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.
Attention Chronicleheads! Next Monday, August 15, is the holiest of high holy holidays: National #CityHallSelfie Day! The concept is simple: 1.) take a selfie at your city hall 2.) win prize.
From the event page:
The first annual National #CityHallSelfie Day is taking place on Monday, August 15. Our goal is to break the record for city hall selfies taken in one day. What’s the record? We’re not quite sure but we’ve pegged it at around nine.
You can participate in this new holiday by posting your #cityhallselfie on Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, or Twitter. If you not a fan of social media, send your #cityhallselfie via email.
Prizes will be awarded all day. Everyone who participates will receive an ELGL coozie. You’ll also have a chance to win a selfie stick, Treat Yo Self mug, Pawnee ringer t-shirt, Indiana names t-shirt, and RIP Harambe t-shirt.
As a bonus, City Council Chronicles is upping the ante. If you take a selfie WITH a city council member OR INSIDE OF a city council room, your picture will be posted here! So get out there and ambush somebody!
I’ll level with you: if the Zapruder film and that grainy footage of Bigfoot had a lovechild, it would be Lindsborg’s city council video.
A low-res camera? Solution: put it unnecessarily far away.
The microphones barely work? Solution: talk quietly.
Most places videotape their city council meetings so the Good People can see what’s going on. Other places videotape their meetings because they FEEL like they HAVE to. News flash: if no one can understand who’s there and what they’re saying, it’s not a public service. It’s a waste of time.
Grrr
Ranting aside, this council meeting was odd to watch because of the steady stream of solicitors offering very good, limited-time, get-a-free-t-shirt promotions.
“I just wanted to talk to you about Liberty National,” one woman ambushed the council, whipping out a stack of pamphlets. “Basically, we would just come in to see your employees–wouldn’t take long. We give everyone a $3,000 life insurance policy for themselves.”
And the deals don’t stop there! “A little more popular is our ‘cancer endurance’ policy. It has no lifetime maximum. Covers tons of things. But where it really shines is when they take chemo radiation and blood transfusions.”
With that, she promptly tossed some pamphlets on the table, grabbed her bag from the front row, and high-tailed it out the door–no doubt rushing to give the same speech to a zoning board in Wichita.
But wait, there’s more! You, the fancily dressed man. What wares have you to peddle?
“I’m with George K. Baum and Company. About a month ago we were analyzing some of the city’s debt and we found an opportunity to refund the series A 2009 [bonds]. We think we can refund those with bonds ranging from 2-3%. This is a good opportunity!”
Sign me up, boss! Give me a timeshare and some of Doctor Houlihan’s Miracle Cure-All while you’re at it.
Speaking of good opportunities, the staff at the Convention and Visitors Bureau was ready to pounce on the hottest new craze. “I’m totally clueless about this, but Pokémon GO is a big deal everywhere,” the mild mannered director explained. “Right now, I guess Lindsborg is very populated with critters to pick up, and points, and whatnot.” Her confidence was truly inspiring. The middle-aged council members stared back blankly.
“At what…2:30 in the morning? There were people out,” catching Pokémon, she marveled.
“Because there are different…Pokémon ghosts [sic],” helpfully added Councilwoman Betty Nelson.
Mayor Bill Taylor sighed. “I don’t know. I told my kids nothing good happens after midnight!” The whole room nodded and laughed in approval. You hear that, Pokémon ghosts? You stay away from those Taylor kids!
Final thoughts: Lindsborg, you seem nice. Let’s talk again when you get a new AV system, k?
I’m super stoked to report that our friends at Engaging Local Government Leaders (elgl.org) nominated City Council Chronicles for the “Top 100 Local Government Influencers” list–a.k.a. the “Chris Traeger” award.
We’re changing the world, baby! Personally, I was angling for the Presidential Medal of Freedom, but this is an acceptable substitute. Now that we’re an official Local Government Influencer, call up your city council member and tell them they have no excuse not to get chronicled!
I am stoked to report that City Council Chronicles has partnered with the makers of Pokémon Go to create a fun new game: City Cóuncil Go!
Here’s how to play:
1. Search for city council members.
Walk around the perimeter of your city hall until you spot a city council member. Usually they are dressed nicely, carrying a latte in one hand and a folder of important documents in the other. When in doubt, consult a City Cóuncildex.
2. Capture the city council member.
(Sold separately)
3. Make them fight each other.
They may not want to do it at first, but with a little training and the right amount of food deprivation, those city council members will be dueling in no time.
4. Have them get interviewed by City Council Chronicles.
I once passed through Galesburg on a train and thought, “Well, well, well: THIS place seems like they’d have some funky city council meetings!”
Like usual, I was right. I talked to the grand poobah of G-Burg, Marty Hobe, who reports on the city council for The Register-Mail. He told me about costumed performers, the Burgnado, and Galesburg’s survivalist mayor.
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Q: How many people show up to city council meetings?
A: You can get quite a few people. We had the local humane society looking for its annual grant from the city. Every year, they flood the chambers with people who talk about cute little puppies they save.
Q: Do they bring in puppies?
A: No, they’ve never brought in a puppy!
Q: Hmm.
A: Once–so, a historical figure from Galesburg was Mother Bickerdyke. She was a nurse in the Civil War. We built an overpass recently and the city council was deciding what they should name it. Our mayor said we should just call it the Seminary-Kellogg Street Bridge because it’s Seminary and Kellogg Streets it physically goes over. But someone dressed up in historically accurate garb as Mother Bickerdyke and addressed the council as Mother Bickerdyke, asking them to name the bridge after her. It was quite the performance!
Q: So…did she sway the votes?
A: Oh, yeah. It’s called the Bickerdyke Bridge today.
Q: Wow!
Galesburg, IL city council reporter Marty Hobe
Q: Other than the ghost of Mother Bickerdyke, does anyone do public comment?
A: Not really. We have people who are frequently in the audience, but they won’t sit up to speak.
Q: Weird. What’s their deal?
A: I don’t know if they’re just dedicated civilians or–I know there was one woman who would come to meeting after meeting. Turns out she wanted to run for one of the open alderman seats, and she ended up winning.
Q: I heard things went sideways when they voted on the city manager’s raise. A 4-3 vote, right?
A: That was a bit of an awkward day, anytime you’re dealing with salaries. We’re not dealing with celebrity-type politicians. These are still real people.
Q: Marty, what is the Burgnado?
A: It’s a tornado drill. The city council sits in and the Knox County emergency response team, they role-play. It was a kind of a walk-through of what would happen should an F4 tornado come through and decimate Galesburg.
Q: What’s the city council supposed to do?
A: Mostly informing the public…one of the messages was just basically, “take the information back to your constituents and stay out of our way.”
Q: If you had to be stranded on a desert island with one of the city council members, who would you choose?
A: Oh, I have to play favorites?
Q: You absolutely have to play favorites.
A: Probably our mayor, John Pritchard. He’s a pretty funny guy. He likes to joke around a lot.
Q: Ah, so he’d be good company on an island.
A: Exactly. He wouldn’t be boring.
Q: Did he knock it out of the park during the Burgnado drill?
A: I think so. He’s got a lot of survival instincts in him.
Q: Do you think he could spear a fish in the water and cook it on a makeshift fire?
A: I don’t know how quick he is with a spear. I’d have to see that first.
We are burning through Lebanons like beer cans on a bonfire. Our second stop on the whirlwind Lebanon tour is Indiana, where someone at city hall is a virtuoso with video graphics.
“First order of business will be the, uh, Pledge of Allegiance,” Mayor Matt Gentry announced, before being upstaged by a rippling animation of Old Glory.
I pledge allegiance to the–wait, what’s happening to the mayor? Oh, god! It’s coming for him! Run, your honor! The humanity! Oh, the human–there he is again! With liberty and justice for all.
It’s tough to follow a screen-wiping flag, but one hotshot developer in a blue button-up sure tried. “There is, was, and still is a demand for nicer rental housing in downtown Lebanon. We’re dealing with a lot of young professionals. That is the kind of lifestyle they’re looking for.”
Yes, I bet many young professionals yearn to move to Lebanon, Indiana for the famous [look up something to put here] and the legendary [don’t forget to write something].
Youthful Councilor Corey Kutz wanted to know how the monied classes were living in Lebanon’s rival city. “What did the amenities look like? I know they’re maybe fetching $1,000 [per apartment] in Zionsville, but are they getting a pool? Are they getting a gym?”
The developer waved off the Z-town envy. “We’re in ‘downtown.’ We’re not sitting out in a corn field,” he slammed Zionsville, which is a puny little burg known only for [find literally anything interesting]. “We’ve got a historic gymnasium. You can’t compete with that!”
Councilor Corey Kutz: “What about massage parlors with full release? Does Zionsville have those?”
But sadly, Lebanon has a dark, noisy underbelly.
“I am Lebanon resident,” a bearded public commenter addressed councilors. “Grew up here, very proud of our community. And the two things I always brag is: we’re very neighborly and we LOVE the Fourth of July. We celebrate like no other city in central Indiana.” Yeah, shove that up your tailpipe, Zionsville!
But when you love something too much, sometimes the relationship turns ugly. “Saturday night, I sat up until 11:45 listening to what sounded like cannon shots right outside my bedroom window.”
And did he take this lying down? F*ck no. “I started looking into the ordinances,” this proud Lebanoner announced. “I found one that was passed in 1875 and it specifically mentions fireworks. It says they’re only to be set off on four days: July 4, Christmas, January 1, and Presidents Day.”
Councilor Kutz was kutzcerned. “Indianapolis just updated theirs [ordinance]. We could use a revamp on that….I don’t think it’ll happen before the fourth though.”
“I’m not trying to be a party pooper,” the commenter protested.
The role of party pooper went instead to the police chief, who stepped up to the mic.
“If it was up to me, there’d be no bass speakers, no dogs, and no fireworks allowed in the city, period.” The room erupted in laughter, but the chief looked as serious as a funeral. “I’d ban everything. Make it all quiet.”
More like Chief Buzzkill
Final thoughts: If the chief has his way, maybe Lebanon will at last have a cool factoid to its name: the quietest city in central Indiana.
Sometimes Nebraska lives up to its reputation as “the interesting man’s Kansas.”
But sadly, this week the Cornhuskers on the Lincoln city council were focused 100 percent on the soul-crushing, time-dragging nuts and bolts of the People’s Business.
“Can you please tell us about your application?” Vice Chair Leirion Gaylor Baird smiled at the nervous Middle Eastern man wanting a liquor license.
“I just applied…for selling beer for my restaurants. I’m trying to sell only beer.”
Silence.
“So…this is an existing business?” Councilman Carl Eskridge probed.
“Yes. I’m trying to sell just beer.”
He is also the University of Nebraska’s intramural basketball coach, apparently.
But Councilman Roy Christensen had some bad news for this shifty-eyed beer slinger.
“I’m going to vote to disapprove your application,” the councilman kindly but firmly informed the sweaty applicant. “I don’t want you to take this personally.”
As mild as this exchange was, it was nothing compared to the coma-inducing Q&A between Councilman Jon Camp and the city’s pension officer.
JC: Considering the assumed rate of return is 7.5 percent or 6.4 percent…but really that 3.23 percent is before you’ve had those distributions.
PO: The 3.2 starts with the beginning value and recognizes all the tax receipts and how the values of the underlying asset change in terms of the income we receive from dividends and interest.
JC: It would appear on the investments that we only made $2.4 million when you take dividend, realized gains, and you subtract the losses.
PO: The investment earnings, if you factor all that in, is 3.23 perce–
Holy mother, I’m going to stop here. Not only was this incredibly dry, but they were the two most monotone, low-voiced people I’ve seen outside of a librarians’ convention.
Before Councilman Jon Camp started talking, his hair was jet black.
Suddenly–mercifully–in the home stretch, we saw some action in the outfield.
“I would move to delay a vote” on the storm water plan, Councilwoman Cyndi Lamm beseeched her colleagues, “until July 11.”
But Councilwoman Jane Raybould made it clear: De-lay? No way!
“I am not going to support the motion because we heard loud and clear from our voters. To say that we’re not going forward with those projects when the voters vote in affirmation of these projects is sort of disingenuous.”
Tempers flared. Knuckles cracked. A vote was taken on a delay. The tally?
3-3. A tie.
“Uh, so,” Vice Chair Gaylor Baird fumbled, “the motion fails on a tie?”
“Any vote of the city council requires four votes to pass,” Councilman Christensen nodded.
Then, a move no one saw coming:
“I would be willing to vote,” piped up Councilman Eskridge, who originally voted AGAINST a delay, “in such a way that it WOULD be delayed.” The Midwestern Benedict Arnold sheepishly avoided eye contact with everyone but the floor.
“Lol, j/k guys. I wanted to vote the other way all along.”
Cross-talk ensued. Lawyers were summoned. Fast-thinking Councilman Camp swooped in to finish her. “I move we delay this to July 11.”
The do-over vote was done-over. Result? 5-1.
A fuming Councilwoman Raybould silently rested her chin on her fists, thwarted by one rascally traitor.
Final thoughts: I gotta hand it to Councilman Jon Camp. He lulled us almost to sleep before surprising us with a quick-draw vote. I give him 3.23 percent…or 7.5 percent–wait, or
Chronicling the Minot city council was like a chef finally tasting his pièce de résistance. I take full credit for this meeting, which would not be online if I hadn’t talked to one of Minot’s city council members. (Okay, fine, I take partial credit.)
Needless to say, I was amped! It’s the first videotaped council meeting in the history of Minot (rhymes with “Why not!”). Everyone’s gon’ get cray for the camera!
“Ugh,” the kindly old citizen at the podium sighed. “No one can tell me that downtown doesn’t deserve or need traffic lights,” he warily–almost sleepily–said about Minot’s de-stoplighting plan.
“Pedestrian count is way down? Hmm. They took it in February 5, 6, and 7. Do you know what the weather was like on February 5? 23.9 degrees below zero.” Another heavy sigh. “All I can say is, Lance, shame on you. You should be spanked.”
The Minot city council, in all its low-res glory.
In the no-camera days, Lance may very well have been spanked on the spot. Instead, the city manager had the opposite of a spanking to give: “I’d like to recognize two folks,” he announced, unfolding a fellow Minoter’s letter. “The alley behind my house had been damaged. I had nothing but a big muddy mess,” he read. But “there were two very nice men in the alley this morning. They were nice, pleasant, and hardworking. My alley is beautiful!”
He glanced up. “So what I’d like to do…if you guys would go up there, the president of city council is going to give you a city coin.”
The two heroic employees ascended to the dais amid rapturous applause to receive their lucre.
After the good vibes subsided, the city manager smirked across the room. “The coin rule is: next time you see [council] President Jantzer anyplace, if he doesn’t have HIS coin on him, he owes you an adult beverage of your choice.” The council guffawed.
He added: “I haven’t given him one, so I KNOW he doesn’t have one!” Everyone whooped, but the city manager had one more roast up his sleeve.
“Mr. President, I wanted to show you–because he’s not here–the mayor is going to be in the dunking booth this Friday. So for all of you that wants to partake in this…”
President Mark Jantzer demurred. “It’s very…unexpected news. But we appreciate it!” The other aldermen snickered, no doubt calculating the training regimen needed to sink Hizzoner.
Woohoo! That’s 56 more people who might show up to dunk the mayor!
Finally, the council called on a sprightly young staffer named Jason to present the flashy new recycling plan. “We’ve got less than 10 years of capacity,” at the Minot landfill, Jason apocalyptically warned. “What we’re proposing is curbside recycling, picked up and emptied by collection vehicles–with mechanical arms to lift the carts, empty the contents in the collection vehicle, and return them to the ground,” he said, describing that newfangled contraption called “a garbage truck.” For any aldermen still confused, he played a video of one doing its duty.
The council, apparently impressed with this 20th-century technology, voted in favor of the recycling plan.
Final thoughts: beautiful. My best work yet. To the city of Minot, may you continue to videotape your council meetings till the landfill runneth over.
Minot may be small, but its city council is a force to be reckoned with. I talked to Miranda Schuler, insurance agent by day and one of Minot’s 14 aldermen.
She told me about her idea to shrink the council, and how City Council Chronicles is actually making a difference in Minot!
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Q: You’ve got a plan to take the Minot city council from 14 members to eight. Who are you itching to get rid of?
A: Really…I think myself would be one of those people I would like to get rid of.
Q: Whoa! You’d draw yourself off of the council?!
A: I ran two years ago because I didn’t want to be one of those people who complains about something and doesn’t offer solutions. I have two young kids and I’m purchasing the business that I’m in, so I’m going to step back for a while.
Q: What are the other aldermen like?
A: One of the council members is pretty knowledgeable when it comes to construction. I would never pretend to know a lot of that stuff. We have an attorney on the council. Or, if has to do with something insurance related, a lot of people look to me.
Q: Mmhmm.
A: There are a couple that are better speakers. I am not a public speaker. It took me two years to be able to speak at council without feeling like I’m gonna start crying!
Q: At long city council meetings, how do you stay focused?
A: I’m kind of a geek. I’ve made my husband come to some meetings and he has a hard time staying awake. It takes a certain type of person who finds this stuff interesting. And you must be, too!
Q: I mean, when I’m watching at home, it’s slightly more…comfortable. You have to sit there in front of people.
A: You’re constantly on call. Last night I was getting Facebook messages at 11:45. They were quite upset. And they wanted to talk about it at midnight.
Minot, ND Alderman Miranda Schuler
A: Interesting thing: when I originally started talking with you, I said, “Is there any way we can get some of these meetings published?” I could Facebook Live it, but it’s going to look goofy if I’m sitting at a council desk with my phone.
Q: Probably.
A: [We] actually recorded our meeting on Monday. It’s going on our website.
Q: Wait…the first EVER video-recorded council meeting was this Monday?
A: It’s already online. It’s a result of my talk with you via e-mail. So good job!
Q: Whoa! Good teamwork!
A: You can’t see me because I’m out of the shot.
Q: Oh, well, that barely seems worth it. I was going to ask you to describe the council chambers, but I guess I can watch the video now.
A: I would describe it as an early 1990s council chambers.
Q: Gotcha. Lots of pictures of the Backstreet Boys on the walls.
A: Yeah. Backstreet Boys are there. (Just kidding!)
Q: Who would win in a foosball tournament: the Minot city council or the Williston city council?
A: I’m pretty sure we would because I grew up with a foosball table in my house. I would come in handy.
Q: You think you’d carry the Minot city council?
A: Yeah. It really needs to be stated whether you could spin them. Because I’m not a spinner.
City Council Chronicles 