Berzerk homeless terrorists strike downtown NA

Last evening as I filled the trash can, one of our neighbors across the alleyway hailed me.

"Better lock your doors tonight," she said. "The police chased all the homeless people away from the riverfront, and they're roaming the streets."

Instantly I was possessed with a vision from "Night of the Living Dead," with the homeless taking the place of zombies lurching through downtown, terrorizing fair citizens and releasing David Camm from prison.

Things became a bit more prosaic after the initial rush. How did she know about the police sweep? Had a homeless person approached her with the words, "now that we've been rudely chased from our nests beneath the K & I bridge, we'll be testing neighborhood doors in search of possible entry and the seizure of your couches and armchairs."

If you're homeless and have no place to call your own, where do you put the things you steal?

My revised opinion of my neighbor is best left unrecorded.

Mayor Garner's reforming zeal?

To this morning’s correspondent:

I wasn’t sure whether your thoughts were intended for posting in their entirety, so I erred on the side of caution and did not do so. Your argument is appreciated.

I’ve carefully re-read my postings on the broad topic of the city of New Albany, its Mayor, his appointments and the building inspection process, and have concluded that you must have read the Courier-Journal’s editorial on the recent “unpleasantness” and based your observations on this, not anything I’ve written.

That’s certainly fair, as I wouldn’t have reprinted the CJ editorial if I didn’t see merit in it.

My questions would be:

If reform of the inspections department “mess” were Mayor Garner’s original intent, then why proceed toward this worthy goal of attacking entrenched interests (and “business” as usual) by appointing a 71-year-old builder who by all accounts lacks proper inspection certification and won’t any time soon be confused with Donald Rumsfeld in terms of revolutionary qualifications on the part of the elderly?

Wouldn’t a younger (educated, certified, perhaps with a legal background) make more sense?

With respect to Mr. Hancock’s mode of departure, I believe that he first was transferred from his original position to one that did not exist as the Mayor hastily reshuffled the deck. The new position was to have something to do with keeping alleyways clean, but before any of this could be finalized, Hancock quit to return to private practice.

If the Mayor’s original plan was to freshen the inspections department, why did he move from “cleaning house” there to cleaning alleyways before allowing the whole thing to be chucked?

Doesn’t it appear that the Mayor is making sloppy use of the political capital he gained from the overwhelming victory at the polls last year?

At no point in any of this have I suggested that the “mutineers” in the building inspections department are blameless. Someone such as yourself who has had more recent experience with them is a better judge of this than I can be at present. I’ve no doubt that new approaches would be useful.

It’s just that I’ve seen nothing to indicate that the current Mayor has the ability to accomplish any of this. And, I remain offended that his reaction to criticism in this matter has been to suggest that words don’t mean what they do, and that newspapers have no business questioning moves made by elected officials.

If the Mayor’s intentions are as you suggest, he’s doing a poor job of conveying them.

Whither the "Bune, its ownership, and related topics

It's an old article, but one worth reading:

"The State of The American Newspaper; The Selling of Small Town America," from American Journalism Review:

http://www.ajr.org/Article.asp?id=3245

It would appear that the 'Bune's owner is Community Newspaper Holdings, Inc., which is discussed in the article.

Inquiries have been made. Now, let's see what comes back.

Why trees cry: The Sunday ‘Bune

A sunny, chilly November morning.

The Bune's city editor Amany Ali contributes a front-page report on the prosecutor’s impending decision on whether to bring David Camm back to trial for the murder of his family. Camm’s previous murder conviction recently was thrown out by the Indiana Supreme Court, which took issue with evidence submitted by the former prosecutor.

While justice presumably remains blind, it isn’t cheap, and the only real question here is whether anyone is whispering into the prosecutor’s ear with respect to Floyd County’s ability to withstand another million-dollar trial.

Ali does not ask this question.

Rather, her weekly column contains no thoughts whatsoever about the re-emergence of the controversial Camm case – the one unfolding right here in New Albany, Ali’s own bailiwick as city editor.

Instead, she chooses to offer thoughts on the Scott Peterson trial in far-off California, most of which are confined to the type of observations that anyone watching too much television might conclude in like fashion.

Ali’s justification in condemning Peterson is that his errant behavior following his wife’s death is sufficient proof of his guilt, but does she understand the implications given that the prosecution in the Peterson case never found a murder weapon? The original Camm verdict was reached with the help of forensic evidence, but the conviction was overturned owing to the introduction of circumstantial evidence (i.e., Camm’s extramarital affairs) that differs little from what the Peterson prosecutors offered.

Isn’t this interesting? Has Ali compared and contrasted the two cases?

There is no available published forensic evidence to indicate such a thought process.

Meanwhile, managing editor Chris Morris quite properly decries an outbreak of vandalism at Holy Trinity cemetery, but not until he describes the 36th annual mayor’s prayer breakfast as an outstanding example of the quality that makes New Albany such a great place to live.

It remains that a gourmet coffee shop downtown, one keeping real-world hours, would do far more to improve the quality of life in New Albany than an annual ecumenical photo opportunity … but maybe Chris doesn’t do espresso.

Damned blue state Target stores nix a million-dollar missionary racket

Yes, New Albany, there really is a Scrooge.

Last week we learned that the dastardly folks at Target have served notice to the Salvation Army that bell ringers are no longer allowed on company property.

The announcement prompted a predictable outpouring of indignant schmaltz from commentators unwilling or unable to avoid aiming for the center of such an inviting, uh, target, like the Indy Star’s Ruth Holladay:

“Call it a safe bet -- maybe even a bright-red, bull's-eye, fashionable, smartly priced bet -- that American life has become too corporate or complex when Target banishes the Salvation Army's bell ringers.”

Holladay notes that the holiday season, 2003 – which according to my recollection must have begun just after Labor Day judging from the seemingly incessant bell ringing across the street at the still-good-guy Kroger supermarket – brought the Salvation Army $90 million nationwide, with roughly 10% of the total coming from Target buckets.

Target management apparently has said little other than to suggest that other organizations solicit similar privileges, and consequently, there must be a standard to judge such requests.

While people like the Star’s Holladay gleefully puncture the oversized straw man clothed in Target duds, the rest of us might contemplate the company's very genuine dilemma. What’s to stop other charitable organizations from ringing bells during June, or April, or year round? Who’s to say which of the charities are the most worthy? Exactly how did the Salvation Army score the lucrative doorway postings in the first place?

Holladay dutifully lists the many programs funded by the bell ringers in the Indianapolis area:

“The organization runs a domestic violence shelter, after-school programs at five community centers, drug and alcohol rehab services, and transitional housing.”

At the same time, a visit to the Salvation Army’s web site (http://www1.salvationarmy.org/) reveals the other, generally forgotten reason for being:

“The Salvation Army is a truly international movement, sharing in the mission of Christ for the salvation and transformation of the world. Its members are at worship and at work in over a hundred countries.”

Why must Target or anyone else choose one Christian missionary over the other?

Holladay closes with a verse from the immortal pop song, “Chains Rush In, Where Other Chains Fear to Tread”:

“The Salvation Army here is moving forward. Thursday at lunchtime, it will hold an apple festival on Monument Circle, with Applebee's restaurants and other sponsors. A free-will donation will get you hot apple cobbler, and proceeds will benefit the charity.”

The Holladay article is at:
http://www.indystar.com/articles/2/183954-6622-009.html

Exurbians need not apply

Once again I've been reading about the expanding influence of exurbia, which is defined relatively simply as a residential area outside the city and beyond subrurbia. It emerges that liberals have ignored exurbia for too long, to their electoral detriment, while socio-cultural exurbia's mix of evangelicals, urban refugees, Wal-Mart fan club devotees and reality television aficionados represent the apogee of the GOP red-state political aspiration.

Previously I've noted that in this event, and as a permanent member of America's most downtrodden minority (the thinking, drinking class), I choose to retain my contempt for exurbia and its anti-rationalist worldview.

It now occurs to me that the rise of exurbia actually is a liberating force for those of us who to continue to embrace urban values. While Philistinism thrives in the churches and strip malls (the same thing, really) of exurbia, diversity and human interaction can flower here in the old part of town.

As the sainted Hoosier bard John Mellencamp once noted, likely in a context far different from mine, you gotta stand for something - or you're gonna fall for anything.

Help! Homebuilder mafioso seizes control of county government

The rolling hills that begin where the city of New Albany ends are called the Knobs.

Native American wisdom has it that a Knob is a place where Louisville bedroom communities sprout like dandelions in an eroded gully.

One morning earlier this year I was biking in the Knobs, navigating Skyline Drive in a profuse yet satisfying lather, when to my left opened a vista of frantic activity, with muddied earthmovers maneuvering through the open, formerly green pasture like tanks in wartime. Elsewhere, sullen Hispanic conscripts dug with shovels, landscaping right next to the road I was traveling.

Glancing over, I spotted a man wearing a pith helmet who looked to be in charge of the proceedings, conjuring images from colonial India. It was all I could do to avoid saluting and offering to make tea. At the last minute I realized that the man was in fact an acquaintance from school days past, graduated now to a position as a moving, shaking pillar of the homebuilding community.

His job title says it all: Developer.

He is a generator of property taxes, employer of contractors, provider of domiciles to those seeking homes … and since home ownership is reckoned to be one of the founding, guiding principles of the Republic, then those who build the nation’s homes apparently are among the very highest priests of capitalism.

It is certain that Ayn Rand, apostle of egoism and the only known author to build a seduction scene around a piece of steel, would approve of the many subdivisions dotting the overwhelmed side roads of Floyd County.

Did I mention that Floyd County is one of Indiana’s smallest?

Hardly a week passes without a news item detailing the latest instance of Floyd County’s land developers and homebuilders challenging zoning restrictions that only now, two decades after the barn door was opened and the paving commenced, are so much as being considered, much less implemented in any meaningful sense.

Thinking back to the last election, I’m struggling to remember if the names I saw on the ballot were those of the home builder/land developer politburo that seems to have decided that it, not local elected officials and civil servants, runs the county.

These non-elected pillars of development generally hold a lawsuit in one hand and a gasoline can in the other, the first for wielding as a club against those foolish enough to disagree, and should that strategy of intimidation fail, the second for dousing themselves and flicking their Bics on the courthouse steps.

Homebuilder self-immolation has cheerful and poetic aspects, but we mustn’t forget that these people are developers, not poets, unless chainsaws can be said to hum in iambic pentameter.

Readers younger than forty might not remember the time not so long ago when there actually were shady oak groves in Floyd County, and not just garish signs on gaudy brick subdivision entrance walls suggesting that the area filled by all the cookie-cutter homes without adequate sewage disposal actually occupies a site where oak trees once stood.

I must concede that in terms of marketing potential, it’s probably a better idea to name a subdivision for the natural feature obliterated to make room for the houses (Oak Grove Manor) than to name it after the developer (Philistine Parasitic Capitalist Acres).

Call me a sentimentalist, a literalist, perhaps even a Communist, but when I see a pasture or woodland, I see grass and trees. My view of this landscape does not automatically morph into geometric considerations of development potential. My tastes run more toward reviving communities that already are here.

Of course, this is a conundrum. Grass and trees originally covered the city block where I live in a century-old house. Someone a long, long time ago took the lead in developing the properties that now make up this city block. Someone made money doing it.

Nevertheless, my conceptual wheels turn not at the thought of converting a pasture into a subdivision, but at the sight of a building in need of remodeling and a plot of land requiring development. I imagine developers hard at work in the urban setting, making fresh opportunities out of venerable, sometimes dying areas rather than chewing up and spitting out the last of Floyd County’s dwindling open spaces.

My school chum in the pith helmet knows the economics of his profession, just as I know the ones of mine. Perhaps this is why he’s not often seen standing at a job site downtown. I understand he makes plenty of money, and I’m sure that he’s quite good at what he does.

This doesn’t mean that I’m under any obligation to respect him for it.

And I don’t. The first round of petrol’s on me, mate.

http://www.orchardsmk.com/home.html

Package store veterans day

My period of employment at the “old” Scoreboard Liquors in downtown New Albany lasted from 1982 to 1988. Scoreboard’s front door opened onto West Spring Street, facing the courthouse, and it was within spitting distance of numerous bankers, lawyers, title abstractors and others feeding at the government trough.

In the back part of the building was the famous Cadillac Lanes bowling alley, so named because in quaint times previous, the liquor store’s retail space in front was an automobile dealership. No one then or now knows why the store was named Scoreboard.

In figurative terms, to be taken “out behind the bowling alley” meant to be blindfolded, stood against the wall and shot. In retrospect, the phrase is tactless, but it certainly was used quite often, especially in conjunction with car salesmen from Coyle Chevrolet a few blocks away. I always wondered whether the Caddy people of old were as relentlessly obnoxious.

In the summer of 1988, I took a week off from my “real” job to help Jim and Ed move the store to a worse but cheaper former Night Owl food store location on the largely inaccessible corner of Spring and Beharell.

In fairness to the owners, business had declined at the old site owing to competition and changing tastes. The lease expired, the building was slated for demolition, and there were few good choices. I continued working evenings off and on until 1992, but it never was the same for me at the “new” store.

More than a decade and a half later, I think back to the downtown stalwarts who were older, and it occurs to me that many of them have died. Here are my memories of a few of them.

Gin Lady.
At first Gin Lady was of indeterminate age, maybe 50, probably closer to 60, but when it finally was determined that she walked to the liquor store from the bar-none, ugliest, Communist Bulgarian-designed senior citizen housing tower in the metro area -- two short blocks away -- she came to be at least in her seventies.

Originally she was known as Mother Gargle, from the “Born Loser” comic strip. As a typical day progressed and she’d visit for the second or even third time, her breath would grow increasingly foul, and her hair would become more and more frizzy. Eventually, by late afternoon, her hair would be standing straight up almost like an Afro.

Gin Lady wasn’t black.

In spite of any presumptions to the contrary, which we’d be reminded of each time she came into the store, the Seagram’s Gin was never for her; rather it was for her gentleman friend Charles, who’d be calling that particular morning, or afternoon, or evening, or all three.

Charles was never seen then or any other time, and neither has Gin Lady since the store changed locations in 1988.

Chemical Man.
Another regular customer was Carl, otherwise known as "Chemical Man” for the spectacular lack of nutrients in his bloodstream and our certainty that the only thing keeping him alive was formaldehyde.

If not raw preservative chemicals, then the processed variety sufficed: Kessler whiskey and Sterling beer … and keep ‘em coming. Early on, when I’d just started working at the store and hadn’t come to understand the subtle nuances of alcoholism, it struck me as senseless that Carl would visit the store three times a day for a half pint of Kessler.

Why not buy a liter first thing in the morning? After all, it was a far better price.

To this comment, Chemical Man sputtered indignantly that my college education had taught me absolutely nothing, because any fool knows that if you start the day with a big bottle, you’ll just go and drink it before lunch – and then what?

Later, in the waning days of the store’s tenure downtown, Chemical Man grew too weak to carry the daily case of Sterling to his house, which was no more than fifty yards from the store’s front door. I’d carry it over and put it on the porch for him.

A year or so later, I read Carl’s obituary in the newspaper. I’d have bet money that he was 70 or older, but he was only 59 at the time of his death in 1989.

Snake.
In later years, after Jim sold the liquor store and the new owner promptly closed it for good, Snake started coming by my pub to pick up the cardboard.

For two decades he kept a series of decrepit pick-ups alive long enough to run a regular route through New Albany, collecting cardboard and taking the stack to Riverside Recycling for a few bucks, which went into the jar and paid for season tickets to the Louisville Redbirds games at the Fairgrounds.

Beginning in the late 1980’s, I prepared Snake’s taxes every year - not that I know much about the tax code, but he and his wife (who worked at the New Albany Box and Basket factory until it closed in 1998) didn’t make much money, so it wasn’t really hard when the numbers weren’t that big. He always wanted to pay me, and I never let him, because I considered myself fortunate for having made his acquaintance.

Admittedly, there always was a thinly veiled bitterness to the testimony offered by Snake, although he generally kept it down beneath a cheery façade. His nickname came from a tattoo on his right arm, the one that ended just below the elbow, that part removed by a small town Eastern Kentucky doctor after a hunting accident in early youth, when Snake was just plain Curtis.

Snake’s life was never really easy, but it could have been worse. In a time preceding consideration for the disabled, he worked hard as a bartender, and drank just as hard until swearing off the bottle in the early 1960’s. He didn’t drink again for the rest of his life.

For a number of years he bartended for a fellow named Smitty, until Smitty died. Snake’s tenure at another hole in the wall tavern down the street ended after a dispute with the late owner’s woebegone son. He turned to cardboard full time, and occasionally filled a shift at the liquor store when it was downtown.

Years later, in 2001, Snake’s last truck died for the last time, and since those unmentionables at Riverside weren’t paying squat, anyway, it was time to get out of cardboard. He’d already gotten out of baseball, having decided that ballgames were too expensive and the team’s management too arrogant.

In February of 2003, Snake stopped by to pick up his wife’s taxes. She’d found another job and simply didn’t want to quit working. It was the last time I saw him, for he died later that year on the day before my birthday.

The timing of Snake’s death meant that he was unable to make good on a final, cherished wish, something he’d been talking about for years. In no uncertain terms, Snake hated New Albany’s newspaper, the Tribune, but grudgingly continued subscribing to it because his wife insisted.

“When she dies, you know what I’m going to do first thing? Nah, I’m not calling the doctor, and I’m not calling the hospital, and I’m not calling the relatives. I’m gonna call the Tribune and cancel that god-damned newspaper for good!”

Duck.
Like Snake, Duck had a bum arm, shriveled at birth and only barely functional, and also like Snake, he bartended and did odd jobs. Eventually he landed as the manager of Scoreboard Liquors, working for the people who owned it before Jim and Ed, neither of whom had any idea how to run their purchase, so Duck stayed on. When moving time approached in 1988, Duck announced that he was retiring to Florida. I’ve not seen him since.

Those seeking a dictionary definition of “crusty curmudgeon with a heart of gold” would find Duck’s (birth name, Lloyd’s) photograph. He could be masterfully dry with the drunks, who of course never knew he was toying with them, and just as quickly be spotted committing an act of kindness that he definitely did not want to be reported to the outside world.

An evening at home with six to twelve Schaefer beers might result in Duck becoming “blow’d completely out of my mind.” Requests for the time of day might be greeted by “am I a clock?” or a disgusted glance at a far-off horizon, silence, and a left-hand index finger pointing at the clock on the wall.

One time the front door opened and a well-dressed stranger entered. He looked at Duck and asked: “Is it okay if I go in the back room and change my pants?” Duck responded with vigorous one-armed threats and loud obscenities, and the man retreated headlong onto the sidewalk.

I would have suggested he go out behind the bowling alley.

Behind the mask. 

Hearts and minds are for the weak

(response to message)

It's too early to tell which direction this will go, but I'm hoping that there can be some form of interactive spin-off covering all elements of the NA experience.

Gotta start somewhere ... and here, that means waaaaay out of the loop.

Porn merchants need economic development, too

A dozing U.S. District Court in Indianapolis hosted yesterday’s “dueling mouthpiece” New Albanian porno/zoning extravaganza. The topic was New Albany DVD, the seemingly ill-fated adult bookstore that hasn’t been able to open its doors owing to the city’s nimble legal footwork in delaying the store’s required site inspection until after a prohibitory ordinance was passed.

The judge may yet rule against the city, but although it is difficult to work up much in the way of feeling for the business and its owners, the local media has failed to ask important questions.

First, conceding that crime statistics are indeed admissible with respect to zoning decision-making and the ordinances that spring from such thinking, is it at all relevant that there’s a church right across the street? As a strict church-state separationist, I must answer the question with a tittering “no.” As my friend Boris (a resident of the Netherlands) has pointed out, where he lives you’ll always find the red light district right next to the city’s oldest church. That way, they can keep close tabs on one another. Sounds reasonable to me. If this were true in N.A., I’m guessing the store would have to be located more centrally on Main Street, opposite the Civil War-era Baptist church.

Second, given that the residents of New Albany’s west end are statistically not as well off as those in other areas (for instance, areas like Silver Hills that tower above and behind them – coincidentally, the home of Mayor Garner), shouldn’t the city’s attempt to squelch New Albany DVD be viewed as discriminatory on economic grounds? After all, wealthier New Albanians can get all the porn they need from the Internet, while those in lower income levels need a bricks-and-mortar venue. Furthermore, this is income lost to places like the venerable Theater-X superstore in Clarksville

Third, if our current city government were really serious about supporting local businesses, existing video stores that carry adult selections would have had access to capital to improve their selections of adult DVDs, especially for upgrading from the archaic VHS modes. In such a manner, there would be no demand for New Albany DVD’s product, and by extension, no need for an ordinance that still might be found to possess serious First Amendment deficiencies, the city attorney’s claim to the contrary.

You know what they say: Rent a smutty DVD, and the terrorists win.

The Applebee's of our civic eye

Just before the election, a front page news story in the Tribune brought New Albanians the joyous news that after decades without a true Neighborhood Bar & Grill, the city finally had been selected to host an Applebee's. It will be constructed adjacent to the Grant Line Road location of Wal-Mart, another cultural landmark in the history of the area.

As a prelude to the following, it will help casual readers to know that Mayor Garner’s administrative wunderkind is Tony Toran, an efficient and caring fellow who seems like a good all-around guy, albeit a functionary forced to quickly learn as much as possible about damage control if he is to succeed in the gaffe-ridden Garner administration.

At the October meeting of the East Spring Street Neighborhood Association, Toran recited a list of the administration’s achievements, and included among them the arrival of the Applebee’s.

Ever sensitive to the fawning largesse that seems to be forthcoming when anyone outside of town “creates jobs,” i.e., council members and public officials rush to offer first-borns and wads of unmarked bills to predatory companies in a ritual similar to the peddling of indulgences in medieval Europe, I sent this note to Toran:

"We much enjoyed your comments to the neighborhood association last evening. Your sincerity is refreshing and engaging. While it is impossible for me to completely disengage myself from being identified as a local business owner, permit me to stress that I speak as a proud citizen of the city who genuinely believes -- like you -- that good things are on the horizon.

"Last night, I noticed that when speaking of the current administration's record, you included the imminent arrival of an Applebee's, as though to imply that this owes to governmental action in some manner. While the advent of a chain restaurant on our already impossibly overcrowded
stretch of Grant Line Road may well prompt dancing in the streets a full decade after such a phenomenon ceased to be of significance anywhere else in America, it also suggests several questions.

"Was this something that the mayor's office actively courted in the fashion of the auto parts firm from Missouri? If so, was the Applebee's franchise operator (is it Whit-Mart?) provided with inducements to build an outlet in New Albany? If so, will similar inducements be offered to locally owned and operated businesses to expand, especially when retail spaces for downtown New Albany are available?

"In my last note, I included a link to an article on chain restaurants and monoculture. Here it is again for the benefit of the cc'ed recipients of this note:
http://www.lewbryson.com/other_chains.htm

"(With respect to the forthcoming Scriber Place redevelopment project), understanding that a plan for this projected downtown retail flowering has yet to be offered, will it include a position on the part of city government with respect to the type of development downtown? Will major
corporations based far outside New Albany be awarded inducements to operate, or will city
government assist locally owned and operated businesses that reflect the true history and character of our community?"

In due time I received a pleasant response, in which Toran first indicated that he didn't understand my questions, then answered the first one anyway: The city did not "court" Applebee's, but approval would go through the mayoral apparatus as it always does. The remainder he offered to discuss by phone.

When and if I get around to the phone call, I'll discuss the results here.

Today we learn about exurbia & the Marx Brothers

Today David Brooks of the New York Times writes about exurbia, the anthropological concept embraced by George W. Bush and his puppet master, Karl Rove.

Exurbia is the result of urban decentralization, a phenomenon whereby populations shift past existing suburbs into new exurbs, the faceless sprawl of subdivisions named for the physical features obliterated by their builders, tracts of strip malls, evangelical churches big enough to host the Super Bowl, pitilessly standardized chain restaurants and look-alike office parks.

According to Brooks, if there is any underlying philosophical basis for exurbia, it is a conscious rejection of all things urban. He describes them as “conservative but utopian,” and places where an entirely different conversation is taking place, one ignored by mainstream politicians but seized upon by Rove and like-minded strategists.

Contemplating this, I stumbled upon an article that referenced sociological research on the topic of brand loyalty. To simplify, the theory is that in a time of the post-neighborhood, where people live places but not in communities, brand loyalty takes the place of the neighborhood and the community. In other words, your neighbors are those folks anywhere in the country who follow NASCAR, are devoted to Craftsman Shop-Vacs or subscribe to Jerry Falwell.

Brand-loyal exurbians – can they be something other than Philistines? If so, I’m interested. If not, they’re simply a canvas that doesn’t interest me, and since I’m not a Democrat and care not one jot for the travail of one major political party in a two-party system to which I object in very fundamental terms, I’m under no obligation to make peace with the exurbian evangelical etceteras that are so resentful of being looked down upon by people like me.

Brooks is here: http://www.nytimes.com/2004/11/09/opinion/09brooks.html?th

Here it is - in my other pocket

Locals with achingly long long memories will recall that Mayor James Garner began his term of office in January, 2004 by advocating a reorganized sewer board with himself as chairman, and a commensurately huge increase in the chairman’s rate of pay.

Amid much tumult, the board was indeed reorganized, but without the pay hike sought so grubbily and superficially by the Mayor, who insisted at the time that the “people of New Albany want to see their mayor paid for the job he does."

We must always remember that the first official act of New Albany’s “different kind of” mayor was to advocate an increase in his own remuneration.

In October, the city’s sanitation department was discovered to be more than $600,000 in the red. Louisville Courier-Journal reporter Ben Hershberg apparently had learned that the deficit was being covered by the sewer department, and asked Garner to comment. Until this question was asked, Garner did not know where the money was coming from, and only then, scurrying off to look into it, was he able to verify what the reporter already had determined.

Two reminders for the future study guide.

First, Mayor Garner is president of the sewer board.

Second, would any of this be known had not a reporter asked a question?

Soaring Sunday 'Bune

Why does it take until the Sunday edition following the election for the Tribune to feature an in-house editorial that is thoughtful, coherent and actually makes a point about something other than sports?

The staffer chosen for this auspicious task is Dave Davis, who it might be noted is the newspaper’s Internet columnist and normally has almost nothing to say about politics. Davis’s thoughts are appreciated, but ultimately they’re less important than the fact that he is the one chosen to air them, while the Tribune’s various editors are once again silent.

Chris Morris presumably remains preoccupied with his daughter’s volleyball tournament in Indianapolis, itself inexplicably the subject of a rare Morris-written lead editorial this week … that’d be the week of the most important election in a generation, etc., etc.

Today, as Davis discusses the aftermath of this vital election, Amany Ali contributes yet another stream of consciousness column, this time concerning the softening of her far too hard character after the death of a friend’s dog. Her column asks, “Is there hope for me?” I respond with another question: “As a person, or as a journalist?”

This follows previous pieces that scolded downtown movershakers for spreading rumors about her love life, expressed dismay over seeing the high price of gas posted high above stop ‘n’ robs, and offered common sense precautions for colds and flu.

One of my favorites was a column lamenting the lack of redevelopment activity in downtown. Who better than a newspaper reporter to ask the questions that might lead to the answer? For instance, Ali might devote time to researching why building owners find it in their interest to let their buildings rot rather than invest in them. But this would imply doing a newspaper reporter’s work, which it would seem is institutionally prohibited at the Tribune unless the topic is sports or a local fluff issue so innocuous that the newspaper’s few remaining subscribers won’t notice.

Mike Sodrel, lend me your ear

Hey, Mike Sodrel … is that you?

Not sure if you remember me from the Harvest Homecoming Parade, but I was the one sitting on the porch, drinking the Zum Uerige Altbier, and holding the sign showing the “W” with the slash through it.

I’m sure you said to yourself, hmm, wonder what that guy’s doing holding the “no M” sign – admit it, Mike, you just didn’t catch my drift, even though you smiled and waved at me.

Anyway, here’s what the Louisville Courier-Journal had to say about the aftermath of your victory over Baron Hill in the 9th District congressional race:

“At a victory rally in Jeffersonville, a crowd of several hundred supporters chanted (Mike) Sodrel's name and listened as ‘God Bless America’ was sung. Sodrel made a short speech to thank supporters, and also emphasized his Christian values and patriotism. He said he plans ‘to fully represent’ residents of all political stripes in the district.”

Okay, Mike, I’ll take you up on that one.

I’m 44, white, a Social Democrat leaning fairly far left by the pathetic two-party standards of the USA, and I read the New York Times. I watch public television and the NBA, not Fox News and NASCAR; drink espresso and microbrewed beer, not Folger’s and Miller Lite; and support pre-emptive measures to end tax-exempt status for all churches rather than tolerate faith-based initiatives of any sort or risk that the churches might become involved in politics.

While we’re on the topic of religion, I’m a secular humanist and an atheist. While numerous others are advising the Democratic Party to detach itself from its brazen contempt for the values of the countryside, I’m advising the countryside to look at itself and ask, “why do our children decamp for the city the first chance they get?”

I rather like France and always have. There's just something about an overweight American sitting in a garish Hummer in the Wal-Mart parking lot, drinking a 64-ounce Pepsi, chortling at the antics of Donald Trump, and pausing only to laugh at the anti-French jokes on the local Clear Channel outlet that makes me wonder exactly why we would allow such an outrage … to reproduce.

So, Mike, tell me how you’re planning on representing me in Congress without alienating the cadres of fundamentalist bigotry, or more importantly, those people from far, far away who sent you all that money to contest the race here in lonely Southern Indiana. Don’t those folks want a return on their investment, and isn’t that return going to be a bit different conceptually than the place I’m standing?

Self-made businessmen do repay debts, don’t they?

Let me know.

Thanks but no thanks

Mayor Garner limited himself to one public pronouncement with respect to the election, writing a stiffly formal, stylistically challenged letter to the Tribune endorsing fellow Democrat Mike Mills for the Board of Commissioners.

Very few Democrats lost in Floyd County in spite of the Republican tidal wave, but wouldn't you know it - Mills was one of them.

Wonder what Garner had against him?

Home cooking, New Albany style

Diana worked the polls at Pine View elementary school on Corydon Pike, which is an excellent WPA building dating back to the thirties.

She reports that one helper there informed her that Mayor Garner’s own precinct was the only one in New Albany to vote against him in 2003, when he was elected in a landslide over Regina Overton. Overton had done a fairly good job, but (it is said) annoyed many residents with her overbearing attitude. Translation: She was an uppity woman, and people here don’t like that.

You can be an uppity man like another ex-Mayor, Doug England, and get away with it; just recently, ex-mayor Doug got in trouble because he chased down a motorist, flashed a dime-store police badge and made threats that he later (when caught) felt awful about. However, if you’re female, they’ll run you out of town, like they did Overton.

She actually moved to Clark County following the loss.

Meanwhile, the poll worker explained Garner’s lack of success in his own neighborhood: “What would you expect? They know him there.”

Don't worry, the 'Bune won't out you

A day otherwise known as Election Day, but for our purposes here one for ruminating on the City Council meeting on Monday night.

Area newspapers had billed the meeting as important because city attorney Shane Gibson would be introducing his plan for combating adult video stores, but instead almost three hours were spent in a captivating, such-exquisite-human-drama debate over a proposal to rezone a small portion of Green Valley Road so as to allow a pediatrician to build offices there.

Given that this portion of Green Valley Road (between State and Daisy Lane, in the vicinity of the hospital) had been abandoned to commercialism by several generations of zoning and council occupants, it seemed a simple proposition. Alas, no. It turns out that the residents of the four-decade-old subdivision (Ellen Court) lying behind the proposed office were mad as hell and not taking it any more, which would have insured them of five minutes and some bad coffee had not so many current and former movers and shakers chosen years ago to live there. An ex-Mayor (Nash) and the current Council President (Schmidt) are among them.

An epic struggle between dueling lawyers (Naville, Vissing) soon broke out, with the attending crowd fairly evenly balanced between pros and cons, and as the clock ticked away, the faces of the Council members became longer and longer. Most looked as though they had been sentenced to death and were being offered a final cigarette before the main event. The final vote was 6-2 for the development, with the President forced to recuse himself and two Council members (Gahan and Price) opting for greasy semantics to wiggle out of approval.

By the time this zoning debate was concluded, almost no one remained for the obligatory roll calls, including one for Gibson’s porno ordinance, which was not read for the public or discussed in any manner (it will return at a later meeting).

I saw Shane in the corridor afterwards. He was being interviewed by the New Albany Tribune’s city editor, Amany Ali. I asked him which hidden assaults on the First Amendment were to be included in the ordinance, and he laughed it off (so did I), but later I reflected that it was the sort of question that Ali never would be caught dead asking.

She had spent the bulk of the council meeting glad-handing politicians and attendees, and it’s almost unthinkable that she would be a probing reporter in such a tightly knit sub-strata of New Albanian movershaker life.

Letter to the Tribune: Where's the beef in Garner's proposals for Scribner Place?

I wrote the following letter to the Tribune (published around October 19).

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THREE STRIKES?

The Tribune’s Oct. 5 editorial in support of the Scribner Place project ends with this thought: “Once Phase I is complete, more businesses will be attracted to downtown New Albany. Scribner Place will help put the downtown back on the entertainment map, and is a win/win project for New Albany residents.”

Optimism like this is uplifting, but certain realities are being omitted. While I remain optimistic about the future of downtown New Albany and supportive of the Scribner Place project, it certainly cannot have escaped the Tribune that there is no discernable plan to achieve the anticipated wave of post-Scribner Place development.

At his October 4 press conference announcing the advent of Phase I, Mayor James Garner was asked three pertinent questions, each coming not from the Tribune, but from a Louisville media representative.

When asked about the prospects for the completion of Phase II, which reportedly includes a hotel, retail space and condominiums, Garner vaguely referred to three unnamed private developers with whom negotiations are under way.

When asked to clarify his oft-repeated comments that Scribner Place would bring people to live downtown, Garner could do no more than mumble and point to the perennially unoccupied second and third floors of nearby buildings as if to suggest that their owners would miraculously see the light after decades of willful negligence.

When asked what plan was in place to achieve the ripple effects of growth that are a chief assumption of the Scribner Place project, Garner again was mute, offering pleasant platitudes along the lines of “wishing will make it so.”

Unfortunately, that’s pretty much all of it. Scribner Place is a first step, nothing more, and without a plan for the second, third and even fourth steps, the Tribune’s abundant cheerfulness stands not to berewarded by concrete achievements.