Ernest T. Grump will vote no on Measure Q next Tuesday. It's a Richmond measure to raise sales tax by a half percent. But today he's counting the bits of candy he'll hand out tonight.
There's no need to be generous to these little moochers, he says. Why, the same kids come to his doorstep year after year.
They all look well fed. Not only that, they walk on sidewalks that Ernest paid for in taxes. They attend his schools too, ride on his AC Transit buses, and breathe the air kept clean by Ernest's occasional protests to Chevron.
Once last year, Ernest had to pay a fee at City Hall. To his horror, he saw vast numbers of clerks and others of unknown function doing nothing! They sat in front of monitors, now and then looking up. Ernest resents waiting a moment for one to notice him.
He portions out the candy and can't help think about Measure Q. "More taxes!," he curses, pronouncing the X with particular relish. Today the candy cost him $2.06 in sales tax. With the extra half percent under Measure Q, the same bag would cost him an extra 13¢. Last night's dinner out with his wife would have cost 30¢ more. The new car he bought last summer would have cost him $167.98 more.
At about 9 o'clock, the stream of kids subsides, but inevitably there's a late bunch. "Doesn't it ever end?" he'll say as he answers yet another ring on the doorbell.
Someday it'll end for Ernest. In the meantime, he'll just have to pay his bills as they come up.
Yes on Measure Q.
Ever since the last "Subway's moving in!" scare, I've meant to get an opinion from the man who represents big landlords around here. You can't miss all the Cushman & Wakefield signs around town, and on just about every one is John Troughten's name.
No one I know wants another fast-food joint here. Starbucks is just about enough. But though Subway may not sell the kind of food you eat, those who run the company seem to have a brain. "You don't see Subways closing up," says John.
Subway's interest in the Point, he says, is in fact a good sign. "They're long-term players." They were the first, for example, to believe in the El Sobrante location at the end of El Portel Drive. "It did very well, and there's more going up around it."
Leave the sandwiches. Take the optimism.
Andrew Butt, who campaigned tirelessly for the first NICE, has a darker view than mine on the prospects for a business improvement district. Don't miss the comment he posted in response to "A New NICE Rises From The Mud."
You may notice that all comments but the most recent ones are missing. That's only temporary.
An unfortunate accident occurred the other day as I cleaned out the 15,000 or so spam comments that had accumulated since fall of 2003. A command that should have only deleted those posted before June 1 2005 somehow got rid of everything.
One of these days I'll restore the handful of valid ones.
Let's not miss the point about last night's Son of NICE meeting in the parish hall of Our Lady of Mercy Catholic Church.
Forget attendance. It could have been better--26 signed in--but so what. What matters is who showed up: nearly everyone necessary for a new drive.
Forget that they often disagreed, sometimes vehemently. After all, what did anyone expect with Village Barbarian Richard Lompa and His Honor Josh Genser in the same room?
Forget also the arguments over the Gateway project, railroad "quiet zones," and other projects. They served to bring everyone face to face with the Point's unmet needs. (In other words, I disagree completely with my friend and fellow blogger Fred Arm.)
Ultimately, this meeting was about scouting a new coalition. And on that we have this headline: Jay Betts, who during the original NICE was Chief Opponent Richard Lompa's sidekick and principal ally, said last night that he could see the need for an assessment district to deal with parking. He says his first choice is to push voluntary work as far as possible. But his acceptance, conditional as it is, of any assessment district seems like a breakthrough.
Sure, NICE proponents still have a lot of bargaining to do. But if they proceed carefully--leaving out the known barbarians and bullies--they might piece together a credible, transparent plan. It might even persuade those who voted no the first time around.
Marsha Tomassi, who led the discussion, should be proud that she steered through the predictable disagreements and potential filibuster.
If it hadn't been so scary, it would have been heartwarming. There they were, gathered around the fire at the Plunge on Wednesday night: the former mayor, a firefighter-union leader, and firefighters who remembered the Plunge from childhood.
It all went like this, according to the Contra Costa Times: At about 10 p.m, former mayor Rosemary Corbin drove by and saw smoke rising from the Plunge. Someone ran up two blocks to the firehouse banged on the door.
Firefighter-union leader Jim Russey, of previous fame or infamy depending on your views, responded and quickly called in a second alarm.
Rosemary, who's now VP of Save the Richmond Plunge Trust, stuck around to watch the firefighters from Richmond and El Cerrrito and their six fire engines put out the blaze. The firefighters told her how they loved the building, how they learned to swim there.
But there's good news here. Even though the fire caused up to $200,000 in damange, the new plan for renovation is to take out the burned part of the building anyway. In fact, the Trust had just approved money for architectural drawings, and if all goes well the whole thing should reopen in 2007.
Little firefighters-to-be may soon swim again.
Read the full Contra Costa Times story.
Lucretia Edward died last Wednesday night after months of failing health. I knew her name better than I knew her face, having heard her name often and seen her in person rarely. In particular, I remember the last time I saw her as she sat toward the front at one Neighborhood Council meeting. There she was, the actual person. Seeing her was as good as sighting a famous politician or movie star. Maybe better, because she was one of our own.
I never got to talk to her, but I thought of her in the same basket as other great women I knew who'd moved mountains--or prevented them from being moved.
I understand she was responsible for opening so much of Richmond's shoreline to ordinary people. She and husband Tom also managed to snatch Nicholl Knob away from developers' claws and, more recently, cleared the telecommunications boxes that once infested it. That fine hill, now relatively uncluttered, will always stand for me as a fitting monument to her.
Everything was going along so smoothly for Point Richmond Gateway, LLC, and now this. Correspondent Walter Connolly was up late one night, thinking...
I drew up an alternative location for the Trainmaster Building that keeps Cutting Blvd open and has parking for the Plunge...I was thinking about 3 a.m. one morning and thought why not draw up some plans that has everything for everyone...the Plunge parking, open Cutting Blvd, and the Trainmaster Building and a nice entry into the Point, so the next morning that what I did.
You've just got to feel sorry for those who say "trust me" when you've got people like Walter around. This guy wants to think for himself.
OK, so what if the idea is a little late to the party? A good idea can have a life of its own. A good idea throws its own party.
Don't miss tomorrow's Business Association meeting.
Twenty years ago: the Point hosted swarms of choppers. Today: tall bikes and the Tall Bike Posse--possibly California's first organized group.
You may have seen Rosamaria's Cafe owner Mike Nova riding around town. He's been joined recently by Andrew Butt and Jack (whose last name we don't yet know; he's the tall guy with a leather hat and the dog following 50 feet behind). The Posse also has a chapter in San Luis Obispo.
What's a tall bike? Just what is sounds like: a bicycle made taller than normal. For example, the seat on Mike's bike hits his chin. When he's on board, his head is about eight feet off the ground.
Mike says tall bikes took root out here at Burning Man, but they're far more popular in Holland. There they actually have organized tall-bike jousting.