Passion Brings a Responsibility
As a finely bred gentleman who instinctively defers to ladies, let us begin our critique with Ms. Gross. She loves the trappings of municipal power. This does not stamp her unique. The only elected idiots who dont share that feeling last were seen strapped down to their beds. She is good at playing Councilperson, so good that she may be the most effective member of all. She really enjoys the trappings. This, too, is neither wrong nor uncommon. However, passion for ones daily pursuit comes equipped with personal perils that must be heeded. Not infrequently, maximal passion serves as a slippery on-ramp to arrogance. In the midst of a soliloquy about the genius of the developer, about how ecstatic she was over the redevelopment of the west side of South Sepulveda Boulevard, Ms. Gross mentioned a meeting from two years ago. The spectre of the very obscure meeting had been raised earlier when City Hall claimed that residents met with the developer and came away excited about his vision. I conjured up a picture of ol Uncle Remus when she described how those nice little Culver City people fawningly gathered in a loving circle round the far more important, presumably celebrated developer. Humbly, he crossed his legs and said, invitingly, Talk to me. I reached for my milk, my cookies and my shabby chic slippers.
Thank Heaven for Her Memory
No one else in Chambers seemed to recall the meeting. Opponents of the project, possibly suspecting the introduction of a fictional chapter, wanted to know more. Who were the people on the other side? Ms. Gross, who leads City Hall every year in meetings attended, by a factor of about 100, sure enough had been at the Sunkist Park meeting. As she navigated through a narration of the evening, several persons in the audience, called out. Ouch. City Hall etiquette took a shot to the chops. Heaven forfend. Their curiosity was standing up straight, and they wanted to know how many people were actually at the meeting. Duck, boys. Ms. Gross narrowed her eyes. Her stern visage began to resemble that of a tobogganer staring into a blinding blizzard at the crest of a virgin-colored slope. I do not answer rude questions, Ms. Gross responded with all the sharpness musterable. Audience participation is over. Its our turn now. The people who rang out their questions were wearing shoes, neatly fastened clothes that could be characterized as decent, and they were sitting close to others who testified they had bathed in recent times. No reason, other than sheer arrogance, existed for branding their simple, innocently intended, questions as rude. There was no call to embarrass them.
They Did Have an Excuse
Unlike Ms. Gross and me, they dont attend City Council meetings every Monday. They did not know the protocol. Would it have hurt to simply respond? When it comes to class, how far apart are you? You live in Culver City and the anxious residents live in Culver City. This is not a matter of the a royal ruler addressing her lowly subjects. For one moment, tinhorn policy would have been breached. If you are not ever going to run for office again, I suppose you can afford to reply the way Ms. Gross did. Possibly, Ms. Gross merely slipped. This unfortunate interlude seems to me to have been intended, though, for one purpose: To demonstrate that there is considerable difference between thee and me. As you may know by Ms. Grosss 6th year in office, she is a non-denominational critic. Nobody is safe. She scolded the partner of the president of the development company. I did not call you up here for a speech, she snapped. He walked away.
Hal-l-l-looooo Down There
Mr. Malsin, my friends have noticed, is younger, smarter and handsomer than I. But enough of my alleged deficiencies. With Redevelopment Agency Chair Steve Rose sidelined because he is a property owner inside the project area, Mr. Malsin, five months on the City Council, was placed in charge of the meeting. For 1 hour and 45 occasionally incandid minutes, the four surviving Agency members engaged in a delicate balancing act. With one hand they attempted to cap their unbridled enthusiasm for the project. It would have been unseemly to spray joy all over the auditorium, as if you held a cheap seltzer bottle under each arm, given the degree of audience hostility to the plan. With the second hand, they endeavored to be cool, hip, by-the-book professionals, painstakingly objective. Objective? Oh, yes. I kept hearing somebody from the dais holler out, Yeah, team, every time the name of Champion Realty was uttered. I have no doubt Ms. Gross is more familiar with the plan than Bob Champion. Looking at the two executives from Champion in the first row, she delivered an unsolicited commercial for Champion Realty. I tried to change the channel. Then I remembered I was in the front row, too. At numerous junctures, various important people explained that only the most brilliant among us could begin to comprehend the needle-nosed nuances and magnificently mellifluent myriad of marketing and legal details that only hang out in the labyrinths of the finest minds. Plainly, this excluded journalists.
Hall-l-l-l-l-ooo Down There Again
To say it succinctly, what Mr. Champion envisions is far too complex for dirty-faced commoners, mentally, to catch up with. Purely for safety purposes, four newspaper wretches are scattered about the auditorium each Monday night. The Handsomest Reporter and the Prettiest Reporter sit within a couple feet of each other, probably because no one would suspect journalists are so striking. Enter, from stage left, Mr. Malsin. The evening is nearing a bumpy conclusion. About 2 inches of me is left on my seat. Guiltily, I feel as if I am suspected of sneaking out prematurely. Mr. Malsin appears to be espying me. Dutifully, I slide backward. I would like to ask the people from the newspapers here, please get the story right, Mr. Malsin warned us. Did I hear him correctly? It is important that the people know how to use their energies to make this work the best way possible. Its real important that the people know what is going on so they know how to respond to this substantial proposal.
Postscript
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. This from the interim leader of the four Redevelopment Agency members who all have been winking at candor for the last 105 minutes. They have been wrapping their language in presentable, attractive words. They have been trying not to rile up their aroused audience. They have been saying, We have no project while simultaneously trying to convince the same people We have a great project. And the Interim Leader is urging us to get the bloody story straight?
