Last night, I attended a Lander City Council meeting; I've never been to a City Council meeting in any town, and always assumed it was a terrifyingly bland affair, with an incessant droning sound (either from speaking or snoring, maybe both) the prevalent background to various wall charts, faded flags, and pervasive wood paneling.
Well, there is wood paneling. And metal-sculpture Canadian geese in perpetual flight across the Wall behind a High Table-Podium with matching chairs, mics, and small, white, generic computers. Why do they all have to have uniformity? Is it some subtle rhetoric, saying, "We're really One Person"?
I tiptoe in just as the meeting is getting going, and sit next to an older, pretty lady, who has bright eyes twinkling behind window-pane glasses, and a cheery scarf around her neck. I know her, and she is a woman who enjoys tremendous respect from the town--partly because she can point out, to me, various Council members as former students of hers. "I taught him--and him--and her--English." I smile, and reply, "Well, when they see you, I bet they watch their P's and Q's. " She laughs lightly, but as one who knows how things work in Lander. The English Teacher and I remark in unison, "Those Canadian geese have red bows on their necks." The English Teacher surmises that they were Christmas decorations.
The Mayor, Mr. Del McOmie, enters, and taps the mic. "Hello, everyone.Welcome. Let's say The Pledge." We all say it, and as I did in school all those years ago, I hold back an "Amen" at the end. I always feel like we should say that, for some reason, but I'm sure The English Teacher wouldn't approve. I return to Earth, namely the wood-panel meeting, and I notice that along with the five City Council members and the Mayor up at the High Table, there are, all along the north side of the room, lower, but with their own matching mics, the people who Make It Happen: City Clerk, City Attorney, Police Chief, Planning Commissioner, Fire Administrator, and one more important position I can't seem to remember. What I do notice is that these people all look like their jobs, in a particularly Wyoming way: the City Clerk looks like a mom who takes care of it all, her hair carefully curled; the City Attorney is tall and has sharp corners everywhere; the Police Chief is also tall, has piercing blue eyes, token black hair in the background of his head, and a scarf-bolo tie clipped in a tiny, sharp metal thing at the top. He fascinates me, because he smiles and is pleasant, but those sharp blue eyes tell you he'd be perfectly capable of shooting you or hauling you off if necessary. The Planning Commissioner has a symmetrical and intelligent face, and he leans forward and looks carefully at everyone; the Fire Administrator is a bulk-bulldog of a man who looks like he could take on, single-handed, the Platonic Form of Fire.
They all have this wonderful Wyoming combination of tough survival tactic married to joviality and kindness, as do the Council Members. The Council Members have names like Dan Hahn and Cade Maestas; Mr. Hahn wears a bolo tie and I keep seeing a ghost cowboy hat on his head.
As the meeting progresses, I notice that the Mayor has done things like walk a neighborhood before an ordinance change decision, looking at survey lines and talking to the people involved; he knows minute facts, and speaks forcefully a couple of times about remarks that infringe on private property rights or "the government tellin' people what to do." The business of the evening consists of mundane things from the viewpoint of the paper they are catalogued on for those in attendance, but when they are discussed by the Council, the Make It Happen panel, and the citizens who speak, I realize that these are little universes of importance to the people involved, and the City, a city this size, cares. There are little dramas played out, with ramifications for people's long-term homes, friendships, and the Common Good.
Just as I am enjoying the serious nature of the dramas, the Cat in the Hat walks in the door with a little older lady as a side-kick. He has on a weird plasticine mask that looks like it has just been taken out of storage in a boot in the back of someone's truck. I seriously wonder if this is a mass killer who will just let it loose once he gets his paw in the door, but then I remember the sharp-blue-eyed Police Chief and sit back happily to see what it is all about. The Cat and his lady come in and announce that they are presenting the Fire Administrator with a donation for his help with a reading literacy program.
I feel like two universes have collided until the lady asks the Council if she can share a personal story. "Sure," says the intrepid Mayor.
"Well, one of the highlights of my young--aha--life has been to be in the Cat's entourage; the Fire Department brought us to the elementary school in a fire truck, with the sirens going and the lights flashing! It was thrilling, and the children were thrilled, too."
"Wonderful," says the Mayor, "and thank you for your story. Wonderful. Can we know who is inside that Cat in the Hat costume?"
"Ooooh, nooo," says the Cat's lady.
General laughter all round.
Next, two men sidle up to the mic; they are wearing matching outfits: Jeans, red dress shirts, and vests. Oh, the vests. Black leather vests with skull bones and unintelligble numbers embroidered on the back, and near-on 100 various pins clicking and clanking on the front; I notice that one pin has a large red train track section dangling from it. The older man, with shoulder-length, taffy-smooth, white hair, strokes his mustache and gets ready to introduce himself. The younger man stands with his profile to us the entire time, staring at his older twin, who looks, I decide, like Mark Twain would look if he lived in Lander and cared less about things like traveling the world or the South. Analogous Mark Twain says, "We jus' wanna introduce ourselves," and he adds quickly, "we aren't bikers, so don't be worried about that! We are the Mining and Historical Society [I am not sure what he said] and we are interested in startin' a chapter here in Lander. We are going to put a plaque on the Forge buildin' and we invite ya'll down to see what we're all about."
The Mayor suddenly looks up with interest: "Ah, yeah, you know the upstairs of that building used to be the bowling alley."
A collective "Ah?" sounds lightly around the room. The Mayor continues, "Yep." With a subtle, sly look, he says, "And I could tell you some interestin' stories about that building..."
General laughter, because everyone knows that there is always something weird about that building. It is the nefarious Jar-Jar Binx of buildings in Lander. Analogous Mark Twain and his side kick bob a bow and politely sidle back to their seats.
Finally, there is a discussion about requiring sprinkler systems in all new construction. A citizen gets up at the mic, his work-a-day hands rough, his dungarees well-used. "Don't hold it against me 'cause I'm from California originally."
"We all know who you are," quips the Mayor, in the midst of jovial, good-natured, derisive laughter.
"Thanks," says the Work-A-Day man. "I just wanna say that I am against requirin' these things; I mean, if they're up in the roof, they'll freeze here. Creates a lot of problems. And besides," he says, looking sideways at the Fire Administrator, "we don't wanna put you guys outta business."
General laughter.
A request by Mr. Cade Maestas for additional fire and planning reports results in the Mayor saying to the Make It Happen panel, "Well, we just gave you guys some more work." In that moment, I realize that the citizens vote for the Council, and the Council directs the Make It Happen panel; these are the people who do, indeed, in a very real way, work for us, for the Common Good. In a humble, simple, brown way, without gold tassles or fireworks, these people carry out the will of the people; it isn't perfect, but I remember Montesquieu's contention that democracies and republics only work up to a certain size and it makes perfect sense to me, now. In a republic of Lander-size, the Mayor (if he or she is a good one) will walk the streets to see what's going on with an ordinance and stop by like a good neighbor and talk to the neighbors; a Council Member will take all day to visit my rhetoric classes and encourage young people to hone their speaking skills; the Make It Happen people seem like capable, open people of the ranges, silver and stone people with real hearts; they know they are known, and they seem tough enough and humble enough, for the most part, to be known. They do not live in ivory towers, except for the occasional towering Ford F250. They aren't perfect; Lander isn't perfect. I am simply surprised by a certain magic in the realm of Practical Intelligence.
"Well," says the Mayor, "let's give our votes. Remember we'll have two more readings on this. Dan?"
"No."
"Melinda?"
"Yes."
"Mark?"
"Yes."
"Cade?"
"Yes."
"Monte?"
"Yes."
"Dick?"
"Yes."
They all look back at Dan. Melinda laughs, and says, "What're you up to, Dan?"
Dan laughs, and everyone laughs. Dan says, "Well, I knew ya'll were gonna vote 'yes'."
General laughter.
