During this Labor Day weekend, it’s a good time to remember all of the people who labor hard every week at city council meetings for hours and hours–or, sometimes, for 19 minutes. Catch up on where City Council Chronicles visited in the month of August.
P.S. If you didn’t see our appearance in last week’s Baltimore Sun, don’t worry–my intern spends 23 hours every day reading each newspaper in the country to see who mentions The Chronicles. And he finally found one!
Nothing gets me in a good mood to watch a city council meeting faster than seeing seeing disclaimers like this:
Boo yah! In and out in less time than a network sitcom! Mayor Paul Polasek, what’s the first item on your agenda?
“First item on our agenda is items from council,” the mayor announced from somewhere beneath his Tom Selleck mustaches. “Do you have anything you wanna discuss?”
“Mr. Mayor, if we can put on the agenda for next meeting to talk about recycling?” Councilmember Andrew Young suggested.
City Manager Charmelle Garrett smiled at the quizzical councilmember and spoke patiently. “You can even talk about it tonight. It doesn’t have to be specifically on the agenda.”
“I kind of thought that, but…” Young trailed off into a grimace, waiting for someone to pry the rest of the thought out of him.
“Unless,” the city manager tried to read his mind, “you want it for the public purpose?”
This was like pulling teeth. “Eh, give them an opportunity to come up here and speak…if they’d like,” the councilmember shrugged. Is this guy for real? To be clear: absolutely no one is stopping the good people of Victoria from talking about recycling at ANY council meeting.
Case in point–first public commenter of the evening, the school superintendent:
“I’m here this evening to speak regarding the benefits of the recycle program,” the shiny-domed super read from his book report. “Continuing with the current recycling program would cost Victoria households $2.92 per month.”
$2.92? Wow, that’s a huge bargain! Although this IS Texas, so everything seems huge. Even the bromances.
“We appreciate the work you do. We’re all very proud of y’all achievements,” the mayor beamed at the superintendent.
“We appreciate you very much, too,” the super boyishly grinned. I waited for one of them to say, “I wish I knew how to quit you!” but alas, no takers.
As if on a mission to prove Councilmember Young’s separate-meeting theory wrong, the next commenter was a tall glass of water who wanted to talk about–
“First off, I’d like to echo Dr. Jackson’s comments on the recycling program. I think it’s a small amount for us to continue. Me? The $3 extra a month is no problem.”
Closing in on minute 14, the public works director had a brief presentation. “I’ve got some slides with some marked up changes So this here is the planned project sheet:
“The projects that we have recommended removing, we’ve stricken the Nursery Drive project–”
Mayor Polasek jumped in. “When you say ‘stricken,’ we’re not cancelling these. We’re not NEVER gonna go back and do Nursery Drive. There’s some people out there that would kill us if we didn’t!”
Being Texas, I believe it! Annnnnnddd minute 19–fin!
Final thoughts: I give 10 out of 10 stars to that chemistry between the mayor and the superintendent. Encore!
From the home of Disney World comes a city council meeting so magical, so enchanting that it has its own glorious video intro:
“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed the voiceover, “please welcome our mayor, Buddy Dyer!”
The stock footage abruptly faded to the council chambers, where one sole attendee applauded on cue.
“Whoever had that one clap, I appreciate that,” the mayor lightheartedly quipped as the room roared with laughter.
“Welcome to the January 29, 2016 meeting of the Orlando City Council,” announced His Honor, his brains apparently scrambled from too many rides on Splash Mountain. “We give our commissioners the opportunity to update you on items from their commission district.”
But by the time Commissioner Samuel Ings finished his slideshow of the Sixth Annual Red Tie Celebrity Golf Extravaganza, the mayor had a mea culpa:
“The city clerk let me know that when I called the meeting to order, I said it was the January…or December?”
“January,” the clerk corrected–again.
“Some month other than August,” Mayor Dyer admitted to chuckles. “Hopefully most of you are aware that it is August.”
If you’re having trouble forgiving the mayor for his brain fart, Commissioner Robert Stuart had some words for you.
“Back in April we were listed as the second or third most compassionate city in the country,” he said, introducing his resolution to make Orlando an official “compassionate city”–which is like a regular city, except Commissioner Stuart will kiss your boo-boo, I guess.
The mayor glanced sideways. “Amy, our city clerk, was commenting to me that she didn’t think she was getting enough TV time. So I thought I would let her read the resolution.”
Without missing a beat, she retorted, “You just know I can do it faster than you.” Ladies and germs, the Mayor and Clerk Variety Hour will be here all night!
But not so fast: on deck was a new fee to expand Orlando’s non-cartoon-themed parks. “We’re proposing to collect in three zones,” explained a bespectacled city staffer. “The funds raised in each of those three zones must be utilized in those three zones.”
That didn’t wash with Commissioner Regina Hill, whose zone had lots of low-income housing that wouldn’t pay.
“There’s gonna be no monies generated in that area for improvements in my parks!” she exclaimed, whipping off her glasses. “Especially Lake Lorna Doone, which has needed $4 million!”
The parks director raced to the mic. “Lake Lorna Doone is in the north zone. So all of the revenues generated in the north zone have to be spent in the north zone–”
“But the new residential that will be built…will NOT generate fees,” fired back Hill exasperatedly.
“In the north district, I think the ten-year revenue was about $6 million,” the staffer tried to assuage her.
Hill was apoplectic. “I gotta wait ten years?!”
“Well…over ten years. Yeah,” the staffer meekly responded.
At this point, the city attorney stepped into the fracas.
“The reason Lake Lorna Doone was not included in the definition of a regional park is because of its size,” he explained.
“It’s a ‘regional park’ to those that live in that area!” the commissioner mic-dropped.
Final thoughts: Yikes. Looks like a few people didn’t get the message that Orlando is a compassionate city now. I give 8 out of 10 stars to Commissioner Hill. Fight on!
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.
“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.
“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…”
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.”
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.”
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.
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.
It took a real team effort to carry the Laconia city council meeting across the finish line.
“Time to get going with the city council,” Mayor Pro Tem Armand Bolduc quietly sighed. “So I’m opening up the meeting–”
“Move that a little closer to you,” whispered Councilor Henry Lipman, edging the microphone toward Bolduc.
“Citizen comments?” the mayor pro tem peered out from behind a sprawling potted plant unconquered by hedge trimmers. “I don’t see anybody moving back there, so–”
“That’s just so she can hear you,” Councilor Brenda Baer interrupted as she planted someone’s pocket recorder beside Bolduc’s notes.
Okay, we cool? Can everyone turn up their hearing aid and listen to the busy, busy agenda?
“Interviews…we don’t have any. Communications…we don’t have any,” the mayor pro tem muttered as he slowly moved his finger down the checklist. The seconds ticked by. The fan whirred overhead. Finally, something to talk about:
“With no further ado, I’ll open the public hearing at 7:02,” Bolduc craned his head toward the clock.
“This is on the two solar powered benches?” asked the city manager.
“That’s right,” the mayor pro tem responded. “Free to the city, which we don’t get too often.” He stared at the audience. The audience stared at him. “Anybody have anything to say about it? If not, I’ll close the public hearing at, what…7:03?”
I’m sensing a pattern here. Luckily, one of the councilors had some business.
“I’d like to schedule a meeting to look at the lighting project that we’ve talked about,” said Councilor Lipman. “Replacing the…uh–”
“Street lights?” Bolduc bailed him out.
“Street lights,” Lipman acknowledged, “with…what’s the technical name?”
“LEDs,” tag-teamed Councilor Baer.
“LEDs, thank you.” Whew, this is like defusing a bomb.
Suddenly, the director of recreation and facilities tossed a wrench into the gears.
“With high pedestrian traffic and a focus on the aesthetic value of the area, the advisory board is recommending stamped, colored, concrete crosswalks” on Lakeside Avenue.
Once again, the council absorbed this news through their collective digestive system.
“The colored concrete crosswalks, we’re gonna spend $60,000 to color what’s already there?” Councilor Baer asked.
“It’s like a brick, but not painted onto the asphalt,” the mayor pro tem attempted to explain.
“It’s a slab,” further clarified Councilor Robert Hamel.
Slabby painted concrete. Got it.
“What kind of timeline do you have? When do you need these?” Councilor Ava Doyle wondered.
“They’re anxious to have information on what we’re gonna do–” the director started, before Councilor Hamel slammed his fist on the table.
“It doesn’t matter! It’s not etched in stone that we have to do it.” (Uh, I think it’s actually painted in concrete.) “WE decide whether we do it or not.”
The council agreed unanimously to get some prices. Also, to take those free solar-powered benches from earlier. As the mayor pro tem adjourned, he noticed the pocket recorder in front of him.
“How do you control this thing?!” he exclaimed, pushing it off to Councilor Baer.
Final thoughts: This was a toughie, but I give 10 out of 10 stars to that plant for being such a dedicated public servant.
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.
—
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!”
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.
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.
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:
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!
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…
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.)
Feast your eyes on the TAIDEN®. Enhance!
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.
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.
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.'”
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.
Stay tuned for more council tours!
City Council Chronicles 