Pontiac, Mich., residents focus anger at outsider behind Silverdome sale

Reporting from Pontiac, Mich. — 

Months have passed since the city of Pontiac prompted a loud national guffaw with the sale of its crown jewel, the colossal Silverdome football stadium.

Almost 145 acres, more than 80,000 seats, venue for the Detroit Lions, the pope and Hulk Hogan -- all was auctioned last year for just $550,000.

But for residents of the debt-laden Detroit suburb, the rage directed at the financial expert behind the deal still boils. At a recent City Council meeting, community members, one after another, lit into Fred Leeb -- an outsider charged by the state with overseeing all financial matters here.

“Municipal monster,” shot one man.

“Arrogant racist,” declared another.

“Theft on the highest level,” called a third. “Somebody needs to go to jail.”

The rough treatment has become routine for Leeb, who was brought in after the city’s budget, mired with about $100 million in debt, was deemed a financial emergency last year. The city has shed thousands of factory jobs in the last decade, and went into a tailspin recently with the sharp decline of its largest employer, General Motors.

Now Leeb signs off on every dollar spent by the city, making the Wisconsin native something of an unelected king. Though the sale of the Silverdome at a price lower than many Los Angeles homes prompted national headlines -- and a brutal lampooning on “The Daily Show” -- Leeb has no plans to shy away from selling other city properties. And he’s not alone.

In Arizona, officials in Tucson floated the idea of mortgaging City Hall. California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger proposed selling properties as notable as San Quentin State Prison.

Still, few wholesaling government officials have drawn the ire Leeb has in Pontiac. He recalls one resident of the predominantly African American city calling him “the white boy master sent from Lansing,” the state capital.

The bespectacled 58-year-old slashed council member salaries by two-thirds, and blocked many of their initiatives. Mayor Leon Jukowski and Leeb can’t even agree whether they’re on speaking terms. Leeb says yes, Jukowski says no.

“His stance is all elected officials can just shut up and sit down,” Jukowski said. “I have no authority.”

The chill, officials say, is rooted in Pontiac’s historic mistrust of outsiders. In its heyday, General Motors (dubbed Generous Motors by locals) offered workers a solidly middle-class lifestyle. Outside businesses were shunned, said Jukowski and others, because they were unknown and unneeded.

The blue-collar town, estimated population 55,000, no longer has that luxury, but Jukowski says residents there are having a hard time watching an outsider radically alter their landscape.

Selling off properties that may be unprofitable at the moment, he said, stymies potential for future revenue and betrays in Leeb a lack of confidence in the city’s hopes for survival.

But Leeb says the city, suffering from years of mismanagement, had to change course. “Would you rather have an empty stadium or one-third of your police force?” he asked.

Cruising around town, Leeb called out properties he says need to go, or at the least have their operations outsourced. The Oak Hill Cemetery, where massive tombstones poke out from a blanket of snow, costs the city more than $500,000 a year. The Phoenix Center, an outdoor pavilion, has never met its potential, and would be better served run by an outside entertainment company, he says.

As the car curled around the Silverdome -- weeds sprouting from the thick layer of snow covering its sprawling parking lot -- Leeb defended his decision to sell the stadium.

“No regrets,” he said.

The stadium, essentially vacant since the Lions left in 2002, was costing the city $1.5 million a year to maintain, including $6,000 a week for security guards alone.

“For nothing,” Leeb said. “To safeguard an empty building.”

As this winter approached, Leeb decided the city could no longer afford to pay for maintenance during cold weather months. The stadium’s dome depends on air pressure for support, which translates into high heating bills to keep the top from collapsing.

The sealed-bid auction Leeb tried initially resulted in what he considered disappointing results. The best offer for the stadium and lot was $13 million plus contingencies by a client who wouldn’t dole out the money upfront and wanted to turn the property into a landfill.

The city hosted a live auction last November. Bidding was supposed to start at $1 million, but the room was silent, and stayed so until one bid for $550,000. Auctioneer fees brought the sum up to $583,000.

The bidder was Canadian real estate investor Andreas Apostolopoulos, who has said he wants to use the space for soccer tournaments and motorsports.

For many residents, the low price tag for the stadium, built by taxpayers in 1975 for $55.7 million -- about $224 million in current dollars -- insults its nostalgic value.

Paul Esshaki, 44, a laid-off retail manager and an area native, said he used to venture to downtown every Sunday to take the shuttle out to Lions games. He watched the Rolling Stones there, and the Who. He remembers when Pope John Paul II said Mass for a capacity crowd.

Esshaki was attending an event at the Silverdome when he got word that his best friend had died. He remembers rushing out of the stadium and trying to cross a grassy incline leading to the parking lot, moving so fast he went tumbling down the slope.

“So many memories,” he said. “Just shocked at the price.”

As for Leeb, he expects the anger to continue. But he has hope that the raw emotions will be tempered if the economy turns around.

After the verbal attacks at the council meeting, one man took the microphone and offered to pray for the City Council. Then he paused, as though he could sense the controversy in what he was about to say next.

“And Fred Leeb too.”

robert.faturechi@ latimes.com