T crises, controversies sully Mr. Fix-it image of Grabauskas
By Noah Bierman, Globe Staff | August 26, 2008
Daniel A. Grabauskas arrived at the MBTA as the guy who could fix the unfixable.
He had transformed the state's Registry of Motor Vehicles, a pit that held drivers virtually hostage for two or three hours when they renewed their licenses, into a place with Wal-Mart-style greeters at the door, a modern computer system, and 15-minute waiting times.
But three years later, the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority is far from fixed, and there are more political darts aimed at Grabauskas. He has earned praise from transportation activists for putting a focus on efficiency and access and has instituted customer service improvements such as the automated CharlieCard and the beginning of cellphone service on subways. But overwhelming debt, political infighting, and a recent series of controversies and crises at the T have tarnished his image.
In May, a trolley operator was killed in a jolting Green Line crash that highlighted the old equipment's susceptibility to human error. Soon after, Grabauskas fended off criticism for letting employees drive home state cars. This month, a federal lawsuit against a group of MIT students exposed how the T's electronic fare tickets could be reprogrammed to give free rides, leading one of the T's board members to say she had "lost all confidence" in the ability of Grabauskas to manage the agency.
"We're moving the ball in the right direction," he said. "But in this particular job, there is no end zone. You're either moving in the right direction, or you're moving in the wrong direction."
His team provided reams of lists and graphics, including a monthly system accountability book he initiated, to show where he is improving service and saving money. Canceled trips on buses and subways are down, and the fleets are running longer without breaking down, with fewer speed restrictions. Commuter rail, however, continues to run late more often than promised.
As Grabauskas grappled with the fare card public relations problem, he stumbled into another, when he granted nonunion employees a 9 percent pay increase days after warning that hefty fare increases may be necessary in 2010. The ill-timed raises led to a rebuke from the state's top transportation official and a reversal that displeased many of his managers, who have gone three years without a raise.
"That is one tough place," said Jim Stergios, executive director of the Pioneer Institute, a free market think tank, comparing the T to the Registry.
Increasingly, the confident face of public transportation in Boston has become a target, one of the last Republican holdovers in state government and, some allies contend, a scapegoat for a system struggling with decades of debt.
"There's a little surprise that he's not able to get things done like he did" at the Registry, said Mayor Thomas M. Menino, who is generally a fan. But at the T, Grabauskas has less control, more factions, unions, boards, and internal politics to deal with, Menino said. "Somebody's always trying to undercut what he's doing."
Governor Deval Patrick's office declined to answer questions for this article, only issuing a statement through Secretary of Transportation Bernard Cohen asserting that the two men have a "constructive working relationship" while pointing to the need for the "MBTA board's continued vigilance."
But Cohen's public responses to the pay raises last week revealed what many see as growing antagonism from the administration. Cohen also serves as chairman of the nine-member MBTA board, which signed Grabauskas, who makes $255,000 a year, to a five-year contract in 2005.
Much of this discussion of debt and politics is academic to the system's hundreds of thousands of riders, who simply want to get to work on time, with some level of comfort.
Walk into a subway car, and everyone, whether they have heard of Grabauskas or not, can tell you about tardy service, late construction, crowded trains, or "boiling hot" stations.
"Some of the bus drivers are rude," said Michael Greg, a 53-year-old construction worker from Boston.
Grabauskas hears it all, even at dinner parties, though he says he also gets compliments on the CharlieCard and constructive suggestions about routes and schedules.
He points to his efforts at communications, such as newer sound systems and digital signs. He fortified the call center so operators answer more calls, speak more languages, and report back to him with more consistent feedback. Stations are generally cleaner, he said. Employee overtime costs are down.
Grabauskas is proudest of his efforts to settle a disability lawsuit and improve access on the T, something he said helps everyone get on and off buses and trains with more ease.
But some problems, such as the ongoing construction of the Kenmore station, leave many with the impression that the agency is unable to complete tasks. The station near Fenway Park is already at least 20 months overdue.
"That's kind of become legend," said Michael Dukakis, the former governor and frequent T rider, citing a string of construction delays.
Grabauskas, 45, looks as if he sleeps in a pressed shirt and necktie. He lives in Ipswich with his partner of nearly 20 years, Paul Keenan. Grabauskas drives to work, but takes the T when he travels around town. He jokes with friends that he will grow a bushy beard and open a garden center when he leaves public life.
His polished and assured presence in front of a camera has helped him accelerate through the public sector. Early in his career, when he ran the state's office of consumer affairs, he was on the nightly news exposing how lobstermen were padding the price of their catch by including the weight of the water.
He built a reputation as a manager there and was asked three times by former governor Paul Cellucci to fix the Registry before he accepted. He started by setting clear goals, putting managers to work on the front lines so they could understand motorists' problems, and turning over some staff, said Kimberly Hinden, his top deputy at the Registry, who later replaced him.
Then he persuaded the state to invest about $16 million to replace green-screen computers from the 1980s with a modern system called the Q-Matic that spit out customized tickets to customers, with estimated wait times.
The reputation from the Registry was not enough to elect him when he ran for state treasurer in 2002 against Timothy P. Cahill. So Grabauskas moved to transportation, appointed first as Governor Mitt Romney's secretary of transportation and then as general manager of the MBTA.
There, he learned quickly that $16 million didn't go far at the MBTA. The T's debt is more than $8 billion including interest payments, mostly because of expansion projects.
Record high ridership, the result of $4-per-gallon gas prices, has not been enough to compensate for the debt payments, the smaller-than-expected sales tax subsidy, and the rising cost of gas for buses.
His talk of substantial fare hikes earlier this month has put pressure on the agency to save money and avoid the appearance of wasting it. Grabauskas stood by his decision to let employees take home cars, arguing that they need to respond to emergencies and that the financial impact was relatively small. He held that managers deserved the pay raises after three years without one and were being compensated in line with new union wages.
State Senator Steven A. Baddour, a Methuen Democrat who leads the Transportation Committee, suggested criticism of these decisions has been driven by politics.
"Just because he was appointed by a Republican governor and he ran for treasurer against the current treasurer shouldn't prohibit him from doing his job," Baddour said.
Grabauskas is keenly aware that his time is running out, one way or another. He said he will probably work in the private or nonprofit sector next and doubts he will seek public office again.
"I've got about 20 months left here, at the most," he said. "That's when my contract expires."
The Patrick administration, which controls the MBTA board, could oust him immediately. But it would require a costly payout, nearly a half-million dollars, and would be politically difficult.
"They have to buy me out," said Grabauskas. "And I don't intend to quit."
Noah Bierman can be reached at
nbierman@globe.com.
