Coulda

Coulda walks in, early.  Peoria has come to Davenport.  They’d like to tour downtown and learn some secrets of our success.  I’m setting up the powerpoint for the pre-tour presentation as the first of the group walks into the Council Chambers.  The laptop is balking a bit, and I’m worried I’ll have to resort to interpretive dance to entertain our visitors.  It would be my second dance with Peorians.

The laptop settles down as the rest of the crew settles in.  Mayor Gluba offers opening remarks and Alderman Boom follows.  Next, I’m on.  I start off acknowledging I may know a little more about Peoria than the typical Davenporter as I was offered the Peoria City Manager gig in 2003.  I cover the basics of the brief distraction as an opening to the presentation.

A larger city (not that I care much), four year Council terms (much easier than two), the region’s leading corporation headquartered in the city (rather than across a state line), a $50K increase in pay, the ability to retire two years ago (what’s an Illinois pension actually worth?) and … I whisper … a slightly nicer Council Chamber.  There were real career advantages to the potential assignment at the time, and the headhunter coordinating the recruitment was a professional friend. 

I tell the brief and true story of returning a call from a Journal Star reporter after a Council meeting.  The reporter says he is going to report I’m the next Peoria city manager the next morning.  I tell the reporter I haven’t had time to talk to my wife about the offer, I haven’t accepted the offer and he shouldn’t report that I’m going to be Peoria’s next city manager.  He’s generally undeterred, which is a trait to respect in a reporter and says he’s going to report that I’ve been offered the position. 

I tell him if he is going to report anything in tomorrow’s paper, it should be that I am no longer a candidate.  He’s taken a little aback and asks if I’m sure.  I tell him I’m quite sure and if he is to report anything tomorrow morning, that’s what he should report.  The call ends, I call the headhunter to update him and go home. 

A few days later, some tough guy columnist at the paper thumps his chest about how Davenport’s city administrator was scared off by a phone call from his fearsome newspaper.  Some guy I’ve never met, never talked to, has an opinion about my resilience.  That’s cute.  I chuckle as I recall the episode and the Peorians groan about the columnist.    

I tell them I’m happy they’re here, and wish them the best.  We have a great story to tell, and an exceptional staff to help them however we can.   Not to pile on, I share that I’m so happy to have stayed in Davenport.  It's been a wonderful place to raise a family, and that’s what matters most. 

Coulda.  Didn’t.  Happy bout it.