Cazual Conversation

There was a time and a place for unions, which revolutionized workers’ rights and assured them of adequate compensation.

Work conditions were horrid and the unions changed that. It is arguable  what their place is in society now. That’s not an argument for here, today.

What is arguable is whether Panama City police will benefit from unionization. And what is more important is whether the people the police serve will benefit in any manner.

They are not coal miners, who can walk off the job for a day, or two, or seven with no instant repercussions to the consumer. Nor are police treated like coal miners by their employers.

We need them, and they need us.

When the issues were unsafe working conditions, financial slavery, intimidation and the boss’s desires carried out through force, the unions served a bigger purpose.

What are the issues at the Panama City Police Department?

Do they feel they are not paid enough? Find another job. That’s what the rest of us do.

We’ve heard complaints that they’ve had nothing but cost-of-living increases and no raises for two years, or something like that. A cost-of-living increase is a raise to the rest of us, and a lot of folks haven’t seen that lately.

 Are they unhappy with their insurance benefits? Welcome to the club. I’m grateful to have insurance, and try to remember that when I’m moaning about our skyrocketing co-pays.

Do they have to work too hard, too long, sometimes for people who treat them as if they are mere employees, or worse? We’ve all done that.

Unions were a benefit for the downtrodden. Panama City police are not in that category.

Their pay is not great, but  it’s better than most in this area. They take their cars home on city gas, as far as away as the Sand Hills.

That is a perk, one which a union does not guarantee.

They carry guns and badges and power. 

Society has evolved, the role of the union has, too, but the perception remains poor, especially in the south.

Is it fair that the city manager makes three times or four times what a police officer makes, or that he is one of the higher-paid city managers in the state? Not necessarily, but it is what it is.

We, as human beings, have a tendency to become complacent and ungrateful. We want more than what we have, and begin to think we are entitled to certain things that really are just granted to us.

We forget how good we have it, and start demanding what we think we deserve, no matter the economics of the situation. 

 Outside of the folks who have family and friends in law enforcement, this may be a hard sell to the general public, especially in this economic climate.

UPDATED AT www.newsherald.com UNDER OUR LEAD STORIES for comments and updates. 

(Managing Editor Mike Cazalas will send periodic updates from Talladega through the weekend, including pictures.) 

If everything goes according to plan, sometime in the next 72 hours, the following will be fact in Talladega, Ala.:

* My entourage arrives via a sparkling silver Saturn Sky, a 2.4-liter, 173 hp, 0-60 mph in five seconds machine that is the very definition of mid-life crisis. There’s enough room for me, a guest, two pairs of pants, four shirts, seven bottled waters, a laptop and a camera.

There is no backseat, no trunk. We find those things unnecessary for this journey.

* I catch up with the elusive Bay County Finch, James, and break down the barriers long enough to let folks know what our own Phoenix Racing Inc. team is up to, how Sterling Marlin is doing, and whether they make the big race.

I’m not telling Finch I’m going and am hoping for the element of surprise since I’m 1,000-percent convinced he is not reading The News Herald online. I’m sending a blonde intermediary to pave the way.

* I am captured on National TV in the pits, calmly, yet assertively, saying, “Now Jeff, Little Dale, we’ve got to run as a team, boys!” after pulling the two apart from a testosterone-fueled scuffle.

Grateful team owner Rick Hendricks rewards me with a spot on the team’s pit next to crew chief Steve Latarte for the remainder of the decade.

* On lap 33, Gordon, still dizzy from donating a kidney to a needy child, crawls out of his No. 24 and whispers toward the pit tower, “Caz, take over, I’m done,” before handing me his helmet and steering wheel.

* I run 22 laps without causing a wreck, before I realize I am merely circling pit row.

* On the track, I’ve just cracked 130 mph when fate calls and I am pulled over by a Florida Highway Patrol trooper and issued a ticket for illegal window tint on the front windshield.

* I find myself in victory lane, but upon reflection realize that is where I was thrown after being bump-drafted by ill-tempered Kyle Busch, who does not realize I’ve spelled Gordon.

I’m told anything can happen  in ‘Dega. I intend to find out.

There were two clues that the Jamaican representative to our newsroom, Kim Anderson, went home while on vacation last week.

One was the contraption on her head Monday, which appeared to be what you would get if a floormat and a handkerchief were allowed to mate.

The second was the appearance on my desk of some of the greatest newspapers ever.

“SEX KILLED CHURCH SISTER?”

That’s the real headline on The Weekend Star April 4 edition.

Subhead: “Christian lover charged with manslaughter”

Teaser copy, also on the front page: “Court seeks to find out if choir director’s death was caused by heated sexual intercourse with her church brother.”

And unlike U.S. TV., the story reflected the headline perfectly.

Intrepid reporter Rasbert Turner told us that Robert Morgan was charged with manslaughter “after one of his church sisters collapsed and died while they were having sex.”

No details were spared, although I’ll spare you the details. Witnesses did say that “the sexual activities between (the two) were sometimes heated.”

I guess so.

In other Jamaican news that week, a “fake forensic expert” was jailed, but not until after he testified in 700 cases over 26 years. The judge described the defendant as a “inveterate and compulsive liar.”

Kim, an astute lass when not in one of her Jamaican fogs, was quick to point out to me that The Weekend Star is not the paper where she was employed before moving here.

Too bad.

Every whining Squaller, every moaning conspiracy theorist, every malcontent who says nothing is right about Bay County, needed to be hanging with me today.

It’s out here, you just gotta quit whining long enough to find it.

Again, on a windy afternoon beating down the 82-degree heat, I find myself, the boy and the dog sitting on Doggie Beach.

I know, I know, what’s next? Dinner with Donna Allen? I leave open any possibility on a day like this.

We took the wrong turn headed in and got an impromptu look at Pier Park. I live 12 miles away from it and had no idea what was going on there.

It was almost like Seaside in a way. Not as nice. Yet.

But there are cobblestone crosswalks, stop signs, multiple bright businesses and lots of people. It gives you the feel of a small town dropped from outer space into the chaos. The boy demands we make a stop there when we leave.

“Done daddy,” he just announced as I write this. “I ate it all.”

“It” was a baggie of Fruit Loops. “All” was a good cupfull. Not bad for a kid diagnosed with strep yesterday.

He has rebounded, and so have I.

The dog is having a great time, though he wishes he was not so outnumbered by humans. There are too many here today, too many for him to run free at all. He seems  content to lay at our side, knocking sand way too close to the laptop as his tail wags every time someone walks by.

Get out, have some fun. We can pick up the nitpicking next week.

Oh, and there are lots of women out here. I mean a lot. And a lot of good-looking guys, not that it does anything for me (then why I am emphasizing it you might ask?).

A lady just unfurled some sort of bamboo thing about 10 feet away and gracefully graced our presence, her back turned to the sun.

I think I’ll ask her if she wants to be in my blog.

“Excuse me, m’am, do you want to be in blog?” I am getting ready to ask.

“Excuse me, m’am, are you from here?” I asked. Dang, right back to the old lines. What’s wrong with me?

“Bonifay,” she replied. “What?” “Bonifay.” “Where?” “BONIFAY.” Dang wind.

“Have you ever been to Doggie Beach before,” I asked.

“Yeah, I have,” she said. I’m smoothing it now.

“So where’s your dog?” I’m in like Flynn.

“He’s at home.” Can this conversation get any better? She tells me her name is Tiffany Boyett.

“What do you think of Doggie Beach?”

“It’s cool.”

I’m thinking I’ve gotten as deep into witty repetoire here as possible, so I move in for the kill.

“Do you mind If I put you in my blog?”

“Cool,” she says, and I’m impressed she knows what a blog is. Most ladies my age don’t.

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” I ask.

“Eighteen.”

“I’m sure your parents are proud,” I say in my head as I mentally calculate that when she was born I was a 27-year-old County Reporter for The News Herald.

What I say is, “We’re glad you’re here, Tiffany.
And we are. Wish you were here, too.

Mike Cazalas

Managing Editor 

It appears that no one within the Bay District’s Schools, at least no one we’ve quoted, has any problem with Donna Allen renting a lavish home from an architest who relies on her for a vote to do business with the county.

And they appear to have no problem with Bay School District Facilities Manager Wayne Elmore’s purchase four years ago of nearly four acres of North Carolina property from a company created by a co-owner of JRA Architects. Elmore is one of five people who votes on what firms should get the work.

JRA is the firm that has recieved $2.5 million in design contracts from the school district since 2004. Roberson also owns the Bay Point, canal-front home Allen rents for $1,700 a month.

Coincidental, Elmore says. He happened to hear Roberson talking about some land one day and decided to make an investment.

“I don’t think there was anything inappropriate about it,” Schools Superintendent James McCalister, the boss, told The News Herald.

Surprisingly, Elmore, the employee, agreed. 

“It is not a conflict of interest,” Elmore told The News Herald. “I looked at the School Board’s policy and this does not fall under that.” 

Allen remains insulted it was even brought up. She told us so.

“It never even entered my mind. That’s insulting,” she told us.

A wise Squaller said of that, “There appear to be many things that have not entered her mind.”

Allen says she has a verbal OK from the Ethics Commission. Elmore says he paid a fair price.

Neither of them appear to get it.

What is worse, really: someone who cannot identify a conflict of interest until it is pointed out, or someone who, in the face of all the furor, refuses to admit there might be a conflict of interest?Fair price and whether something is within the boundaries of the law or a policy is not the core issue.

The core issue is appearance, and our officials’ seeming indifference to it.

I like former PC Mayor Gerry Clemons. I always have.

He was the first public official to catch me snooping through his office desk without having an anxiety attack or a hissy fit. Turns out he intentionally left all the memos, letters, etc., on the desk for plain view knowing reporters like to come by.

Most ideas with his name attached to it are good ones. Renaming the Civic Center after he and his wife was an exception to that rule.

It is agreed, though, that the man should leave a legacy. A simple plaque may suffice for some, but not me.

Knowing Gerry Clemons, and his sense of taste and humor, I propose, additionally, that we rename  the city’s standard speed hump as a “Clemmons.”

Clemons was instrumental in having the little Clemonses placed all over town. Each jostled front end, each spilled martini (vodka, if I remember correctly), would be a small tribute to the man.

I think he might not mind.

This is a good occassion, though, to take a look at how our government can do the right thing.

The Bay Arts Alliance came up with an idea. They are not elected officials. They passed it on to the elected officials. The Clemonses worked tirelessly to improve our arts and culture center, as well as downtown, over decades.

The public balked. The PC Commission didn’t so much like the idea for a variety of reasons, none having to do with Gerry Clemons or his wife doing anything but good. Name changes are tricky, especially when they involve politicians.

So they tabled the idea, with commissioners Hanline and Pilcher voicing legitimate concerns while paying respect.

An idea came forth, there was some public objection, commissioners considered and took action. That’s how it should work. 

It’s a fantasy world, where the unreal appears real, where reality is not allowed to show its ugly face, and where conflicts don’t exist.

But enough about Panama City, we’re going to Disney World.

We’re at Port Orleans in the French Quarter of Disney World in Orlando, and it is nice. Much nicer than the $800 ticket I feared on the way down.

We rented a car for the trip, for kicks and giggles, and I had to have the Pontiac G6 for a test run.

Disney Tip 1: Do not rent one of these. The instruments are about impossible to figure out and the keyless entry was lost with the push of a wrong button.

We were cruising down I-75 at about 70 mph, on cruise control, when I decided to fix the keyless entry by pushing multiple “function” and “mode” buttons. The word “English” kept flashing up, but I ignored it.

After several minutes of this my radar detector went off. I did two things out of habit: I found the brakes and looked at the speedometer needle.

It was hovering on 120. I kid you not. My foot must have rested on the gas while I button-pushed.

Panicked, I put the Pontiac into descent mode while looking for the cop who I knew must be salivating. There he sat, on the right, laser radar in hand.

I continued to slow, 100, 95, 90, 80 and noticed other cars were now passing me. Idiots, I thought, while wondering how many of the cop’s kids my money would be feeding for the next month.

As more cars passed it, I knew something was amiss.

I finally realized I had somehow switched the car’s mechanisms from English to Metric, and the speedometer needle had automatically switched to Kilometers Per Hour.

So I wasn’t speeding, after all.

The policeman’s family will remain hungry, we’re safe in port, and we’ll check back in later after Pirates of the Caribbean and maybe some wenches.

We are at the breaking point, myself and I.

It’s just too weird.

The synapses refuse to fire properly.

School Board member Donna Allen says she has absolutely no clue why anyone would see a potential conflict in interest in her renting a home from an architect doing millions in business with the School District, and failing to report same. Of course, this is the same Allen who says she’s gotten the all-clear from the state ethics board in what has to be the quickest investigation in history, via phone.

No idea. She’s perplexed, you see.

We gotta go, the boy and I. Disney World is the only answer.

At least there they admit there is no illusion that what they present is real. We know it’s fantasy. We know Mickey Mouse is a person in a costume.

We know the drill, and we pay for it, and we enjoy it.

We also pay for the the continued poor judgement of some of our School Board officials, and we are not enjoying it in the least.

If Allen truly has no idea why she should’ve disclosed her relationship with a company before the board for millions in bids, that’s all I really need to know.

Take me away, Uncle Walt.

There is a reason Beach Councilman Jeff Ferguson is not in the news business, just as there is a reason I am not on Charlie Hilton’s payroll.

Asked by a News Herald reporter about his new job as director of asset management and guest relations at Holiday Inn SunSpree, he said only, “That isn’t news.”

We beg to differ.

Upfront, we ought to give Hilton credit for being upfront about the hire. It is what it is. They have an opening and Ferguson needed a job, aside from his Council seat.

That’s the free market at work, and it is in the open, as are the various civil suits filed against Ferguson and his business seeking some $40,000.

One wonders exactly what Cody Khan, VP for operations at the resort, meant when he told a reporter, “I’ve been looking for someone with the experience he has.”

Lives and ambitions often collide through no fault of our own, and, generally, that is not news.

When a councilman - on a board oft-viewed as being unduly influenced by Hilton - goes to work for Hilton, eyebrows rise.

You can’t change the perception. By most accounts, the furniture business wasn’t going well for Ferguson. His fortunes have changed.

And now each vote he casts will be looked upon with even more scrutiny. It may not be anyone’s fault, but it is what it is, and Ferguson, with this move, has opened the door to anyone wanting to call his votes, or the motives behind them, into question.