The Dismantling

The blade slices through the post like a presidential candidate cutting through a sidewalk crowd on their way to a donor’s check.   The sawdust flies, the Sawzall chews the pressure-treated pine into a bulky waste pile, and we’re left with a gritty square where the sandbox used to be.  We’ve watched the empty nester ritual of taking down the swingset through the backyards up the block, and now it’s our turn.  Its last official act was holding the piñata at the graduation party, but now it’s just excess we don’t need. 

It could have lingered on to entertain the grandkids years in the future, but a funny thing happened on the way to tripling the record for tenure as Davenport City Administrator.  People ask what happened and I try to separate what I know from what I believe before I speak. 

Here’s what I know.  Davenport was a sublime place to raise the kids.  The swingset went up as my first official Dad act in Davenport.  We arrived a few days before the start of school and work, so I asked if I needed a permit, was told no, and got to work on the backyard play station.  Amanda was entering third grade and Colin was a preschooler.  They made it all the way through school here, and there are ample tales to tell of our affinity for the place.  I won’t bore you, here, with them.

I also won’t go on at length about the travails of the job.  If you are applying to be Davenport City Administrator, feel free to call and I’ll help in any way I can.  My suggestion is you might think better of applying if your life hasn’t included substantial challenges on the way here.  A Midwest city transitioning from manufacturing, overseen by eleven running for office constantly due to two-year terms, is neither a stable nor starter job.  Add in indifference to urban issues from the state capital and a newspaper controlled by folks who sleep in the next town over, and you’ll have your work cut out for you.

The good news is you’ll work with an exceptional team every day and the paychecks clear every other Friday.  The staff is tremendous, there are caring elected officials and no shortage of stakeholders offering advice.  Mind that some have moved from the community decades ago and still consider themselves Davenport opinion leaders.  You’ll catch on, and keep in mind they mean well. 

Those are the things I know.  I also know a narrow band of experience in a Legal Department you have no authority to change combined with hometown allegiances is a ticking time bomb.   Have a tourniquet ready.  If you’re at a point in your life where moving on is an option, find repose as the blast throws you clear of the wreckage. Whatever you do, wholly commit each workday you are here.  There are places a putter and a backslap will see you through.  That won’t hurt in Davenport, but it ain’t enough. 

Steve Elliot, skillfully covering City Hall for the Rock Island Argus, tried to peel the onion apart in asking me what I thought of Mayor Gluba.  I told him I’d tell him a story, and then give him a quote.  The story was of me and the Mayor, in the middle of the night, driving to some far off Iowa Racing and Gaming Commission meeting the next morning.  We had no chance, and no reservations.  We got to Des Moines around midnight, but there were no hotel rooms available.  The Mayor needed a pick me up, so we found a McDonalds drive-thru and he got some fries and a mango-pineapple smoothie.  Generous in spirit, he asked if I wanted a sip.

I told him that was among the least manly drinks I had ever seen, no thank you.  We left the urban glow of Des Moines and headed out into the Iowa blackness.  An hour or more later, heading to a Gaming Commission meeting where the fix was in, it dawned on me that we were the only two who were working on the transformation that Dubuque and Polk County had handed to them years ago.  There wasn’t anyone else driving at 1:00 in the morning to another doomed meeting.  No legislators representing Davenport would be there.  No business leaders interested in lowering property taxes would be there.  There wasn’t even anyone in the backseat.  We were it.  Me and Mayor Smoothie.  It wasn’t enough, but that didn’t stop me from admiring the Mayor’s dedication. 

To battle valiantly together against daunting odds creates a permanent bond.  I told Steve I was proud to stand shoulder to shoulder with Mayor Gluba as he fought for a better Davenport.  It was true in the car in the pitch-black middle of nowhere.  It will always be true.

Life’s not permanent.  But if you’re lucky, the fond memories are.  The swingset’s gone.  But the warm reminiscences of Davenport will swing through my mind for years to come.

6/27/15