From Doom to Boom: Base Closure Bolsters Area

For the towns and cities that could be hit by the proposed new rounds of military base closings, Aroostook County in northernmost Maine has some advice: Don’t panic. Losing a base can result in long-term economic gain.

Of course, no one would have said that in September 1994, when Loring Air Force Base in Limestone closed. With a population of 10,000, including dependents, it was, in effect, the biggest “city” in Aroostook. It had a payroll of $75 million and generated 20% of the county’s economy.

But with federal help and an activist marketing strategy that includes a World Wide Web site, a video narrated by Gov. Angus King and an offer of free rent and free inspection trips to prospective tenants, Loring is being transformed into an industrial park that already has restored 70% of the lost 1,100 civilian jobs.

“Ever since 1961, we lived with the threat of Loring’s closure hanging over our heads,” said Michael Kelley, senior vice president of Key Bank in nearby Caribou. “Businesses were afraid to expand. And sure, military personnel bought some furniture and cars in town, but most of the money stayed on the base. Today you look at Loring as a commercial center, and every one of those jobs is for someone who is spending all his income in the area.”

Loring came close to extinction in the 1980s but was rescued by Maine’s influential congressional delegation, including then-GOP Sen. William S. Cohen. They argued that losing the base would devastate Aroostook, a poor county larger than Connecticut and Rhode Island combined and the most sparsely populated county east of the Mississippi River.

Now, as secretary of defense, Cohen is proposing two new rounds of base closings to help save money in the defense budget. military spending.

Loring ultimately was shut down as part of the wave of base closings in the first part of this decade. And when military police turned over the base keys to civilian authorities at midnight Sept. 30, 1994, Aroostook officials took possession of an 8,700-acre self-contained quasi-city in mint condition (more than $350 million had been spent on upgrades in the late 1980s).

On the one hand, it was a developer’s dream, with warehouses, row upon row of homes, hangars, its own dam, power plant and rail system, office space, two 12,000-foot runways, 75 miles of paved roads, a golf course, a ski tow and pond-side picnic facilities.

But convincing investors to move to Aroostook, a region noted mostly for potatoes, timber and solitude, is not an easy sell. “Because of our location, we suffer perception problems--people think we’re 10 miles beyond the face of the earth,” said Brian Hamel, president of the Loring Development Authority.

Although it is not true, as some claim, that Aroostook offers year-round snowmobiling, the winters are indeed harsh and the softball season is apt to last for no more than a week or two in July. So the development authority set out to market Aroostook’s quality of life: low crime, a healthy environment, a productive work force.

The federal government was the first to react. A Defense Finance Service Accounting Center moved into the base hospital, creating 340 civilian jobs. The Job Corps took over the recreational center, with a student enrollment that will reach 390.

Eight private tenants have set up shop at Loring, and discussions are underway with two national telephone call centers. This summer, 70,000 rock fans are expected to camp out along the runways for a weekend concert. Loring will get $1.50 a head.

“This is a wonderful place to be,” said Gregor Hargrove, who moved his company from Hingham, Mass., to Loring, adding another 35 jobs. The company, Championship Sports Flooring, is a leading international builder of hardwood maple floors, with clients ranging from the Boston Celtics to the Sultan of Brunei.

“I’ve got plenty of space, access to a skilled labor force that gives you an honest day’s work,” Hargrove went on. “Will my people move up from Hingham? Yup, though one of my key people wanted to know if there were any women that far north. I told him, ‘Hell, yes. After the Air Force left, you have to put bumpers on your car to keep them off you.’ So he’s coming.”

Local resident are greatly cheered at the prospect of Loring’s gradual transformation. Ken Fongemie, who closed his family’s Ford dealership when the base closed, has a new job as an executive at Championship Sports Flooring. Paul Barnes, a fireman at the base, formed a private fire department and contracts its services to the development authority.

Jane Griffeth, who cut in half the retail space at her flower shop and let three part-time employees go, has seen business tick back upward and says: “I’m making deliveries again almost every day to Loring.”

Residents were also relieved to learn that the departure of the Air Force doesn’t mean the federal government quit spending.

The development authority receives $3 million a year in federal funds until 2004 to maintain Loring’s infrastructure. And as much as $125 million in federal monies will be spent for environmental cleanup, mostly to remove fuel contamination.

“You’ve got to be in this for the long haul and you’ve got to try to hit singles, not home runs,” said Erik Pages, a former Commerce Department official specializing in converting military bases to civilian uses.

“In many ways, a closure is a golden opportunity,” Pages said. “It gives you the chance to rethink the nature of your community.

“You get the land pretty much for free, or for low cost, and you get a lot of federal help the people in Pennsylvania didn’t get when the steel mills went belly up.”