It became fashionable two or three years ago for a community chorus to rise in shrill protest whenever the City Council rendered a decision two or fewer persons in Culver City disagreed with.
According to this noisy claque, the five members of the City Council did not possess the swiftest minds in town.
They needed constant coaching from the neighborhoods, especially those neighborhoods where people reportedly lived but, by golly, were too busy to attend even occasional Council meetings on Monday nights.
This attitude certainly applied to redevelopment issues, an easy enough sell.
But this ubiquitous claque also declared in stentorian tones that the neighborhoods not only deserved but must have a voice in hiring for City Hall executive slots above janitor.
How could you expect the five successful professionals on the City Council to reach accord without the aid of — what do they call them? oh, yes — working families?
Hopefully, no non-working families — isn’t that a dandy American concept? so Al Gore-ish — have been allowed to sneak into Council Chambers and blab their opinions.
Here They Come, Aren’t They?
And so history came down to last Monday night in Council Chambers when the community was invited to the cozy indoors to share uniquely wise views of just what kind of person should be hired in the next few days as the new City Manager of Culver City.
The trumpets blew. And blew again until the blowers’ cheeks bleached into deep scarlet. The claque of the excessively loquacious flashed a distress call across the hills and dales of Culver City. They summoned their loyal minions to search their memories and deliver expert testimony on their vast experiences in hiring CEOs.
The City Hall maintenance team was on standby, rushing through lunch if necessary, to be prepared for the hungry hordes bound to storm the gates of the showplace.
When the crew flung open the doors, though, they had to consult a magnifying glass in each hand. Horrors. Nary a citizen between here and the horizon. Not even an articulate one surfaced.
I may be mistaken, but I believe the Council members looked so crushed the rest of the evening because they felt as if they were dangling over the side of a tall building, abandoned by their brilliant community advisors. Darn.
After each gentleman classily daubed at his damp eyes and gallantly vowed to somehow carry on, the Council will reconvene on Saturday.
The City Manager finalists will be grilled separately by an executive management team and by five community leaders. They will pass their recommendations onto the virtually orphanated City Council, whose members then will take one more swing at the nimble minds of the finalists.
By the dinner hour, we may have a new City Manager. Or we may not. Meanwhile, our friends in the claque have hung out a Help Wanted shingle.
