Tag: city council

#40: Lindsborg, KS 8/1/16

Wow, holy Wizard of Oz! What a humdinger of a–

Okay. I can’t do this.

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.

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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?

The Chronicles gets an award nomination!

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.

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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!

#39: West Valley City, UT 7/26/16

Maybe it was the summer heat or the moon in the Seventh House, but the 6:30 p.m. West Valley City council meeting felt more like an 8 a.m. college seminar: sleepy. The hypnotic monotone of Mayor Ron Bigelow certainly didn’t help.

“We turn to Councilmember Steve Vincent for our opening ceremony,” he murmured. “Opening ceremony” eh? Like the Olympics? By all means, bring out the drumline! Commence the light show! Sprint down the aisle with a flaming torch!

“I was trying to find something that I could present for Pioneer Day,” the councilmember teased us. “On my dad’s side of our family, when they came to New York, they didn’t have enough money to come west. So [my grandfather] laid telegraph line across the Plains to get to Utah.” (I’m getting the feeling that calling this an “opening ceremony” was a slight exaggeration.)

“He’d write stories about how they’d lay a few hundred yards of telegraph line and then the next morning they would have to redo it because they’d been torn down by Indians. Anyway, I think we all need to reflect on our pioneer heritage.”

Ah yes, what would an opening ceremony be without a little Indian sabotage?

Mayor Bigelow stared at his notes. “Was there anyone here who wanted to make public comments?” Pause. “Apparently not. A lot of comments, just not public,” he deadpanned.

“To our council, any comments tonight?” Crickets. “Nothing you wanna bring up? Oh-kay.” Imagine if Eeyore chugged a bottle of Nyquil and you’ve got Mayor Bigelow.

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“Does the cat who’s got your tongues wish to speak?”

Because everyone was so tight-lipped, the council sailed through the rest of the meeting as fast as the mayor could talk.

“We go to item 8–this is for the purchase of a data backup system. We have a lot of data we have to store. In fact, you can go out and listen to any of our council meetings.”

Well, I’ll be damned. Something I can get behind! Back up those council meetings, baby!

Next item: “We need to do it tonight,” warned the mayor about the “asphalt polymer treatment project.”

“It’s a polymer mastic seal to prevent oxidation of the asphalt oil from the water infiltration and ultraviolet exposure,” he explained in an impressive display of vocabulary. “In other words, so it doesn’t break up from the water and the sun, I guess is the way you would put that.” Actually, the way I would put that is “rubbing some lotion on the road,” but I’m a dummy.

With the road massaged and the data safe and sound, the council adjourned.

Final thoughts: For doing all the heavy lifting, I give 10 out of 10 stars to Councilmember Vincent’s telegraph-laying grandfather. Bravo, sir.

#38: Dover, DE 7/25/16

It’s a beautiful evening at Dover City Hall. The city council is ready to go and boy, what a diverse, good-looking group of–what?

This isn’t the city council? Then who the h*ck are these people?

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Control room, can we get a shot of the city council please?

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THERE they are. Barely.

The first order of business was presenting an oversize, Publishers Clearing House-style check to a senior citizens’ home. The guy in charge accepted the award by embarking on a long, slow stemwinder of a tale. “We have 30 employees. We’re down a couple right now. We hired people from 18 years old–she just left–”

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As the speech meandered, so did the control room–which decided that now was the perfect time for cutaway shots.

“Our average age is 75 years old. If you think about that, 75 is an average age–”

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“We have a wonderful facility. For those of you who have not been out there, I would be glad to give you a tour–”

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“It’s tough out there. For the fire department, you know, when you deal with seniors, there’s a lot of cooking incidents–”

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FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NO MORE CLOSE-UPS.

At the conclusion, everyone snapped out of their stupor and applauded. Councilman Fred Neil–himself well above the average age in the senior home–shook hands and quipped, “as an 82-year-old, save me a spot!”

The council quickly pivoted to the youthful and chipper city librarian, who was here to brag about Dover Comic Con. “We’re starting on Friday night about 5:30 with the arrival of the Ghostbusters,” she promised.

Councilman David Anderson leaned forward intently. “Will the Tardis be there this year?”

“The Tardis will be there,” confirmed the librarian.

Councilman Neil piped up. “I thought it was marvelous when I went last year! I was greeted like a character, even though I was not in uniform.” (For context, he looks like the guy from “Up.”) “Even though I was one of the old guys, I appreciated what was going on.”

Speaking of goings-on, “Mr. Sudler had a get-together last weekend,” recalled Councilman William Hare. “I have to say that all the hype about Roy’s Ribs was true! There was only one problem with ’em: there wasn’t enough!” The councilmen cackled in response.

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The rib kingpin of central Delaware

Councilman Roy Sudler, Jr., the culinary maestro of city hall, leveled a challenge right back at Hare: “Mt. Zion AME Church, they will be hosting an annual back to school and community fair. They would like to invite you to be this year’s celebrity chef–helping to cook hotdogs and hamburgers.”

Councilman Hare reflected. “Is there a waiver that we’re not held responsible for them eating my cooking?” Ha! Councilman, you and your poisonous gruel! Stick to what you know: order a couple buckets of Roy Sudler’s Ribs and call it a picnic.

Final thoughts: Oh, hey, control room dad!

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#37: Cartersville, GA 7/21/16

Quick! Put on your seersucker and chug a pitcher of sweet tea–the whole town’s a-goin’ down to watch the Cartersville city council dole out some Southern justice.

Yessir, today the fine men and women of the jury are deciding whether to change the zoning on a troublemakin’ patch of grass yonder. And the city’s brightest legal lights are here to deliver an Atticus Finch-worthy performance.

The judge–a.k.a. Mayor Matt Santini–narrowed his steely eyes at the packed room of onlookers. “Anybody’s welcome to get up and speak. However, if it doesn’t relate back to one of those 13 points–” he gestured to a PowerPoint slide with, ironically, only ten points, “–then we’re really not getting anywhere.”

With that, the Trial of the Century began. First up, attorney for the defense.

“This would be a distribution-type facility such as you see for Amazon,” the simple country lawyer drawled. “Those type of things are goin’ up these days. Seems like that man comes to my house every night with something my wife ordered on the Internet.” He flashed a smile to the jury.

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The Cartersville city council meeting

The star witness for the defense was a 51-year resident of Cartersville with a lethal knowledge of local roads.

“I’m personally familiar with the traffic flow of the county. On my way over tonight, I clocked the mileage from the Waterford [subdivision] to the intersection of Erwin Street and Old Mill Road: 1.7  miles.” This modern-day Rain Man dazzled the jury with flashy testimony not seen since the O.J. Simpson trial:

“The natural flow of traffic is coming up 75 or 41 to 293 onto Old Mill. Or it’s gonna be going out Erwin to the South Bridge. Or it’s gonna be Old Mill to Douthit Ferry to 113 and then either going up to 61 to Dallas or Rockmart. Or it’s gonna be going Burnt Hickory Road to the new roundabout.”

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This man NEVER gets lost.

Ladies fanned themselves. Gentlemen loosened their ties. Newspapermen chomped on cigars. Now, for the prosecution: a patrician man in a disarmingly-casual blue Polo approached with hands in pockets.

“I stand here before you trying to decide if I’m opposed to us having business coming into Cartersville,” he slowly pondered. “In the mornings and late in the evenings, if you’re coming out of Erwin Downs, you sit there at that stop sign for a good long while waiting for the traffic.” The Georgia night air was heavy with sweat and tension.

“If we add another 400 trucks–this is just my opinion if you don’t mind–but if they have the choice of going 293 or coming up across South Bridge to 41, you know where they’ll go,” he warned the jury, his eyes sliding from person to person to deliver his closing argument. “I’m opposed to it. I hate to say that I’m opposed to business coming into Cartersville.”

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Some onlookers were overcome with emotion.

At this point, the mayor-judge interjected: “I should have said this off the top. There will NOT be a vote this evening on this zoning request. That will take place at our meeting two weeks from now.”

No verdict? Well, shucks! Thelma? Toss on another order of grits–justice is gonna take awhile.

New Game Alert: City Cóuncil Go!

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.

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2. Capture the city council member.

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(Sold separately)

3. Make them fight each other.

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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.

10 Toronto City Council Facts to Impress Your Friends and Potential Mates

It was an electrifying week to embark on our first international city council review! Less electrified was my accountant, who has since advised me to “never, ever fly First Class to Canada again, you moron.”

Anyhow, there was waaaaay too much cool stuff about the Toronto city council to mention. So I’ll mention it all here in the form of a handy list.

1. They start very patriotically.

In the U.S., council meetings usually kick off with the Pledge of Allegiance and occasionally a prayer. In Toronto, a choir sings the Canadian national anthem on top of a sweeping video montage. Come on, America, where’s our inspirational stock footage?!

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2. The mayor’s there!

In big cities, it’s unusual for the mayor to be in the room with the council. It’s even more unusual for the mayor to vote on the council. But in Toronto, the mayor is basically the 45th councilor.

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3. HUGE. NAME. PLACARDS.

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4. They don’t look at each other.

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Here’s an odd thing to watch: when councilors are asking questions to city staff, SOMETIMES they make eye contact like normal human beings. But usually, councilors don’t bother turning to look!

“There’s very few councilors who don’t know exactly where their camera is,” Councilor Shelley Carroll told me. “You pretty much get your media training on the job pretty fast.”

5. They can’t talk directly to people.

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“Hey, Michael, what do you mean by that?” you might ask.

And if I were a Toronto city councilor, I would respond, “Through the speaker, they talk to each other by saying ‘through the speaker.'”

Explained Carroll: “You’re not supposed to take somebody on. Canadian cities try to treat themselves like they’re a House of Commons.” Yes, we wouldn’t want councilors to confront each other…any more than they usually do (see below).

6. They vote DING DING while a chime DING DING rings.

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When councilors vote with their machines, they hear a steady pulsating chime–imagine an autotuned version of a garbage truck’s back-up beeper. It’s kind of hypnotic. I wonder if anyone has dozed off while voting.

 7. A lot of people ACTUALLY watch.

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8. You don’t get to talk forever.

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Councilors have a time limit on asking questions. The speaker butts in when they are done to say, “that was your last question.” And then she cuts their mic! Given how Toronto’s council meetings often stretch into double-digit hours, you better believe time limits are necessary. But I have yet to see another council that plays stopwatch cop like this.

9. They are very polite.

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Of course they’re polite–this is Canada! There were so many “sorrys” that I lost count. Like in this exchange between Councilor Josh Colle and the deputy city manager:

Colle:  What has been the increase in property taxes collected?

DCM: $303 million, I believe.

Colle: Sorry, that’s TTC fares.

DCM: No, sorry, that’s property taxes.

Colle: You might have it the other way around?

DCM: Sorry.

On the other hand,

10. They openly bicker.

The council has a “bylaw,” which members invoke if they think someone is behaving poorly–for example, by insulting the staff. Councilors can also challenge Speaker Frances Nunziata on her rulings. In return, the speaker sometimes snaps at them about wasting time and keeping the noise level down. During the Rob Ford shenanigans, antics were even worse:

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Interview #7: Toronto, ON Councilor Shelley Carroll

No one is better equipped to give us the director’s commentary on the Toronto city council meeting than longtime councilor and Twitter powerhouse Shelley Carroll.

She told me the scoop on Rob Ford, council drama, and her fantasy hockey team.

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Q: How many people usually show up to watch? And follow-up question: how many moose usually show up?

A: It’s been a while since we’ve had a moose. In terms of how many “municipal nerds” are there–

Q: Your phrase, not mine.

A: We have a lot of bloggers–the councilors call them Twitterati. There’s about a dozen of them. If we’re doing something with taxis or Uber, there’s 500-600 people in there. The lowest it ever gets is around 50-70 people.

Q: You are the deputy speaker. I saw what the speaker does and it looks exhausting. What does the deputy speaker do?

A: In my case the deputy speaker doesn’t do a whole heck of a lot.

Q: Nice!

A: The speaker you saw is very, very possessive about being in that chair. She had a rough time during the Rob Ford years. She asked to be speaker again under a new mayor and it was a tough vote. She almost didn’t make it. She is doing a pretty good job with a pretty crazy council.  But I’m lucky if I get to be in the chair ten minutes a day.

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Toronto, ON Councilor Shelley Carroll

Q: Oh boy, you mentioned He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Obviously the Rob Ford scandal was a tough time for everyone–except late night comedians. After the crack-smoking news got out, were council meetings more hostile?

A: Definitely. Oftentimes he wan’t the most hostile force in the room. His brother was.

Q: When the council was debating what to do with Rob Ford, one reporter tweeted this:

Is that true?

A: Yeah. By the time we were taking his powers away, it was petty on all sides. I’ve been in office since 2003. That two weeks leading up to taking Rob’s powers away were the most “together” council has ever been. He was just completely humiliating us. That was right after he said the horrible thing about his wife to the media.

Q: I saw the video, yes.

A:  I spent a lot of time on Twitter inoculating myself from their bullying.  “Don’t mess with me or I’ll tweet it!”

Q: Are there any councilors you do not like? You don’t have to name–

A: Giorgio Mammoliti.

Q: Noted. Now, suppose the Montreal city council challenged you to a game of hockey. Which five Toronto city councilors would you pick for your team?

A: Oddly, I probably would take Giorgio Mammoliti. He would throw them for a loop the whole time.

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We’d probably match them wit for wit, so we’d have to take Gord Perks.

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I would take Janet Davis. Councilor Davis is obsessed with reading every word of every report. She would read about a year’s worth of every agenda in the Montreal council. She would lay waste to them.

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We’d take Josh Matlow because he’s a part-time Montrealer and he would beat them on their own level.

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My one more pick, I would take Joe Cressy. He’s just the youngest and most nimble person on council. So he would whip their ass athletically.

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Q: I’m a bit surprised that a Canadian just said “ass,” but I’ll let it slide.

Follow Councilor Shelley Carroll on Twitter: @shelleycarroll

#36: Toronto, ON 7/12/16

Oh, baby! It’s Canada Week here at the Chronicles! I hope you packed a passport and your curling uniform, because we’re off to the Toronto city council meeting.

Meeting? Sorry. I meant “endurance test.”

These hardy Maple Leafers hunkered down for T-E-N H-O-U-R-S. And as it turns out, ten hours in Canada converts to ten AMERICAN hours as well. Lucky me.

Speaking of America, Mayor John Tory began by saying goodbye to Toronto’s Philadelphia-bound transportation manager–and good luck. “If there are any circumstances which TRUMP your desire to return home, you’ll always be most welcome here,” he remarked dryly as the room erupted in laughter.

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Oh, yeah? Well…who’s your president? A moose? Ha, burned.

Next came the excruciating process of figuring out a.) who wanted b.) to say what c.) and when on the city budget. (Hint: every. body. wanted. to. talk.)

“On page 10,” Councilor Michael Thompson politely requested, “I’m just wondering, is it possible to have this Thursday morning as a first item–”

Loud grumbles rolled in from councilors who had Thursday morning in their crosshairs.

“There’s also a desire to hold the supervised injection [debate] at that time!” Councilor Joe Mihevc protested.

Council Speaker Frances Nunziata raised a hand. “I’m sorry but Councilor Thompson had his name before yours,” she curtly shut him down. It’s a reminder of that old saying: “the early bird gets the sweet Thursday morning discussion slot.”

It was a minor tiff–but by hour 2.5, tempers really flared.

During routine questioning of the city manager, Councilor James Pasternak casually inquired about sloppy staff recommendations: “What strategies do you have to make sure that shenanigans stops?”

As the city manager defended himself, Councilor Gord Perks perked up.

“Councilor Pasternak just described city staff’s budget process as ‘shenanigans,'” the wavy-haired man complained.  “I ask that he withdraw that.”

“Madam Speaker, Councilor Perks has twisted my words!” protested Pasternak.

The speaker was on his side. “Continue,” she ordered Pasternak. Then she froze. “Councilor Perks is challenging my ruling.” One off-mic councilor hollered what sounded like a profanity. This is amazing–I’m already googling “how to move to Canada.”

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You challenge a Canadian speaker by hip-checking her on the ice rink.

A high-pitched chime pulsed in the chamber–like a creepy kid’s toy–signaling that councilors had to vote on whether to back their fearless leader.

Final tally: 23-9. The speaker wins.

After break to eat lunch and walk off the crankiness, councilors returned to a familiar dilemma: cut services or raise taxes?

“There’s a number of things we do as a city that we don’t have to be doing,” Councilor Giorgio Mammoliti grumbled. “We don’t have to be in the childcare business! Why the hell aren’t we talking about this stuff?!”

Another councilor–ever polite–corrected him. “Heck.”

Mammoliti scowled. “Hell.”

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Others are visibly shocked by Councilor Mammoliti’s language.

It was the bottom of the ninth (hour). The humans were tired but, oddly enough, the machines were even tireder.

As Councilor Thompson spoke, several loud booms rocked the sound system.

Then…dead mic.

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on,” the speaker shrugged, not entirely upset at this gentle suggestion by Fate.

“Shut ‘er down!” shouted Councilor Shelley Carroll, chomping to get out of Dodge.

Unluckily for her, the mics rebooted, letting Councilor Thompson inch the meeting across the ten-hour line. Ugh, I’m getting too old for this sh…enanigans.

Final thoughts: Stay tuned! There’s more Canada Coverage on Wednesday and Friday!