Category: Southeast

#45: Harrison, AR 8/25/16

Looking like a tough-as-nails judge and sounding every bit like the cattle rancher he is, Harrison Mayor Dan Sherrell jabbed his pen into his notes.

“I had a request to move somebody up from the agenda. I’m gonna put Mr. Matt Bell on there, but if he’s up there too long–” the mayor brandished a hefty wooden gavel and gave a sinister smirk–“mallet comes down in my hand.”

Watch your fingers and toes. His Honor runs a tight, highly punitive ship.

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“I will throw it. I never miss.”

“I approach the council to discuss a variance we’re seeking for the Ride the Ozarks Rally,” Bell beseeched the village elders, “so we can set up a designated area to provide receptacles for the smokers. We are trying to keep our park clean.”

But Councilman Brian Herring didn’t care for this un-American segregation of nicotine. “I’ve heard from several citizens and only one has been for it. I’m for the motorcycle rally but I’m not for the variance.” He shook his head. “So…that’s it.”

Mayor Sherrell leaned forward. “All in favor–”

“I want a roll call,” snapped Councilman Herring. He got it–and lost 6-2.

“Okay,” the mayor clucked with a twinkle in his eye. “I will open it to the floor. Yes sir, Mr. Johnson?”

A balding, red-faced man in the front row stood up. He clutched a sheaf of papers in his left hand.

“Earlier this summer, I was surprised to see a coyote walking down the street I live on. As the summer went on, I saw more coyotes during the daylight hours. I’m afraid to leave my dogs in my fenced-in backyard!”

He looked dead-on at the man in charge. “Mr. Mayor, you said I should talk with my neighbors to see if there is a problem. Well, I have spoken with 103 of my closest and dearest neighbors.” The council guffawed.

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Hmmm, methinks this might be a future city council candidate.

“Most of these people have seen coyotes. When I googled ‘coyote attacks on humans,’ one of the first things is a nice 23-page article.” He yanked it out from his packet and passed it along the dais.

“What has been done to remove coyotes out of this neighborhood?”

The mayor pounced like a mongoose on a chicken’s neck.

“I’ll tell you EXACTLY what’s been done. Animal Control is setting cage traps out there. We’re catching an abundance of skunk and groundhogs and possums.”

Half of the room snickered. The mayor stared menacingly at his challenger, gripping the 23-page article. “Since you’re good with all this stuff, if YOU google how to catch ’em…”

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“I’ve never wanted to throw my gavel so badly.”

He calmed himself and continued. “We have one man that’s willing maybe to trap. He has a regular job, but he said he’ll be willing to do it. We will have to be very, very careful about doing this.”

What “regular job” does this coyote-trapper have? Snake wrangler? Bear tranquilizer? Not many guys sit at a desk all day and moonlight as a wildlife vigilante.

This is exactly what made Councilman Mitch Magness nervous. “Would any of the public…like a child in the area, be-”

“That’s why I’m saying, we’re gonna have to be very careful,” Mayor Sherrell retorted ominously, folding his hands on the desk. Then he leaned back and broke into a gaping smile.

“I’m familiar with coyotes, believe it or not. But how I’d take care of ’em is not probably the way you’ll take care of them.”

#44: Hammond, LA 8/23/16

Louisiana! Land of crawdads and Mardi Gras! Laissez les bon temps rouler on the Hammond city council!

“Mr. President,” drawled Councilman Jason Hood, “several weeks ago I saw an article in our local paper about a young man doing a service project for Miss Louise. I don’t do a lot of this, but I wanted to bring him here”–to show him a good time on Bourbon Street?!–“to recognize him for what he has achieved.”

The councilman added, “Kyle, come on up–I’m gonna give the people an example what kind of person gets this [Eagle Scout] badge: nine Medal of Honor winners were Eagle Scouts. One former president, Supreme Court justice, several astronauts, and numerous prominent, successful businessmen.”

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Hey, kid: if you’re not a president, justice, or astronaut, you’ve let Councilman Jason Hood down.

Oh, sure, overlook the serial killers and ne’er-do-wells who also made Eagle Scout. Come on, council. This is Louisiana–let’s hear about debauchery and booze! Like you, the well-dressed man looking for an alcohol permit:

“We ask all applicants of alcohol permits to come before council to make sure you understand the laws,” lectured council President Michael Williams. “Any sale to minors is not going to be tolerated.”

“Yes, sir. I understand that. Yes, sir,” obediently responded the man as he clutched the podium.

Mayor Pete Panepinto came to his defense. “Mr. Richardson runs a clothing store on the corner. So if he runs it anything like he runs that store, it’s gonna be great.”

Suddenly, a movement caught Williams’s eye. “I’m sorry, Miss Louise?”

A woman with short blonde hair and a blue t-shirt rushed forward and planted herself behind Mr. Richardson.

“I’m sure that you’ve checked the proximity to the church that’s right there as to whether there would be any kind of a–”

Several council members gestured in objection. “Further down! Much further down!”

“Thank you,” Miss Louise said politely, returning to her seat. The council approved Mr. Richardson’s alcohol license.

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Miss Louise: friend of Eagle Scouts, protector of churches

Well, I’ll be damned. I’ve seen more drama at a middle school PTA meeting. Surely there must be someone willing to raise a ruckus in this sleepy burb!

“Ordinance to approve request to rezone a lot at 28 South Orange Street,” President Williams read, glancing up just in time to see a towering woman marching deliberately towards the podium.

“I got held up on a case this afternoon, so I missed the opportunity for public comment,” she brushed aside the council. “But Orange Street is my street. And if you’ll entertain me–”

“Sure,” President Williams murmured.

“I drive down that street several times a day. I’m also secretary for the neighborhood association. Our neighbors are cautiously supportive of the rezoning. But in the future, who’s to say what’s gonna happen with that property?”

She dropped her notes on the podium for emphasis. “We’re here to say that we’re supportive of development…just not forget that we’re back there.”

A long pause lingered. Would someone cue The  Breakfast Club theme? Eventually, President Williams mumbled, “so moved.”

It passed unanimously.

Final thoughts: I give 10 out of 10 stars to Miss Louise for vigilantly protecting the Lord’s House from the scourge of alcohol-serving restaurants.

Interview #10: Hampton, VA City Council Clerk Katherine Glass

Hampton’s city council clerk had some FUN stories, so let’s get to it! Katherine Glass told me about how to get the key to the city and the time she almost clotheslined President Obama.

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Q: You’ve got a city council meeting in 48 hours–what was today like for you?

A: The mayor popped in and saw a group that does youth sports. He suggested that they come to a council meeting, but we already have three groups coming to be recognized. And two more got added. So I’ve got to figure out how we accommodate five groups and make everybody feel welcome, but we still get the business of the city done.

Q: Yeah, I don’t envy you.

A: My workflow is one week I’m getting ready for a meeting–or I’m having a meeting. We’re highly automated. I think Hampton was the second city in the country to go to iPad technology for meetings.

Q: You’re a trendsetter!

A: It came from [former] Mayor Molly Ward. She worked for the Obama administration for a while. I got to go and have lunch at the White House. Like, in the West Wing dining room! Very, very cool.

Q: Did you meet the president?

A: I wouldn’t say MEET him…we almost collided with him.

Q: You gotta tell me what happened.

A: I had just asked Molly, “do you pass Obama in the hall?” She goes, “not really.” I swear to you, not five minutes later, Molly was leading the way, [former city attorney] Cynthia [Hudson] was behind me, and I see all these men in black. And by the time I look back, Cynthia is at the intersection and he [Obama] just about runs into her.

Q: Oh, no.

A: And he says, “Hello!” She goes “Hello!” I was like, “that’s the flipping President of the United States! I could reach out and touch him!”

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Hampton, VA city council clerk Katherine Glass

Q: When you look at this city council, do you see any future White House officials? Congresspeople? A president?

A: Not in this group. I think they’re serving out of a love to the city. You’ve got two retirees…Teresa Schmidt is actually a preschool administrator…Billy Hobbs runs an automotive dealership. Everybody knows Billy. He’s just your average guy.

Q: So how do you describe your job?

A: Departments compile their information. They get it to me. I make sure it looks right and I put it in a packet. The packet goes out to council on Friday, so they have a good five days to review everything. My job while I’m at the meeting is to record their votes. I make sure the mayor signs all the new laws. I’m the funnel.

Q: “The funnel,” nice.

A: It’s an interesting job. You get calls from weird reporters that are like, “hey, I’m gonna watch your meeting.”

Q: Ugh, I hate those people.

A : Have you ever heard of Mark Malkoff?

Q: Nope.

A: He called with a bizarre request. He asked me, “what do you have to do to get the key to the city?” I’m like, I don’t know that we really have a key to the city! His thing was to do a road trip across the country and see how many keys to the city he could collect.

Q: Katherine. How does City Council Chronicles get a key to the city?

A: Something terribly creative.

Q: What about…I review your city council meeting and you mention City Council Chronicles DURING the meeting?

A: I can ask the mayor…I’ll see if Donnie can do that in his mayor’s comments.

Q: THANK YOU SO MUCH.

Shout-out #2: Hampton, VA

Way back in July, the mayor of London, Ohio mentioned City Council Chronicles at an actual city council meeting, calling it “pretty interesting.” That was one of the proudest moments in my life as a journalist–second only to the moment when I started calling myself a journalist.

I then named London a “Friend of the Chronicles” and encouraged everyone to visit such attractions as Los Mariachis restaurant and the Rib and Jazz Fest.

Well, imagine my surprise when, during the final 30 seconds of last week’s Hampton, Virginia city council meeting, I watched Mayor Donnie Tuck say this:

Mayor: There’s one last mention I’d like to make–and I apologize for missing this earlier–and that is of a young man who visited Hampton earlier this week. His name is Michael Karlik of the councilchronicles.com. And he was visiting Hampton and learning more about our city council meeting’s work–how they work. And I understand he’s watching us online tonight during our live stream and so welcome, Michael.

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Well, knock me down with a dandelion! Out of ALL of the websites out there dedicated to reviewing city council meetings, the mayor chose to mention ours!

I wish I had something to give His Honor in return. Unfortunately, all of my gold medals are tied down in Rio, so what I have left in the warehouse is this priceless mug:

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With this shout-out, I am officially naming Hampton, Virginia a “Friend of the Chronicles,” which gives them the right to take the lunch money of any smaller, nerdier city. Also, I would encourage readers that the next time you visit Hampton, find Mayor Tuck and buy him a pint at the local St. George Brewing Company. And after you get nice and buzzed on Imperial Stout, remember to stand up on a bar stool and scream at the top of your lungs, “YOU’VE BEEN CHRONICLED!”

P.S. Check back on Monday to see how this shout-out came to be!

Behind the Cameras: District of Columbia Council

Today, City Council Chronicles unveils an exciting new feature: behind-the-scenes tours of where the magic happens!

First stop: the District of Columbia. A.K.A. Washington, D.C. A.K.A. The Great Bambino.

My tour guides to Room 500 in the John A. Wilson Building were Josh Gibson and Jamaine Taylor, the lucky ducks who attend every council meeting because they work for the council secretary’s office. And speaking of Room 500…

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Here’s the view from the throne. That table in the middle is where the general counsel, budget office, and council secretary sit. The chairman calls on each of them to give a thumbs up on bills before the council approves them. (If they give a thumbs down, the chairman pulls the special “trap door” lever for their chair.)

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Feast your eyes on the TAIDEN®. Enhance!

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Like something out of “Star Trek,” the TAIDEN® is for turning on mics, browsing the Internet, looking at council materials, as well as some unexpected features. See that text messaging icon? The council members can actually text each other at the dais. (Jamaine and Josh had no comment about whether the text messages were always work-related.) They can also text staff members sitting in the room.

The VOD icon lets them watch what’s going on in the three other hearing rooms–or, in theory, watch themselves on camera here. So if they want to run downstairs to question a witness, they monitor the video feed from their seat. It’s a weird vortex where the D.C. council watchees become the D.C. council watchers.

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This is a wider view that shows the long dais. Earlier this year, Google put a Street View camera inside the building, so you can actually look at the whole council room yourself. I told my tour guides that of all the city councils I have seen, the D.C. council has probably the second-nicest chamber, after Baltimore. “Don’t ever say that,” Jamaine warned.

I asked if I could touch the gavel. Josh said go for it.

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Here’s an odd thing: the microphones are controlled at this desk here by the council. But the CAMERAS are controlled by the MAYOR’S office. So in theory, she could pick a fight with the council by shutting off their cameras, right? “It’s like us and Russia. It’s mutually assured destruction” contradicted Josh. I’ll take that to mean “unlikely but possible.”

I asked my guides if they thought council members behaved differently on camera. “I don’t think so,” Josh said. They still joke and argue when they know people are watching. And of course, they all have cell phones to pull out absent-mindedly. “It’s not like, ‘oh, we’re on camera. Let’s act like we’re in church.'”

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This is the chairman’s conference room, where the council has a meeting-before-the-meeting. They try to get consensus on things before going in front of the cameras.

Naturally, I asked what was the most absurd thing they saw happen at the council. Jamaine mentioned the time anti-Wal-Mart protesters threw ping-pong balls with the company’s smiley face at the council members.

Josh told me that during one meeting, activists crawled out onto the ledge of the building–five floors up. “Basically they were in a place where they couldn’t be removed,” he said. This forced the city to put up the high glass barrier at the end. Not that I would ever protest a council meeting, but I’d definitely use the ping-pong method WAY before I tried suicide-by-ledge.

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Stay tuned for more council tours!

It’s International City Hall Selfie Day!

It’s here! It’s finally here! International #CityHallSelfie Day, which celebrates that time Moses led the Israelites to city hall and took selfies with Pharaoh–or something.

In the spirit of the holiday, City Council Chronicles will feature any selfie that is taken a.) WITH a city council member (mayors count, too) or b.) INSIDE OF a city council room. While I support neither kidnapping nor trespassing, I would point out that we are burning daylight, people.

LET’S SEE THOSE PICS!

From San Diego, California city councilman Chris Cate:

From Los Angeles city councilman David E. Ryu:

From the city of Colorado Springs, Colorado:

From the mayor on top of the fire truck’s ladder to the fact that someone even higher than him is taking his picture–to the fact that he didn’t even post HIS selfie, this is all just fantastic:

From Campbell, California, his heart is in the right place:

From Mayor Greg Stanton of Phoenix, Arizona, which we have chronicled:

Elsewhere, not in an underground war room, was Phoenix Vice Mayor Kate Gallego:

From the Mayor of Pensacola, Florida:

That sure as heck looks like a council chamber to me. From Santa Barbara, California:

From Columbia, Missouri with council member Ian Thomas:

A couple from Mayor Matt Surrency of Hawthorne, Florida:

More selfies with the cutout mayors of Las Vegas:

From Mayor Jim Lane in Scottsdale, Arizona:

From Mayor Dan Devine of West Allis, Wisconsin:

Normal, Illinois is technically a town, but that’s a disturbingly large council chamber for a mere town, so I’ll allow it:

From Kansas City, Missouri Mayor Sly James (this is my new desktop background):

From Provo, Utah Mayor John Curtis:

From city council member Dan Gookin in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho:

From the city of Folsom, California:

It’s not a city, but damned if Collierville, Tennessee wasn’t on the mother-fudging ball today:

From Palmetto Bay, Florida Mayor Engene Flinn:

From Roseville, Minnesota Mayor Dan Roe:

From Mayor BJ Murphy and city council in Kinston, North Carolina:

From the entire Kiksville, Missouri city council:

From West Linn, Oregon city council president Thomas  Frank:

From Jefferson City, Missouri councilman Ken Hussey:

From Mayor Andrew H. Scott of Coal Run Village, Kentucky. Perfect execution, your honor:

I’m hoping these people are the Johnston, Iowa city council and not a furniture delivery company:

From Lewisville, Texas council member TJ Gilmore, who took quite a selfie road trip today:

From the city of Grover Beach, California:

From the mayor’s chair in Atlanta, Texas (plot twist: this isn’t the mayor):

From the city of Tulsa, Oklahoma’s council member Anna America:

From the city of Auburndale, Florida, where weirdly only one city commissioner is taking a selfie, and this is not it:

From the city of Largo, Florida’s vice mayor Jamie Robinson:

From Gaithersburg, Maryland, the “Stepford Wives” of city councils:

From Shoreview, Minnesota councilman Cory Springhorn:

Terrific participation from Bemidji, Minnesota councilman Michael Meehlhause:

From Alder (the heck is that?) Maurice Cheeks in Madison, Wisconsin:

From Atlanta, Georgia’s city council president Ceasar Mitchell:

More from the cardboard mayors in Las Vegas:

Well, this one is from a dog. So, yeah:

This one traveled a long way: from Prince George, British Columbia, courtesy of Councilor Garth Frizzell:

This is the loop-holiest one yet, but in a brilliant way. The Shoreview, Minnesota city council meeting is ON THE MONITOR in the middle right:

Another one from Gahanna, Ohio: what looks to be city council members in the city council chamber. Score! Although is this really a selfie? I’m skeptical:

From Mayor Hillary Schieve of Reno, Nevada:

From the council chambers of Glendale, California:

With all the hubbub, I almost forgot my own selfie! From Denver, Colorado and YES–with city council members, IN the city council room:

Technically a town, not a city. But I’ll allow it. From Gilbert, Arizona with, I’m not mistaken, newly-minted Mayor Jenn Daniels:

Peekaboo from the mayor of Tigard, Oregon:

Now we’re cooking with gas! A group city council member selfie from Durham, North Carolina:

From the mayor of St. Petersburg, Florida:

From the city of Rogers, Arkansas:

From my friend in Baltimore–which, by the way, has one of my top city council chambers:

Let’s put the “inter” in International City Hall Selfie Day! This one’s from Toronto city councilor–and past City Council Chronicles interviewee–Shelley Carroll:

And another one with more councilors:

This selfie is from city hall reporter and past interviewee Dave Gong:

From Henry Parrish, III mayor of Cocoa:

Aw, yeah! Gahanna, Ohio is in the house:

Okay, Kansas, technically NOT A SELFIE and also NOT INSIDE OF the council room. But I’m not going to hold it against Jeff:

Now if you want to do a loophole correctly, follow the lead of Las Vegas:

From Mayor Justin Nickels of Manitowoc, WI:

From the city of Auburndale, FL:

 

#42: Hampton, VA 8/10/16

Major–MAJOR–bombshell at the Hampton city council meeting.

“Before we begin, I’d like to deviate from our normal agenda,” Mayor Donnie Tuck abruptly announced. “Vice Mayor, would you please read?”

“A motion to deviate from the order of business to evaluate the benefits of moving the public comment,” read Vice Mayor Linda Curtis from her notes.

Move the public comment? To where, North Carolina?! Please explain, Your Honor!

“We’ve looked at how we’ve done our public comment section in the past. There’s been a time when it was before the meeting started, then it was moved to the end of the meeting.” The mayor folded his hands.

“What we’ve decided to do was to move it to a point in our meeting where we have our public hearings–following THAT we will have public comments.”

This is madness. Insanity. I’ve never felt more scared…AND MORE ALIVE.

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Mayor Tuck is SO BUZZED from moving the public comment.

Now the fun part: “Would the representatives of the Bay River Rumble 12-and-Under Grey Softball Team please come forward?” the mayor asked as the young athletes marched down the aisle.

“These ladies recently returned from Buffalo, where they won the NSA World Series Championship for girls fast-pitch softball.” He grinned from ear to ear. “We have some backpacks for you.”

After passing out the souvenirs, the mayor again broke into a smile so contagious that Olympic athletes aren’t allowed near it. “I hope my fellow council members will pardon my exuberance but I invited another group to come down”–a summer camp for English language learners.

“We had a wonderful time,” the camp’s director told the council, surrounded by her campers. “Mayor Tuck, I just want to thank you again for inviting us–” she looked to the dais, but His Honor was already sneaking up behind her. “Here you are!” she laughed as he ambushed them with more gift bags.

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Watch out! He’s behind you! BEHIND YOU!

Finally, time for high-risk, high-reward: public comment…IN THE MIDDLE.

Guinea pig #1 was an older man who slid on his glasses and opened a red folder. “I wanna congratulate Mayor Tuck on his sex–successful election,” the commenter complimented the new mayor–and the mayor’s wife, apparently.

He took aim at, surprisingly, the public comment period itself. “I feel speakers should be heard at the beginning of the meeting. Also, they should be allowed five minutes to speak because at times you have got more to say and three minutes is not enough.” Ironically, this was not one of those times–he finished in well under three minutes.

Next up was a beefy guy who skipped congratulating the mayor for his sex and went for the jugular. “I’m in agreement with the public comments back to the beginning and I’ll tell you why. You got families with kids, you got elderly people, and you have handicapped people. To put them through two or three hours to save them for the end is just wrong. It’s ‘we the people,’ not ‘we the Hampton city council.'”

(It’s true. I’ve read the Constitution and nowhere does it mention the Hampton city council.)

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“Peekaboo.”

This Sage of Southeast Virginia left the council with a final deep thought: “the bricks out front, you need to regrout ’em.”

Final thoughts: I give 10 out of 10 stars to anybody who pays attention to the grout at their city hall.

#41: Asheville, NC 8/9/16

Anger.

Suspense.

Hemp?

These words barely scratch the surface of the cauldron of civic engagement that was the Asheville city council meeting.

It was a big day, with bonds galore! Transportation bond! Housing bond! Parks and rec bond! But first, the council needed a public hearing. Let’s roll the dice and see what the Good People have to say.

“I rise to state that there is an inconvenient truth about this so-called ‘public hearing,'” a man in a dapper white suit read from his notes. (Whenever someone labels something “so-called,” you know you’re in for a treat.)

“All this, I believe, is merely window dressing on the city council to foist a poorly-planned, unnecessary, pie-in-the-sky, $110 million financial burden upon the city,” he drawled, before socking Asheville’s bureaucrats right in the kisser. “This can become a slush fund to use as they please.”

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For someone who’s against spending money, that’s an awfully fancy pocket square.

He shuffled back to his seat. “Is there anyone else wishing to speak?” Mayor Esther Manheimer asked warily. No one in the crowded room hopped up.

“You all do know that we’re just doing bonds pretty much tonight?” she laughed nervously.

It was do-or-die time. Put-up-or-shut-up time. The vote: all three bonds passed. Easily. Like, really easily.

“Congratulations, we did our first bond package,” announced the mayor with the best poker face this side of Vegas.

Councilwoman Julie Mayfield briefly golf-clapped. “Are we allowed to clap?” she inquired after no one followed suit.

“We can look enthusiastic,” the mayor responded.

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The mayor is at peak enthusiasm.

Vice Mayor Gwen Wisler then kicked off what must have been an uncomfortable moment for three particular Ashevillians.  “We interviewed three candidates for the Sustainability Advisory Committee on Energy and the Environment just before the city council meeting.”

She whipped out a pen. “Each council member, tell me who you vote for.”

Oh, wow. This is happening now. In public.

Councilman Keith Young jumped in without hesitation. “I’m going with Emily” Boyd.

Councilwoman Mayfield agonized over her options. “These are all great candidates….It’s amazing….Tough choice.” She paused. “I am gonna go with Bridget” Herring.

“I’m gonna vote for Brad” Rouse, retorted Councilman Cecil Bothwell.

A three-way tie. What a nail-biter. I can’t watch!

“Bridget Herring,” Her Honor the mayor said without comment.

“Bridget Herring,” the vice mayor and Councilman Gordon Smith dittoed. It was a lock.

“I counted Bridget Herring,” triumphantly declared Vice Mayor Wisler. “We’ll get ahold of the candidates tomorrow and tell them.”

Uh…no offense Madam Vice Mayor, but you do realize you’re on TV, right?

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Vice Mayor: If only there were some way for people to know what’s happening at the city council…

As the meeting drew to a close, the mayor opened up public comment. And the public included a bearded man wearing shorts who talked about, well, what you would expect a bearded man in shorts to talk about.

“Hemp X Asheville is happening,” he grinned. “I hope a few or many of y’all can make it, and certainly those watching on TV as well.”

Sorry, bud. I’ll be busy watching city council meetings.

Final thoughts: I give 10 out of 10 stars to runners-up Emily Boyd and Brad Rouse, who came so close to getting the job but got, arguably, something better: a shout-out on City Council Chronicles.

Interview #9: Paducah, KY Reporter Lauren Duncan

Grab your banjo and hop a freight train with me down to Paducah, Kentucky. Home to Dippin’ Dots, the Paducah International Raceway, and the National Quilt Museum, y’all best mosey on over to city hall, where every Tuesday night Paducah Sun reporter Lauren Duncan watches the city commission meetings.

She talked to me about how everyone always gets along…or do they?

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Q: How long have you been covering the city commission?

A: I have been here just two years–and today is my last day.

Q: Oh, no way!

A: I’ve got a city commission meeting tonight and [then] I’ve got a job in Chicago.

Q: Do you think the commissioners are planning a surprise party for you?

A: I don’t, but they have all been very kind to me. Paducah is a pretty small town–I run into them out and about.

Q: When you see them outside of council meetings, is it like when you were in school and you would see your teacher in the grocery store and it would feel super weird?

A: Haha, I get what you’re saying. One of our commissioners, he owns a coffee shop in town and so he is just one of your popular neighborhood guys. But he’s also the commissioner who get the most votes every year. He’s one of those people where if I weren’t a reporter, I’d probably be friends with him, you know?

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Paducah, KY city council reporter Lauren Duncan

A: This town is just like a PBS special. Our city commissioner who owns the coffee shop…we’ve got a train down by our river, and they were going to get rid of it because it was falling apart. He went out and painted it all up himself. He spent, like, a month with his wide-brimmed hat out there on top of the train.

Q: So I’m assuming everyone is pretty friendly during city commission meetings?

A: There has not been a single shouting match between the commissioners or the mayor or the city manager. That is mind boggling to me.

Q: It sounds like the “Stepford Wives”–everyone is happy and cookie cutter.

A: A lot of stuff happens behind closed doors. All of our meetings are live broadcast and I think there’s sort of a fear to have frank discussions.

Q: Is that a southern thing? A small city thing?

A: That’s something I’ve never seen before. I think it’s literally just the fact that they’re being televised and they’re nervous about public perception of having a heated debate that people can see.

Q: Suppose you and your best friend sign up for a cooking class, but she gets sick and has to cancel. Which commissioner would you invite to do the cooking class with you?

A: You’re basically asking who’s my favorite!

Q: Sure. Or who makes a great casserole.

A: That’s easy because he’s one of the most personable guys in town: it’s Allan Rhodes, the commissioner who owns the coffee shop and paints the trains.

Q: All around good guy. Regular Mr. Rogers.

A: He was the first guy I talked to here. I was looking for a place to live. Someone said, “talk to Allan Rhodes.” And he gave me all kinds of advice for moving here!

Q: Well, I hope there’s another Allan Rhodes waiting for you in Chicago.

Follow Lauren Duncan on Twitter: @LaurenPDuncan