To preserve the sanctity of Boxing Day, we will take a break and revisit all of the fun times we saw in November. Do you remember the time we went to the strange land of Canada? Or the even stranger land of New Jersey? If not, get the highlights on the month in review page!
Inside the Livonia city council chamber, it felt like the last day of school before Winter Break. Oh, sure, THEORETICALLY there was work to do. But there were also plenty of hugs and goodbyes to go around.
“Welcome to the 1,815th regular meeting of the Livonia city council,” President Kathleen McIntyre dutifully announced. While I’d like to imagine McIntyre boarded up in her office and forlornly drawing another line on a wall full of tally marks, that works out to roughly 76 years of city council meetings.
“My oldest daughter is now a teenager as of Saturday,” Council Member Scott Bahr (who, oddly enough, looked barely old enough to buy cigarettes) gave a shout-out at the top of the meeting.
“I would like to wish my oldest son a very happy 19th birthday,” Council President McIntyre dittoed. She looked directly into the camera. “He will be celebrating that on January 5th. He was originally due on December 22nd. The fact that he arrived two weeks late pretty much told us how he was gonna go through life–on his own schedule.”
There were a few uncomfortable chuckles.
Spirits were lifted, however, when cheerful Wayne County Commissioner Terry Marecki stopped by to say “hiya” in her thick upper Midwest accent.
“I’m sure you’re gonna enjoy your couple weeks off here with your regular jabs and doing this jab at night!” she exclaimed.
“I wanted to give you an update on 8 Mile Road. It’s been what, six weeks, Tadd [Todd], that they finished it? I want to assure you, it’s going to be done.”
She flashed a reassuring grin and a goofy sign-off. “You can tell your peeps!”
Before the peeps could be told, there was one serious piece of business to do.
“This is a request to purchase a FARO 3-D laser scanner,” Council President McIntyre read. “This comes from the police for 3-D scene mapping. Good evening, chief.”
Livonia’s police chief stood with neatly-combed hair at the podium to explain this expensive purchase. “This is a huge step forward in our ability to map all crime scenes. You may recall the fatal accident that we had not too long ago. To map that scene with our current device took six hours. That scene with this device would take 30 minutes.”
Wow. From six hours to 30 minutes?! Sign me up for a baker’s dozen!
“This is exciting stuff,” Council Vice President Brandon Kritzman murmured in fascination. The council approved the scanner.
As council members prepared to go home to their milk and cookies, there was a surprise comment from former Council Member James C. McCann.
“I didn’t plan on this, but as somebody who sat where you’re sitting, the ability of this council to work together–” he smiled proudly, like he was speaking at a high school convocation.
“Everybody’s always prepared. It is very nice to see a council that’s working this very well together. And I’d recommend to the voters that if they have the chance to reelect every one of you, they should do it.”
Hear hear! Tell your peeps!
Final thoughts: Obviously I haven’t seen all 1,815 Livonia city council meetings, but I would easily rank this one in the top 400.
This podcast interview is available on iTunes, Stitcher, Player FM and right here:
Helen Rosenthal represents the Upper West Side on the New York City council and BOY, did she have some fun stories! From the candy in her desk to the Elmo and Batman characters at a council meeting, she gave us a peek inside the City [Council] That Never Sleeps!
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Q: With all the different groups on the 51-person city council, do they stick together in the council meetings? Like, do the progressives all wear armbands on one day, or does someone in the women’s caucus hand out candy, or–
A: Well, to be clear: I have the candy drawer. Definitely, I think candy gets you a long way with your colleagues.
Q: What kind of candy do you have in there?
A: Only York Peppermint Patties.
Q: Love those things! How do you decide where to sit?
A: Every two weeks approximately we get together as a chamber of the whole and we have assigned seating. And we have a little nameplate on our desks so we know just where we sit. And that way, again, no one really has access to my candy drawer, which is critical. The seating plan is determined by the speaker of the council. And it tends to be the same seating plan for the entire term of four years. Very rarely would someone’s seat get switched.
Q: Have you ever seen someone’s seat get moved?
A: I have. There were two of my colleagues who were having too good of a time sitting next to each other, so they were split up. So…that happened.
Q: WOW. Who do you sit next to?
A: I’m between Dr. Mathieu Eugene and Council Member Rosie Mendez. And if we went out to a bar and drank heavily for quite some time, I could tell you the reasons why I have that seat. But now, suffice to say, I love where I sit and–
Q: NO, IT DOESN’T SUFFICE TO SAY. TELL ME THE STORY, COUNCIL MEMBER.
A: That ain’t…that’s under lock and key!
Q: Any interesting moments in the council meetings that you can think of?
A: There was one hearing where we were debating a law as it has to do with the costumed characters in Times Square. You have Elmo, you have Minnie Mouse, you have the Naked Cowboy. Indeed, the costumed characters showed up in their full costumed regalia.
Q: Nice!
A: I more found it amusing that someone would come to a city council hearing dressed up as Batman and the person who was the sponsor of the legislation would want their picture next to Batman. I’m very careful not to be standing next to Batman when a picture is taken.
Q: Batman is an American hero, ma’am. What do you have against heroes?
A: Nothing! I was really traumatized by Dukakis’s moment when he put on that helmet and was swallowed up in it. I try not to wear hats.
Q: I should mention that my researchers found a tweet of yours…it’s a picture of you wearing a Big Apple Circus hard hat, and behind you is a clown wearing face paint and very bright overalls.
What do you have to say for yourself?
A: Busted. Busted….I love the Big Apple Circus!
Follow Council Member Helen Rosenthal on Twitter: @HelenRosenthal
‘Twas the season of change at the Millbrae city council meeting. A time to remember the departed and toast to new beginnings.
While I was popping the Champagne at home, a string quartet was popping off the holiday classics in the meeting room–“Joy to the World” and “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” Wow, live entertainment at a council meeting! What a refreshing change of pace!
That being said: once in 73 council meetings was enough. This isn’t “High School Orchestra Chronicles,” so I won’t review their performance. But let’s just say, I was very, very happy for this city council meeting to start.
“I’m very, very proud of these young people. They’re go-getters,” Council Member Wayne Lee rhapsodized. “Michael, I understand you’re going to Yale, which is exciting!”
The chamber roared for the violinist. One of the staff reached over and high fived him.
But as Michael moved on, another dear leader moved out.
“I want to share a short story,” smiled Mayor Anne Oliva, who in a few brief minutes would be relinquishing her gavel. “I did not get elected the first time around to our council. I missed it by 17 votes, and I was beaten out by Robert Gottschalk.”
Every head turned to Gottschalk, who was sitting stage right. J’Accuse!
“I ran with my father by my side, even knocking on doors every Sunday afternoon asking for support. When my father died a few months later,” the mayor gently winced, “I had no idea how much I would miss him. Especially when I was unable to share small victories, such as my next run for council–which I won.”
She bit her lip and tried not to tear up. “I leave you in the hands of your new mayor, who I know will be a success. I wish my dad were here. But perhaps he’s looking down…Thank you all so very much.”
Everyone leapt up to give Her Honor the ol’ Hip-Hip-Hooray. Heir-to-the-throne Reuben Holober handed over a gift.
“This is amazing!” she exclaimed after pulling out a necklace. She fingered the trinket attached to it.
“It’s a gavel with a little A on it!”
The audience nodded approvingly.
She held out the necklace she was currently wearing. “When my dad ran for mayor, he gave this to my mother when he won.”
“Awwwwwww,” everyone murmured in unison.
The council unanimously elected Holober as the next head honcho. As Oliva and Holober stood to swap seats, Council Member Lee pumped the brakes.
“Whoa, whoa, you gotta take the oath! You don’t get the gavel till you take the oath!”
Mayor-elect Holober strode down to the podium. Lee, playing the role of red carpet commentator, announced who was doing the swearing-in.
“Reuben’s lucky fiancé!” he boomed as the two lovebirds raised their rights hands and sealed the deal.
Mayor Holober took his seat at the head of the dais. “Thirteen years ago, I entered this room to watch my mother take the oath of office as mayor. I never thought that one day, I would be sitting in this very chair.”
He stared at the room of supporters. “While my mother is no longer with us, I know that her passion for the city of Millbrae is alive in all of us.”
Ex-mayor Oliva led the standing ovation for him. While this is all very sweet, does anyone find it odd how Millbrae is killing so many city council members’ parents?
Final thoughts: First council meeting with a string quartet AND first council meeting with TWO MAYORS! 10 out of 10!
UPDATE: You can now listen to a dramatic reading of this review on iTunes, Stitcher, Player FM and right here:
What do you do when a council meeting is so emotional–so raw–that it makes the winter a little colder, the night a little darker, and the world a little more vulnerable?
The Louisville Metro Council was a sight to behold: 26 people. Young and old. Black and white. Thick Kentucky accents and thicker Kentucky accents. David Yates, the youthful council president with hair slicker than a mint julep at sunrise, stared icily at the overflowing chamber.
“For those that are addressing the landmark designation of Tremont Drive, the council will not accept any further testimony. ANY attempts by ANYONE will be ruled out of order,” he warned with the gravity of a doctor breaking the news about your husband’s coma.
“Mr. Clerk, would you please bring up our first speaker?”
An older man with a white goatee lumbered to the podium. If you took all of my college professors and mashed them into one person, this would be the dude.
“I am new to the city, having moved here a year ago,” he began casually. “Tonight, I urge the council to delay the granting of a demolition permit for the Powell/Smith House for a couple of reasons. Delaying–”
President Yates sharply cut him off.
“Excuse me. Did you–” he sounded incredulous. “I JUST had to read that we are not to address the landmarks decision. We cannot hear ANY information relating to the landmark.”
The man looked hurt. “Can I continue if I do not?”
The president softened. “If you do not.”
The man adjusted his glasses and stared down at his papers. He paused. “Another reason for delaying the decision on the Powell/Smith House is to allow time to fully document–” home boy picked up exactly where he left off!
Two men behind him covered their mouths stifling laughter. Even his own lips creeped upward into a grin as he shamelessly trolled the council.
President Yates was enraged. He slammed the gavel on his desk. The man looked up.
“I’m done?” the man asked innocently.
Yes, yes he was. His heart was in the right place. But his mouth was not.
As the chamber settled down, Council Member Robin Engel took to the microphone with bittersweet news.
“After 27 years of service, Monica Hodge will be retiring from Metro government,” he beamed at the woman standing to his right. He leaned into the podium and suddenly took on the role of emcee in a “This Is Your Life” trip down memory lane. He waved over Kentucky political titan Rebecca Jackson, who strode to the microphone with an air of confidence.
She grasped Hodge’s hand. “If I reached out my hand and said, ‘come pray with me,’ Monica would come pray with me. We saw a lot of those prayers answered, including those prayers for her health and those prayers for our crazy husbands who never knew where we were. Monica, we love you.” The two women embraced and the chamber erupted in applause and laughter.
But the eulogy wasn’t over yet. Council Member Engel gestured to the ample man with the broad shoulders and a bright tie. “Pastor Hodge?”
“Oh, good evening!” the pastor bellowed with a wide grin. “Let’s take up an offering, that’s what I say! Ha ha ha!” The audience went wild.
“I love my wife. And what you see here is what you see at home. I’ve gone through a lot. Open heart surgery. I do dialysis. But–” his voice quaked and he blinked back tears. His voice became high and tiny. “But I stand here today because I have someone who stands with me. An amazing lady. Your loss is my gain.”
All around him, heads nodded like a Sunday sermon. “Thank you.”
Finally, Hodge stepped forward to a 15-second standing ovation. “I want to give thanks first of all to the lord because ten years ago I didn’t know if I would be standing here tonight, struggling to to get through a day of chemo.” Her husband, the pastor, wiped his eyes.
“Enjoy every tomorrow that you’ve got because you don’t know what life is gonna bring you. You’ve all blessed my life in some way. I thank you for that.”
As Hodge and her entourage cleared the chamber, there was one piece of lingering business that, unpleasant as it was, had to be done.
“We are reviewing the landmarks designation,” President Yates announced heavily. “The commission voted to landmark. The committee voted to overturn. The resolution is now before the full council.”
The lone man wishing to speak was Council Member Tom Owens and he had one heartfelt plea: save this house.
“There is a certain innocence, I think, that we all share. And this innocence is that the landmarking process ought to be without rancor. But the truth of the matter is,” he spoke carefully and quietly, like a tired old lawyer begging the jury not to sentence his client to death, “the truth of the matter is when it comes to the old farmhouse in your subdivision, or in your neighborhood, there is going to be some desire to see that old house” saved.
With dark circles under his eyes, he hunched down in his chair. “Our decision to overturn the Landmarks Commission will, in all likelihood, bring the wrecking ball to that” 145-year old house. “Thank you, colleagues.”
No one else came to his defense. Owens and two others voted to save the house. Twenty-two council members voted to destroy it.
In one night, the city lost a valued employee and a valued home. Such is life in the hollers of Kentucky.
This podcast interview is available on iTunes, Stitcher, Player FM and right here:
Charles Djou has done it all–Hawaii state legislature, U.S. Congressman, and most importantly, Honolulu city councilman. He got me up to speed on some city council traditions and local island lingo, plus the time a native chief put a curse on the council! Definitely listen to the podcast because there is so much more stuff in there than you’ll read below.
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Q: Something I’m curious about is the dress code for the city council meetings. Is it suits and ties or Hawaiian shirts and leis?
A: Yes, so some of the things that are different about the Honolulu city council: the FULL council is in coat and tie. But our committee hearings are done in aloha shirts–
Q: They’re called “aloha” shirts, there? Not Hawaiian shirts?
A: Yes. The other thing that is perhaps a little different is the first city council meeting of the year after an election, everybody wears leis. And everybody gets leis.
Q: What is the lei protocol in Hawaii? Is there any occasion where it’s inappropriate to wear a lei?
A: You know…I wouldn’t say there’s any time where it’s not appropriate. It is relatively common to see people wear a lei if it’s your birthday, if it’s something significant, if you–
Q: Are you wearing a lei now?
A: I am not.
Q: OH, THIS ISN’T SIGNIFICANT FOR YOU?!
A: [Laughs]
Q: Any interesting moments you can remember from the Honolulu city council meetings?
A: By tradition, usually the very first city council meeting, we’ll open it with an oli, which is a native Hawaiian chant and prayer. I imagine maybe some of the city councils in, like, South Dakota or Oklahoma with large Native American populations maybe have some similar tradition.
Q: You’re probably right about tribal involvement. But prayer, especially in the South, is common for kicking off council meetings. When you say “chant,” I think of something rhythmic, like BUM-bum-bum-bum BUM-bum-bum-bum.
A: Yes. It’s in the native Hawaiian language. And then frequently accompanied with hula.
Q: Hula! Does that mean you have bikini-clad women in the council chamber?
A: Uhhhhhh, no. The whole bikini-clad women thing is sort of a 1950s/1960s image people have.
Q: Mmm.
A: I’ll share with you one interesting story. This occurred right before I became a member of the city council. The city council had a relatively controversial issue about condemnation of some native Hawaiian land. I remember a native Hawaiian kapuna (tribal elder) came in and put a curse on the city council members who voted against it.
Q: Wow, a curse! Did you feel worse voting no when there were eight other people you were working with on the council, compared to the state house with 50 other people?
A: No–if anything, on the city council I felt I had a greater voice in being able to dissent.
Q: Now, the listeners will revolt if I don’t ask this: between the Hawaii state house, the U.S. House, and the Honolulu city council, which had the nicest chairs?
A: Oh, the U.S. Congress! [Laughs] They have the nice comfy leather chairs over in Congress.
Follow Charles Djou on Twitter: @Djou4Hawaii
Okay, I have to admit something: I had a hard time focusing on the Beloit city council meeting. It’s not because it was boring (it wasn’t). It’s not because I was under the influence of alcohol (I was).
It’s because all I could think about…was the wall.
The brick wall. AROUND the city council.
Is it art? Is it a metaphor? Or is it a way of saying, “the only way you’re gonna ‘stick it’ to City Hall is with a bulldozer?”
Regardless, the city council had four more walls to worry about: a proposed “indoor entertainment venue.” To approve or not approve was the question.
“We were contacted by five neighboring property owners who are opposed due to concerns about traffic, parking, noise, and loitering,” a bespectacled city staffer informed the stern-looking councilors.
“The planning commission reviewed this and voted 6-0 to recommend denial.” She nodded to the building owner sitting alone in the audience. “I don’t think he’s trying to negatively impact the neighborhood.”
The man cautiously approached the wall. He was wearing a Carolina Tarheels fleece under a puffy jacket. “My name is Mario. I’m the owner. I’m trying, you know, to do that thing. Whatever that thing…” he stuttered with a heavy accent.
“My English is broken so hopefully you understand me,” he apologized. “If you guys say no, throw away that idea then continue. So technically you’re the boss.”
But Councilor Sheila De Forest looked intensely grief-stricken. “I want to make sure that you were understood at the planing commission. Did you have a translator there at the meeting for him?”
The staffer slid next to Mario at the podium. “He didn’t ask for one. I didn’t know he needed one.”
“Did we OFFER him one, though?” De Forest pressed angrily.
“I…don’t know,” sighed the employee.
Councilor De Forest was livid. “I guess I’m not comfortable proceeding until we offer him a translator,” she demanded.
City Manager Lori Curtis Luther jumped into the fray. “I just want to make a cautionary note that we shouldn’t ASSUME what someone does or does not want,” she attempted to out-sensitize De Forest’s sensitivity. “I don’t want to imply that we think you NEED a translator. I think that can be insulting to some.”
Riding in to the rescue was the third Good Samaritan, Councilor Marilyn Sloniker. “Would you like ME to ask him in Spanish if he understands what’s going on?”
Council President David Luebke quickly tried to sort out the ethical dilemma roiling the council. “I think…I think that’s…we’re pushing it too far. I don’t want to insult anybody’s intelligence.”
“I understand,” shrugged Sloniker. It’s no small irony that the council who erected a wall around themselves was worried about how to be properly inclusive.
However, when it came to Luebke’s fellow councilors, the gloves were off.
“The Holidazzle was fantastic. I happened to go in where you work, Mark,” he slyly grinned, referring to Councilor Mark Preuschl’s candy shop.
“They had samples up there, but for every one he gave out, he ate a piece too!” Everyone had a much-needed and de-stressing laugh.
No translation needed there!
What’s this? Another installment of the semi-regular “Best Thing, Worst Thing” podcast series? Why, I do believe it is! For an explanation of the project, check out the page here. If you like storytelling and municipal lore, I think you’ll enjoy what the cat dragged in.
If you’ve got the kids already gathered around the fireplace, head over to the City Council Chronicles podcast and download the latest episode. Or you can play it below.
Photo source: Greater Cheyenne Chamber of Commerce
Cheyenne is the capital of Wyoming, population 63,000. It is located in the southeast corner of the state just eight miles from the Colorado border. It exists thanks to the builders of the Transcontinental Railroad. Downtown is fairly compact, with the capitol building at the north end and the historic train station at the south. Government buildings are prevalent and some of the historic homes are quite nice. Although it is the largest city in Wyoming, the population has risen slowly and steadily. In this episode, we hear from a business owner, a firearms instructor, two Chamber of Commerce employees, and a former mayoral candidate.
This podcast interview is available on iTunes, Stitcher, Player FM and right here:
It’s our first trip into West Virginia and we couldn’t have gotten a better guest! Andy Richardson is a councilman on the Charleston city council–and also a professor 160 miles away at WVU (go Mountaineers). Interestingly, he once served on the South Charleston city council, too. We talked about the differences there, his front row seat, and his favorite “Take Me Home, Country Roads” version.
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Q: I am a little outraged at you because Charleston city council does not post the videos of its meetings online. What’s the deal there–are you not wearing pants?
A: [Laughs] No, it’s a very old, historic council chamber. And perhaps that’s something we should look at.
Q: Is there assigned seating?
A: Yes, we each have a specific seat to sit in and that’s determined by the mayor.
Q: The mayor! So, does he play favorites? Put his friends up front, put the troublemakers in the back?
A: No, I wouldn’t say that. He’s pretty fair about where he sits people.
Q: Where do you sit?
A: In a prior term I was on the back row. In the current term, I’m on the front row.
Q: Ooooh. And did you get that front row seat by doing anything special for the mayor?
A: There are those who would say a seat in the back row is a better seat!
Q: There are 26 people on the Charleston city council. Twenty-six! What, are you starting a football team or something?
A: Well, it’s a very community-driven city council. What it means is, if there are issues of concern in your neighborhood, there’s a strong likelihood that a neighbor is a member of the city council.
Q: Now, something that’s fairly rare about you is that you were a councilman in two different cities. In 1987 you were on the South Charleston city council. Did it feel like when you got on the Charleston city council, that everything was familiar to you? Like muscle memory?
A: The Charleston city council experience is significantly different from the South Charleston city council–partly because of the size of the council. There’s far less paper today than there was back in the 1980s. There was no “website” for the city in that era.
Q: Uh-huh.
A: Charleston actually has written in the charter and ordinances the procedure for conduct of the council. South Charleston used Robert’s Rules of Order.
Q: Do you prefer being one of nine or one of 26?
A: They’re different. I feel blessed to have been elected three different times to two different city councils. [Charleston] is similar in feel to a lot of legislative bodies. [South Charleston] was a nine-member council and the positioning of the seats was like a board of directors meeting or something.
Q: Have you ever gone to meetups for local government officials and tried to find out if anyone else was in the elite platinum multi-city councilman club?
A: [Laughs] I have not! I’m sure they exist, but I’ve never thought of it like that.
Q: Which do you prefer? The John Denver version of “Take Me Home, Country Roads” or the Judy Collins version?
A: I’ll take John Denver, but you really ought to hear Me First and the Gimme Gimmes sometime.
Follow Councilman Andy Richardson on Twitter: @ANR57
City Council Chronicles 
