"It's summertime on the Downtown Mall, where the weekend starts early. In breezy outdoor cafes, office workers linger a few minutes longer over lunch, tempted to forsake their desks for a round of pale ales. Kids on tiny scooters circle packs of teenagers flirting outside the Ice Park; gutterpunks perch on newspaper boxes, bumming change and sharing cigarettes. A man wearing angel wings, bunny slippers and a rainbow wig stops playing the violin and starts twisting balloon animals for a pair of rapt toddlers. It's barely 5 o'clock, and the Mall is flooded with people, their conversations laced with notes from a bagpiper on Third Street.

Inside the Spectacle Shop at 407 E. Main St., Jon Bright watches the menagerie stream past his storefront toward the Downtown Amphitheater, where Wanda and the White Boys are beginning their Fridays After 5 concert.

Noticing a family, Bright says, "You know how it is when you hear an old song, and you're instantly transported back to another place in your life?

"It's so great," he says with a note of pride, "that when these kids grow up, they're going to have fond memories of the Downtown Mall. They're going to bring their kids back here and say, 'This is where I used to hang out.' When they're adults, they have a real place to be transported back to. And it's not Fashion Square Mall."

Bright has seen the Mall grow from a ghost town to the City's premier hangout, and he had a large hand in making Friday afternoons in Charlottesville what they are today.

Bright first proposed weekend concerts on the Mall in the mid 1980s, when he opened the Spectacle Shop and joined the business-owners association Downtown Charlottesville Inc. He would help transform the Mall from a retail district to a gathering spot and a successful tourist destination.

Along the way, Bright endured personal criticism, political bickering, City opposition and a police investigation. As it turns out, Bright's struggle to bring Fridays to fruition may be a dress rehearsal for City politics. The visionary behind the Mall's weekly summer ritual of public revelry is also a top City Republican, whose record as a popular businessman and successful community activist makes him a prime candidate for City Council in 2004.

In the past, Democrats and Republicans alike have urged Bright to run for Council on their platform. He tried in 2000, but a fractured and humiliated Republican party offered little support.

There's a new GOP in Charlottesville these days. Last month, Rob Schilling became the first Republican in 12 years to win a Council seat. For now, Schilling's presence on the five-member panel is largely symbolic. If Bright runs and wins in 2004, however, the elephant-donkey ratio will be 2-3.

"Three to two would be a powerful representation. The Democrats will have to play ball with us," says Republican Randolph Byrd, a local publisher and political watchdog. "There will be a massive effort on our part in the next election."

Schilling's victory caught complacent Democrats by surprise; Republicans aren't counting on their rivals to slack off again in 2004. Byrd says his party will have to run a formidable candidate to have a chance. The question Byrd and his Democratic counterparts want answered is, will Bright run?

Once Bright starts talking about local politics, he sounds like he's already campaigning. "I'll admit it," he says. "I can't shut up."

But he's more than an armchair political junkie. Bright has been taking charge in Charlottesville since he first set foot in town 20 years ago.

"When I first got here, I wasn't sure I wanted to stay. Charlottesville was really, really small," he says.

In the late 1970s, Charlottesville had little to offer an ambitious, 21-year-old Yankee. Born a few miles east of Niagara Falls in 1957, Bright says that as a boy he was more interested in sports than school. Pick-up hockey was his favorite pastime; eventually, the steady rate at which he broke his glasses fueled the young Bright's single academic fascination.

"I was always interested in physics, light and telescopes," he says. "When I was little, I always wondered, do our eyes see out? Or is there something coming in? I was amazed that inventors could figure that stuff out."

After high school, Bright says he thought more about earning money than attending college. But on the advice of his mother, he attended optometry school at Erie Technical College, working odd jobs as a landscaper and a short-order cook. His bosses often told Bright, he says, that they'd like to see him take over the business.

"I guess they thought I could see what needs to be done and get to work on it," he says.

Bright inspired the same confidence when he moved to Charlottesville after graduating. He opted to get his optometrist license in Virginia, he says, because many other states accepted a Virginia license.

After a year in Roanoke, Bright took a job in Charlottesville selling eyewear for jewelers Keller & George. Like his college bosses, he says, the store's owners hoped he would take over, but after five years, business was slow and Bright was restless. "I wanted to see the world. I wanted to move," he says. "Anywhere."

In the nick of time, Bright discovered an optometrist who wanted to sell his store on Fourth Street: "I was 27, and I wanted my own store. For some reason, I figured I had to do it right then, or else I'd never do it."

Bright reorganized the business and opened the Spectacle Shop in July 1984. It performed well almost immediately.

"There's no rocket science to business. You just treat people the way you want to be treated," Bright says. "I want to be able to walk down the Mall with a clean conscience. I never want to see somebody and think 'Uh-oh, I sold him those piece-of-shit glasses,' and have to duck around the corner."

Shortly after opening his store, Bright joined a group of merchants called Charlottesville Downtown Inc. That group, grown of the first generation of Baby Boomer entrepreneurs, wanted to build a market for the Mall. Soon, he became the group's president.

"From day one, I felt the Mall was the greatest place on Earth," says Bright, with characteristic hyperbole. "But I always thought it could be more than it was. I started wondering why we weren't having events or something to get more people down there."

The City had bricked over Main Street in 1976, creating a commercial district that would attract business and shoppers, reversing the atrophy of Charlottesville's urban center. At the Mall's 10th birthday, however, the experiment seemed to be failing. People fled the Mall at quitting time and restaurants closed early. It seemed the only nightlife was the vagrants huddled in the stoops of numerous empty buildings.

"Ten or 15 years ago, Friday afternoons were dead," Byrd remembers.

So Bright and the CDI became impresarios. They booked bands, rented beer trucks and collected volunteers. Fridays After 5 began with a series of concerts in 1988. Then, the shows were held either on the Mall itself - right outside the Spectacle Shop's current location - or in a parking lot on the west end, where the Ice Park stands today.

"It started slowly at first," Bright remembers. "But more and more people came to each show."

Not everyone was enthusiastic about the blossoming concert series. Mall merchants on the east end disliked having a stage out front, fearing the sight of bare-chested drunks would chase away customers. To handle the growing demands of concert promotion, CDI disbanded and re-formed as the Charlottesville Downtown Foundation. The new organization broadened to include residents as well as property owners.

"We wanted to bring more people Downtown, but some merchants told us we abandoned them," says Baughan Roemer, an 11-year member of the CDF who has been its president for two years.

Fridays After 5 had other critics, too. City Police Chief Deke Bowen claimed the event increased drunken driving. "MADD opposed it," says Bright. "The City opposed it. People were saying Fridays After Five should be shut down, and [AM radio station] WINA started criticizing it."

Although Bright wasn't on the CDF board at the time, he continued to volunteer at Fridays. Beer sales were brisk, so Bright was shocked to hear Foundation leaders say Fridays After 5 was losing money.

"Some people felt pretty certain that money was mishandled, you could say embezzled," says Roemer. "Others said it was just sloppy bookkeeping. I never saw anything that indicated a major scandal."

An accountant's audit and a police investigation uncovered only poor record keeping. But the need for Fridays to have a permanent home was even more intense. In 1995, Bright arranged for private businesses to upgrade a stage planned for a new amphitheater at the far east end of the Mall.

In a theme that is often voiced by his admirers, Roemer characterizes Bright as unsung in his efforts. He says, with the Downtown Amphitheater, the City took credit for Bright's negotiations.

So vital has the Mall become to Charlottesville's vision for a multi-use public space - a vision realized by a weekly entertainment offering like Fridays - it now features prominently in the City's East End expansion plans.

"Fridays After Five has the potential to grow much further," says City Councilor Maurice Cox. "The City is envisioning year-round concert activity happening in a new and improved amphitheater."

Byrd echoes both points about Fridays. "To lots of businesses on the Mall, Fridays means everything," says Byrd. "Ten or 15 years ago, Friday afternoons were dead. Fridays After 5 was Jon's idea and his hard work, and he doesn't even toot his own horn about it."

In business and community service, Bright has displayed the ability to make things happen and, like a lot of galvanizing forces, Bright has made his share of friends. He's made a few enemies, too.

"If Jon runs for City Council, he'll never win Downtown," quipped one business owner who spoke on the condition of anonymity. Bright's few critics won't speak for the record, but the core of their complaints is not with what Bright does, but how he does it. Some say he is not a team player, even as they support his ideas. They argue he sometimes acts before consulting others.

"I guess some people don't like my style," Bright says. He admits his belief that you have to do things yourself if you want them done right. People in leadership positions need to make decisions, he says, "you can't please everybody."

Bright, however, seems to have made many more friends than enemies in Charlottesville. Whether people know him as a hotdog vendor for the Lion's Club or as a coach for 11-year-old basketball players at the YMCA, many know Bright's face.

"When we were running for Council, Jon knew everyone wherever we went," says Elizabeth Fortune, his ticket-mate during the 2000 Council election. "He's got the name recognition, because of his community involvement."

Antonio Rice is a self-described straight-ticket Democrat, but he voted for Bright in 2000. The two have spent the past eight summers coaching City league basketball for 9- to 12-year olds.

"Jon got me involved," says Rice. "We have three rules: Have fun, work together and learn. We bring together kids from all walks of life to have fun and see how other folks live. It's all about making a difference in kids' lives, and JB has always been interested in that.

"I can't say I always agree with him, but he's a guy who will take a stand," Rice says. "He won't lobby for votes. I think he'd be perfect for City Council."

Bright's party mates agree. The biggest challenge for City Republicans, they say, is overcoming the conservative stereotype. In Charlottesville, land of knee-jerk Democrats, if you're a Republican, people immediately assume you're Richard Nixon, says party chair Bob Hodus. Bright is the kind of candidate who can prove that party labels have little lasting meaning in Charlottesville - a town where the newest Republican councilor is a rock guitarist from California.

"I really hope Jon Bright runs," says Hodus. "He's very comfortable speaking about the issues, and he does it in a positive way, rather than just complaining about what other people say."

The last Republican on City Council was Darden Towe, who lost a re-election bid in 1990. Memorialized in a City-County park, Towe is remembered as a successful business owner, clear-headed politician and sincere community activist. His legacy seemed to have bypassed his party after his death, however. The City GOP was plagued by infighting and became a refuge for cranks with plenty of complaints but few ideas.

The nadir came in March 2000, when Michael Crafaik ousted Dale McGlothlin as GOP chairman in a shouting match disguised as a party convention. After the meeting, a shoving match broke out and McGlothlin was arrested for assault.

"This is probably the lowest moment for City Republicans," Tyler Sewell, an active Republican and now president of the Downtown Property Owners Council, told C-VILLE at the time.

The humiliating brawl came weeks before the May 2000 City Council election. Not surprisingly, the Republican candidates, Fortune, John Phaltz and Bright received little party support, according to Fortune.

Even with no party behind him, Bright gave the Dems a scare. If Bright had offended some Downtowners during his tenure on the CDF, he still did well, receiving 539 votes from the Recreation precinct in 2000, fourth behind Maurice Cox (619), Meredith Richards (602) and Kevin Lynch (590). In 2002, leading vote getter and Democratic incumbent Mayor Blake Caravati received 539 votes in Recreation, while Schilling won 495.

"If Jon had run this year, he'd probably be taking the oath of office right now," says Roemer. "In 2004, we'll see the most intense political battle in the past 20 years. In hindsight, Jon may say his timing was off. Rob squeaked by. You know Jon could have won."

Bright had strong motivation to run in 2000, he says: The City rejected his application to serve on the Board of Architectural Review. "I never even heard back from them."

The cold shoulder is just part of the game plan for City Democrats, says Byrd, so it's no surprise Bright felt it. "It seems the Dems emasculate any attempt by Republicans to cooperate with them," says Byrd. "If a Democratic activist wants something, the way is smooth. But they squeeze the life out of Republicans."

Even when he's on a break from campaigning, like this year when he was busy renovating two Altamont Circle properties he owns, Bright is always knee-deep in politics. Fellow policy junkies often stop by the Spectacle Shop to talk City issues, and once Bright gets started, the sessions can last all afternoon.

"I walk on the Mall every day, and I pop in there once in a while," says David RePass, lately a prominent opponent of the City's east end expansion plans.

But some who might be expected to be regulars are not taking advantage of Bright's institutional knowledge. Schilling claims he took campaigning advice from Bright, but so far, Bright says, the openly information-hungry Councilor-elect hasn't asked for help on City issues.

"I'd be glad to talk to him," Bright says. "But it's not my place to offer him advice."

If Schilling asks, he'll hear Bright sing the chorus of fiscal conservatism and faith in the private sector. Plus, he'll say, keep an eye for inconsistencies. On the subject of the transfer station, for which the City has a $4 million federal grant, for instance, Bright wonders, "Why is the City Council in such a hurry to spend that money? They act like it's free money, but it's not. It's our tax money."

And why, Bright wonders, is the City spending millions to enhance and expand the Mall, while rejecting developers' efforts to tear down four vacant, crumbling buildings near Wachovia bank?

"Somebody could do a great project there that would help everybody on the Mall," says Bright. "Those buildings look awful all boarded up."

And while the City is stubborn with some interested parties, Bright says that, in other cases, Council makes too many concessions to vocal minorities.

When the City considered selling Jefferson School to developers, for example, citizens urged Council to save the building as an African-American landmark. Bright says the City should have sold Jefferson School to private developers at a discount, on the condition that whoever buys the building creates the public space the City wants. Instead, the City ignored private opportunities and committed at least $1.5 million, including funds for a task force administrator, to Jefferson School.

Republicans and Democrats alike wonder whether Bright will take his ideas out from behind his counter in the Spectacle Shop. Bright himself wonders if it would be worthwhile to put his hat in the ring. The qualities that make him a promising Council candidate - his business sense, his community activism and his wide circle of friends - also make him a very busy man.

"Part of me says yes, I want to run," Bright says. "And part of me says, for what? I don't know how I'd ever find time to run my business and go to meetings all day long."

And that preference for business over caucus sums up the real difference between City Democrats and Republicans, he says.

"Democrats love to get together and have meetings," he says. "Republicans hate meetings. We like to get things done." " (John Borgmeyer, C-Ville Weekly, June 18-24, 2002)