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The other is the : the crumbling industrial waterfront, the aging strip malls on Parkway Avenue, and the infamous “Ewing Circle”—a traffic rotary that residents have cursed for 50 years.

Steinmann doesn’t pound a gavel. Instead, he pulls out a whiteboard and draws a pie chart showing the cost of a sharpshooter program versus a contraceptive dart program. He cites data from Rutgers.

“Private equity wanted to sit on the land for 20 years,” says Councilwoman Jennifer Keyes. “Bert said, ‘We can’t afford to wait. We’ll clean it up, subdivide it, and sell it piece by piece.’ It’s boring, granular work. But it’s working.” Ask any resident about Ewing, and you’ll hear two different towns.

That’s why the GM site—now rebranded as “Ewing Logistics Park”—is so critical. When fully built, it’s projected to bring 2,500 warehouse and light manufacturing jobs and contribute $4 million annually in property taxes. It’s a bet on logistics over retail, trucks over trendy coffee shops.

EWING, N.J. — On a crisp autumn morning, Mayor Bert Steinmann is doing something that would make his predecessors nervous: he’s standing in the parking lot of the old General Motors plant, smiling.

Rather than wait for a white knight, Steinmann did something unusual: he lobbied the state for “brownfield” tax credits, pieced together $12 million in federal infrastructure money, and began demolishing the plant himself —by which he means, he put the township in the driver’s seat.