Category: council review

#22: Fort Wayne, IN 5/24/16

A group of nine men can do two things: (1) field a baseball team or (2) conduct the People’s Business.

Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, because this week, the Fort Wayne city council played a double-header–a committee meeting AND council meeting in the same night. Pitching for the home team was Councilman Glynn Hines.

“Is there anyone in the audience that would like to speak in favor of or in opposition to resolution 16-05-04?” he hollered, scanning the bleachers.

“Second call.” (A swing!)

“Third and final call.” (And a miss! No takers.)

Representing the visiting team was a lady from the Ward Corporation. Resolution 16-05-04 was to give her family’s company some tax relief. “We’ve been in business for 52 years,” she explained, brandishing a picture of her relatives.

“Is that Vern?” Councilman Hines squinted. “I played golf with Vern.”

“I actually don’t think that you should have to pay taxes on this property,” Councilman Jason Arp confessed. “I don’t think anybody should have to pay taxes on business personal property.” But before this modern-day Ayn Rand could hit a home run against taxes, he added: “But I’m gonna vote against it because not everyone gets it.”

Despite his “nay,” the rest of the team approved Ward Corp.’s tax relief.

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Your disgruntled libertarian stepdad, Jason Arp

What happened next was truly bizarre: an apology. From the chamber of commerce. For threats. “With regards to the potential intimidation of elected officials, our board was most troubled by this,” their balding representative read from a statement. “If any of you ever felt that there was intimidation, it is no one’s intent. We will at no time use our position as chamber of commerce to threaten electoral retaliation.”

Whose feet did they threaten to put in cement? Whose home did they promise to cut the gas line? “Nice little city council you got here. It’d be a shame if someone were to drag a key across it!”

“I think the conflict was: when you have a project, you’re often very passionate,” Councilman John Crawford murmured carefully. “Some of the advocacy before was like…it was a little too far.”

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Please don’t kill this nice councilman’s puppy.

Heading into Game 2, the councilmen jogged to a new room. Now in the luxurious council chambers, a man in knee-high socks and a yellow “FORT WAYNE” t-shirt stepped to the mic.

“Gentlemen, I’m gonna tell you something: Sunday morning, I felt like dying because the noise was so great. They were shooting fireworks off.

“They’re four men [who] live there, four women that live there, and a whole pack of kids,” he explained. “They’re all Mexicans, as far as I’m concerned.”

Channeling his inner Donald Trump, he concluded, “we don’t need something like this in Fort Wayne. We need to clean up this town. Gentlemen, have a great evening, and the lord bless all of you.”

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This man merely wants peace, quiet, and deportations.

Steering far away from the crucial matter of cleaning up the Mexicans, Council President Thomas Didier gave a mini-pep talk. “Fireworks are gonna start happening. Fireworks for Memorial Day. Fireworks for Fourth of July. It’s all the holidays…New Year’s Eve. I’m just forewarning you now.”

Final thoughts: If you’re going to be in Fort Wayne between Memorial Day and New Year’s Eve, you might want to bring some earplugs. At least, around the Mexicans. 

#21: Raymore, MO 5/23/16

“Size doesn’t matter” was the motto of this week’s Raymore city council meeting. Looking around the chamber, you’d think an F5 had blown away half the council: four people were AWOL, including the mayor.

President Pro Tem Derek Moorhead, himself anything but small, soldiered ahead for the 20,000 souls in Ray-town (not its real nickname). “I have a wonderful proclamation for a wonderful cause: the Missouri Retired Teachers Association,” he boomed, towering over the white-haired woman who came to accept the award.

Can I keep it, she asked after he was done reading.

“That’s yours, absolutely!” President Moorhead exclaimed.

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Wanted, Dead or Alive: Half of the Raymore City Council

Not only was the council a few hands short, the city manager was without his deputy. “She is, as you all know, in Las Vegas with the economic development team and the mayor,” he sighed. “She sent me a picture this afternoon.”

How do you like them apples! She and the mayor are taking selfies with Celine Dion, while everyone else is stuck here talking about…mudjacking?

“We’ve spent just a little over $40,000 for the mudjacker this year,” a staff member told the council. “So right now we have achieved break even.” Three council members applauded vigorously–less for the jacking of mud and more for the saving of dough.

More good news: “Next Monday, May 30, there is no council meeting because it is Memorial Day,” the city manager huzzahed. “I believe it will be the first Monday in five months that you all will have off.” (Well, technically the first Monday those five council members who AREN’T playing craps in Sin City have off.)

Then, a huge piece of news. Groundbreaking. Earth shattering.

“An ordinance,” the clerk read, “authorizing the mayor to enter into an agreement with Kansas City Audiovisual for the purchase and installation of a council chambers video system.”

HALLELUJAH, I screamed through my monitor. In case you haven’t noticed, the cameras the city council is apparently borrowing from the middle school AV department aren’t “showing me” much in the Show-Me State. Everyone voted aye.

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Are they voting yes or stretching? It’s too blurry to tell!

Before long, this cozy council meeting was all wrapped up. President Moorhead had a few heartfelt words in parting. “Having a father as a teacher, I have to say that I don’t even know why we call them ‘retired’ teachers…they’re just teachers with no class in session,” he rhapsodized like a modern-day Langston Hughes.

“I remember [former] Mayor [Pete] Kerckhoff always used to mention the weather and the farmers market. I believe the farmers market officially opens on June 7–”

“June 14!” someone called out.

“June 14,” the president pro tem recovered. “I can’t predict the weather, though. Good luck on that. Hope it doesn’t rain.”

With a shrug, the council eagerly adjourned to enjoy a nice quiet holiday–except for the mayor, who will be doing body shots in the presidential suite of the Bellagio.

Final thoughts: For being the only council so far to upgrade their video quality, I give this meeting the Full Siskel and Ebert: 2 out of 2 thumbs-up!

#20: Chicago, IL 5/18/16

It’s official: I’ve seen the Chicago Marathon.

Not the race–I’m talking about this week’s ungodly three-and-a-half hour council meeting.

I sure hope city clerk Susana Mendoza did major vocal warm ups, because her first task was to read the names of 110 children–for five straight minutes–getting scholarships in Chicago.

“We, the mayor and members of the city council, do hereby congratulate the following students,” she began, before rattling off the list like a pro: rolling her R’s and punching up the vowels in those tricky Latino names.

But this mini-graduation did not stop there. One by one, TWENTY-SEVEN of the city’s aldermen stood up to congratulate each student in their ward–and, more often than not, massacre their names.

Alderman Carrie Austin squinted at her notes. “I know I’m gonna butcher their names,” she muttered. And she did, awkwardly shrugging, “or…sounds something like that.”

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Alderman Carrie Austin is proud of you, whatever your name is.

Finally, after half an hour of speeches…it was time to congratulate MORE students.

“Whereas the Junior Reserve Officer Training Program–” the clerk began.

From the gallery, a protester began screaming. “NO CHECK FOR RENT!” over and over.

Mayor Rahm Emanuel banged his gavel. “Hold on, we’ll start over.”

The man was hauled off and the clerk hit rewind. “Whereas the Junior–”

“NO. CHECK. FOR RENT.” a group of people resumed the chant. One guy began free styling over the chanters: “MONEY FOR SCHOOLS! NOT RICH DEVELOPERS!”

After they were escorted out, the mayor turned to the chamber. “We’re gonna try to do this [resolution] for the kids, but if anyone has another protest, let me know right now.” The aldermen laughed and the city clerk resumed her reading…until for the third time she was forced to stop.

“BACK ROW,” the mayor icily addressed the chatty council members in the rear. “These kids have studied hard. Their parents are here. Their teachers are here. Please just hush your voices.”

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Mayor Rahm Emanuel: “I will murder the next person who talks.”

At blessed last, the clerk finished the resolution. Alderman Austin rose again to speak. “I remember when I was in high school–gosh, that would’ve been a hundred years ago–I wanted to be in the ROTC. One, I wanted the uniform. Two, I wanted to tell people what to do.”

“Well,” cut in Mayor Emanuel, “you’ve mastered one out of two.” The whole chamber erupted in laughter.

An hour of speeches had passed, but, dear reader, don’t think everyone was tired of talking: beloved water commissioner Tom Powers was retiring, which gave all 50 alderman an excuse to slowly eulogize him.

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It’s a war of attrition.

Their remarks included the kind–

(“I’m giving you permission to enjoy yourself!” –Alderman Michelle Harris)

–the creepy–

(“I was the one that he was out seeing at 7:30 on Saturday mornings.” –Alderman Michael Zalewski)

–and the…violent?

(“I would have picked you up by the collar, put you up against the wall, and said you could not go.” –Alderman Pat Dowell)

Luckily, the commissioner took it in stride. “Somebody once told me, you’re gonna miss the circus but you’re not gonna miss the clowns,” he remarked. There was a slow roll of cackling and applause by said clowns. He quickly added, “I am gonna miss all of you.”

Final thoughts: 50 city council members are waaaaay toooooo many. Chicago, I’ll tune in again when you get it below 25.

#19: Baltimore, MD 5/16/16

I wish I could say the Baltimore city council meeting was all lollipops and kittens. But it wasn’t. Oh, no–it wasn’t at all. Maybe there’s a bug going around, because some council members contracted a case of butthurt.

Right out of the gate, people were peeved: the mayor vetoed the council’s two charter amendments that would have curbed her power. Now, some council members wanted to give Her Honor the collective middle finger.

To bypass the veto, almost every single person would need to vote yes. Would they stick together?

Yes…yes…no…yes…no…the clerk went down the list.

It failed, 9-5. Round 1: the mayor.

They moved on to the second amendment. Midway through the roll call, Councilman Pete Welch stood up. “On the last vote, can I change my vote?”

“I think you can,” Council President Jack Young started, but was drowned out by murmurs from the council members. “Only by unanimous consent,” he corrected himself. They would take care of him after the vote.

Final tally: 8-5. Match: the mayor.

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Councilman Pete Welch wants to change his vote, but ironically wants to keep that tie.

Back to Councilman Welch: “Do all council members agree that he can change his vote?” the president asked. Titters of objection percolated on the floor. “Remember, when you all wanna change your vote, it comes back to haunt you,” the president warned, growing visibly irked.

The clerk called out Councilman Brandon Scott. “Are we voting to allow Councilman Welch to change his vote?” Scott asked peevishly.

“Yes,” President Young responded.

Scott leaned waaaaaaay back in his chair. “No.”

Someone chuckled. Others rolled their eyes.

“You can’t change your vote. It’s not unanimous,” the president shrugged at Welch. A devilish smirk crossed his lips. “So just remember that.”

He had a few choice words for the people who took the mayor’s side earlier. “We holler we’re a democratic society and we want our constituents to voice their opinion, and yet the council says no,” he ranted, while the clerk standing next to him put on a solid poker face. “This is not about the council president. I think we have failed the citizens tonight. We just laid down on this one.”

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Blink twice if you want us to airlift you out of there!

Councilwoman Rikki Spector rose for a rebuttal. “I understand your frustration–”

“I’m not frustrated,” the president snapped, not hiding his frustration AT ALL.

Councilwoman Spector reminded him that she also wanted a charter amendment once, but the council voted her down. “It would have been an opportunity also for this democratic process to work. I understand why you’re frustrated,” she said, adding sarcastically, “well, you’re not frustrated, are you?”

Picking up his mic, Councilman Bill Henry gestured to the back of the room. “We have some guests in the audience today. We have fourth and fifth graders.” Jesus, why would you invite children to watch council members be catty to each other? Is this the Real Housewives School of Too Much Drama?

“Now I get to go in there and explain any questions they might have,” Councilman Henry chuckled, with a hint of regret. Question 1: “Why did that guy yell for five minutes if he wasn’t frustrated? Does he know what ‘frustrated’ means?”

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Damn, girl, are you the Baltimore council’s carpet? Because you look fiiiinnee!

Final thoughts: I think the lesson here is, it’s good to be mayor! You really get to push the council’s buttons, and you don’t have to be in the room with them! I give this meeting 2 out of 2 vetoes.

#18: Lebanon, OR 5/11/16

The auction block was hot at the Lebanon city council meeting! People lined up left and right to annex land for their own kinky purposes, and the council was in charge of moving the merchandise.

Vest-clad, avuncular community development honcho Walt Wendolowski rattled off the three pieces of primo Oregon soil for annexation. Mayor Paul Aziz called out to the back of the room, “Would the applicant like to speak?”

“I just wanna say,” Applicant #1 reported, “I approve of the staff report and enjoy working with the city of Lebanon.” He promptly walked back to his seat.

Applicant #2 didn’t even bother getting out of his chair. “I think Walt covered it all,” he hollered.

Applicant #3 tied him in word economy, sitting down for all of two seconds simply to say: “I concur with Walt’s staff report.”

It was a scene reminiscent of the Lincoln-Douglas debates, when Abraham Lincoln famously retorted, “Yeah, I think Walt has the right idea.”

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It is biologically impossible to disagree with Walt.

After approving all three requests, there was another land matter of what to do about a shipping container someone plopped down in a neighborhood. Here to talk about it was–surprise–our man Walt Wendolowski.

“You know, at the Rotary meeting, if you see a person this much, there’d be a fine for it,” he joked, taking out his wallet and pretending to put a dollar into the I’m-Talking-Too-Much bucket. The city could ignore the trailer or try to boot it, but “in the past 15 years we’ve had only two issues,” Walt noted.

“I’m not a big fan of government telling me what I can do with my property,” warned grizzled Councilor Rebecca Grizzle. “If I want to have something hideous in my backyard, that’s subjective. And I’ve had to look at hideous things in other people’s backyards.” Tell me about it! If I have to look out the window and see my neighbor’s butterface kids one more time–

“I agree. The whole aesthetic thing is….we’d start saying ‘can you not paint your house purple?'” Mayor Aziz concurred.

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Lebanon will defend your right to make your house look like a hideous purple monstrosity.

Councilor Jason Bolen had a community update from his perch as the local youth baseball coach (go Warriors!).  “We have been able to install turf around all of the home plates and all of the mounds,” he bragged. “The kids just love them. You should see these kids learning how to slide coming into home. Instead of doing it on dirt and kind of doing a skid, hop, and a rollover, these guys are sliding in there when they have to and when they don’t have to!”

“I like the sign,” Councilor Grizzle whispered mischievously.

Councilor Bolen chuckled at the inside joke. “Yeah…I did that one. It says: ‘These are kids. They’re not professionals. Coaches are volunteers. Umpires are human. None of these kids are going to get a pro contract today. Relax.'”

Also, on the back of the sign: “Your dreams are dead. Fun is an illusion. Mediocrity is noble. Vote Bolen for Council.”

Final thoughts: From letting a disgusting trailer sit to making a sign that says your kid isn’t gonna make it, the Lebanon city council is a real “live-and-let-live” crowd. It’s the kind of place where I’d be proud to paint my house magenta. I give this meeting 7 out of 10 stars.

#17: Brush!, CO 5/9/16

I sh*t you not, the name of this city is “Brush!” With punctuation.

From the Brush! website: “The exclamation point after our name dates back to 1978 when the Brush Area Chamber of Commerce and the City Council began placing the exclamation point after Brush to emphasize a ‘can do attitude’.”

Well, okily-dokily. I actually have no problem with the exclamation point because I am excited–namely because the Brush! city council meeting was only 27 less-than-a-pizza-delivery minutes long!

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The Brush! city logo also doubles as good advice from your dentist

City Attorney Robert Chapin asked the council to muster their can-do attitudes to send a letter to the governor. If Hizzoner doesn’t veto a particular bill, Brush! will have to pay for court-appointed lawyers. And that, Chapin fretted, would be awful.

“That’s gonna involve some additional administrative chores,” he wrung his hands. “It’s going to create some problems for us that we have not had to deal with in the past.”

But Councilor Jeanine Anderson wasn’t letting him pee on her leg and tell her it’s raining. “I think, you know, with the Constitution of this country, you don’t just jail people without the right to an attorney.”

“The city would have to pick up the entire cost,” Chapin protested.

“Maybe,” mused Councilor Anderson, “we could look at the ordinances where there is jail time and-”

“We could eliminate that. That’s correct,” the attorney concurred.

Mayor Chuck Schonberger butted in. “Do you know how often we have sentenced someone to jail?”

“Very seldom,” Chapin responded.

No jail time in Brush!? What kind of hippie commune are they running here?! But don’t go knock over the Shell station just yet: the council voted for the veto, with Councilor Anderson the only “nay.”

Speaking of the po-po, April 30 was Brush!’s drug take-back. “In the four hour span, we collected 168 pounds of pharmaceuticals,” the interim chief reported. “We’re just about double what we were in previous years.”

Jesus. Talk about a can-do-a-lot-of-drugs attitude. Maybe if they sold all that Oxy, Brush! could pay for a lawyer for the one guy they send to jail each year.

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Where were all the citizens? Definitely NOT stockpiling drugs. Nooope.

“Was there any report form the council outreach on May 2?” Mayor Schonberger asked the room?

After a moment, Councilor Kimberly Dykes murmured, “we had no visitors.”

“That’s what I heard,” the mayor sighed, staring out at the empty council chambers. But then he brightened. “I noticed new tables out here.”

“Long tables,” the city clerk whispered excitedly.

Or,  as they are known in Brush!: “Long! Tables!”

Final thoughts: The only thing I love more than a speedy council meeting is a 168-pound motherlode of prescription narcotics. And the Brush! city council certainly had both. I give this meeting 11 out of 10 stars.

#16: Bloomington, IL 5/9/16

Every seat was filled at the Bloomington city council meeting–with Boy Scouts no less! Either those fellas were getting their Sitting-Through-An-Ordeal merit badge OR something special was happening.

Turns out, it was a little bit of both.

Mayor Tari Renner started off with a long string of proclamations:

  • National Nursing Home Week (theme: “It’s a Small World with a Big Heart”)
  • Emergency Medical Services Week (theme: “EMS Strong”)
  • Economic Development Week (theme: “Uhh…pass”)

And finally, said the mayor, “something that’s near and dear to the heart of our citizens who have driven on our streets, who have flushed our toilets–” uh, National Street Toilet Week?–“and that is Public Works Week.”

Then his eyes lit up. “Oh, man! Our star of all stars! Delvar Dopson! Good to see you, man!” Mayor Renner’s smile was so big, it was like he was staring at his long lost brother.

Instead, he was staring at the public works director and sanitation worker Delvar Dopson. “Delvar was able to reach out to this young girl in the route that he goes,” the director explained. “And she made this great comment about him, ‘the awesome smiley garbage guy,’ and she wanted for her birthday to just meet him. And so it was just one of those cute, sweet stories. The sucker went viral!”

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Local hero Delvar Dopson

Dopson got wild applause and the proclamation from the mayor. “I remember you before I was mayor for being at the gym together,” he swooned. “I was just using regular weights and you were bench pressing the trucks from the public works department.” The two muscular men parted ways and the meeting continued.

There was a proposal on the table to give city manager David Hales a new contract with a raise. But Alderman Kevin Lower rained down a Hales-storm.

“It certainly does not reflect our current economic conditions in the municipality,” he warned. “I feel my thumb on the pulse of many of my constituents who just don’t feel like they can afford” to pay for a raise.

Alderman David Sage was offended on behalf of the city manager. “I’m always amazed we simply do not extend the courtesy of publicly saying ‘thank you’ for the job that you do.” He gazed longingly into Hales’s peepers. “I’m extremely proud to have you as the city manager of Bloomington.”

The vote was 8-1 for the raise–Alderman Lower being the one.

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Alderman David Sage: “I wish I could quit you, city manager.”

Mayor Renner was ready to wrap when Alderman Jim Fruin remembered something important. “I assume you’re going to say something about–” he gestured–“the Boy Scouts?”

“Oh!” the mayor suddenly recalled. “Okay…Alderman Lower?”

The alderman finally drew attention, at the end of an hour-long meeting, to the antsy and exhausted young audience. “The city council will probably agree with me…sometimes they don’t,” he acidly glanced at his colleagues. “The lessons that you are learning right now in Boy Scouts…I have put many of those lessons to work in my adult life and it’s something you can’t find anywhere else.”

The council, for once, agreed with him.

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Clearly the meeting was an endurance test for more than just the Boy Scouts

Final thoughts: At the end of the day, the city manager got his raise, Delvar Dopson got his proclamation, and Alderman Lower got to drop some wisdom on the youth. Win-win-win! I give this meeting 10 out of 10 stars.

#15: Danville, VA 5/5/16

Danville may not be the biggest city. Or the best city. Or even the best city named Danville (it’s Danville, California, obvi). But it has one thing that other cities do not:

The most annoyingly-cheerful sons-of-b’s on city council.

Mayor Sherman Saunders rose with a proclamation for the 50th anniversary of the city’s Goodyear plant. “Whereas the Goodyear tire and rubber company broke ground in DANVILLE,” he said, practically shouting the city name. “And whereas Goodyear DANVILLE is DANVILLE’s largest employer–” at this point, the two representatives from Goodyear were suppressing laughter as the Honorable Mayor bellowed “Danville” every other sentence.

“I, Sherman M. Saunders, mayor, city of DANVILLE do hereby commend Goodyear DANVILLE on its 50th anniversary in DANVILLE, Virginia.” He glanced at the room with a kingly defiance.

“Yeah, I’m proud to say ‘DANVILLE.’ That’s right!”

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Don’t tell Mayor Sherman Saunders that someone didn’t put “DANVILLE” in all caps

“Thank you, and we look forward to another 50 years of good service in Danville,” the company’s representatives responded, opting not to scream the city name. It didn’t matter–there was already a huge lovefest for Goodyear in the crowd.

“I worked at Goodyear and I built on the U2s,” the mayor reminisced.

“I also worked at Goodyear,” boasted Councilman James Buckner.

“Goodyear is Danville and Danville is Goodyear,” Councilman  J. Lee Vogler, the resident poet, freestyled.

Next, the sheriff came forward to talk about the first annual Youth Day on Saturday–complete with music, a basketball free throw competition, and hundred-yard dash.

“Do you have something for [people] over 65?” Councilman John Gilstrap cheekily inquired.

“Serving hot dogs,” the sheriff retorted.

Gilstrap chuckled. “I can do that!”

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The council, looking jazzed about Youth Day

Youth Day wasn’t the only big ticket item in town–and not even the only one featuring wieners: “The community market opens this Saturday,” Councilman Buckner reported. “Make sure you stop by at the time I’m working because I’m gonna make hands down the best hot dogs.”

Vice-Mayor Gary Miller called bullsh*t: “Mr. Buckner may think he makes the best hot dogs, but I’m gonna produce the healthiest ones. I’m gonna have turkey dogs,” he bragged, to groans from the council. “That are healthy for you.”

“There goes my appetite,” the mayor gagged. It sounds like the vice-mayor will have plenty of leftovers. Thanksgiving dinner at the Miller house? Turkey hot dogs.

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Would you eat a turkey hot dog from this man?

Before the meeting adjourned, Mayor Saunders flipped on his mic, leaned back, and speechified like a Sunday preacher. “I want to thank the voters who reelected me just a few days ago. I maintain–you’re gonna hear it four more years–DANVILLE is a great city.

“Yes, we do have issues to work on and we are working on them. But the minute number of people who are causing these negative issues….they will be caught and they WILL be stopped.”

The mayor was all worked up and now spitting pure verse.

“There is no despair here in DANVILLE. Thank you for electing us.

“Thank you for supporting us.

“Thank you for believing in us.

“And thank you for being a part of the great city…of DANVILLE, VIRGINIA.”

Final thoughts: I loved this meeting as much as Mayor Saunders loves screaming theword “DANVILLE.” I give it 8/10 turkey hot dogs.

—

UPDATE: 11:33 a.m. THIS GUY!

#14: Northport, AL 5/2/16

As the classic song goes, “Sweet home Alabama / Where the skies are so blue and the city council meetings get ’em riled up like General Lee’s army.”

The warning shot was fired by a grizzled Northport veteran who wasted no time during public comment in waving the rebel flag. “We now have regular traffic jams at all hours of the day and early evening,” he charged.

“The speed of cars along Fifth Street going 45, 50, 60 miles an hour has unfortunately become commonplace–and the noise pollution of cars and trucks.” He gave one final push on his verbal bayonet. “I wouldn’t invite my two-year-old granddaughter to come and visit me in Northport until this situation changes.”

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Remember: the Civil War was started because of traffic concerns

How would Mr. Lincoln’s army respond? Council President Jay Logan chose retreat. “I know your wife came up two weeks ago and expressed an interest in traffic control…I can’t really give you a solution right now just simply because it’s still considered a state highway.”

Councilman Bert Sims made a run to join enemy lines. “When I’m eating at Billy’s [Sports Grill], I’m very nervous for pedestrians. When that light’s green…they have at it like they’re at Talladega.”

One councilman down. A traitor to his cause.

The next skirmish was a big’un: Jody Jobson, himself a former city councilman, strode up to the front line. Brother against brother. Heartbreaking. War is hell.

“Are you familiar with any slush funds in this past administrator’s office?” Jobson assailed.

Mayor Herndon sat up. “Slush funds?”

“Slush funds,” Lieutenant Jobson responded. “That nobody on the council had access to except [the recently resigned city manager]?”

“No, sir, I do not,” the mayor returned fire. “And it’d be better if you–if you’re gonna be talking about an individual that’s not an employee of the city of Northport–”

“Well you get on the radio and talk about it…you get on the TV and talk about it,” Jobson flanked Hizzoner.

Mayor Herndon refused to give ground. “With good cause, good reason.”

Corporal Jobson laid into the mayor about how the former city administrator moved money from one fund to another without a council vote. Then, mid-sentence, a loud, piercing siren sounded. Did General Grant surrender? Had Johhny Reb captured Fort Northport?

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Artist’s rendering of the bloody Battle of Mount Slush Fund

No, Jody’s time was up.

But he wasn’t going quietly. “I was fixin’ to call for a state audit because you just don’t– you don’t move funds from one to another without a vote. And he doesn’t have any authority to do that unless council does it.”

Score one for the Union. A slow clap from the graycoats greeted Jobson as he sat down.

As they prepared to celebrate the ceasefire, council President Logan had one final dispatch from Mr. Lincoln’s war room. “We had a safety fair Saturday and Councilman Sullivan and I participated in a dunking booth. So if you missed the opportunity to dunk me and Rodney…you just missed it.”

Councilman Sullivan muttered, “I’m glad they missed it.” Clearly, he was shaken from narrowly avoiding Jody Jobson’s sustained volley. Lord knows what that man could do with a dunking booth in his crosshairs.

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“Dearest Nelly: I narrowly survived the dunking booth today. I only wish divine Providence had spared Councilman Sullivan.”

Final thoughts: Let’s just pray these boys make it home to their wives. And that the country never again sees the horror of the battlefield.*

*dunking booth