. He’s like Peter Finch in “Network” who can’t take it anymore.

And strangely, you know George and Martha carry around with them every opportunity, every bit of whatever love they had, with them. They are in ruins, full of dried up tears, spent passion, words like war, opportunities lost to the endless abyss of the past.

The title refers to a song she sang at the party they attended that night—giddy, silly and then, like a lost voice in the night, heart-breaking after all. Now that’s a reality show.

Steppenwolf Theatre Company’s Production of Edward Albee’s “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf,” directed by Pam MacKinnon, is at Arena Stage’s Kreeger theater until April 10. For more information visit ArenaStage.org.

Gary Tischler •

Mary Zimmerman is back. Don’t say you weren’t warned.

Zimmerman’s “Arabian Nights” comes to Arena Stage fresh on the heels of the closing days of Zimmerman’s vision of Leonard Bernstein’s “Candide” at the Shakespeare Theater. The two plays being so close together are an embarrassment of theatrical riches, for which you need heart, mind, empathy and imagination to be working at full capacity to get the full effect.

“Arabian Nights” is no Disney production, nor Richard Burton’s, nor the Frenchman’s who wrote something like it in the 1700s. It belongs to none of the storytellers who might have told the original stories over the centuries. There is no Ali Baba here, no Sabu or Sinbad. The authorship and content of the “Arabian Nights” tales are thick with thumbprints and a host of Middle East and further east cultures.

The program will tell you that this production was written and directed by Mary Zimmerman and adapted from “The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night,” as translated by Powys Mathers. This is probably a truth, but to put it squarely, the final author is Mary Zimmerman, as is the case with most of her work, no matter if it goes back centuries. The rambunctiously inventive director-playwright explodes the stage every time out.

“Arabian Nights” at the Arena belongs to Zimmerman; hers is the power and the glory, the credit and the blame—some of which will surely come. Oddly enough, this “Arabian Nights” also belongs to us, if we choose to own it. By us, I mean the members of the audience, but also historical Americans who have left heavy, wrenching footprints in the glorious city of Baghdad, where this night of nights is set.

Picture this: a stage, full of wrinkled, large canvasses, unfurled, deeply pleated. Picture this now in the court of a medieval Baghdad, where a troubled, dangerous king is marrying virginal brides every day for three years and killing them nightly, after finding his first bride in the arms of another man whom he dispatched. He is a man with an awesome fear of women and love. He says “Say not, ‘If I might love and yet escape the follies of loving’, but rather ‘Only a miracle brings a man safe from love.’”

He has almost depleted the kingdom of marriage-age young women by this time, and so picks Scheherazade, the daughter of his closest adviser, the Wazir. Accompanied by her faithful sister, she comes dutifully to the palace and spins a series of stories for the king, cliffhangers of love, death and comedy, so that he’s forced to stave off her execution one day at a time. Just so, her father comes each morning with a shroud for her funeral.

We may know this story already. But we don’t know the story as Zimmerman tells it. You weren’t expecting the tale of the madman and how he got that way. You surely weren’t expecting the burlesque-like routine of “What’s in the Bag,” the contents of which are improvised by the actors each night.

And you probably weren’t expecting to see, with an ache in your heart, an ancient civilization resurrected like a fleshy, musical mirage before your eyes. This is the Baghdad of Harun al Rashid, the city’s most fabled ruler. It is a city where poets ruled as much as sheiks and kings, and women were beautiful, dangerous and impossible to know. Zimmerman’s Baghdad is a city of fable, merchants and musclemen—not the modern city wrecked by shock and awe, where Sunnis and Shiites battle and hand-made bombs are just another roadside attraction.

I could talk about the costumes, and the technical and showy detail that Zimmerman is so good at; lamps descend onto the stage, a man meets himself on the waters of the Tigris and Euphrates, ancient musical instruments play loudly and sweetly, and a civilization dies before your eyes.

It has been suggested that there are stereotypes in the show, and it’s true. But Zimmerman addresses this issue with a very important statement, which speaks volumes about the material:

“It is a precondition of war that we view other people as fundamentally different form ourselves; it is a precondition of literature that we view other people as fundamentally the same.”

Watching and responding to a story that depends on its rolling laughter is to remember that something as simple as a fart makes the whole world helpless with laughter. It’s surely a shared experience. But so is the torture of love, and so is the heartbreak of a love song. In these stories, we ought to recognize ourselves, our common humanity, as well as the pungent power of stories.

What’s in this bag? More than it has any business holding. Go hear the stories of “The Arabian Nights.” You will dream about it and talk about it. I guarantee it.
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Gary Tischler •

Giacomo Puccini’s “Madama Butterfly” is probably the most performed opera in America. The Washington National Opera, with two different casts among the principals, is in the midst of a run of 13 performances for this most romantic and tragic of operas.

There are reasons for that. “Butterfly” is the opera that depends greatly on its music, which sounds like a given for any opera, but it’s especially true here. But it also has in its core the most basic and classical themes of theatrical literature—enduring, undying love and the tragedy that arises from it. And let’s not forget the classic East-Meets-West at the expense of East theme.

Clocking in at roughly three hours with one intermission, “Butterfly” would seem to be a bit of an endurance test for the operatically disinclined, but in the end, it is exactly what it’s often describe as: the opera for people who don’t usually go to the opera. Which accounts for the frequent presence of the opera on the season schedule of any company that can provide the singers, conductors and orchestra to do it justice.

The WNO certainly has that in soprano Catherine Naglestad (Ana Maria Martinez is the second Butterfly), who sings with heartbreaking clarity and acts the part of Cio-Cio-San, aka Madama Butterfly, in an appealing style that avoids overstatement and operatic histrionics that are sometimes off-putting to the uninitiated. Clearly, she’s the unadorned heroine of this opus. She has a beauty that combines with humility to create a young woman already used to the woes of the world but who clings nonetheless to an unfounded hope. Her movements around the stage are graceful without ever descending into Western clichés about Asian ways.

We all probably know the story—Lt. Pinkerton (ably sung by the Russian tenor Alexei Dolgov), a young and caddish American navy officer at the beginning of America’s robust foray into the Pacific, is stationed in Nagasaki, in a Japan where the Shoguns and codes of honor reign. He’s paid for a wife (both marriage and contract can be waived by him at any time), the lovely teenaged Cio-Cio-San, and duly marries her in order to taste as many pleasures as he can before settling down. Cio-Cio-San, forced to become a geisha because of her disgraced father, is smitten beyond reason, commons sense and caution. The feelings are expressed in a lengthy duet in Act One, but it’s Act Two that fills the heart with apprehension, and the soul with a kind of devastating glory.

Pinkerton of course leaves off on the ocean blue, and does not return for three years: Butterfly has been forced to sell off almost everything she has merely to survive, and has also mothered a son, a beautiful small blonde boy. She believes Pinkerton will return to hearth and home. He’s back all right, with an American wife in tow. Pinkerton never sees her, and it’s up to the American consul to relay that news and that the Pinkertons will take care of Cio-Cio-San’s son. Like some bereft waif, left with nothing, Butterfly’s left with an impossible decision.

Butterfly is at her most appealing as she waits, the ship in the harbor, with her son at her side. She has already let us know in thunderous soaring terms in the famous aria “Un Bel Di” (One Beautiful day), which everyone has already heard, if only as muzak in an elevator. She soars with love and hope and as the aria begins, so does the audience soar. You can practically hear a collective sigh move through the audience as the familiar music rises, and the audience soars with her, totally, tearfully satisfied.

This is the kind of thing you don’t often get in theater—satisfaction expressed in the audience, especially when in the presence of a significant artist like Nagelstad

But what you also don’t usually get is what happens next when Butterfly waits, her eyes on the ship, her heart waiting for a sight of Pinkerton, a sound of a footsteps. This sequence has Butterfly with her back to the audience, her heart to the front, and it’s accompanied by quietly powerful orchestral music, a kind of fugue leading to finalized disappointment. Nothing happens: lights change, become muted and bright, go dim on the ship, turn dark in her lanterns. It’s an astonishing sequence that you could never do in the theater, which relies so much on movement and words. You shouldn’t be able to do it in an opera either, but it works. It creates a kind of strain and pain that can only be relieved by the familiar but always shocking tragic ending.

Bene, bene. Bravo Bravo. Ciao, Cio-Cio San.