By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
Must be important.
Maybe because I'm a lifelong press person, the groveling part bothers me worse when I see it in the news media. I expect local politicians and business people to crawl on bloody knees and knuckles to the Temple of The Obese Felines, but it bothers me when I see it in my fellow ink-stained tribesmen.
I want to call out, "No, no! You don't understand! We don't get the money!"
It's bad all over lately, ever since Dallas City Council member Angela Hunt announced a plan to let people vote on whether they want lakes or a highway in the long green band where the Trinity River runs through downtown.
Hunt makes three points: 1) She's for the Trinity River Plan—the one the people of the city voted for in 1998, which was a park plan, not a highway plan. 2) We don't need highway money to pay for the park part. We can build the lakes without the road. 3) The road is what's slowing it down. A vote to get the road out of there will speed up the Trinity River project by years.
She's speaking for a coalition of citizen groups that want to put the highway vs. parks question on the ballot next November. Seems reasonable, eh? If we thought we voted for parks, then let us vote next November on whether we want the road in there.
It's our river. It's our tax money. Why shouldn't we be able to vote on it?
But man, I have never seen the intensity of panic at high levels in this city that this seemingly simple proposition has spawned. Last week I thought I had seen the stomach-turning low point. But that was before this week when I read Steve Blow's column in The Dallas Morning News.
Last week I attended the annual fund-raising luncheon for The Trinity Commons Foundation. Trinity Commons is an exclusive private lobby group that former mayor Ron Kirk helped set up when he and his downtown sponsors couldn't get what they needed from an open, City Hall-based public planning process.
Trinity Commons wouldn't let me in to cover their fund-raising event unless I made a $150 donation. Sticky wicket for me. Now they have a check with my name on it that somebody could use to say I was one of their supporters. I'll see what I can do here to dispel that notion.
The headliner act at the luncheon was our mayor, Laura Miller, doing a wide-eyed "Little Miss Laura Two Shoes" act with toes together and knees bent demurely. She devoted an entire speech to telling a room full of 1,000 sleek felines what a nice little girl she had been by supporting their idea for a freeway in the middle of the park along the river and what a naughty, naughty, naughty girl Angela Hunt was being for daring to criticize Daddy's widdo woady-woad.
Oh, my God, the only thing that kept me from projectile-vomiting my measly wedge of salmon was the fact that I had just spent 150 bucks for it. How many totally different personalities can one lady pack in a Hermès Kelly bag?
Remember Ms. Laura-Butt-Kicker, foe of the Downtown Boys? Something highly unnatural has happened since then. One dreads to think.
But back to the media problem. The Dallas Morning News had announced that the Trinity Commons event was going to take place in an item in the newspaper's combination party-pix, social-butterfly-gossip and business tidbits column written by Robert Miller. Then after the event was over and done with, the News published a sort of summary overview of Trinity issues by that giant of political analysis, Metro columnist Steve Blow. I don't have a strong opinion on the job that Robert Miller did with the story, but I would like to come back in a moment, if I may, to the Blow job.
Here's the thing. By not sending anyone to cover the actual event, the Morning News let itself out of any obligation to report the fact that the gigantic ovoid mug of Morning News CEO and owner Robert Decherd hovered over the entire event like the Hare Moon.
Every time I thought I had succeeded in keeping my fish from refluxing, here he came again, the great lunar Decherd glowering down on me from the Jumbotron at the front of a vast ballroom like Charlie Chaplin's Big Brother:
"We have a collective aspiration for the Trinity that is unprecedented," the huge Decherd on the wall tells me in a pre-recorded, slickly produced video. "This is way beyond public works. This is a very large and complex urban planning process."
Then it's the huge head of that other man of the people, Harlan Crow, telling me: "This gives Dallas the opportunity to be a city."