He stands on an oval track, a racing bike on his shoulder, a gold medal around his neck and muscles rippling his “T-Town” outfit.
That image of Marty Nothstein is the cover of his autobiography, which recounts his rise from a mischievous teen who found purpose and inspiration at Lehigh County’s velodrome, where he trained to become an Olympic champion and later managed as its executive director. It’s an image the Republican congressional candidate conveys as he campaigns, touching on his Olympic glory while discussing with voters his fiscal bona-fides as a small businessman and as Lehigh County commissioners chairman.
“I trained for a good part of my life to be one of the best athletes in the world, more specifically the fastest man on a bicycle,” Nothstein said at a September candidates forum. He vowed to use the “same grit and determination” on behalf of Pennsylvania’s 7th District.
On the stump, Nothstein largely omits his career — which included financial success and employee strife — at the helm of the publicly funded track. During his tenure, he developed a complicated and now fractured relationship with Velodrome Fund Inc., the nonprofit that runs the track and hired him in 2004 and then quietly ousted him three months before the May primary election.
After being promoted to velodrome executive director in 2008, Nothstein used his profile as a celebrated cyclist with worldwide connections and fiscal prowess to turn around the money-losing facility, officially named Valley Preferred Cycling Center. Four years later, he renegotiated a naming rights contract that netted the nonprofit an extra $80,000 a year.
Behind the scenes, though, the velodrome board fielded employee complaints that Nothstein allegedly fostered a work environment of verbal abuse, bullying and retaliation, according to interviews, Lehigh County Court documents and board records.
Pat Marzi, a board member from 2009 to 2014, said Nothstein brought to the job many accomplishments and traits, but also caused some employees to quit over the years.
“I saw too much turnover,’ Marzi said. “It felt untenable.”
For this story The Morning Call reached out to about 40 former employees, volunteers, board members and cyclists, many of whom did not want their names published. Some of those who did go on the record described Nothstein as a manager who created an environment in which they didn’t want to work.
The board settled at least two employee complaints, interviews and court records show.
Nothstein remained at the nonprofit’s top post throughout, receiving management guidance, pay raises and permission to take a side job with Lehigh Valley Health Network. With his side job, his pay tripled over 10 years.
Concerns about staff turnover and any other issues at the velodrome might have been flagged by Lehigh County, which owns and maintains the track, had Nothstein and the board followed the lease agreement. It requires the nonprofit to deliver seven types of financial, personnel and insurance records annually to the county.
Nothstein was responsible “for the custody of financial records,” according to records at the Pennsylvania Department of State’s Bureau of Charitable Organizations.
Under his leadership, the nonprofit did not deliver its lease-required records to the county between 2008 and 2016, according to the results of a public records request. That’s nearly a decade of records the nonprofit, as a government contractor, failed to supply and county officials failed to notice were missing until The Morning Call sought them in June under the state’s Right-to-Know Law.
Nothstein, 47, of Lowhill Township, a county commissioner since 2016, declined requests from Morning Call reporters to discuss his velodrome career for this story.
On Oct. 8, Nothstein filed a lawsuit against The Morning Call, the velodrome and board member Andrew Ralston over coverage of Nothstein’s termination by the nonprofit. Ralston was chairman earlier this year when the board forced Nothstein out.
On Tuesday, Nothstein’s attorney, Eric Hall, issued this statement in response to written questions sent to the campaign:
“Marty Nothstein has filed suit against The Morning Call for invasion of privacy and biased reporting. The genesis of this entire lawsuit concerns accusations made not by an accuser or victim, but by an anonymous, unidentified third party and the Morning Call’s subsequent refusal to review a legal affidavit that clearly and unequivocally refutes the allegations made anonymously. On my advice, based on the pendency of this litigation as well as the fact that many of the reporters posing questions are witnesses in this lawsuit, Marty will not answer any questions or engage in any interviews as to topics that are front and center in this litigation. Marty will, of course, answer any questions that are relevant to the voters and the upcoming election and which do not in any way pertain to the issues in this litigation. Marty’s lawsuit is not only against The Morning Call but also includes many claims against the Velodrome Board of Directors raising issues about Marty’s employment and governance of the Board. While this lawsuit is pending, I believe it would be inappropriate for Marty to answer questions regarding topics that are germane to this litigation.”
In reporting on Nothstein’s professional background, The Morning Call in the last five months has been met with mostly silence from nearly all current board members, and from many others in the tight-knit track cycling community. At least one in four people contacted said they feared retaliation from Nothstein. Others cited fairness to Nothstein or legal constraints.
Reporters also submitted 10 public records requests under federal and state law, which took, in some cases, months to be fulfilled. One of them was released after the newspaper won an appeal before the state’s Office of Open Records.
Relationship cracks surface
The cracks in Nothstein’s relationship with the velodrome were exposed during his congressional campaign.
The board notified Nothstein on Feb. 12 it was placing him on unpaid leave days after the Olympic-related U.S. Center for SafeSport had opened a sexual misconduct claim stemming from an alleged 2000 incident.
The decision was not disclosed publicly by board members or Nothstein as he campaigned for Congress this spring. Nothstein repeatedly said he was “campaigning full time” when reporters asked about his job status in the weeks leading up to the May 15 primary. He defeated Dean Browning by 318 votes.
On May 31, the nonprofit terminated Nothstein “for a reasonable basis,” according to a board letter attached to his lawsuit.
Voters had no idea Nothstein was forced out until The Morning Call reported his dismissal on Aug. 17 — three months after the primary.
At a news conference a day later, Nothstein and his lawyer said the sexual misconduct allegations were false and planted by an anonymous third-party tipster to hurt his congressional bid.
For months SafeSport had declined repeated requests to say whether the probe remained open, or whether Nothstein had been cleared. The velodrome board terminated him without knowing the status of the investigation.
A week after The Morning Call story, SafeSport closed its investigation without a finding of misconduct “based on the information and evidence currently available” while reserving the right to reopen its probe, according to an email released by the campaign.
Nothstein suggested his ouster came after he had raised governance issues with the board. His lawsuit accuses Ralston’s legal firm of “self-dealing.” It claims Ralston “funneled tens of thousands of dollars in legal work to his law firm.”
The velodrome’s 2008-2016 IRS tax and audit records show no payments that large to Ralston or his law firm. Ralston’s firm was paid $9,571 in 2015 and $783 in 2016, tax records show.
The velodrome has not filed its 2017 tax report with the IRS. It received an extension through Nov. 15.
Ralston declined to comment on Nothstein’s lawsuit, but posted on his Facebook page: “Every material aspect of this lawsuit against me is completely false … and entirely made up out of whole cloth.
“I don’t make a goddamned nickel off of legal work that was or is done for the velodrome,” Ralston also wrote.
Three former board members provided The Morning Call a mix of praise and criticism for Nothstein and the board’s operational policies, which consisted of a five-member executive committee that handled all employment, contract and legal decisions. The executive team often did not share that information with the full board, which ranged from 11 to 15 members during Nothstein’s tenure.
The full board was not privy to employees’ complaints against Nothstein or any contractual issues, said Everette Carr, a board member from late 2014 to 2017. He said he didn’t like the arrangement.
During that time, Carr said, he was a proponent of Nothstein’s leadership, saying he did a good job running cycling races.
In Carr’s view the current board made a mistake by terminating Nothstein before SafeSport had finished its probe. “It was a knee-jerk reaction,” he said. “They should have waited.”
Republican Mike Schware, a former county commissioner and velodrome board member from 2012-2017, said he never heard complaints about Nothstein’s leadership. The velodrome, he said, is a small operation that needs a good manager “who has to be demanding.”
“If there was a real complaint, and it was serious enough, there were lots of opportunities to make everyone aware,” Schware said. The three employees who agreed to go on the record for this story said they reported their complaints to board members.
The ‘Blade’
Nothstein grew up in the shadow of the outdoor track in Trexlertown, affectionately called T-Town or the Concrete Crater by racers. It was there Nothstein nicknamed himself the “Blade,” a nod to his aggressive racing style and the “borderline outlaw” mentality highlighted in his memoir.
Nothstein won 35 national cycling championships, two world championships, and silver and gold medals in two different Olympics before the velodrome board hired him in 2004 as the nonprofit’s chief operating officer.
In 2008, the board promoted Nothstein to executive director at a salary of $54,541 after predecessor Erin Hartwell, an Olympic teammate, resigned amid accusations of personality conflicts, lackluster ticket sales and other complaints, Morning Call archives show.
“We all agreed that Marty is the face of the facility,” velodrome board chairwoman Hilda Patton said in a December 2008 Morning Call story.
In 2009, Nothstein’s first full year as executive director, he sliced the deficit with the help of the board’s Finance Committee, IRS tax records and board documents show.
That year, revenue rose 15 percent and expenses dropped 22 percent compared with 2008, tax records show. Those changes allowed Nothstein to nearly eliminate the $247,940 velodrome deficit he inherited.
Each year under his stewardship, ticket sales, and vendor and rider fees fluctuated up and down but the overall finances improved, creating surpluses from 2010 through 2016, the last year of publicly available IRS records.
Marzi, the former board member, praised Nothstein’s financial prowess, saying he was thrifty and treated the velodrome’s books with the attention he would give his own checkbook.
Nothstein also secured more sponsors whom he would entertain on bike rides, she said. He added a popular program for children, and he drew more international races and racers, Marzi said.
“He fixed the budget and improved the product,” Marzi said. “Those are big wins. But he was a bad manager, and I think people tried to work with him on that.”
Management problems
Marzi said employees weren’t always given enough direction. “He expected you to do a lot and you might not have the knowledge or resources and he’d not take your excuses or apologies,” she said.
The velodrome employed between four and 14 people a year, 2008-2016 tax records show. However, staff numbered about four; the rest were paid college interns who were augmented by numerous volunteers and coaches on race nights, according to Carr, the former board member.
Some former interns become full-time employees, such as Tyler Trumbauer, the velodrome’s business and communication manager from 2015 until April. He now works for Nothstein’s congressional campaign and did not return a call or email for comment.
Another ex-intern was not enamored with Nothstein’s management style.
Ben Miller, a former college intern hired in 2009 as the community cycling coordinator, said Nothstein habitually blamed employees when they failed to carry out his poorly articulated orders.
“It was belittling, making people feel stupid or inadequate, like they didn’t try to do their job and that was after not giving actual insight into the job,” said Miller, who now lives in New York.
Miller said he resigned in 2013 partly because a project was not finished on time and Nothstein blamed him in conversations with the board and his pay was cut. He described it as “a mutual parting.”
Because of the environment, Marzi said she tried to warn Kate Veronneau, a Brown University graduate and cyclist, about taking the velodrome’s marketing director job in January 2011.
Veronneau, who moved to the Lehigh Valley to continue her racing pursuits, took the job, saying she was enamored with the velodrome’s legacy as the epicenter for cycling.
“He was a tremendously difficult person to work with,” Veronneau said in a recent interview about Nothstein.
One complaint involved prizes the velodrome gives to the male and female riders of the year. Veronneau said she discovered in March 2012 that the 2011 female rider did not get her prize – $1,500 Mavic wheels – and contacted the company. She said she learned from the company that the winner’s certificate had been redeemed and the wheels delivered to Nothstein’s house. Veronneau said she contacted the board and, when Nothstein was asked, he told the board the certificate was mistakenly redeemed by a family member who thought it was a random contest entry and prize. The wheels were returned to the winner.
Both Miller and Marzi verified Veronneau’s account of the missing wheels and Nothstein’s explanation.
“Did I believe him, not particularly,” Marzi said. But she said she chalked it up to bad decisions by an ex-bike racer who had to learn how to be a manager but never did.
Veronneau said after that episode she negotiated a severance package in April 2012 that included about a month’s salary in order to find another job and move. Her employment lasted 16 months.
By the end of 2012, Nothstein got his fifth pay raise in as many years, tax records show.
Around that same time, the board provided Nothstein a professional development plan.
The plan, reviewed by The Morning Call, listed four improvement goals for him: sponsor account management; employee communication; leadership with employees, the board and community; and organizational skills by understanding email and software.
It also listed his seven perceived strengths, including “understanding and passion for the sport,” and “love of the area/venue.” It documented nine alleged weaknesses, such as “ego” and “listening skills.”
Marzi said the board also hired a management consultant but Nothstein told her he would rearrange his schedule to avoid those meetings and a board member told her he’d skip lessons.
Other employees would cycle in and out.
Sarah Beth Loucks, now an attorney in Tennessee, lasted eight months as the velodrome’s director of operations.
In an email interview with The Morning Call, Loucks said she kept a journal during her time at the velodrome.
That journal, she said, details a March 3, 2015, incident when Nothstein was driving her to a client meeting in Bethlehem. She said he was speeding on Route 100 while screaming about the presentation she had done and he had approved.
“I was bawling,” she said.
Her entry says Nothstein treated her professionally during the meeting, but she was still shaken by the incident.
“I am absolutely sick to my stomach, even now at 6:30 p.m.,” she wrote in a journal entry.
Loucks said she reported the incident to the board’s chairman and another board member but they did nothing. Afterward, Nothstein forbade her from talking to the board outside his presence, she said, and made false accusations to the board about her work product. She said she quit when Nothstein announced he was cutting her pay and health benefits in May 2015.
“The office environment was already toxic enough,” Loucks said. “It was no longer worth it so I resigned.”
A week after the Route 100 incident Loucks described, Nothstein announced a velodrome partnership with Lehigh Valley Hospital, which is aligned with Valley Preferred. The partnership agreement increased his pay.
The March 11, 2015, news release said the hospital chain would become the track’s exclusive medical provider and Nothstein would run LVH’s Gear Up Academy, a new cycling program in downtown Allentown.
For that side job, LVH paid Nothstein $43,500 on top of his $142,688 velodrome salary in 2017, according to his most recent congressional financial disclosure statement.
Executives earn a $97,158 median salary at “small” mid-Atlantic nonprofits characterized as having annual expenses of between $1 million and $3.5 million, according to the 2016 Charity CEO Compensation Study done by Charity Navigator, a Glen Rock, N.J., research group.
By comparison, the velodrome’s 2016 expenses were $775,056, and about 18 percent of that was Nothstein’s salary, tax records show.
Nothstein’s 2014 employment contract, attached to his lawsuit as an exhibit, calls for an annual base salary of $125,000 plus the board’s discretionary raises and bonuses. It’s a seven-year rolling contract, meaning he gets an additional year added to his contract for every year that goes by, creating employment in perpetuity.
The employment for Nothstein’s underlings was more tenuous as described by one of them in a Lehigh County Court lawsuit.
Christopher Gill, a Trinidadian cycling champ and the track’s community program manager, filed a lawsuit against the velodrome on May 11 that accused Nothstein of fostering a “noxious” work environment.
Within four months of hiring Gill, the lawsuit alleges, Nothstein made unfounded claims against Gill’s performance and heritage, saying “you Trinidadians are lazy and con men” who can only become good employees “if you beat it out of them.” The lawsuit also claims Nothstein unfairly cut Gill’s pay by 40 percent and ordered him to work longer hours.
Nothstein’s campaign called the lawsuit politically motivated.
Gill’s lawyer Kevin Orloski told The Morning Call that he had been seeking the board’s intervention about the claim since January and the mid-May primary election had nothing to do about the lawsuit’s timing.
While Gill quietly petitioned the board, the SafeSport investigation landed at the velodrome in February.
In June, within days of officially terminating Nothstein, the board settled Gill’s complaint for an undisclosed sum, court records show. And neither side is talking.
Velodrome’s future
After the SafeSport investigation, the rift between Nothstein and the velodrome appears permanent, with the board searching for a new executive director. The lawsuit asks for the nonprofit to strip his name and likeness from the facility if it won’t pay him.
That chasm has the potential to affect the velodrome’s bottom line and taxpayers’ wallets.
The velodrome’s naming rights contract with Valley Preferred was renegotiated under Nothstein’s leadership in 2012. It gave the physicians group the right to reduce its annual $200,000 payment by $80,000 if the executive director is terminated for “criminal indictment, ethical violations or any other act of moral turpitude” and if the company finds a successor unacceptable.
Nothstein’s lawsuit points to the employment clause as proof his cycling prowess and name recognition are essential to the velodrome’s success.
Marzi said she was unaware of that provision, which never came to the full board, and found it “disturbing.”
Without that money, the nonprofit’s surpluses would have turned into deficits. Tax records show the naming rights contract provided at least a quarter of the velodrome’s revenue from 2012-2016. Twenty percent of velodrome revenues must be turned over to the county to defray maintenance costs, per the county’s lease agreement.
Scaling back the payment would require taxpayers to foot more of the $490,000 in planned repairs that Nothstein and a majority of county commissioners approved for the velodrome in 2020.
By then, Nothstein hopes to be in Congress.
He faces Democrat Susan Wild and Libertarian Tim Silfies in the Nov. 6 election to replace retired Republican Rep. Charlie Dent. The 7th District includes Lehigh, Northampton and parts of Monroe counties.
Morning Call reporters Laura Olson and Tom Shortell contributed to this story.
