Category: council review

#39: West Valley City, UT 7/26/16

Maybe it was the summer heat or the moon in the Seventh House, but the 6:30 p.m. West Valley City council meeting felt more like an 8 a.m. college seminar: sleepy. The hypnotic monotone of Mayor Ron Bigelow certainly didn’t help.

“We turn to Councilmember Steve Vincent for our opening ceremony,” he murmured. “Opening ceremony” eh? Like the Olympics? By all means, bring out the drumline! Commence the light show! Sprint down the aisle with a flaming torch!

“I was trying to find something that I could present for Pioneer Day,” the councilmember teased us. “On my dad’s side of our family, when they came to New York, they didn’t have enough money to come west. So [my grandfather] laid telegraph line across the Plains to get to Utah.” (I’m getting the feeling that calling this an “opening ceremony” was a slight exaggeration.)

“He’d write stories about how they’d lay a few hundred yards of telegraph line and then the next morning they would have to redo it because they’d been torn down by Indians. Anyway, I think we all need to reflect on our pioneer heritage.”

Ah yes, what would an opening ceremony be without a little Indian sabotage?

Mayor Bigelow stared at his notes. “Was there anyone here who wanted to make public comments?” Pause. “Apparently not. A lot of comments, just not public,” he deadpanned.

“To our council, any comments tonight?” Crickets. “Nothing you wanna bring up? Oh-kay.” Imagine if Eeyore chugged a bottle of Nyquil and you’ve got Mayor Bigelow.

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“Does the cat who’s got your tongues wish to speak?”

Because everyone was so tight-lipped, the council sailed through the rest of the meeting as fast as the mayor could talk.

“We go to item 8–this is for the purchase of a data backup system. We have a lot of data we have to store. In fact, you can go out and listen to any of our council meetings.”

Well, I’ll be damned. Something I can get behind! Back up those council meetings, baby!

Next item: “We need to do it tonight,” warned the mayor about the “asphalt polymer treatment project.”

“It’s a polymer mastic seal to prevent oxidation of the asphalt oil from the water infiltration and ultraviolet exposure,” he explained in an impressive display of vocabulary. “In other words, so it doesn’t break up from the water and the sun, I guess is the way you would put that.” Actually, the way I would put that is “rubbing some lotion on the road,” but I’m a dummy.

With the road massaged and the data safe and sound, the council adjourned.

Final thoughts: For doing all the heavy lifting, I give 10 out of 10 stars to Councilmember Vincent’s telegraph-laying grandfather. Bravo, sir.

#38: Dover, DE 7/25/16

It’s a beautiful evening at Dover City Hall. The city council is ready to go and boy, what a diverse, good-looking group of–what?

This isn’t the city council? Then who the h*ck are these people?

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Control room, can we get a shot of the city council please?

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THERE they are. Barely.

The first order of business was presenting an oversize, Publishers Clearing House-style check to a senior citizens’ home. The guy in charge accepted the award by embarking on a long, slow stemwinder of a tale. “We have 30 employees. We’re down a couple right now. We hired people from 18 years old–she just left–”

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As the speech meandered, so did the control room–which decided that now was the perfect time for cutaway shots.

“Our average age is 75 years old. If you think about that, 75 is an average age–”

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“We have a wonderful facility. For those of you who have not been out there, I would be glad to give you a tour–”

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“It’s tough out there. For the fire department, you know, when you deal with seniors, there’s a lot of cooking incidents–”

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FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NO MORE CLOSE-UPS.

At the conclusion, everyone snapped out of their stupor and applauded. Councilman Fred Neil–himself well above the average age in the senior home–shook hands and quipped, “as an 82-year-old, save me a spot!”

The council quickly pivoted to the youthful and chipper city librarian, who was here to brag about Dover Comic Con. “We’re starting on Friday night about 5:30 with the arrival of the Ghostbusters,” she promised.

Councilman David Anderson leaned forward intently. “Will the Tardis be there this year?”

“The Tardis will be there,” confirmed the librarian.

Councilman Neil piped up. “I thought it was marvelous when I went last year! I was greeted like a character, even though I was not in uniform.” (For context, he looks like the guy from “Up.”) “Even though I was one of the old guys, I appreciated what was going on.”

Speaking of goings-on, “Mr. Sudler had a get-together last weekend,” recalled Councilman William Hare. “I have to say that all the hype about Roy’s Ribs was true! There was only one problem with ’em: there wasn’t enough!” The councilmen cackled in response.

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The rib kingpin of central Delaware

Councilman Roy Sudler, Jr., the culinary maestro of city hall, leveled a challenge right back at Hare: “Mt. Zion AME Church, they will be hosting an annual back to school and community fair. They would like to invite you to be this year’s celebrity chef–helping to cook hotdogs and hamburgers.”

Councilman Hare reflected. “Is there a waiver that we’re not held responsible for them eating my cooking?” Ha! Councilman, you and your poisonous gruel! Stick to what you know: order a couple buckets of Roy Sudler’s Ribs and call it a picnic.

Final thoughts: Oh, hey, control room dad!

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#37: Cartersville, GA 7/21/16

Quick! Put on your seersucker and chug a pitcher of sweet tea–the whole town’s a-goin’ down to watch the Cartersville city council dole out some Southern justice.

Yessir, today the fine men and women of the jury are deciding whether to change the zoning on a troublemakin’ patch of grass yonder. And the city’s brightest legal lights are here to deliver an Atticus Finch-worthy performance.

The judge–a.k.a. Mayor Matt Santini–narrowed his steely eyes at the packed room of onlookers. “Anybody’s welcome to get up and speak. However, if it doesn’t relate back to one of those 13 points–” he gestured to a PowerPoint slide with, ironically, only ten points, “–then we’re really not getting anywhere.”

With that, the Trial of the Century began. First up, attorney for the defense.

“This would be a distribution-type facility such as you see for Amazon,” the simple country lawyer drawled. “Those type of things are goin’ up these days. Seems like that man comes to my house every night with something my wife ordered on the Internet.” He flashed a smile to the jury.

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The Cartersville city council meeting

The star witness for the defense was a 51-year resident of Cartersville with a lethal knowledge of local roads.

“I’m personally familiar with the traffic flow of the county. On my way over tonight, I clocked the mileage from the Waterford [subdivision] to the intersection of Erwin Street and Old Mill Road: 1.7  miles.” This modern-day Rain Man dazzled the jury with flashy testimony not seen since the O.J. Simpson trial:

“The natural flow of traffic is coming up 75 or 41 to 293 onto Old Mill. Or it’s gonna be going out Erwin to the South Bridge. Or it’s gonna be Old Mill to Douthit Ferry to 113 and then either going up to 61 to Dallas or Rockmart. Or it’s gonna be going Burnt Hickory Road to the new roundabout.”

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This man NEVER gets lost.

Ladies fanned themselves. Gentlemen loosened their ties. Newspapermen chomped on cigars. Now, for the prosecution: a patrician man in a disarmingly-casual blue Polo approached with hands in pockets.

“I stand here before you trying to decide if I’m opposed to us having business coming into Cartersville,” he slowly pondered. “In the mornings and late in the evenings, if you’re coming out of Erwin Downs, you sit there at that stop sign for a good long while waiting for the traffic.” The Georgia night air was heavy with sweat and tension.

“If we add another 400 trucks–this is just my opinion if you don’t mind–but if they have the choice of going 293 or coming up across South Bridge to 41, you know where they’ll go,” he warned the jury, his eyes sliding from person to person to deliver his closing argument. “I’m opposed to it. I hate to say that I’m opposed to business coming into Cartersville.”

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Some onlookers were overcome with emotion.

At this point, the mayor-judge interjected: “I should have said this off the top. There will NOT be a vote this evening on this zoning request. That will take place at our meeting two weeks from now.”

No verdict? Well, shucks! Thelma? Toss on another order of grits–justice is gonna take awhile.

10 Toronto City Council Facts to Impress Your Friends and Potential Mates

It was an electrifying week to embark on our first international city council review! Less electrified was my accountant, who has since advised me to “never, ever fly First Class to Canada again, you moron.”

Anyhow, there was waaaaay too much cool stuff about the Toronto city council to mention. So I’ll mention it all here in the form of a handy list.

1. They start very patriotically.

In the U.S., council meetings usually kick off with the Pledge of Allegiance and occasionally a prayer. In Toronto, a choir sings the Canadian national anthem on top of a sweeping video montage. Come on, America, where’s our inspirational stock footage?!

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2. The mayor’s there!

In big cities, it’s unusual for the mayor to be in the room with the council. It’s even more unusual for the mayor to vote on the council. But in Toronto, the mayor is basically the 45th councilor.

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3. HUGE. NAME. PLACARDS.

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4. They don’t look at each other.

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Here’s an odd thing to watch: when councilors are asking questions to city staff, SOMETIMES they make eye contact like normal human beings. But usually, councilors don’t bother turning to look!

“There’s very few councilors who don’t know exactly where their camera is,” Councilor Shelley Carroll told me. “You pretty much get your media training on the job pretty fast.”

5. They can’t talk directly to people.

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“Hey, Michael, what do you mean by that?” you might ask.

And if I were a Toronto city councilor, I would respond, “Through the speaker, they talk to each other by saying ‘through the speaker.'”

Explained Carroll: “You’re not supposed to take somebody on. Canadian cities try to treat themselves like they’re a House of Commons.” Yes, we wouldn’t want councilors to confront each other…any more than they usually do (see below).

6. They vote DING DING while a chime DING DING rings.

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When councilors vote with their machines, they hear a steady pulsating chime–imagine an autotuned version of a garbage truck’s back-up beeper. It’s kind of hypnotic. I wonder if anyone has dozed off while voting.

 7. A lot of people ACTUALLY watch.

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8. You don’t get to talk forever.

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Councilors have a time limit on asking questions. The speaker butts in when they are done to say, “that was your last question.” And then she cuts their mic! Given how Toronto’s council meetings often stretch into double-digit hours, you better believe time limits are necessary. But I have yet to see another council that plays stopwatch cop like this.

9. They are very polite.

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Of course they’re polite–this is Canada! There were so many “sorrys” that I lost count. Like in this exchange between Councilor Josh Colle and the deputy city manager:

Colle:  What has been the increase in property taxes collected?

DCM: $303 million, I believe.

Colle: Sorry, that’s TTC fares.

DCM: No, sorry, that’s property taxes.

Colle: You might have it the other way around?

DCM: Sorry.

On the other hand,

10. They openly bicker.

The council has a “bylaw,” which members invoke if they think someone is behaving poorly–for example, by insulting the staff. Councilors can also challenge Speaker Frances Nunziata on her rulings. In return, the speaker sometimes snaps at them about wasting time and keeping the noise level down. During the Rob Ford shenanigans, antics were even worse:

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#36: Toronto, ON 7/12/16

Oh, baby! It’s Canada Week here at the Chronicles! I hope you packed a passport and your curling uniform, because we’re off to the Toronto city council meeting.

Meeting? Sorry. I meant “endurance test.”

These hardy Maple Leafers hunkered down for T-E-N H-O-U-R-S. And as it turns out, ten hours in Canada converts to ten AMERICAN hours as well. Lucky me.

Speaking of America, Mayor John Tory began by saying goodbye to Toronto’s Philadelphia-bound transportation manager–and good luck. “If there are any circumstances which TRUMP your desire to return home, you’ll always be most welcome here,” he remarked dryly as the room erupted in laughter.

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Oh, yeah? Well…who’s your president? A moose? Ha, burned.

Next came the excruciating process of figuring out a.) who wanted b.) to say what c.) and when on the city budget. (Hint: every. body. wanted. to. talk.)

“On page 10,” Councilor Michael Thompson politely requested, “I’m just wondering, is it possible to have this Thursday morning as a first item–”

Loud grumbles rolled in from councilors who had Thursday morning in their crosshairs.

“There’s also a desire to hold the supervised injection [debate] at that time!” Councilor Joe Mihevc protested.

Council Speaker Frances Nunziata raised a hand. “I’m sorry but Councilor Thompson had his name before yours,” she curtly shut him down. It’s a reminder of that old saying: “the early bird gets the sweet Thursday morning discussion slot.”

It was a minor tiff–but by hour 2.5, tempers really flared.

During routine questioning of the city manager, Councilor James Pasternak casually inquired about sloppy staff recommendations: “What strategies do you have to make sure that shenanigans stops?”

As the city manager defended himself, Councilor Gord Perks perked up.

“Councilor Pasternak just described city staff’s budget process as ‘shenanigans,'” the wavy-haired man complained.  “I ask that he withdraw that.”

“Madam Speaker, Councilor Perks has twisted my words!” protested Pasternak.

The speaker was on his side. “Continue,” she ordered Pasternak. Then she froze. “Councilor Perks is challenging my ruling.” One off-mic councilor hollered what sounded like a profanity. This is amazing–I’m already googling “how to move to Canada.”

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You challenge a Canadian speaker by hip-checking her on the ice rink.

A high-pitched chime pulsed in the chamber–like a creepy kid’s toy–signaling that councilors had to vote on whether to back their fearless leader.

Final tally: 23-9. The speaker wins.

After break to eat lunch and walk off the crankiness, councilors returned to a familiar dilemma: cut services or raise taxes?

“There’s a number of things we do as a city that we don’t have to be doing,” Councilor Giorgio Mammoliti grumbled. “We don’t have to be in the childcare business! Why the hell aren’t we talking about this stuff?!”

Another councilor–ever polite–corrected him. “Heck.”

Mammoliti scowled. “Hell.”

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Others are visibly shocked by Councilor Mammoliti’s language.

It was the bottom of the ninth (hour). The humans were tired but, oddly enough, the machines were even tireder.

As Councilor Thompson spoke, several loud booms rocked the sound system.

Then…dead mic.

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on,” the speaker shrugged, not entirely upset at this gentle suggestion by Fate.

“Shut ‘er down!” shouted Councilor Shelley Carroll, chomping to get out of Dodge.

Unluckily for her, the mics rebooted, letting Councilor Thompson inch the meeting across the ten-hour line. Ugh, I’m getting too old for this sh…enanigans.

Final thoughts: Stay tuned! There’s more Canada Coverage on Wednesday and Friday!

#35: Boston, MA 7/13/16

Grab some chowdah and pahk your cah in the yahd–today we head to Boston!

Immediately, I knew that the MVP of this council meeting would be city clerk Maureen Feeney, who called roll in the most legit Boston accent this side of Bunker Hill.

“Councilah Flehrety [Flaherty]…Councilah MaCaathy [McCarthy]…Councilah Wooah [Wu],” she blurted out like a hotdog vendor at Fenway Park.

As a pastor stepped to the dais to offer the day’s prayer, it raised an important question: why is the Boston city council meeting in the concrete basement of Montresor from “The Cask of Amontillado”?

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“Fah the love of gahd, Mahntresoah!”

Councilors got down to business, with the clerk helpfully narrating the big issues:

“Dahket numbah 0993: accept for the city of Bahstan a donation from the Coast Gaahd. The boat and trailah will be added to the Habah Patrol and will benefit the city of Bahstan.”

“Dahket numbah 0823, sponsored by the mayah: Bahstan Latin School pahtial boilah replacement.”

But it wasn’t all trailahs and boilahs–there were serious problems facing the council as well.

Gas leaks: “There are anywhere from 1,300–which was a conservative estimate–[or] double or triple that,” Councilor Matt O’Malley cautioned.

LGBTQ youth: “Of the youth studied, one in five attempted suicide in the past year,” Councilor Josh Zakim fretted.

People without IDs: “Getting a formal identification card is burdensome for certain communities–undocumented immigrants, residents who are experiencing homelessness, transgender,” Council President Michelle Wu wu-arned.

Yikes, I haven’t seen this much chaos in Boston since any given Red Sox game.

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Hey, closed captioning: start spelling with an accent ya chowdahead!

But all was not lost. Riding in like Paul Revere was Councilor Ayanna Pressley. “I’m rising to create a little peer pressure for everyone,” she said cheekily. “If your spouse’s birthday falls on the same day as the council meeting, you will now feel the pressure to do the same thing I’m doing: happy birthday, sweetheart! Thirty-nine years young!”

Let’s see…13 council spouses…52 council meetings per year…the odds of another birthday happening are…gosh, where’s a math-savvy MIT janitor when you need one?

And what’s even better than a Boston birthday? A Boston boast-day:

“My office was contacted by the comptroller in New York City looking for information on our free sunscreen in the parks program,” Councilor O’Malley bragged. “This is a public health service that we are offering at zero cost to the taxpayer. New York City is piloting it this summer at their city pools.”

He gave a sly grin. “So I wanted to congratulate the great city of New York for ONCE AGAIN following Boston’s lead.” The other councilors whooped and guffawed like it was the second coming of the Boston Tea Party. (I admired their restraint for not also chanting “YANK-EES SUCK!”)

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Councilor O’Malley gives the traditional Boston gesture of respect.

And on that note of being BRIEFLY, on ONE thing, SLIGHTLY better than New York, the council adjourned for some Dunkin’ Donuts and a packy of Sam Adams.

Final thoughts: What a wicked pissa of a council meeting! For slipping an F-U to New Yorkers, I give this meeting 8 out of 10 deflated Patriots footballs.

Shout-out #1: London, OH

A few weeks ago I chronicled the London, Ohio city council meeting. To refresh your memory, it was a real humdinger, with the mayor’s “fun fact” being that he lit a barrel on fire downtown. You know–the People’s Business.

Well, a little Buckeye Birdie told me that London City Hall took notice.

Sure enough, during last week’s city council meeting, His Honor the mayor had a few choice words for the Chronicles:

Mayor: Now on to the mayor fun fact. Some of you already know we’re starting to get some national attention. There’s a man out there by the name of Michael Karlik who has a hobby of reviewing city council meetings from all over the United States…everybody has their own hobbies, I guess.

[Collective sigh from council members. One councilwoman lays her head on the desk.]

Hobby? I think you meant “public service,” sir.

Mayor: I’m not sure how he stumbled upon ours, but he did. And he wrote about us and tagged me on Facebook and Twitter. And it was about our June 16 meeting. Most of the focus was on my mayor fun fact last month, which I talked about lighting a barrel on fire in downtown London for the movie. So I thought I would pay him the ultimate compliment by making him my mayor fun fact for this meeting.

I am genuinely honored, Your Honor! I’m sure the flaming barrel feels the same way!

Mayor: The writing was actually very witty and well done, I thought. I got a good laugh out of it and it was pretty interesting, so if you guys want to go back and look at it, most of you guys were mentioned in the article. It’s under councilchronicles.com. So you guys can check that out. I just thought it was pretty funny.

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Is anyone else crying because they have something in their eye?

I am deeply grateful to the mayor for his shout-out at the city council meeting. So much so that I am officially naming London, Ohio as a “Friend of the Chronicles.” With that status, of course, comes the right of prima nocta over all other city councils, plus this trophy.

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Readers, if you ever find yourselves passing through London, remember to stop and give the mayor a pat on the back and a smooch on the cheek. Then gently whisper in his ear, “You’ve been chronicled!”

#34: Riverton, WY 7/5/16

Wyoming may be the Wild West, but this week’s Riverton city council meeting was anything but rowdy. It was downright calm. Sedate.

Even–as you’ll see–sad.

There was a glimmer of drama at the top of the hour, as some dum-dum booked the city council meeting AND the Finance Committee meeting for the same time. Great, now everyone has to wait on some loooooong, booooooring committee. Grab a pillow!

“I would move for claims to be paid in the amount of $189,402.59,” Council Member Martin Cannan began.

“I’ll second it,” responded Council Member Holly Jibben–coincidentally the second and only other person on the Finance Committee. “All in favor say aye.”

Two ayes–one bass, one soprano. “Meeting adjourned,” Council Member Jibben leaned back as the meeting fizzled after 55 seconds.

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Hey, Riverton, do they make your committees in men’s sizes?

The camera zoomed out to reveal Mayor John “Lars” Baker with shirt sleeves rolled up. He tapped his pen impatiently as the first public commenter approached–a man with a bushy mustache and a shirt as red as the Wyoming sunset.

“My wife and I, we have a, uh,” the man started, suddenly bracing himself against the podium, his voice cracking. “Excuse me…two-year-old German Shepherd. My wife caught the dog eating a piece of tar paper in our backyard. There’s tar paper, fiber glass insulation, home insulation” from a nearby construction project.

“May 3, our dog had a seizure. Up to this date he’s had nine seizures.” The man clutched his mouth and fought back tears.

“They’ve got all kinds of stuff stacked–it gets shredded in the wind and blows right into our yard. I would hope something can be done. We had to put a dog down two years ago,” he broke down once more at the memory, “and I don’t wanna do it again.”

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Sometimes city council meetings are sad, boys and girls.

Mayor Baker uncomfortably attempted to play grief counselor. “Well, this has certainly been quite an ordeal for you,” he winced.

A staff member jumped in: “We do quite often talk to [construction crews] about a lot of that. But obviously we need to do it more,” she looked into the citizen’s tearful eyes sympathetically.

“We’ll keep plugging away,” the mayor mumbled, staring blankly at the man with the sick dog. “Okay? Thank you.”

His Honor didn’t exactly radiate empathy. But here’s the thing: Mayor Baker does not show any emotion. Calling him “low energy” vastly exaggerates the amount of energy he has. The man could put a case of Red Bull to sleep.

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Someone pump up the mayor–he’s deflating!

Look no further than his reaction to news that the airport just added a flight. “We need to encourage people to use the airport,” the city administrator cheerfully explained. “Many of us attended the ribbon cutting ceremony. I think we put five passengers on there and they all felt like celebrities!”

Terrific story, yes, your honor?

“We’re excited about this airplane and, uh…boy, I just hope that people will fly,” the mayor sighed, sounding neither excited nor hopeful. “If people respond to that and fly Riverton, we will be in the airline business again.” I cannot convey how truly funereal Riverton’s mayor sounded. Except to tell you–I’m not exaggerating–that he barely paused before adding:

“The other thing today…we had a funeral for Dianne Tippets.”

#33: Aspen, CO 6/27/16

If you get your jollies from talk of storm water fees or filling potholes, take your filthy mind far away from Aspen. In this luxurious ski hamlet, the city council had only the highest, most sophisticated affairs of state to discuss.

“We have a relatively light schedule tonight–and a relatively light council,” Mayor Steve Skadron waved his hands toward the two lone council members seated to his side.

“[Council members] Adam [Frisch] and Art [Daily] are traveling,” chuckled the mayor, who was sporting the most fashionable head of hair this side of Fabio. Like a true Aspenite, “Adam is golfing in Scotland!”

But this city isn’t all golf junketing and Eurotripping. They also had a very unpopular parking rate increase. Tell ’em how unpopular it was, mayor:

“One of the things we’ve done is used revenue from the parking increase to pay for–” GOLDEN TOILETS IN THE COUNCIL CHAMBERS?!?! –“the Downtowner, which are the electric cars that are driving around.”

Christ, what kind of utopia is this? You, there–shorts-clad citizen waiting to address the council! Surely you must have a complaint about how this city is going to hell in a ski lift!

“I’ve used the Downtowner. It’s a great service,” bragged the bespectacled man. “My dogs really appreciate it.”

Mayor Skadron pumped his fist. “Thank you for being such a cool local!”

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With hair like that, Mayor Steve Skadron is THE arbiter of cool.

Finally, midway through the meeting, there was some drama in paradise. A group of developers was seeking to add on to the Little Nell Hotel–and all three council members had to give the thumbs up. No abstentions. No nays.

All. Three.

“What we’ve tried to do is move away from a straight up solarium and create something that is more in line with the original architecture,” a cheerful young presenter explained.

The mayor swiveled to his right. “Ann, what do you think?”

“Well,” chuckled Council Member (and the local landscape architect) Ann Mullins, “it’s always difficult to add onto a building and have it blend in. This is an improvement over what you showed us originally–”

Would she? Wouldn’t she?!

“–but I don’t think it’s there yet….The amount of fenestration and especially the skylights, the glass ceiling, makes the addition somewhat cheap.”

There was a silence, presumably so people could look up the definition of “fenestration.”

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Barf! You call that a solarium?! My dog has pooped better solaria than that!

“Since there are three of us and it has to be unanimous, you get to have what you asked for,” Council Member Bert Myrin smiled nervously. “It’s okay. I’m comfortable with that.” He sounded anything but comfortable.

Turning to the lone objector, he sighed. “It’s entirely up to you.”

The tension was as thick as a Rocky Mountain blizzard. The developers huddled, frantically searching for a way to appease the Ski Queen.

Finally, they offered that the ordinance could make their building “replicate existing ground floor or second floor window pattern.”

All eyes turned to Mullins.

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Council Member Ann Mullins: the most powerful woman in the Rockies

“Okay,” she caved.

The vote was taken. Everyone was a yes. The developers were all smiles as the meeting graveled to a close.

Final thoughts: For driving a hard bargain, I give Council Member Ann Mullins 10 out of 10 Scottish golfing passes.