In Richmond, something of a small miracle occurred during the November election. Corky Boozé, a gruff, excitable, 67-year-old auto mechanic and former racecar driver finally got into the winner’s circle after two decades of losing bids for city council.
Now the self-described “hardest-working man” in Richmond has a seat at the dais and a hand on the public purse strings, which makes people in the city both inspired and a little nervous.
You see, Boozé has long accused the city of racism and criminal neglect of Richmond’s poor, African-American communities. After years of talk, can he make good on his promises to steer public resources to the city’s have-nots? Especially those in the impoverished North Richmond communities?
Reporter Robert Rogers followed Boozé during his fiery, populist and ultimately successful campaign through Richmond’s poorest enclaves.
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ROBERT ROGERS: Earlier this fall, Corky Boozé was a man on a mission.
CORKY BOOZÉ: Any time you want something done, what do they say? "Call Corky. Call Corky." That’s the answer. I’m the go-to guy.
He was running for city council – for the ninth time.
BOOZÉ: What will I do? I will do what I’ve done for the last 30 years, making sure that your voice is heard.
He’s was a man on a constant campaign…
BOOZÉ: You cannot stop me. I’m the little engine that could.
…through Richmond’s poorest neighborhoods.
BOOZÉ: I’m asking you to join with the rest of the people and say it’s Corky’s time.
WOMAN: And I’m like who is this man?
That’s the question people are asking this morning at Casper’s, a homey hotdog stand on Macdonald Avenue. Boozé calls it his campaign office. Right now he’s perched on a stool by the window, braced on his elbows, talking to a potential voter. This is how he wins them over, one vote at a time.
DENNIS DALTON: I just always heard your name repeatedly every election you’d be up for election again and not win, so I thought, “God why does he do this, is he just…”
BOOZÉ: Does that show dedication and commitment?
DALTON: Well, yes.
"Committed" is too mild to describe Boozé and his obsession with serving on the Richmond City Council. He’s been a perennial candidate on the ballot since the 1980s.
He conducts most of his meetings at this little diner. The ladies who work here take his messages.
BOOZÉ: I’m here every day, if you wanna find me, like the lady said, "I know where to find him, he’s at Casper’s."
Quirky and blunt, earthy and emotional, Boozé insists he’s nothing if not a man of the people. Every council meeting for the last two decades has had one constant – it’s him, seated near the front, tapping his toes in his trademark tan work boots, straining forward in his chair, ready to give them hell.
BOOZÉ: Ladies and gentlemen, the title of my campaign is you do not have to move to live in a better city.
Corky Boozé is out on the campaign trail, rolling through North Richmond in his white Ford pickup truck, the cab cluttered with boxes of tools and campaign signs. The mere fact that he’s here, hustling for votes, is unconventional. Much of North Richmond is unincorporated county territory, meaning these residents can’t even vote for city office.
Boozé doesn’t seem to mind. He’s driving, talking a mile a minute, waving at people on the street, making and taking phone calls.
BOOZÉ: (phone rings) Hey, Tom! Hey, I just left out there and they been trying to get the city to respond to them.
Boozé is griping to Councilman Tom Butt about a local business owner who is being ignored by city officials. He demands a meeting, before being calmed with promises of action.
As Boozé navigates his pickup past the grimy scrap yards, abandoned houses and vacant lots that make up this bleak community, he rattles on in his strained, rapid voice – a blend of indignation and urgency that seems always be stuck in high gear.
BOOZÉ: Out of 30 years of African-American control of the city council in Richmond what do we have to show for it, that we can call our own? I’ve never heard anybody saying anything else, but nothing.
Boozé jams his pickup into park and decides to get out and walk.
BOOZÉ: What’s up man? Can I get that vote this time, man? See some of these are some of my favorites, my OG's, old school...
As Boozé trolls for votes, one man asks for a handout. Boozé digs in his jeans pocket and hands him some change.
BOOZÉ: All right, babe. Take care. All I need is you to go to the polls, man. I need you to tell the brothers. If we don’t tell our people, how can I do this?
Boozé’s platform promises to steer resources into the city’s poorest neighborhoods. Like a modern day Robin Hood, he sees a sort of righteous nobility in his town’s impoverished masses.
BOOZÉ: Let’s keep it real, okay the name of the game is, I will take care of you as long as you keep the people quiet. When you start letting the people talk, that’s why I have never been elected, cause they’ve got to stop me.
It all makes for an odd coalition. Boozé wants to raise taxes and fees on Chevron, yet he opposes a multi-million dollar casino project at Point Molate. He also hangs with the police chief and backs controversial drivers license checkpoints. The result of all that is Boozé backers make up an odd coalition. He has support from working class African-Americans, seniors and progressive whites, as well as some working class whites. And a lot of them are just a little nervous.
LYNN MAACK: I know that some people view him as almost a joke.
Lynn Maack is a longtime resident of Point Richmond, the city’s affluent waterfront district.
MAACK: When he comes into every city council meetings every meeting and addresses every single thing on the agenda, whether he has something to say about it knowledgably or not.
Still, Maack is impressed with Boozé’s authenticity.
MAACK: He just comes out and says it like it is, like he says he does. I admire that actually, and I think it’s a good feature to have.
Boozé is back in his truck, continuing his quest to drum up support for his city council bid. He rumbles down Market Street, rocking and clacking over the deep potholes. At a stop sign, he sees a man in raggedy clothes on the street corner. He’s probably about Boozé’s age, leaned up on a shopping cart full of bottles and cans. Boozé watches him for a moment. He takes a deep breath and continues on.
BOOZÉ: You should be able to find a job. It should be the responsibility of city government to basically … to be able to help the people. And it chokes me up and I'm emotional because I mean, the people that you see talking to me are people who have nobody to speak to. It's kind of like what I said, I speak for those who have no voice, I walk for those who have no feet, and I reach out for those who can’t reach out for they self.
Corky Boozé will finally have that opportunity. After decades as a gadfly at city council meetings and years of campaigning, he finally won enough votes in the November election to take the reins of power in the city he so dearly loves. The consummate outsider, will finally have a seat at the table.
In Richmond, I’m Robert Rogers, for Crosscurrents.
Read more about Corky Boozé in Robert Rogers' blog.
