You Just Gotta Love Those Folks in Gubmint

Remember the old saying “Think global; act local”. I’ve always been a believer in that. Take a look at what the world needs and then do something in your little corner of the world to make it happen. Touch the lives of people who are your neighbors. If we could, or would, do that, we could change this big old world in no time flat.

So, when an opportunity presented itself here in Vista, California, I volunteered. Here’s my tale of adventure and woe.

I live in an apartment with my wife on the edge of an area known as the Townsite Neighborhood. Whenever the local newspaper prints a story about something happening in our neighborhood, it invariably uses the description “hardscrabble Townsite Neighborhood”.

Redevelopment in an area like this is a good thing. When the City extended its redevelopment district boundaries 3 years ago, it had to form a “Project Area Committee” to provide advice and feedback to the City Council about the area and improvement projects—known as Redevelopment Community Improvement Projects.

In late June I was looking for the dates of a particular community celebration and happened into the City’s website. While there I came across a listing for a vacancy on the Project Area Committee (PAC). It was a seat specified for a “residential tenant”. In other words, a renter. Hey that’s me! I’d love to do that.

You see, I spent over 15 years doing this type of work—community and economic development. I’ve done redevelopment planning. I’ve set up TIF districts—especially in industrial parks to create new manufacturing jobs. I have huge empathy for the people who live in my neighborhood and would like to see our local government do a better job of serving their interests. I was a natural.

So I filled out the application. And I was accepted (actually I think I was the only person who volunteered—let’s be honest here). I was invited to the committee’s July meeting (They meet every other month for an hour and a half. That should have been a red flag).

The committee meets in a meeting room in the City's 1-year old $55 million City Hall right on the edge of our "hardscrabble" neighborhood. We call it the Taj Mahal. It was financed by a local sales tax imposed by the City.

I sat through the entire meeting, listening (not my greatest skill) to the discussion and keeping my mouth shut (again not one of my greatest skills). I sat next to a man who had taken to time to go out into our neighborhood and photograph areas that have no sidewalks and streets that have crumbling asphalt. Yeah, there’s a chunk of this area that’s run-down and neglected.

And I’m thinking to myself, “Self, this could be interesting”. Then it came time to introduce me (the very last item on the agenda) and tell a little bit about myself. I told the members of the committee—property owners, renters, Chamber of Commerce members all from this neighborhood—a bit about myself and a tongue in cheek summary of some of the things I had done in the City in the 6+ years I’ve lived here.

I managed to get a stripe painted on a street (what I asked for was a street light at a dangerously dark corner). I managed to get the fences fixed at the nearby athletic fields of a junior high school so people couldn’t trespass (what I asked for was for the gates to be left open so people could continue to use the football field for pick-up soccer games). And I’ve managed to get a half dozen higher end cars towed from our street at a community festival earlier this summer and then a “no parking anytime” sign posted. When all I wanted was to get the cars ticketed for hindering traffic. Heads bobbed up and down—hmmm they’ve heard of me. In fact, one of the committee members commented, “oh, so you’re the guy…” Yep, that’s me.

They vote me onto the committee and I have to stand up and take an oath of office pledging to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States. OK fine, it’s a bit odd but I’ll do it—yep I just renewed my social contract, this time officially.

So, I’m waiting for the next meeting. Hmmmm, there’s no follow-up generated from the previous meeting. There’s no communication from city staff. What kind of committee is this? Well, it’s a city committee. It fulfills a legal requirement. Does the City really want it to actually DO something? The notion that it meets for an hour and a half every two months should have been a hint.

Well, about a week before the next meeting—I still haven’t received minutes of the previous meeting or an agenda for the coming meeting—I got a call from the Redevelopment and Housing Director of the City. He’s calling to inform me that the required 3 year term of this committee expires at the end of the month and that the coming meeting would likely be the final meeting of the committee. What?!? I just got on the damn committee. I’m just getting going.

He told me that the City Council could, at its discretion, extend the PAC for an additional year. “OK,” I thought, “we can just get the council to do that.” But, the Director told me, staff is recommending that it not be extended in order to save money.

“And why not,” I asked.
“Cost saving in the budget,” I am told.

Rather than belaboring this further, let’s advance to the next, and final, meeting of the PAC. As they say in government, “discussion ensued”. The 2 staff members from the City re-iterated their recommendation that the PAC be allowed to “just fade away”. And they renewed their reasoning that the statutory requirement had been met and that it was a cost saving measure.

Ever the skeptic, I asked these 2 gentlemen just how much would be saved from the budget by the demise of this group. They didn’t know.

“Wait a minute,” I started up—starting to head toward righteous indignation. “You’re both professional staff members of this department (actually the top 2 guys) and you’re saying that the reason for eliminating this group is for budget savings but you don’t know how much you’ll save? It would seem to me that if you’re making this argument that you would have run at least a rudimentary time and motion analysis to be able to estimate how much it’s costing.”

The 2 guys looked at each other. Their lips got tight. They had no response. I managed to keep my mouth shut as other discussion ensued.

The long and short of it was that eventually I made a motion to recommend that the City Council extend the committee for a year. The committee delegated to me the task of communicating the committee’s position to the Council. I wrote a short, impassioned letter about volunteers volunteering for additional service.

The Council vote was unanimous. The Project Area Committee was allowed to sink into the oblivion of its 3 year term. Of course, the City’s motion thanked us for our service.

Service? What service? I was only on it for one entire meeting and the last 5 minutes of another. Crap.

Just as I was getting over it, a large flat envelope arrived in the mail from the City. The cynic in me said, “looks like a certificate”. This morning I opened it. It was a form. The form was accompanied by a letter. The letter said that the form was a Statement of Economic Interests Form 700 from the California Fair Political Practices Commission. I have to fill it out. And supposedly list all financial interests I have including stocks and 401k, etc. It is a required form when someone “leaves office”.

Office? I didn’t have an office. I was on a committee. And I served for 2 months.

Here I was, expecting a certificate of appreciation and service. What I got was a state form to make sure that I didn’t profit from my long service on the committee. Remember the scene from “A Christmas Story” when Ralphie gets his secret decoder ring along with a certificate conferring “honors and benefits”. When he discovers that the “secret message” is really a commercial for Ovaltine he says “son of a bitch”!

I had hopeful expectations about being able to, in some small way, do some good for my neighborhood and community. “Son of a bitch.”

Politics and the Debt Ceiling--Shamey on You, Goddammit

When I was a kid, the worst thing my father could ever say was when he would bend over and look right in my face, lower his voice and say “Shamey on you.” It didn’t matter if the offense were slight or perceived rather than real or if, later on, it was something that was just a matter of a difference in opinion. Shame was the weapon of choice, the weapon of mass destruction.

I’ve been thinking about that recently in those times when I allow myself to think about what has been going on in our Congress and in the White House and in the relationship of the “governed” to the “government”. I don’t let myself think on this very much because it’s just too infuriating. Debt ceiling talks, war, the economy, health care coverage debacles…the never ending litany of contentiousness never lets up.

The biggest reason I don’t let myself think much on these things is the sense of helplessness and hopelessness that I feel day in and day out when it comes to things in my government.

And lately something else has dawned on me—I’m ashamed.

I’m ashamed of my government. I’m ashamed of those who represent me at the local, county, state and federal level. I’m ashamed of America.

None of this crap over the last several weeks about debt limits had to happen. It’s all been about power and posturing and positioning. (Notice that neither the word “govern” nor any of its permutations appeared there). And I’m sick and tired of it. I’m ashamed of my government which means that I should probably be ashamed of myself because of the “of the people, by the people, for the people” bull-crap.

I’m ashamed of the “teabaggers” who, even though they are actively engaged, have an agenda which, to me anyway, is both selfish and racist. I’m more ashamed of liberals like me who weep and wail and shout out “no fair” like petulant whiners on a playground when not given a turn at being the server in four-square.

And I’m ashamed of the whole stinking, lousy system which has degenerated into one where the only concern is power for the sake of power and money for the sake of money. For all intents and purposes we have devolved into an affluent (for now) 3rd world nation.

And when I really think about it, I’m mostly ashamed right now of our Congress. It’s seems to be all about power and contentiousness with not a lick of concern for governance. Not a lick of concern about “the consent of the governed”.

I don’t have to go any further than my own “backyard”—except I don’t have a backyard. My Congressman is Darrell Issa. He lives in my city. His business is in my city. He rarely, if ever, shows up in my city and especially not in my neighborhood which is largely made up of lower-income Hispanic families. He doesn’t care about this part of his district because there’s no money here. No money.

But he’ll show up occasionally on the other side of the highway in the gated communities. Where all the white folks are. Where the teabaggers live.

That’s what we have to put up with today.

And yes indeed, I am also ashamed of our President. In this whole debt limit debacle he never, ever came up with his own plan or proposal. That’s not leadership. He reminded me more of the “Great Appeaser” Neville Chamberlin than of a president of the United States. His “audacity” disappeared a while ago. Now I wonder if there’s any more “hope.

Lastly, here’s a video clip from YouTube. It’s one of my all-time favorite movie scenes—Al Pacino in “And Justice for All” for which he received a Best Actor Academy Award nomination in 1979. There are 3 statements in here that to me are incredibly moving and important: “Don’t you care?” “They’re people.” And the pain and frustration driven, “Goddammit”.



To all you Washington politicians from the Congress to the President on down: “Shamey on you”

The Cheap Bastid Stripe--How the City Out-Cheap Bastided Me

OK, it’s been a year or so since the City of Vista, California did this service “just for me”. You see, I have my very own stripe. It was given to me by the City.

Of course, I asked the City for a street light at the corner of Citrus and Eucalyptus a couple of blocks South of where I live. That intersection is dark at night. Pitch dark. And dangerous. It’s especially dangerous if you’re heading east and turning onto Citrus. The right hand turn is downhill and blind. It’s blind during the day and you have to know what you’re doing and it’s worse at night when the fall away is pitch black—even if you know that it’s there.

So I sent a letter to the City—the Mayor and City Manager specifically. I got an e-mail from the City’s traffic engineer. In it I was informed that there was no budget for a streetlight but that if I wanted to I could have one installed by SDG&E (San Diego Gas and Electric) and pay for it myself. “Say, what?” I don’t have that kind of money and I was referring to a matter of public safety.

So I sent that message back to the guy. His response was that they would paint a stripe along the side of the street so that it would be more visible in the dark. Now, I didn’t think that this was much of a solution. But it was better than nothing. And about 3 weeks later, the stripe magically appeared. It’s still dangerous. Eucalyptus street is still built up with a minimum of 6 inches of asphalt higher than the gravel shoulder with full grown 3 foot diameter eucalyptus trees within 3 or 4 feet of the pavement but, hey there’s a budget crisis! The City just finished a new $55 million Taj Mahal city hall 2 blocks from that spot and it’s being paid for by a half cent sales tax over the next 40 years that’s not generating enough revenue to retire the bonds. Go figure.

But, I’ve got a stripe. Perhaps it’s just as good because now Vista is proposing turning off half the streetlights in the city in order to save money. Too bad they didn’t spring for “reflective paint” on my stripe.

And, as further proof that no good deed goes unpunished, I also managed to get the fences repaired at the charter junior high school that’s right next to “my” stripe. The junior high has got a huge field of about 4 or 5 acres that has a football field and track plus a baseball field and practice back stop.

It’s also home to both the city’s “Pop Warner” football league and to a local “Babe Ruth” baseball league. That’s good. Both of those organizations pay money to the school district for use of the property.

Now, before I go any further, let me just say that my goal wasn’t for the fence to be fixed. Rather it was that the gates be left open.

Weeknight evenings and weekends would often find people walking or running around the track. Mothers would push strollers in a gaggle, exercising and visiting. Joggers of all ages, genders and ethnicities would run. And, especially on weekends, there would typically be a constant “pick-up” soccer game going on. Young Hispanic men from our neighborhood would be running, kicking and enjoying themselves.

Never, ever did we ever see any tempers flare or gang activity or anything else. Just people enjoying themselves, the outdoors and being active.

We used to go down to the track fairly often for a different kind of workout. Carolyn and I would start out together running a warm-up half mile or mile then she would keep on chugging while I would do a series of “ladders”—pushing my heartrate from resting, to aerobic to anaerobic, recuperating and then starting over again.

Then, we started to encounter the gates being locked more often. One Sunday we were looking for an open gate and came across a young guy just on the other side of the fence. “How’d you get in,” we asked? “We crawled under the fence over there,” the young man pointed. We went to where he pointed and proceeded to pull the bottom of the fence up from where it was curled and leaving a gap and easily got through the fence in a crouch.

Later we discovered a 3 foot tall hole in the fence which was even easier to use although it required climbing over another shorter fence. But it was actually easier.

This was also kind of tough for some of the little kids, strollers and Moms who would come down to the field to enjoy being outdoors.

So, “good citizen” that I am, I sent an e-mail to the Vista Superintendent of Schools requesting that they find a way to leave the fields accessible and that this was a terrific asset to the community.

My response came from the Assistant Superintendent for Facilities (quite a title, huh?) who told me in true PHD’ese that there were concerns about vandalism and gang activity and trespassing and littering.

Our observation had been that there was never any graffiti sprayed on buildings, etc. We never saw any gang colors or anything remotely close. But this is a level of government and they’ve got their bureaucracy.

To make a long story short(er), the school district sent maintenance people on a jaunt around the fence of the school to anchor the bottom of the cyclone fencing firmly to the ground and they found the hole in the fence (which had been there for at least 6 months) and fixed that.

The end result, my attempt to do something good resulted in a totally abandoned field of dreams except for those who “pay to play”. Too bad. I always thought that recreation was supposed to be free. I always thought that large fields like this were meant to be enjoyed by all, and respected by all. I always thought that in a community where there is a lot of poverty, where there is a plurality of Hispanic citizens, where there is crime, etc. that having a field like this available for casual use was a good thing.

Now the football field, track and ball field look lonely and forlorn. Nobody’s there using it for the joy of use. Pop Warner and Babe Ruth are just too “organized” and too expensive for most of the people in this neighborhood.

It’s a shame. One of these days though…I’m going to win the lottery and buy the fields then tear down the fence and open it up to everybody—not just those who pay. I have been sorely tempted to sneak to the fence some dark night with wire cutters and open it up but have this fantasy of calling my wife from jail late at night to come bail me out.

I thought I was doing a “good deed” and ended up getting fenced out.

Streetlights, Nightlights and a Congressman

Part 1: Quiet Night, Nightlight
For some reason I woke up at about 2 a.m. this morning after having dozed off again on the couch. The quietness got my attention. By quiet I mean that there was no traffic noise, no kid noise, just some night birds out on their rounds. So I went out on the balcony to absorb it. I loved the peacefulness of that quiet.

Looking around while breathing in the fresh nighttime air, I noticed something that I first spotted about a month ago. The City of Vista, California where I live is building a new $55 million City Hall (in California they’re called “Civic Centers”). OK, nothing wrong with that because the City has been using an old decrepit elementary school for a City Hall for about 25-30 years.

3:00 a.m. The lights are on at City Hall construction site--nobody's home

So what’s bugging me? Well, the new City Hall is about 300 yards in a straight line from my balcony. It’s 3 stories high so I can see it from where I live. Why do the construction people have to leave the lights on in the entire structure 24/7? Can’t someone turn the lights off at night except for necessary security lights? How much is that costing the taxpayers?

Part 2: Dark Tunnel, No Light
One stinking, lousy streetlight. That’s all I wanted and all I asked for. What I got was a painted line. A painted line is better than nothing. But it doesn’t diminish the darkness.

What the hell am I talking about? Just a little difference of opinion I had with the City of Vista, California where I live. You see there’s this intersection a couple of blocks from where I live. The intersection of South Citrus Ave. and Eucalyptus. It’s 2 blocks from the downtown. There are no streetlights. And at night it’s dark. Real dark. Spooky dark.

I’m consider myself to be a really good driver and this intersection (especially turning right from Eucalyptus to Citrus) is scary. As soon as you start to turn right, the street starts to descend to where you can’t see the right shoulder. You have to know it’s there and how far you can or can’t get over.

Just 1 stinking, lousy streetlight--Please!

So, I sent an e-mail to the City Street department which got bucked over to the Engineering Department which contacted me to tell me that there wasn’t any money in the budget for a streetlight there but that I was welcome to contact the power company and pay for it myself. Say what? My response that I was referring to public property was met by an offer to paint a white line along the shoulder at the turn to mark it better. OK, better than nothing.

Well, I hadn’t driven through there in a good 6 months until recently. And I had forgotten just how dark it is. It’s dangerous dark to the point where I’m uncomfortable driving it. It’s also dangerous for any pedestrians who might be out at night. And, there’s been at least one mugging there too.

Is it too much to ask for one stinking, lousy street light at this intersection and for the damn city to turn off the lights at the City Hall construction site at night?

Part 3: To My Congressman
Darrell Issa is the Congressman for my district. He lists his address as the city where I live, Vista, California. Rep. Issa was vehemently opposed to the new HealthCare legislation recently passed by Congress.

Now, if and when Rep. Issa is “home” in Vista, I’m sure that he lives in a pretty good neighborhood. (Let’s put it this way, if you’ve ever bought a security alarm for a car, there’s pretty good odds that it’s a “Viper” made by Issa’s company). This guy is, according to Wikipedia, the wealthiest Congressman.

So, I’m guessing that Rep. Issa has rarely, if ever, been into my neighborhood of Vista (it’s an area that my wife described as “semi-barrio” when we first started dating). He’s got his. And his constituents tend to be the affluent Republicans who tend to flock together in this area.

Unfortunately, there’s a lot of them and all he has to do is keep them happy. The type of people who live in my neighborhood tend to be less likely to vote and less likely to complain. They’re too busy trying to make ends meet.

But, I’ve always had this thought that a Congressman or Legislator or City Council member needs to represent all of his or her constituents (pretty damn naïve for someone with a Master’s degree in Political Science, isn’t it).

So here’s my point—it’s an invitation. Congressman, come on over to my apartment. It’s just a half-block off Vista Way and you won’t have to go too far into the Hispanic Townsite neighborhood that the paper invariably refers to as “hardscrabble”.

Let’s hang out on the balcony for about an hour and just observe. I’ll even throw some burgers or sausage on the grill. But, let’s observe the people of this neighborhood. They’re your constituents too. Who are they? What are they?

They’re overwhelmingly brown. They’ve got families. They walk more places than you do because they don’t have much money. Many don’t have cars. The hold their children’s hands as they walk. The little girls look like gorgeous dolls and the boys like mischievous rascals. You can sense and feel the love they’re given. Love has nothing to do with economics. Except that if you don’t have much to give, you can still give love—it’s inexhaustible.

The teens are typical and normal. Even though they might not have much, they’ve got i-Pods and cell phones. Someone sacrificed to get them too. It’s not like a lot of other neighborhoods were there is no economic sacrifice and people have plenty.

So this is our neighborhood. Notice the young Moms with toddlers who are pregnant again. I wonder what kind of health insurance they’ve got? I wonder what kind of pre-natal care they’re getting.

Come on over, Rep. Issa. We won’t make a big press deal out of it or anything—that’s not the point. Just observe (no entourage or security). And maybe you can wander out and talk to a few. Find out what’s on their minds. Don’t worry, most speak English. It’s cool to listen to the kids going to school or coming home seamlessly switching back and forth from English to Spanish all the while sounding like what they are—kids.

And after you hang out for a bit, head on back to Shadowridge Country Club. Maybe some of the guys there who are trimming the bushes live in my neighborhood. And maybe, you’ll be able to understand just a little bit better.

Come on over, Rep. Issa. Just for an hour.