#129: Fayetteville, NC 9/11/17

My jaw hung WIDE OPEN for the first two minutes of the Fayetteville city council meeting.

It began not with the bang of a gavel. Not with a hello from the mayor. But with the gentle piano chords of a full-on country music video.

My home town Fayetteville / I’m so proud to be from here!

The lyrics ranged from cheesy to…well, whatever level of civic pride this is supposed to stir up:

Babe Ruth hit his first one heard around the world /

Sherman marched for the Union and burned the arsenal.

Being honest though, there is something admirable about a city that opens its council meetings with a slickly-produced, tearjerking, chest-puffing video. Raleigh, take notes.

I’m talkin’ ’bout my home town, Fayetteville.

Council Member Kathy Jensen promptly directed attention to the extra chair on the dais–a little shorter than the others, but occupied by a special visitor.

“Casey is a senior at Pine Forest High School, go Trojans!” she smiled. “She is gonna tell you about the upcoming event we have at the Fayetteville-Cumberland Youth Council.”

The young woman looked down at her script. “This weekend, FCYC is having their second Glow Fest 5k Fun Run.” She glanced around the room and gave it the hard sell: “Just have a lot of fun with food trucks and dancing.”

Mayor Nat Robertson, being skilled in the art of event promotion, quickly fired a follow-up her way. “Casey, where can people register?”

“Uh, people can go online at fcycnc.org,” she replied.

The mayor prompted her gently. “Anything else we need to know?”

“No, sir, that’s it.”

“I understand,” he kindly took over the narration, “there’s gonna be music and a DJ following the run. So hang out afterwards and just kinda ‘glow’ with us.”

He nodded. “Great to have you joining us.”

fay1 — More importantly: will that bow tie be there?

However, my smile immediately turned to a frown, then further turned into a string of profanity: it was time for public comment (good), but the cameras WERE TURNED OFF (BAD)!

“I’m here to speak on the horrifying and ongoing assault on our waterways and drinking water,” a woman railed to the council, masked by a sinister screen graphic.

“Duke Energy is a reckless and intentional polluter with the main interest in making profits for itself….Next month I’ll come back and finish this,” she seethed as the timer beeped.

“Always glad to have you,” Mayor Robertson quipped cheerfully. “That’s why we give you the time.”

She was replaced by a disgruntled resident who, in my mind’s eye, was wearing flannel and a baseball cap as he registered this complaint: “I’m still living in the same city I retired in, thinking that an ‘all-American city’ would mirror all-American values.”

He shook his head (probably). “When mom makes her apple pie, she’s doing it under locked doors and closed windows.”

Fella, I do all of my cooking under locked doors and windows. (I’m very protective of my pies.) Besides, if you’re looking for “all-American values,” may I refer you to the Fun Run?

The mayor flicked on the cameras just in time for a touching farewell to retiring Council Member Bobby Hurst.

“Bobby!” exclaimed Mayor Pro Tem Mitch Colvin to laughter. “Thank you, man, for your hard work. You hung in there and you put up with my questions. Thank you!”

Hurst beamed–the living personification of that opening song.

I’m talkin’ ’bout my home town, Fayetteville.

#128: Whitefish, MT 9/5/17

There are a handful of things in this world that regularly get people’s blood pressure up. Fidget spinners. Avocado toast. Anything surnamed “Kardashian.”

But in Whitefish, the trigger word was “water.”

A citizen in a plaid shirt planted herself at the podium and gazed steely eyed at Public Works Director Craig Workman. “Are you thinking about implementing any of the new technology in wastewater treatment?” she inquired.

“Yes, we are,” he replied. “We’ve begun the design of the wastewater treatment plant upgrades.”

“Including metals and microbes?” she pressed the witness.

“Yeah, metals are one of the parameters–”

“Is that being inspected now?”

“Yes–”

“Are you adding more sensitivity?” she interrupted.

“Well, the detection is done at the laboratory–”

“Which is here?”

“It’s in Kalispell.”

She collected her notes and concluded the interrogation. “Thank you…for now.”

The mayor and council sat quietly during this aggressive questioning. A cheerful and somewhat nervous new resident smiled from behind the microphone.

“I’m a single mom of a three-year-old boy,” she greeted the council. “My first month, the water bill was fairly low. In June, my water bill was $100. In July, my water bill was $437.”

She turned to Workman and wondered, “do we really need all of these enhancements going into a water treatment plant?”

“I’ll allow this question,” Mayor John Muhlfeld firmly interjected. “Just for the audience, this isn’t an opportunity for Q&A between the public and our staff.”

Well, well, what a fine time to start enforcing the rules!

If you’re going to ask questions, go for the jugular right away.

A man in a t-shirt and shorts took his turn at the mic. In a slight British accent, he winced while calling attention to his casual attire. “I just want to apologize for my lack of professionalism.”

“I’m $200,” he referred to his own water bill. “I just can’t keep up. I don’t want to sound like a whiner, but my family is hurting. I have a family of five who shower once a day and I put pressure on the boys to take short showers.”

He grimaced deeply while staring down the bridge of his nose through glasses. “My lawn is brown. When I water the fruit trees, I feel guilty because I see money running into the ground. I’m hurting.”

Councilor Richard Hildner, himself touting a large family, smiled faintly. “I don’t know how you get around that other than you turn off the hot water and they get a cold shower!”

He added, as a glimpse into his own parenting style, “having had three teenagers at home all at once, I know what you’re up against.”

At this point, Councilor Andy Feury glanced up from his computer. “I’ll save you a trip to visit Craig,” he hollered to the single mom who had spoken earlier.

“Your usage in June was 6,000 gallons. You used 32,000 gallons in July. And you don’t have a sprinkling meter, so you paid sewage charge on an additional 26,000 gallons of water. That’s why you went from $100 to $400.”

Wow, that was some speedy research! Now do me! How many gallons did I use?!

“I would like to see,” plaid-shirt-lady announced during a reappearance at the podium, “some pencil-and-erasure math on the operating costs. It’s the one area where maybe there could be some tightening of the margins.”

If by “tightening the margins” you mean “policing teenagers’ shower length”–tighten away.

And that really was all…for now.

#127: Council Bluffs, IA 8/28/17

It took astonishingly little time for the Council Bluffs council meeting to go from zero to 11.

“I need to know what kind of right-of-way you guys are going to take,” the owner of a tire store fretted.

“Jack, I believe it would be just enough to do the sidewalks on the corner,” Mayor Matt Walsh informed him in a low, gravelly tone.

This upset the tire man even more. “They wanna come 25-foot into my parking lot to put the signs, street lights…I cannot afford to lose that kind of parking!”

“I don’t believe we’re talking about 25 feet into your parking lot–” the mayor tried to reassure him.

“I just cannot afford to lose any more parking,” repeated the man.

The mayor nodded, unmoved. “Perfectly understandable.”

“I’m not trying to be the bad guy. But I cannot afford to lose any more parking.”

Mayor Walsh hunched over and calculated how to end the interaction. “I can’t answer you with any specificity tonight. I can get your phone number out of the phone book.”

The man thanked him, adding, “I cannot afford to lose any more parking.”

Councilmember Nate Watson flattened out his notes and mused about the dilemma. “I think there are a lot of competing interests, though I’d remind all of us that any further alterations to the master plan may test the patience of the funder of such improvements.”

The Funder? Who is this mysterious and impatient funder-who-must-not-be-named? And if he gets angry, how many virgins must the city sacrifice to appease him?

“Prepare the goat’s blood, madam clerk.”

“It’s primarily geared to making sure there’s enough space on the corner so we can meet the Americans with Disabilities Act,” Watson explained.

Abruptly, the tire store owner moved toward the front and began arguing back from the gallery.

The mayor remained placid. “It’s NOT authorizing them to take your property,” he said firmly. The man continued to protest.

Councilmember Watson nodded sympathetically. However, his sympathy was seemingly at its breaking point. “Your opinion matters a great deal, but it’s not the only one,” he replied gently.

The council moved on to talking about a parking garage. But Councilmember Al Ringgenberg ringgen-berated the whole concept.

“I question whether this is in the best interest of the city,” he frowned. “Not long ago we were provided documents and included is $2 million for [a] parking ramp down payment.”

He appeared deeply frustrated. “What I have a problem with is using general obligation funds that should be used to repair crumbling streets and sewers.”

Mayor Walsh grew visibly irritated, raising his voice. “So this is an ongoing diatribe of false statements–”

“Mr. Mayor, point of order!” Ringgenberg interjected in surprise.

“It’s my turn to talk, Mr. Ringgenberg,” the mayor thundered. “It’s my turn to talk!”

“First of all, the $2 million was NOT general obligation money. Second of all, we are the SECOND LOWEST city in Iowa with debt!”

Council members looked uneasily around the dais after the mayor concluded his angry rebuke.

Watson stared out to the audience. “There are a good number of young men here today for their communications merit badge.”

His face was expressionless as he added, “that’s what makes our country great. Stay involved.”

Final thoughts: I can’t imagine what kind of communications lessons were learned here, but 10 out of 10 stars to The Funder, if He’s watching. (He always is.)

#126: Salem, OR 8/28/17

Any regular announcements at the top of Salem’s city council meeting were “eclipsed” (MAJOR PUN ALERT) by a single event.

“I want to say to the staff that you did a fantastic job with the eclipse,” Councilor Tom Andersen crossed his arms and beamed. “I pushed back a little bit several months ago–and I see the city manager is nodding his head!–about what should have been done. This may be the first time I ever say this, but he was right and I was wrong!”

There were guffaws from the gallery. That noise was quickly replaced by Councilor Sally Cook signaling for the mayor’s attention.

“I just wanted to ask everybody a quick question: do you know your blood type?”

Sporting a gigantic “I Made A Difference” sticker, she put in a gigantic plug for getting one’s blood drawn.

“I donated today. I had my first ‘Power Red’ donation. Very exciting. Very strange,” she mused. Noticing raised eyebrows, Councilor Cook added, “it means my blood is SO special, I get extra credit.”

Other councilors groaned, causing Cook to grin innocently. “It means they take your platelets and also the plasma. And that has a longer shelf life. I just encourage you to visit your friendly vampire.”

While this doesn’t give me extra motivation to donate blood, it does make me wonder about the shelf life of my own platelets.

But there was no time to dwell on my hypothetical blood. At this point, a deeply distressed public commenter stepped forward to talk about actual bloodshed.

“Car had to be going 60-70 mph down Fisher Road,” the man held up a graphic photo of a car crash’s aftermath.

“Five days later, this young lady,” he shakily displayed a picture of his wife, “was hit getting her mail out of the mailbox and killed right there.”

He lowered his gaze and continued in a gravelly voice. “Fisher Road just became a speedway. Something needs to be done. It’s just too bad my wife lost her life out there.”

Councilor Chris Hoy braced himself on the desk and looked the man in the eye. “I sat at your dining room table with you and your wife a few weeks before this horrible event. I have not forgotten that–and never will forget.”

It was an uneasy segue, but the council had no choice but to move on to what should have been a less emotional topic: amendments to the sign code.

Councilor Andersen leaned forward and frowned. “I’d like to make a substitute motion that we postpone deliberation on the sign code and have a work session.”

This touched off a nerve for Mayor Chuck Bennett, who lashed out without warning at the suggestion.

“I’ll tell ya: you knew you had two weeks. Not ONE PERSON followed up during the two weeks to talk with anyone about this,” he snapped at the stunned councilors. “I would hope you’ll ACTUALLY put your nose to the grindstone and do some work.”

“Your mother and I aren’t mad. We’re just disappointed.”

Councilor Cara Kaser bristled at the mayor’s insinuation of laziness. “The two weeks were punctuated by a celestial event that will never happen again in our lifetime,” she protested. “We’re volunteer councilors. We work 40 or more hours a week.”

“Yeah, I also work 40-hour-plus weeks,” retorted the mayor icily. “I don’t mean to be nannyish, but maybe this time folks will step up and do the work.”

Against the mayor’s scolding, the council voted to give themselves more time for their homework.

#125: Warren, MI 8/22/17

This week’s Warren city council meeting began with as much subtlety as a kick to the groin.

“Mr. President, I’d like if we could separate check #58071,” Mayor Pro Tem Kelly Colegio wagged her pencil in visible irritation. “I called and asked for the invoices for that item. I filled out a [Freedom of Information Act request]. And this council voted for the administration to give us specifications for the basin project.”

She frowned deeply. “I paid $332.50 out of my own pocket for a FOIA when the administration REFUSED to answer a council request on probably the largest project the city’s gonna do.”

Like a detective who’s spotted the inconsistency in a murderer’s testimony, Colegio shrugged nonchalantly as if to say, “I’ve got you, m–f’er.”

“The original contract amount was approved 3/8/17. The date of my FOIA was May. I’m not sure why THIS,” she brandished the smoking-gun invoice, “wasn’t in my FOIA that I paid $322.50 for.”

She had now grown fully livid, slamming her papers down on the dais. “Mayor, I am disgusted by the lack of respect. When you were on council you would’ve screamed your head off about that.”

With one councilwoman having ripped into the mayor, it was only logical that two more councilmen rip into each other.

“The motion is on the floor,” President Cecil St. Pierre sharply cut off Councilman Keith Sadowski as he tried to make a motion of his own.

“But you can make several motions under Robert’s Rules,” Councilman Sadowski leaned back in his chair and protested. “I can make a motion to–what’s the problem?” he recoiled after St. Pierre shot him a dirty look.

“I’m just TELLING YOU,” St. Pierre retorted, “you can–”

“We never follow the rules up here anyway,” angrily snapped Councilman Sadowski.

“I’m trying to follow the rules!” roared President St. Pierre. “I don’t make the Robert’s Rules of Order–”

“You don’t follow them either,” Sadowski spat.

President St. Pierre reeled in disbelief. “Are we gonna argue back and forth?!”

The nine people watching in the audience remained silent.

At this point, the council president turned to the city attorney to ask why Mayor Pro Tem Colegio’s request ($332.50, remember?) got the cold shoulder.

“There’s certain documents we were not releasing because the nature of the FOIA request–we didn’t have to,” pinstripe suit-clad attorney Nathan Vinson replied calmly and slowly. “I don’t know if she wants copies or what.”

“I was told,” the mayor pro tem rebutted, “there were other documents I couldn’t have pertaining to ‘attorney-client privilege.'”

President St. Pierre raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Vinson, do you know what she’s talking about?”

“No,” Vinson said curtly.

“Are those documents ready to be viewed tomorrow?” Council Secretary Robert Boccomino pressed. “The ones that were requested?”

“Yes, they’re still in Ms. Michaels’s office,” volunteered Vinson.

Councilman Sadowski swiveled and tried to suppress a grin as the lawyer’s words sunk in. “So wait…you said you DON’T know what documents they are. But you DO know what documents they are?”

“It’s my understanding,” Vinson defended himself and for the first time appeared flustered, “that there’s a group of documents marked ‘attorney-client privilege.’ Are you [Mayor Pro Tem Colegio] waiving attorney-client privilege?”

“She IS the client!” Councilman Scott Stevens blurted.

“No, she’s an individual who made a FOIA request!” the city attorney sputtered.

“She handed you the FOIA at this table!” yelled an incredulous Stevens.

Councilman Sadowski shook his head. “This is nonsense.”

Yep.

“I’m gonna give my opinion,” interjected bespectacled Councilman Ronald Papandrea. “I don’t think it’s worth fighting over. I really don’t.”

Well, he may not have been paying attention for the past half hour, but Papandrea certainly succeeded in getting everyone to chuckle. The council voted to force-release the documents.

#124: Rockledge, FL 8/16/17

Mayor Thomas Price was all smiles as he kicked off the meeting.

“Can I have the Friends of the Children of Brevard come up?” he announced, glancing coyly at the audience. Surrounded by a clique of three women, he reached underneath the podium.

“You’re gonna get the proceeds from our golf tournament. It’s my pleasure to present you with”–he hoisted a giant novelty check–“a $21,000 check!”

The women’s jaws dropped as the council clapped and hollered. After the ceremonial picture, Mayor Price turned toward them. “Are any of you Rockledge residents?”

“I am,” one of them volunteered.

My eyes have never worked so hard to watch a council meeting.

The mayor instantly produced a smaller gift (my sources tell me either an energy bar or a piece of candy) and handed it to her as the room erupted in laughter. I can only assume that this is the mayor’s calling card and it’s not the first time he’s passed out snacks here.

Taking his seat on the dais, Mayor Price steered the council through a series of permit fees and zoning ordinances that were heavy on words and light on drama. He paused.

“Folks, we’re not always this boring. We just gotta get through all these ordinances first,” he winked, causing another round of chuckles from the crowd.

Suddenly, the infamous Rockledge Environmental Enforcement Board had a handful of open spots–and controversy flared.

“How many vacancies do we have?” the mayor quizzed the council. “Two. How many people do we have applied? Two.”

He waved his hand. “This is going to be easy.”

“If I may,” interrupted Vice Mayor T. Patrick O’Neill, “my recommendation would be that we only fill one of these vacancies tonight rather than throwing new meat into too many boards at one time.”

“New meat?” It’s an advisory board, not Army boot camp. I think everyone will survive. Nevertheless, under the New Meat Doctrine, the council dutifully filled one seat and left the other languishing.

It was at this point the city manager announced another vacancy: hers.

“Tomorrow night, I will be flying out of town. I’ll return Monday morning,” she said. “In my absence, Matthew Trine, our finance director, will be the acting city manager.”

“Are beards allowed for our acting city managers?” teased Mayor Price, shooting a look of feigned skepticism to Trine.

“I’ll have to check the dress code, mayor!” quipped the city manager as the council guffawed.

But one man who wasn’t in a lighthearted mood was Council Member Frank Forester, who gave a pained soliloquy on the deterioration of public protests.

“I’ve been watching the news again. You know how THAT can cause problems these days,” he frowned. “I saw a lot of this back in the day when I was in college. The thing I didn’t see then that I’m seeing now is people wearing masks.”

He leaned back in his chair and searched for words. “I kind of feel like, if you’ve got something to say, let people see who’s saying it. Otherwise, who cares? I might care what a man or a woman has to say, but I don’t care what a mask has to say.”

The city attorney joined the grievance bandwagon as council members listened silently. “Those people who dress like that have nothing to say. They really don’t. What they wanna do is cause a scene.”

Beards, masks…the city manager better take a hard look at the fashion guidelines on her flight out of Rockledge.

#123: Goldsboro, NC 8/7/17

If you had asked me to write the plotline for a council meeting in a small southern town, there is no way I would have invented anything as riveting as the actual Goldsboro city council meeting.

“My favorite time of the night: public comment period,” swashbuckling Mayor Chuck Allen boomed as onlookers stirred in their seats. He had barely finished his sentence before an elderly man swaggered to the podium, shouting his name and address.

“How are you, sir?” Council Member Mark Stevens greeted him warmly.

“I’m doing wonderful! Everybody’s bright-eyed and enjoying the meeting,” hollered the man. He planted his entire body in an immobile slouch and made his position crystal clear.

“In behalf of all the fine, clean, Christian people who live in Goldsboro and wanna keep this a safe and clean city,” he thundered, “we the clean, Christian people do hereby OPPOSE Sabbath morning sale of alcoholic beverages.”

Heads nodded in the crowd.

“It’s a threat to the church. It’s a disgrace to the community. Thank you for your vote against it.”

In a first for me, he then commenced his own round of applause, which citizens and a few council members joined as he retreated from the microphone.

A petite woman with a shock of white hair took his place. “I attend Adamsville Baptist Church. Serving alcohol at 10 a.m. on Sunday will be a bad influence on the young people.”

She frowned deeply as if looking into the eyes of Satan himself. “If we have our people setting in the bar on a Sunday morning, they are missing an opportunity to attend one of our many churches.”

I should mention, the council was voting today on the “Brunch Bill” to allow alcohol sales starting at 10 a.m. on Sundays. And if you couldn’t tell, there was a teensy bit of opposition from a very specific demographic:

“You have one person–one person ONLY–that is looking at you HARDER than we are,” bellowed a graying church deacon, pointing skyward. “It’s the man upstairs.”

People are literally sitting in pews here.

“Amens” flitted across the room. But the president of the downtown merchants’ association strolled to the podium to argue on behalf of the local heretics.

“Seventy-one percent of downtown merchants are in favor of the Brunch Bill. The merchants feel the bill will bring new businesses to Goldsboro,” he countered, rattling off all of the neighboring cities and counties that had Sunday morning sales.

A hostile silence, broken by a single boo, greeted the heathen as he walked off.

Another local bar owner, clad in a neat button-up shirt and a tidy haircut, stared at the mayor and asked a simple question.

“We have alcohol sales starting at 7 a.m. Monday through Saturday. So what’s the difference with Sunday?”

Mayor Allen eyed the gallery as various parishioners muttered, “it’s the lord’s day.”

“The LORD’S day,” the man repeated for emphasis. “THAT’S the difference. So now this is an issue of religion.”

If I may answer on behalf of the audience: “Yeah…so?”

“There are many sabbaths,” this barkeep-cum-professor lectured the council. “Sunday is not the ONLY sabbath. We’re making laws based on religion. I would refer you to the First Amendment.”

Having heard both sides for almost a half hour, Mayor Allen called for the vote. “All those in favor, raise your right hand.”

He and three council members voted aye. The remaining three voted no. The teetotalers had lost.

Council Member Stevens vented in frustration. “For those who were disappointed in this situation, you know…keep praying. The lord will keep you safe.”

#122: Poulsbo, WA 8/2/17

There was no shortage of eyebrow-raising announcements in Poulsbo.

Mayor Becky Erickson set the bar ever-so-slightly off the ground with her unorthodox but low-key warning that “after we leave here, we’re gonna go to the third floor. A conference room setting is a little more conducive to an active conversation.”

Fair enough. A change of venue is good for the circulatory system. But the good vibes instantly dissipated as Council Member Gary Nystul flagrantly stoked an intra-governmental rivalry.

“It’s my privilege once a year to point out to my two Navy associates–Warrant Officer [Council Member Jim] Henry and Commander [Council Member Kenneth] Thomas–that August 4 is the Coast Guard birthday.”

He smirked and prepared to rub in his superiority. “Occasionally the Navy doesn’t follow our directions. One day in Hawaii they didn’t follow our directions right out of the shipyard. They put it into a reef!”

Who among us hasn’t crashed a battleship into a reef?

The mayor quickly interjected. “You’re walking on dangerous ground, Mr. Nystul! Very dangerous ground.”

“Choppy waters” would have been the more appropriate image, but point taken.

Speaking of danger, quick: cue the Musgrove!

“When an earthquake or something happens is NOT the time to figure out: where do I get food for Fluffy?” Council Member David Musgrove insisted. He gestured to an emergency-preparedness handout decorated with a pensive-looking cat.

“It’s like taking care of an elderly parent. You need to do the same stuff.” (Note to self: stock up on cat food for grandma.)

But if residents didn’t have time to prepare themselves for a disaster, Council Member Musgrove offered a logical alternative. “Tomorrow, 10:30 a.m., there’s a walk-through of the Poulsbo cemetery.”

Council Member Connie Lord struck a compromise between death and doomsday prep. “The mayor has opened up city hall as a cooling station,” she announced helpfully.

Mayor Erickson nodded. “The council chamber’s open. There’s bottled water in the fridge.” After thinking a second, she added, “bring a book. There’s nothing particularly exciting going on in here.”

However, the mayor was having a hard time keeping her story straight. Because not two minutes later, she revealed this HIGHLY exciting event:

“This coming Tuesday, I’m having ‘kitty hall’ here,” she bragged. “The Kitsap Humane Society and I are going to have a whole bunch of kitties/kittens/cats for adoption. So if you’re interested in a new feline furry friend, we’ll be out there.”

When you pick up your cat, get enough food to last through the earthquake.

The final news item came from Council Member Ed Henry and it was a whopper.

“In our codes, self-storage and mini-storage is allowed in the commercial zone,” he informed the council solemnly. “Is the council interested in putting self-storage in those other zones?”

He glanced around. “It is a timely matter.”

“We appear to be having a LOT of interest about putting self-storage along [highway] 305,” the mayor acknowledged.

“We have very limited space if we want to keep Poulsbo Pouslbo,” Henry fretted. “Tight and constricted.”

Mayor Erickson agreed to look into it. But immediately, she worriedly turned to the clerk as she remembered that everyone needed to trek to the upstairs conference room.

“Rhiannon, how are we going to do this? We haven’t done this before.”

The clerk promptly replied, “I see us going upstairs and continue our audio recording up there.”

With that, the cameras went dark and the citizens who came for the cooling station pulled out their books.

#121: Aberdeen, SD 7/31/17

Do you recall the fable of “The Tortoise and The Hare?”

Well, Aberdeen’s city council meeting certainly started out as the hare: brash. Bold. Uninhibited.

“Ordinance 17-07-02, revising the city code relating to intersections. Anything new here?” queried Mayor Mike Levsen, pausing ever so briefly to listen for any intake of air or shuffling of seats.

Hearing nothing, a slam-dunk unanimous vote quickly dispatched the ordinance.

“Ordinance 17-07-04, relating to obstructions parked on city streets,” the mayor barreled ahead.

Briefly, the city attorney nudged the brakes.

“We did have one person who was all in favor of that change,” he informed the mayor with a hint of suspense. “A city employee in the public works department!”

Guffaws broke out as the ordinance again passed without dissent.

Rounding the 11-minute mark, the mayor joked: “we’re done early; we can all go home!”

However, he received only a few wary nods–giving me the feeling that the tortoise phase of this meeting had dawned.

“The much-anticipated city manager’s report with the 2018 budget is next,” Mayor Levsen announced with a trace of resignation. He glanced over at city manager Lynn Lander. “We’ll see if we can appreciate the numbers you came up with.”

Lander took his place in front of a gigantic monitor and an even more gigantic set of notes. For the next 40 marathon minutes, he was in the driver’s seat on a sightseeing tour through the city’s bank account.

“The 2018 sales tax allocation is based upon the actual sales tax revenue collected in 2016, plus a growth factor,” he opened with a flourish.

“There is NO planned interceptor sewer work for 2018,” he emphasized heavily to grab council members’ attention.

“I am recommending adding three new positions to the city workforce: two patrol officers and a marketing concession manager for Wylie Park,” he dropped this major bombshell 20 minutes in.

The minutes slogged by in a dizzying array of pie charts and spreadsheet tables.

“I know I’m going very quickly,” he apologized, perhaps operating under a very different definition of the word “quickly.”

As he crossed the finish line, Lander concluded, “thank you for listening to me. I hope my rambling made sense.”

The mayor took a second to shake off the inertia and reach for his microphone. “Made sense to me!” he quipped cheerfully.

But suddenly, as folks gathered up their papers and rubbed their eyes, one person tossed a wrench into this finely-tuned budgetary machine.

“I have one thing. In the [promotion] fund allocations, we didn’t count the zeros,” Council Member Jennifer Slaight-Hansen thundered. “When you go in counting the zeros, it changes a half dozen of the allocations. I think we need to count the zeroes.”

But Lander raised his hand and politely explained this complex piece of mathematics. “If there wasn’t at least five votes, the zeros really doesn’t matter.”

“It DOES make a difference in that median allocation,” she insisted.

“But,” interjected a confused Council Member Clint Rux, “if you have five people who voted for funding…then…there’s five people who voted for funding. Correct?”

This is why I hate calculus. Aberdeen’s “Zerogate” scandal was spiraling out of control. For the sake of ending the meeting on time, Council Member Slaight-Hansen retreated.

“Karl will send [the spreadsheet] to us and it’ll be more clear,” she sighed.

Final thoughts: I give 10 out of 10 stars to Karl, who was volunteered for spreadsheet duty apparently.

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

#129: Fayetteville, NC 9/11/17

#128: Whitefish, MT 9/5/17

#127: Council Bluffs, IA 8/28/17

#126: Salem, OR 8/28/17

#125: Warren, MI 8/22/17

#124: Rockledge, FL 8/16/17

#123: Goldsboro, NC 8/7/17

#122: Poulsbo, WA 8/2/17

#121: Aberdeen, SD 7/31/17

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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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