By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Eric Nicholson
Let's say some guy--we'll call him Derwood the Philosopher, a made-up person--has worked out his own private philosophy, Derwoodology, the bottom line of which is that it's OK for Derwood to go back on his word. He even tells you about it. "Thanks to my philosophy, I can go back on my word, no problem."
Then he asks you to co-sign a loan for $250,000. He puts his hands on your shoulders, stares deep into your eyes and says very solemnly: "My word is my bond."
What would you call a situation like that? I know what I'd call it. A Dallas bond election.
You know how bonds work. City Hall borrows hundreds of millions of dollars for big projects. The taxpayers co-sign the loan. But the taxpayers have to vote in the first place to give their permission.
When a bond election is coming up, like the one next May, the city tells voters what it's for. City officials join the Greater Dallas Chamber of Commerce, the Dallas Citizens Council, The Dallas Morning News and other major players in the community to persuade voters that the borrowed money will be spent wisely on projects the voters will find sensible. Part of the pitch is a detailed description of the projects.
Two years ago a group called Taxpayers for Sensible Priorities sued the city over the Trinity River project--a multibillion-dollar local, state and federal public works campaign to rebuild the river through downtown. The city's share was supposed to be $246 million. TSP argued the city had changed the river project almost beyond recognition, reneging on key promises to voters.
In court the city never denied the project had been turned into something quite different from what voters had been promised in the 1998 bond campaign. Instead the city argued it doesn't make any difference what the mayor promises people; it doesn't make any difference what the city itself promises in city publications with the official city seal on them; it doesn't matter what may be promised by campaign committees made up of elected officials and civic leaders; the only thing that counts is the actual fine print on the ballot on vote day. And that language, the city argued, is typically so vague that it doesn't really hold the city to anything specific.
This is where we get to Derwoodology. And Derwoodology, remember, is a very complicated philosophy that can only be understood by people with a gift for understanding rapid speech.
The city did not argue in court that the city can officially lie. What it argued was that sometimes when the city seems to be speaking officially, it really isn't. There are some steps along the way in here that I'm leaving out, because I can't figure them out. But let's go to the bottom of the page: It's up to you to know if the city has its fingers crossed.
Pop quiz: Using a No. 2 pencil, please check the items you believe would be official statements of the city's intentions--promises, if you will, that you as a citizen, taxpayer and voter should be able to rely on when you go to the polls:
1. PowerPoint presentation with charts, tables and graphics presented by the city manager's staff to the city council.
2. Stylish three-color brochures published by the city.
3. A campaign brochure listing former mayors and city council members as co-chairmen and myriad elected officials as members of the steering committee, with endorsements by the Chamber of Commerce, Citizens Council and other civic groups.
4. City documents bearing the city seal, under the names of the mayor, all council members and the city manager, outlining in detail what projects will be paid for with the bond money and how much will be spent on each.
Hope you didn't check anything. Because the city argued before state District Judge Ann Ashby that none of the above representations is binding in any way. All the city has to live up to is what the ballot says in the fine print on the day you go to the polls, and that language is crafted by lawyers whose intention is to make it vague, with lots and lots of wriggle room.
Judge Ashby agreed with the city. And before we light our torches, pick up our brickbats and march on her chambers, I should say that her opinion offers some compelling legal logic. After all, everybody at City Hall blabs about this and that all the time. You can't have a situation where people are walking into court saying, "The mayor promised me over dinner I was going to get my curbs fixed, and it hasn't happened yet." You do have to pick a point in the process where you agree that the city is speaking officially in a way that binds it to its word, and that point, the judge said, is the moment when the city council votes officially to approve the ballot language.
Nothing else counts.
The judge said the city did not have to honor even the official city pamphlet outlining in detail its promises to voters for what it would do with the bond money. She said, "A political subdivision cannot be bound by the representations of individual council members or the city staff."