Upon leaving office in 2007, two-time Mayor John Street kept pretty quiet. Or so it seemed. The former radical community organizer and City Council enfant terrible contented himself with teaching a political science seminar at Temple University, outlandish statements from which occasionally surfaced in the local media.

Little did the press, Street's colleagues or, indeed, even most of his family members, realize what the former Mayor and healthy-eating advocate had in store for the city that had once perhaps not loved him, but grudgingly respected his achievements in public housing and his Neighborhood Transformation Initiative. But for astute observers, the clues had been there all along. There was Street's pained reaction when Philadelphia had been named "America's Fattest City" by Men's Fitness magazine during his first term. Street, a meticulous eater and exerciser, found this particularly painful. But when he attempted to promote his office's nutrition initiative by appearing on Oprah to promote an eggplant-based sandwich as a substitute for the city's indigenous delicacy of fried meat and processed cheese, his constituents ridiculed him mercilessly. Street didn't respond to the taunting. He knew that revenge was a dish best served cold. And with sprouts.

In 2011, long out of the spotlight and with time on his hands, Street quietly assembled a team of Hare Krishnas, bike couriers and the kitchen staff of Giannas. While they cooked and taste-tested, Street and a few trusted advisers applied for grants and met secretly with select members of City Council — the ones whose personal lives at the time were, shall we say, compromised.
Late one night in May 2014, City Council met in a hastily-convened closed session to review a bill that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Veteran councilpersons, seeing the bill's contents for the first time, laughed in irritation, assuming they'd been dragged from their beds for a belated April Fools joke. But for the councilperson who had introduced the bill, and those planning to vote for it, this was no joke. Their political careers and marriages depended on it passing. Over the next four hours, a maelstrom of pleading, threatening, cajoling and bargaining took place in the legislative chamber that had not been seen since the days of Bernard Samuel. As the sun rose that morning, the council wearily — and apprehensively — signed into law the Cheesesteak Reform Initiative. It was to be implemented immediately. A few members of Council noticed the cloaked figure seated in the rear of the chamber, hands folded, watching in silence. But they took it for a hallucination — brought on by sleep deprivation and fear of what was to come.

Within an hour, as the sun completed its ascent over the Daniel J. Faulkner memorial scoreboard on the baseball field behind Ninth and Passyunk, Geno's Steaks owner Joey Vento was outraged to find that the morning Cheez Whiz delivery had not arrived. For that matter, neither had the other, less descript truck with the frozen, grey, slabs of steak that were his livelihood. As he stood by the Geno's dumpster, loudly cursing the illegal immigrants who were no doubt responsible for this mix up, another truck pulled up. Its hybrid engine hummed so quietly, and its light green paint job blended so seamlessly with the gunk surrounding the dumpsters, that Vento barely noticed as it edged up behind him. The driver, whom Vento was pleased to note was a native English speaker, opened the cab to reveal skid after skid of enormous clear plastic bags filled with seitan. The preparation or sale of conventional, meat-based cheesesteaks, or cheesesteak related items, the driver explained to Vento, was now illegal in the City of Philadelphia. "Hijo de puta!" yelled Vento, as his forehead turned the color of one of the cherry peppers marinating nearby. "Me cago en la leche de la puta madre que te parió!"

Throughout the day that followed, the vegan substitutes now available at steak shops from the stadiums to the Great Northeast elicited comment but little overt anger. This was to change shortly after 2 a.m., when cab-loads of revellers from Finnegan's Wake and various points along Delaware Avenue were discharged at either Pat's or Geno's only to find themselves confronted with glutinous meat substitutes and pale soy cheese. Vento, known for his commitment to creative sign-writing, had posted a notice informing his customers in characteristically colorful language of the changes made to his menu by the Cheesesteak Reform Initiative. Vento had also spent much of the afternoon on the phone with his contacts in the Police Department and City Hall. As a result he was able to inform his patrons of the law’s origins, and of the former mayor's current whereabouts; as it happened, he'd been ensconced in his former office in City Hall since the bill's passage the night before.

Eager to express their civic concerns, the post-2 a.m. Geno's patrons assembled as a group and proceeded towards City Hall. To improve visibility along the way, many of them created makeshift flashlights using found pieces of wood and lighter fluid. First they headed west and then, upon reaching Broad Street, due North towards toward the grandiose, Second-Empire architecture of City Hall.

The events that followed are out of the reach of even the most archive-savvy historian. But suffice it to say that former Mayor Street was dismayed to find himself confronted by a mob of angry carnivores that numbered over a thousand by the time they reached the Hall's interior courtyard. Many of the Mayor's former colleagues and friends were less than enthusiastic in their support for him at this critical moment in his post-mayoral career. Some, it is said, even joined the mob.

But, in the end, the night belonged to John F. Street. Forced to flee the city limits on foot, with his detractors in hot pursuit, Street — raised on a farm in Montgomery County and a dedicated non-smoker and vegetarian — easily outran them. By the time he sped down Chester Avenue, over the city line and into the safe, suburban darkness of Yeadon, few of his obese, sedentary pursuers were still behind him. Several, legend has it, died of massive arterial strokes before even crossing the Schuylkill River!

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 7th, 2008 at 12:00 pm . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.