The Best Schools 2008

With its high ceilings, molded columns, and terra cotta–colored walls, Newton's Aldermanic Chamber, on the second floor of City Hall, has a thoroughly democratic feeling—as if it could have hosted the signing of the Declaration of Independence. In mid-April, a tired-looking Cohen showed up there to lobby the aldermen for still more cash for the school. When board president Lisle Baker opened the meeting by announcing that the additional $56 million the mayor was after would raise the total to $197.5 million, Baker paused for the slightest moment, letting the massive figure dangle in the air. Cohen shook his head. It was a disbelieving, how-on-earth-did-it-come-to-this shake. Later, he would say it meant nothing at all, but anyone who saw it knew it was a sign of frustration. How could it not be? Angry residents were practically lining up outside his office door with pitchforks, and even though the next mayoral election wasn't for another year and a half, the Newton Tab, the local weekly, was already calling for him to announce he would not seek a fourth term.

A fixture on the Newton political scene, Cohen began serving on the board of aldermen while in law school at Boston University. Six years later he moved up to the State House, where he represented the city for 19 years. He became mayor a decade ago, and in 2005 was reelected with nearly 60 percent of the vote. But the North project has destroyed him politically.

Aside from being the man ultimately responsible for the escalating price, Cohen has also been accused of being cagey about when and why the cost has risen. For instance, early last year, just weeks after the Globe criticized him for changing his tune on whether the city could afford its ambitious school spending without tax hikes, Cohen set off a new round of head-scratching during an aldermen's meeting. Along with papers outlining how the city would pay for an $187 million school (the estimate at the time), Cohen distributed a payment plan showing how Newton might cope with a $195 million bill—just in case. What the mayor was seemingly aware of, if not willing to say, was that the price was due to go up again. Even Alderman Sydra Schnipper, a close Cohen supporter, admits, "The mayor has not shared as readily as he might have in the past."

Partly because of his strained relationship with the media—in April he booted a Globe reporter from his office mid-interview, and he is engaged in a long-running feud with the Tab—Cohen comes off as a bit aloof. He hired a press secretary four years ago, but that only made people wonder why the mayor of a suburban city (especially one without so much as a daily newspaper of its own) needs a press secretary. And as it turned out, no spinmeister could have saved him after his biggest blunder. In May, just before the override vote, Cohen presented his budget proposal for the next fiscal year. Along with threatening broad cuts if the override failed to pass, it also happened to include a juicy raise for him. The headlines practically wrote themselves, sending Newtonites into a frenzy. Wonkette, the popular national politics blog, boiled the situation down succinctly: "Mayor Cuts Every Program, Gives Self 28% Raise."

The full story was, of course, a bit more complicated. Cohen had steadfastly refused raises in the previous decade, believing the city's money could be put to better use elsewhere. Only as it became clear that his days as mayor could be dwindling did he ask for what he thought he was due. But the political boner was so ill timed that even Move Newton Forward, an activist group allied in favor of the override, was moved to disown him.

In hopes of salvaging the override vote, Cohen backpedaled on plans for the raise and then announced he wouldn't seek reelection. Still, to the delight of Seideman's opposition group—which had moved out of his dining room and into the Boys and Girls Club as it swelled to close to 50 members—the override was trounced anyway, 55 percent to 45 percent. And Cohen, who figured that the capstone to his 38 meritorious years of service to Newton might be the beautiful new high school, instead will be remembered most for losing his neighbors' trust—and possibly much more.

Newton's Fire Station Number 2, at the intersection of Route 16 and Commonwealth Avenue, ought to be gutted. The HVAC system is shot, plumbing needs to be replaced, and the electrical system could use an overhaul. Fire-fighters complain their showers are always cold. The station's two female firefighters have perhaps an even bigger beef: They don't have separate showers or bathrooms.

While we're at it, the jakes at Station 2 would appreciate a new door on the far-right stall in the locker room, because currently there is none. But most remarkably, there aren't any fire detectors in this firehouse (at least help is nearby). "The police and fire departments are bare-bones," says Newton fire union head Tom Lopez. "Everybody believes in a good, solid education, but you need to have a balanced approach to your priorities."

Over the past five years, Newton's education budget has jumped 21 percent while the public works, police, and fire budgets have hardly budged. (The police budget was actually cut by almost $700,000 this year.) Newton, in other words, has come up with the extra cash for its schools in part by spending comparatively little on the rest of Newton. Consider: Just 3 percent of the annual budget goes to paying off debt on Newton's old projects. While such low debt may seem like a good thing, when a town has too little, chances are that means it's not spending enough on new buildings or on fixing roads (by contrast, Brookline devotes 7 percent of its budget to debt payment, while Wellesley earmarks 6.3 percent).

And when things inevitably fall into disrepair, the price of replacement is often higher than the cost of upkeep would have been. Cohen himself admits that the city has neglected its buildings and infrastructure "for two generations." Surprisingly, that neglect even includes educational buildings. Hampered by yet more defunct HVAC units, four of Newton's 15 elementary schools need to be replaced, at about $26 million a pop; the rest need serious work. Alderman Ken Parker, who, like Coletti, intends to run for mayor next year, says the total cost for fixing the elementary schools could equal that of Newton North.

All of which makes this an exceptionally bad time to be building a $200 million high school. Newton wound up covering nearly 60 percent of its bill for North by floating 30-year bonds, and though the particulars of that financing scheme may be of interest only to Kennedy School students, the bottom line for residents is that for the next three decades their city will have no economic wiggle room. The annual toll on Newton's operating budget will start out small, but balloon fast. This year, local taxpayers will hand over just under $1 million to pay off debt on North bonds; however, starting in 2010, the annual bill will leap from $3 million to $4 million, to $6, $7, $8, and $10 million—much of it coming out of the very same overextended budget that couldn't support the 79 school staff and 13 police positions that were cut this year. Clearly, more bloodletting is on the way.

According to the city's forecasts, between 2015 and 2022, paying off Newton North will account for about three-fifths of all the city's debt, a commitment that Sam Tyler, president of the Boston Municipal Research Bureau, calls extraordinarily large. Barring a dramatic financial reversal for the city, then, any new projects will have to be paid for by further override referendums. Problem is, the North debacle has cost politicians in Newton their credibility, leaving citizens less than likely to willingly hand over cash to City Hall. And it's not just firefighters sweating the tough times ahead. Even school administrators realize they're now in a pinch. "It will be a challenge to raise the funds to do everything we need to do," says Newton Superintendent of Schools Jeffrey Young.

Should those future overrides fail to pass, and the elementary schools continue to deteriorate, Newton's status as an educational mecca will begin to crack. And because of North, there'll be less money to address the city's other, long-ignored problems. "If you cut back teachers, police, firefighters, park maintenance, street maintenance, year after year after year," Alderman Parker says, "at a certain point you are going to wake up one morning and discover that Newton is no longer Newton."

That kind of looming downward cycle means Newton will face hard choices and have to swallow some tough pills. Here's one of the first: When the new Newton North opens, its classrooms will be 780 square feet, which is exactly 70 square feet smaller than state regulations have required since 2006. So even in a 413,000-square-foot building, the new classrooms will be outdated, too small by Massachusetts standards. If budget woes cause additional teacher layoffs, class sizes will go up and more and more kids will have to pack into too-small classrooms. Two hundred million dollars will have purchased a cramped and uncomfortable school.

At least there will be plenty of natural light.