#93: Batavia, IL 3/20/17

It was as if someone had asked, “which do you want first? Good news or bad news?”

The first half of the Batavia city council meeting was OVERFLOWING with civic pride. Here’s a sampling from the municipal smorgasbord:

Mayor Jeffery Schielke swore in a smiling new firefighter/paramedic, who ambitiously vowed to “support the Constitution of the United States.”
There was breaking news that the Downtown Egg Hop (sponsored, naturally, by Chick-fil-A) will feature a visit from the real live Easter Bunny.
Because so many scofflaws had to pay fines for failing Batavia’s tobacco sales compliance checks, the police decided to give $3,000 to the high school’s after-prom party. “The good news is, people have violated our liquor and tobacco ordinance,” the police chief said to laughter as he handed a normal-sized check to the organizers.

bat1 — Was the giant novelty check store closed?

Even the seemingly-snoozeworthy item of “Phase I wastewater treatment plant rehabilitation” got juiced by a mayoral shout-out.

“I had the opportunity to spend three hours here with the Batavia Environmental Commission. They had their movie night,” Mayor Schielke explained to his sizeable herd of 14 aldermen. “But before we got into the movie, they had me speak for a moment. So I get up and start talking about this, and everybody starts applauding!”

He waved his hand incredulously. “This room was full! There’s all these people from Yorkville and West Chicago and Aurora and everybody was here because they thought this was a real cool thing.”

Schielke sat back and marveled one last time at the memory. “I mean, I got a thundering round of applause when I talked about removing the phosphorus!”

Hey, now. If a mayor can’t get an ovation for phosphorus, that’s not the country I wanna live in!

bat2 — Watch out, phosphorus. There’s a new sheriff in town.

But alas, what goes up must come down. We had reached the halfway point–and the tone turned solemn.

“I received a notice from the school district. It’s come to our attention that ‘Touchdown Sports’ has been contacting local businesses to solicit sponsorships,” warned city administrator Laura Newman. “The company sometimes claims that specific coaches ask them to contact the business. By all accounts, this is just a scam.”

She emphasized each word. “Don’t share your credit card information.”

Fittingly, a financial scam at home quickly segued to the financial meltdown in Springfield.

“I think it’s crazy they have not been able to come up with a budget,” sighed Alderman Alan Wolff, clamping his fists together while reporting on the council’s field trip to the state capitol.

“House Leader [Barbara Flynn] Currie’s description was, we’re gonna get what we have now. Basically she thinks that’s their ‘gift’ to us.”

At this point, various other aldermen chimed in with their own recollections and grievances.

“We should be ‘grateful’ for their generosity,” one person spat disgustedly.

“The only thing I’m ‘grateful’ for is this hand lotion.”

“It was all I could do to hold my tongue in that room,” Alderman Wolff flexed his fingers and eyeballed the floor.

Alderman Dan Chanzit stared grief-stricken at the mayor. “I never left a trip feeling so hopeless and in such despair.”

There were sympathetic grimaces around the table as Alderman Chanzit shook his head. “I hear chanting at town hall meetings of our congressmen, ‘you work for us.’ It took a lot for me to not start yelling that.”

#92: Lynnwood, WA 3/13/17

From deep inside the state that sued Donald Trump, it’s no surprise that Lynnwood’s mayor kicked off the council meeting with a love-fest for the tired, the poor, and the huddled masses.

“If you find people who are not feeling safe or welcome in this city, you can give them this card,” Mayor Nicola Smith flashed a densely-worded index card to the camera.

“It tells them what police do and what they don’t do with our immigrants and refugees. I’ve got LOTS more.”

As she pushed a hefty stack down the dais, the mayor revealed another battle plan in the War on Unwelcomeness. “Starting next week,” she continued, “I will begin interviewing candidates for a new diversity, equity, and inclusion commission.”

Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore. (Quite literally, I don’t think this sort of thing happens in Kansas.) But lest you think Mayor Smith is running some kind of hippie commune, the public commenters were thirsting for a fight.

“If the council places the Regional Fire Authority measure on the ballot,” read a soft-spoken, sweater-clad man, “if this unfinished, uncertain plan is on the ballot, Lynnwood loses.”

He jabbed the air with his pen. “Your Honor, I challenge you here tonight to meet with me one night a week for the next four weeks to debate this, so the citizens can know. I challenge you and I hope you’ll accept.”

OH, A CHALLENGE?! If there’s two things I know about Mayor Smith, it’s that

1.) she cares about cleaning up Daleway Park and

2.) she NEVER turns down a challenge.

lyn2 — This is Hamilton v. Burr all over again.

“Next on our list–” the mayor sighed, turning down the challenge.

“A couple weeks ago when I was here,” the next woman glared at the council, “I was concerned with what I witnessed from the mayor and the council in regard to not allowing citizens who had not signed up to speak.”

She paused sternly. “That was a little concerning. Hopefully that won’t happen again.”

Goodness, it sounds like we missed quite a kerfuffle. Fortunately, we were about to relitigate the offense. Speaking for the prosecution: none other than the mayor’s brash challenger. He strode to the podium for a second round of grievance-airing.

“I arrived at the sign-in table at 6:55 p.m., expecting to sign in on the sheet. There was no sheet to sign in on the table,” he narrated like it was the beginning to a crime thriller.

“I entered the council chamber knowing that council rules allowed those who had NOT signed in to speak AFTER those who signed in had spoken. When the time for citizen comments came, the mayor announced that ONLY those signed up on the sheet would be allowed to speak.”

He stared dead-on at Mayor Smith like a detective who caught his prime suspect in a contradiction. “This is the first time in my 48 years in this city that such a breach of council rules has occurred.”

“We will be better,” promised Council Member Ian Cotton with a frown.

To lighten the mood, Council Member Shannon Sessions held up a prop of her own, a tiny booklet of the “Top 10 Strange and Wonderful Oddities” around Snohomish County.

“Top 10 Oddities?” Council Member George Hurst inquired. “We’re not on there, right?”

“You are!” Council Member Sessions shot back, as Hurst did a rim shot and laughter erupted.

#91: Reading, PA 3/13/17

Dateline: Reading City Hall.

A snowstorm was hours away from besieging the area. Inside the council chamber, city leaders were calm. But they were nervously watching the clock.

“I believe we have one speaker,” Council President Jeffrey Waltman scanned the crowd.

“Two,” the clerk corrected him.

“Chris, do you mind reading our public comment policy?” requested Waltman with a polite nod.

red1 — I hope the snow doesn’t interrupt this video broadcast from, apparently, 1969.

Surprisingly, the policy was more detailed–and considerably harsher–than I am used to.

“Citizens may not approach the council tables at any time. Any person making threats or becoming unruly may be barred from speaking or cited,” a staffer read solemnly. “Failure to abide by these regulations could result in removal and/or citation.”

Wow. I could only imagine the kind of person who would’ve made those rules necessary. Luckily, I didn’t have to imagine–she was already standing at the podium.

“Greetings from your favorite, no-good, dirty, evil landlord,” a short-haired woman in a poofy jacket boomed at the council. “That’s the stereotype, so I just roll with it.”

She bulldozed straight to the point. “My housing permits WERE paid. The city HAD my money. They didn’t give me credit for it. What you got was FAKE news. BOGUS facts.”

Brandishing a newspaper, she ranted, “you know, the great freedoms we enjoy in this country allow people to be pretty slovenly with them. And I am referring to this word right here.” She jabbed a pen at the offending headline. “What happened here is NOT an error. And I think everybody knows it.”

As she plopped back down, Council President Waltman glanced at Reading’s city auditor, who had a lighter, less bogus piece of news.

“I was able to attend the 12th Annual Battle of the Badges. It was Reading police and fire working as a team versus the Allentown police and fire.” Everyone inched to the edge of their seats in anticipation of the score.

“Reading’s team won by 7-6. Officer Pete Karpovich was the star of the game for Reading,” he announced with the enthusiasm of…well, an auditor.

Managing Director Glenn Steckman quickly cut in. “I think David failed to acknowledge the outstanding coaching of the game by the chief,” he said, prompting light applause for the fire chief sitting contentedly in the back.

“I was at the game,” Council President Waltman mused. “I was worried. If the police and the firemen are playing the police and the firemen, what do you do if a fight breaks out? Who do you call?”

Speaking of fights, something was irking one of the city’s employees sitting up front.

“I have to respond to [the public commenter’s] point where she complains about a ‘bad neighbor’ who has not kept up their property. The neighbor is the Centre Park Historic District.”

The District, he spat, “has tried repeatedly–REPEATEDLY–to reach some accommodation so they could put ladders to make the repairs. She has been extremely difficult to work with.”

Immediately, Councilwoman Marcia Goodman-Hinnershitz deftly steered to less choppy waters. “I think the point about being a good neighbor is what’s gonna help us get through the next day and a half as far as the snow goes.”

She added, “I have a little bit of money–if people want to shovel, they can come to me. I will pay for individuals to help shovel out our seniors.”

#90: Laramie, WY 3/7/17

It was a sleepy Tuesday evening at Laramie City Hall. Frankly, hibernating bears see more action than we did at this council meeting.

The audience was pared down to Laramie’s hale and hearty: the man scrolling on his phone in a camouflage jacket (this is Wyoming), the guy wearing a dress shirt and stylish vest (this is…Wyoming?), and the cub scout fidgeting next to his mom in the back row.

“I move to approve ordinance 1961–is that the correct item?” Councilor Vicki Henry inquired, glancing over at the mayor for a supportive nod.

A city employee ambled to the podium and shuffled his papers. “Honorable mayor and city council, this is mostly to correct typographical errors and other small errors we found in the code,” he explained.

Typos! That explains why Laramie has no dog park, but lots of dog pork (which, honestly, the dogs enjoy more).

But one hawk-eyed councilor noticed something potentially disturbing in this so-called typo ordinance.

“I love my bicycle. I have a very nice bicycle. I paid a lot for it,” Councilor Bryan Shuster narrowed his eyes. “I see here a bicycle parking requirement shall apply to all uses except single family detached or duplex. So if somebody builds a fourplex, they have to put in bicycle racks?”

“Honorable mayor and Councilor Shuster, that is correct,” acknowledged the employee. That was apparently music to Shuster’s ears. He leaned back and nodded, dreaming of his two-wheeled companion.

lar2 — “I often say, ‘Bicycle, I wish I could quit you.'”

But now it was Councilor Henry’s turn to pick a bone.

“If I can find it,” she muttered, searching her packet. “It was something about the outdoor storage and the fences and the things that you’re storing cannot exceed the height of the fence?”

“Honorable mayor and Councilor Henry,” the staffer robotically prefaced again, “it’s actually item B on page 9–”

He drew his pen across the page. “Wait a second. Nope that’s not it.” He paused but kept his composure. “Oh, yeah, it’s the very last sentence….”

He trailed off. “Let’s see,” he scanned his papers as the council waited with folded arms.

“The very first line,” jumped in Councilor Henry, “says ‘each outdoor storage area shall be screened from view’–oh, that’s not the one. Sorry.”

Confusion reigned. Tensions flared. The cub scout yawned.

“It’s B!” hissed multiple councilors, referring to the slippery section B that was the focus of Henry’s white-hot rage.

She locked onto her target. “It says ‘materials may not be stored higher than the height of the primary structure.'”

lar3 — “If there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s tall materials.”

But without warning, Councilor Shuster body-slammed her interpretation. “In my mind the way it’s stated–it says we have a maximum height on the fence but we don’t have a maximum height on the structure.”

“Well, I know of SEVERAL places where the things that are being stored are higher than the primary structure,” shot back Henry. “And I would love to see this enforced.”

There were uneasy glances. Mayor Andi Summerville shifted, then pressed on with the meeting. Shuster again raised his hand to get her attention.

“Mayor? Please announce that the ribbon cutting for the Harney Street overpass has been canceled.” He paused for suspense. “Because they’re afraid of losing people to the wind.”

With that, everyone chuckled and relaxed. The cub scout yawned.

#89: Sheldon, IA 3/1/17

It was an exciting day in Northwest Iowa: the city of Sheldon was expecting!

No, not a newborn. Rather, a fully-grown library director.

“We are successful?” Mayor Katricia Meendering inquired with a coffee cup poised at her lips in case a spit take was necessary.

“Yes!” a city employee blurted out enthusiastically.

“Wonderful,” said the mayor, taking a relaxed sip of joe.

“It’s taken us a little bit but we’re happy with Nicole Morgan, who we found from Oskaloosa,” the employee explained, anxiously scanning the council members for a reaction.

There were nods of approval around the room.

“Family?” the mayor quizzed offhandedly. She quickly chuckled and added, “I’m just kidding, you don’t have to answer that.”

The woman was clearly caught off-guard, but didn’t want to say no to Sheldon’s head honcho. “Oh, um, she has family in the area. She’ll be commuting for a bit.”

Okay, folks, let’s not get TOO personal. She hasn’t even started–

“Maybe she could come introduce herself at some point?” city attorney Micah Schreurs inquired hopefully.

shl1 — “Maybe you could find out what kind of flowers she likes?”

“Sure,” the staffer responded hesitantly. “We’ll…let her acclimate a little bit first.”

“Yep. Get her feet wet. Then…the first meeting in April!” Meendering barked. She immediately broke into another awkward laugh. “I’m just kidding.”

Perhaps. But if I were Nicole, I’d hold off on the unpacking until I made an appearance at city hall.

In a thrilling turn of events, the library wasn’t Sheldon’s only source of breaking news. The mayor coyly waited until the sleepy middle of the meeting to drop this bombshell on the other unsuspecting Cornhuskers: her exclusive tour of the Crossroads Pavilion.

“Wow,” she deadpanned. “If you have not had the opportunity to see the most recent updates they have done…wow. It’s absolutely breathtaking.”

This modern engineering marvel was so inspiring, there was apparently only one word to describe it.

“We were there at noon. Two, three guys [were] putting the floor down and…wow,” she murmured.

But the praise had barely died down before Council Member Pete Hamill brought up a subject that was distinctly not-wow.

“For dog and pet owners, be responsible for your pets. Just heard of two incidents in the past ten days of one person being bit by a dog,” he frowned, propping his elbow on the dais. “And then another person walking their dog being attacked by two strays.”

“Oh, my,” exclaimed the startled mayor. “I thought you were going to talk about ‘doody business’ because I’ve been getting a lot of calls on that.”

Council members silently watched her fold her arms in annoyance.

“That’s serious. I think the doody is serious too, but…” she trailed off.

Not as serious as a dog-mauling was the implication. Let’s hope the new library director isn’t watching. She might just choose to stay in bite-free Oskaloosa.

Final thoughts: Clearly the V.I.P. (Very Important Pavilion) here was Crossroads. I give it 8 out of 10 stars for the “wow” factor.

#88: Tega Cay, SC 2/21/17

It was the “O.J. Simpson trial” of city council meetings–a sensational media circus at Tega Cay City Hall, where the whole town was whispering about Public Enemy Number One:

Coyotes.

“This week–actually, yesterday–Andrew set traps over in the Lake Ridge area,” revealed city manager Charlie Funderburk. “Today we caught Coyote #1 and Coyote #4 in between the water tower and the footbridge.” Funderburk gestured to an onscreen map like General Eisenhower explaining the plan at D-Day.

(That is, if D-Day took place at a country club. “For the golfers, this is between holes 14 and 15,” Funderburk added.)

“Andrew, if you could come to the podium–” the city manager suddenly beckoned, “–Andrew’s gonna take a few minutes, demonstrating the trap that he’s used.”

tcy1 — “He will demonstrate it on this guy sitting next to me. Seal the exits.”

I was expecting some Crocodile Dundee-style hulk of a man to lumber from the shadows holding a frothing dog in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Instead, a relatively slender fellow with a baseball cap barely lifted his eyes from the floor.

“Okay, um, I’ve been doing the coyote management plan here for the past week and a half. It’s my opinion that many of these areas [are] actually just for foraging and hunting,” he said calmly as a dozen wildlife-weary citizens stared blankly at him for guidance.

Quickly, he shifted to the topic that was in the back of everyone’s mind: the trap.

“It’s not the cruel device that people think they are. Back in the Daniel Boone era, you had traps that had teeth and stuff like that,” he attempted to lighten the mood. “I’ll bring it up here to show you.”

The audience leaned toward the aisles to get a glimpse of the football-size death clamp–er, humane trap.

“It’s like a handcuff,” the man reassured everyone before clamping it onto his own hand without so much as wincing.

Eat your heart out, big-city council meetings. You’re voting on bike lanes? This guy just shut his own appendage in a coyote trap.

“I do this three times a day for the endorphins.”

Councilmember Ryan Richard had an itch of macabre curiosity. “No coyote has chewed its leg off while being stuck in the trap, correct?”

“Correct,” the man guaranteed Richard.

But Mayor George Sheppard wasn’t buying this claim that the traps were working. And he wouldn’t stay quiet any longer.

“Okay, so you’ve caught four coyotes. We’ve had people stand at that EXACT podium telling us that the city’s being run RAMPANT with coyotes,” he thundered. “If it’s not coyotes, what is it?”

The trapper took a deep breath, having anticipated this question. “I think a lot of people–in the hysteria that’s been created by the coyote–are catching glimpses of red fox.”

At this point, a Boy Scout ran to the front of the room and yanked the microphone down to his level. “What do you do with the coyotes when you take them offsite?”

Everyone went silent. The trapper raised the mic and stared dead-on at the Scout.

“The question of the night,” he observed slowly. “I don’t want to have to kill an animal. Unfortunately, they have to be destroyed. Because I can’t discharge a firearm in city limits, I have to take it offsite. And the way I dispatch animals is with a .22 caliber. It’s a quick shot to the head–”

“Okay,” Councilmember Dottie Hersey interrupted him, clearly shaken. She clutched her throat in discomfort. “Next question.”

#87: Coralville, IA 2/14/17

Love was in the air at the Coralville Valentine’s Day city council meeting! It was a momentous night: the city had finally asked a new police chief to tie the knot. And he said, “I do.”

“A very prestigious, memorable item on our agenda,” Mayor John Lundell flashed a big grin. “I would start by entertaining a motion to approve the appointment of Shane Kron as our police chief.”

The council members were so giddy, they trampled over each other to agree. “So moved!” a couple of them shouted out.

Mayor Lundell chuckled. “We have an outstanding police department in Coralville. Our outgoing chief, Barry Bedford–he’s been part of the department for 43 years. But also, 16 of those years, Shane Kron was a member of the department.”

City administrator Kelly Hayworth gently broke in. “It’s longer than 16. I believe it’s 27.”

Realizing he was WELL outside the margin of error, the mayor blurted sheepishly, “Oh, I’m sorry!”

Your honor, take it from me: before you commit to a new beau, you should know their WHOLE relationship history!

“Mayor, this paper just says, ‘do u like me? yes, no, maybe’.”

Also, don’t say weird things about them. Like this:

“All four candidates were cream. But the cream rose above the cream to the top. And here he is, and is our new chief,” rhapsodized Council Member Bill Hoeft in a stilted Maya-Angelou-of-the-Midwest rhythm.

After the chief was sworn in, the mayor caused a few disheartened chuckles when he announced, “now on to the exciting next item: the budget!”

Hey, hey, don’t be so facetious, mayor. There was plenty of good news for C-ville: property taxes were unchanged for the eighth consecutive year! The water plant is getting a brand new filter building! And corn has never been yellower!

A man in a striped shirt and red tie sprung to the podium and signed the guest register. He had prepared a wide-ranging soliloquy about the budget, the city council, and his…um, unique hobbies.

“As always, I have reviewed the budget,” he said. “I kind of live the budget. I’m a gym rat for budgeting, if you will.”

I will. Go on.

“I would ask, how’s your own checkbook? You don’t have to answer that, but you’re dealing with your money at home and your money down here, so they should both be in pretty good shape.”

You’re losing me, citizen. I don’t think anyone’s going to whip out their checkbooks, so how about we close strong?

“Think about this: if you shower quicker, you would save yourself some money. And anytime you see someone watering their lawn, send them a thank-you card because they’ll be using all that water and spend a lot more money than you will if you shower,” he proclaimed like Columbo cracking the case.

The council members took a second to digest this insider tip.

“Now, here’s a little trick about sewage treatment–“

“Thank you for caring” about the budget, Council Member Laurie Goodrich offered politely.

As council members gathered up their papers, the city attorney had a piece of news to share that he had evidently been sitting on for 45 minutes.

“The city attorney’s office approves the appointment of Shane. Also, I can’t help but notice that we don’t have to worry about him tearing his hair out over anything!”

Everyone let out a snicker at the shiny-domed chief. I’m sure he can look forward to maaannnnany more years of jokes like that.

#86: Salisbury, MD 2/13/17

Normally when a city council meeting is described as “lively,” that means everything is spinning out of control. But at Salisbury City Hall, the only “stuff” hitting the fan was sugar, spice, and everything nice.

As citizens milled about and staff hustled to put the finishing touches in place, a lone man planted himself in front of Councilman R. Hardy Rudasill’s face and pointed a cell phone.

“Are we rolling?” Councilman Rudasill asked, staring into the camera. “I love Salisbury because there’s no better place to live. It’s easy to get to work and it’s easy to get to the bars. You gotta love it!”

Rudasill let out a hearty guffaw and gave a high five to Mayor Jacob Day. Look for him on a YouTube, Snapchat, or Instagram account near you.

“Before we get started,” warned Council President Jack Heath, “I’d like you to please silence any electronic devices that will make noise.”

He paused. “Kids are cool. I know there’s no buttons to do that.” The room exploded in laughter.

Unfortunately, those aforemntioned kids didn’t seem quite so “cool” when an infant began bawling during a church deacon’s opening invocation.

“Dear heavenly Father, we’re so thankful–”

Waaaah!

“–for our mayor and our council–”

Waaah!”

“–and the people here who love Salisbury so much, Lord,” he finished with a hint of exasperation.

But still, the energy in the room was through the roof. As the council rolled through various mundane items–honoring a nonprofit foundation, hearing from the youth advisory committee, purchasing some property–each was punctuated by sustained applause from the audience.

Their enthusiasm seemed to bewilder Council President Heath. “It’s a good night!” he observed incredulously.

Then it was time for the big-ticket item. The elephant in the room. The bull in a china shop.

The Salisbury Arts & Entertainment District.

“I ask that you keep your comments to three minutes, four minutes,” Heath admonished the public. He would bring down the hammer on any filibusterers–unlike his laissez-faire attitude toward crying babies.

slb2 — “As you can see, if you go over your time, I have plenty of things to throw.”

A woman in a bright yellow sweater popped up to the podium. “Forty-five seconds max,” she predicted.

“Oh, no–” Heath protested, but she had already begun.

“I am here tonight because we [my family] are not ‘from-heres,’ we are ‘come-heres.’ We were a family that was looking for a way to belong to this community, and the Arts & Entertainment District gave us that.”

I’ll be damned. It was exactly 45 seconds.

The next commenter took the long way to the podium, conspicuously waving at Mayor Day. The mayor glanced up from his computer.

“Hey, dad.”

“This is Jake’s OTHER dad,” the council president quipped. Everyone laughed at the apparently-inside joke.

“I’m a lot older than him, even though I don’t look it,” Papa Day shot back to more chuckles.

After Day’s testimony, the council voted in favor of the Arts & Entertainment District. A giant cheer went up–and just as quickly, people rushed for the exits.

“Don’t leave us!” Councilman Rudasill and Councilwoman April Jackson pleaded.

“You didn’t read the small print that says you have to stay till the end!” Council President Heath called out.

But alas, they were gone.

This is the opposite of an Irish Goodbye.

Final thoughts: I give 10 out of 10 stars to the Salisbury Arts & Entertainment District for being so dang popular.

#85: Clarence, TAS 2/6/17

It was one heckuva g’day in the Clarence city council chamber. And right up top, I need to give propers to the head honcho behind that blinding yellow dais, Mayor Doug Chipman, for the classy way in which he kicked off the meeting:

“Before proceeding, I would like to acknowledge the Tasmania aboriginal community as the original inhabitants of this land out of respect to elders past and present.”

Good onya! Normally, one does not see American city council meetings acknowledge the native peoples–unless they are a mascot for the local high school football team.

View from the Rear Cam (L) and the Is-There-Vegemite-In-My-Teeth Cam (R)

Oh, and what luck that the council chamber has two cameras! I can see that there is PLENTY of space on the walls–which will come in handy becauuuuuuseeeee…

“We received a plaque from the Australian Government Department of Immigration and Border Protection thanking this council for its long contribution over many, many years towards the new citizenship program.”

The mayor flashed the shiny, shoe box-sized prize around the room. “So, that’s quite an impressive-looking plaque.”

Ripper! You could fight off a decent-sized boomer with that prezzy.

Mayor: “That’s not a plaque. THIS is a plaque.”

Slowly, Alderman Richard James rose for a quintessentially Australian purpose: to brag all about his weekend hike. “I would like to draw council’s attention to the Blessington Coast Track. We walked it on Sunday. For those who are pretty quick on their feet, I reckon you could do it in 20 minutes at a jog.”

He added, “it took us three-quarters of an hour. But we had a swim.”

He calmly recalled his treacherous journey along the Australian coast. “The track in parts is very steep, particularly up on the cliff. And there’s quite a drop. So I’m not sure as to whether there may be some barrier required on the track.”

Whoa there, mate! This is Australia. Country of the Crocodile Hunter! Heavy drinking! And our near-future adversaries in WWIII! Unless you’re talking about a great reef, there will be no “barriers” along a deadly, dangerous coastline, K?

As it turned out, Alderman James had a surprise that he pulled out of his bloomin’ onion: “The Kangaroo Bay track–it is open to the public,” he proclaimed, turning to the mayor. “Is it possible for us to have a little bit of a celebration?”

Everyone in the room held their breath. Mayor Chipman stared intently like a dingo eyeing a baby. “We can arrange that,” he allowed.

But there was one more bit of business, and it came with an ominous-sounding name: “questions without notice.” The idea? A reckless and dangerously unstable concept that ANY alderman can ask ANY question of ANYONE.

I’m already recoiling. Please, be gentle!

“Do we have the traffic count figures?” grilled Alderman Peter Cusick.
“Are you aware of other councils in Southern Tasmania that are providing after-hours school care?” raged Alderman James Walker.
“I would like to know if the toilets at the Lauderdale Yacht Club–if there’s been any thought to their design,” erupted Alderman Debra Thurley.

Yowza. I need a Foster’s after that white-hot earbashing. Longtime Chronicles readers will know that I like my aldermen’s questions like I like my women: with PLENTY of notice.

Final thoughts: You know what? Better stick to North America….I think Australian city councils are a little too intense for me.

City Council Chronicles

Somewhere out there, a city council meeting is happening. And you're not watching it. But I am. Each week, I bring you the highlights, lowlights, and weirdlights from places you don't live.

Category: council review

#93: Batavia, IL 3/20/17

#92: Lynnwood, WA 3/13/17

#91: Reading, PA 3/13/17

#90: Laramie, WY 3/7/17

#89: Sheldon, IA 3/1/17

#88: Tega Cay, SC 2/21/17

#87: Coralville, IA 2/14/17

#86: Salisbury, MD 2/13/17

#85: Clarence, TAS 2/6/17

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Somewhere out there, a city council meeting is happening. And you're not watching it. But I am. Each week, I bring you the highlights, lowlights, and weirdlights from places you don't live.

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