Ugly Wins
Town meeting was much more civil than advertised, and the hired
deputies stayed outside. On a hot and sticky night the gym at
the elementary was packed, and the big fans so noisy it was hard
to hear anything. When they were shut down, it got warm quickly.
You couldn't have fitted the crowd in the old Town Hall, renovations
or not.
Elementary/Cemetary
Road Work
Bob ran an orderly meeting, as usual, and recognized everyone
who had a gripe to air. Specific complaints were aimed at spending
priorities, the lack of grading on the Carding Machine Road, sweeping
authorities granted to the town manager, but not many explicit
objections were raised, and all spending items passed overwhelmingly.
On the surface, the votes would indicate that the citizens assembled
are happy with the way business is conducted in this ham.
More unsettling was the feeling that there were two distinct teams
in the gym, the white collars and the blues. Those who were comfortable
with corporate style governance by committee and manager, and
those who felt disenfranchised by the hasty and aggressive authoritarianism
of this regime. The fire department formed the hard core of dissidence,
while the town fathers and loyal committeests were united in self-congratulation,
and comfortable self-assurance.
Old Fire Station
New Fire Station
One subtext of the discussions was that you should join a committee,
if you want to participate in democratic decision-making. The
thought that some people might want to have a say in town decisions
without getting appointed by Earla is too arcane to be understood.
The idea that townspeople might be informed of sweeping plans
before they are frozen in concrete, and have to be voted up or
down, doesn't seem to register.
In the days when those in town office participated in local scuttlebutt,
committee decisions were transparent. Everyone knew what was in
the hopper, and opinions pro and con got batted around at the
watering holes. There was constant feedback between the pols and
the townspeople. You didn't always get your way, but you felt
you had a say in the process, without having to endure the deadly
minutia of formal committee meetings. Those who delighted in such
things represented the rest of us, because they chewed over it
with us, too. Now we're told that representative democracy is
passe. You want to participate, become political. Join a committee.
Chief's Car
1Up-1Down
The Town Hall renovations were a case in point. The Town Hall
Committee set about debating how to install flush toilets and
handicap access to the Hall more than a year ago. Earla's gift
for finding outside revenue was engaged, and a block grant package
was designed. The first the town in general heard about the plan
was an announcement of a public hearing on the plan published
in the Times Record. How we were supposed to know about the planning
process before this project was calcified, architectural plans
rendered, requests for monies submitted, is anyone's guess. "We've
been discussing this for a year," we were told. And it's too late
to revisit the debate, they said. "The design process is over."
Period.
When those of us who saw the proposed design as an esthetic violation
of a grand old building offered to submit alternate plans, we
were told that it was too late. THIS plan had to be voted yea
or nay. We weren't astute enough to draw up a less intrusive plan
(three good ones were suggested), to hand out at Town Meeting.
I'm afraid we assumed people had visual imaginations, and a sense
of architectural taste. We should know better.
Before
After
I was appointed, without being asked, to the Town Hall Committee
(now called the Community Development Advisory Committee), after
I published a set of Uglification Alternatives. As though being on a committee which had already come to a final
decision was supposed to mollify me. Shut me up by co-option.
Make me one of the inside players, so I would understand why bad
taste designed by a committee is a necessary evil. I demurred.
We circulated an informational petition against the renovation
plan, and got 120 signatures. This gave us hope that the citizens
assembled might be convinced to preserve the stark and eloquent
exterior of our old meetinghouse, and put aside this rush to banality.
Peggy got up in the gym and said that "a country that can put
a man on the moon should be able to put a bathroom in an old hall
with destroying its visual character." We thought the ugliness
of this plan was obvious. We were wrong.
We were shut down 8 to 5. I got a strong sense that the vote was
more about supporting the selectmen and the process, than it was
about toilets or esthetics. More about using all this easy money
to modernize a slow backwater, than about looking at the world
we are making. Someone actually said that we should respect the
professional judgments and hard work of our town officials. As
if the rest of us are unfit to see design alternatives, or question
authority. I mean this was a "professional architectural design"
with "dentiles just like the old building."
The rest of the votes last night were more rubber stamp. There
was a steady beat of disgruntled commentary, but it could hardly
dampen the self-applause of another successful year in town management.
This town is full of good people, and those who do the committee
work are all well-intentioned. Unfortunately most of the old hands
who used to connect the rest of us to the process of governance
have given up in disgust or exhaustion. The forces for improvement,
among newcomers who want to participate in small town life, is
simply too strong to be slowed. As if you preserved the character
of a place by changing everything. The pace quickens, and those
who go to meeting feel that the race is to the swift.
Town Office
Mill Demolition
The same enthusiasm which flattened the town landing and turned
it into a destination free launch for the Kennebec Jet-ski Association,
is now going to deface the Town Hall. What do the committees have
in store for us next year? Sidewalks. Another round of radical
tree-pruning along the roads. A tax paid recreation director for
a program which charges children to participate. No benefits for
part-time town employees. A cold-blooded management style and
a very modern attitude about direct democracy. A WALL*MART esthetic.
This local artist is obviously out of step. There were a lot of
people I respect in the crowd last night, voting to go along with
the modernist vision. Some of them have told me that the old polity
is dead, and us old gripes are shoveling against the tide. Those
old gripes who didn't go to meeting ask me, "What did you expect?
Common sense is dead."
Old Town Landing
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