Could it ever be said again of Central Park, "If you grew up in Garland, you pretty much lived there"?

"Going to carnivals on Daddy's arm"—pen-and-ink drawing by A. Doerner for K. Moore

On the wall of our home is a piece of commissioned art with Garland's Central Park as one of its themes. Today, as Central Park has risen to the forefront of local concerns, I'm especially proud that my wife, Kay, and I own this piece of artwork.

It's a pen-and-ink drawing of a little girl holding her dad's hand, with a ferris wheel in the background and balloons to the side. Missing her dad, after his passing, my wife hired an artist to produce this line art that depicted the two of them together during her childhood.

The scene with Kay's dad symbolizes their annual trip to Garland's Jaycee Jubilee in Central Park. That was their dad-and-daughter "thing" to do together—the now-defunct Labor Day extravaganza, always the day before Garland schools started in September. Because she grew up on nearby 11th Street, the park was but a brief walk for them. She and her mom had dress-shopping and story league and a thousand other gal things to do together, but Central Park represented dad-and-daughter time that could be counted on.

But the much-ballyhooed Jubilee was far from her only memory tied to the park. When we purchased our own house on 11th Street, just down from where Kay grew up, I was excited that I'd gotten a peach of a deal in a VA foreclosure. Kay was excited that she would live in the one-time home of the person who taught her to do a swan dive off the awesome high board at the Central Park pool.

Before taking lessons from Martha Walker, my wife had shuddered to get near the pool, which now has been filled in, its former placement covered with sand for a volleyball court. Kay says she developed a brave streak after those private lessons in the ole swimmin' hole. She tells our grandboys, "Close your eyes tight and you can still hear the squeals of kids trying the high dive." In their innocence, they squeeze tight and agree that yup, they for sure can hear something.

Kids in the kiddie pool area of the Central Park pool in the 1960s. Photo from "You know your from Garland TX if . . . ." (The Facebook page deliberately spells the third word "your".)

Kay isn't the only one who goes off on nostalgia binges about Central Park. Facebook pages such as "You know your from Garland TX If . . . ." and "Pioneers of Dallas County" share long streams of conversations about Central Park, back in the day. The place meant a lot to many people. Reading the convo streams, I'd say it was a sense of continuity and dependability and home as much as it was bricks and mortar. 

"If you grew up in Garland, you pretty much lived there," wrote one Facebooker recently.

Some Baby Boomers go back further and remember when the old swim steps and hand rails still existed above Duck Creek—a reminder of when the creek was dammed up starting in 1926 and people swam and even fished there—in what was known as Lake Garland in Williams Park, which became Central Park. The "ghost" rails still remained long after the new pool was opened in 1952, after the city acquired the property in 1948. In Kay's growing-up day, closing your eyes and hearing the splashes of kids swimming in the actual creek was the challenge throw down to youngsters. Once again, simple to do! 

When a $7-million improvement was announced for the park's aging Granger Center, it set the Facebook nostalgia streams off again.  Boomers recalled how the then state-of-the-art rec center once had seemed like a dream come true after the creepy two-story army surplus barracks that had sat on the same site and was the scene for sock hops and school Halloween carnivals. 

Kay remembered the then-slick new Granger for a different reason. Deathly ill from walking pneumonia, she presided over the early spring "Popularity Ball", at which Garland High School favorites were announced by the yearbook staff. The week before, with work in high gear, she was felled with a ghastly bug and ran fever as she sat under the hair dryer for her up-do. She showed up at the ball against doctor's orders. I've seen photos of her in semi-formal attire after she pulled herself together enough to make the show go on. She's as white as the trellis behind her. The Granger represents some kind of "against-all-odds" moral victory to her. 

The nearby Granger annex is where she survived a trial of another kind: downing stinky limburger cheese in a middle-school band initiation. Are such things even allowed today? Regardless, the Annex to Kay stands for fortitude and true grit. (Should it be saved from the bulldozer just because of that? I'm not making that statement. Many factors, including the ongoing suitability and repurpose-ability of a building, influence that decision, not just a building's age. But does it hold memories for lots? Certainly.)

Not all Central Park memories are ones to be proud of. It is said that a town's segregation history is never more apparent than in the story of its swimming pools. In Kay's growing-up days, the pool was clearly whites-only. She remembers when one 1950s afternoon, a swimmer with an especially dark tan was having a splashing good time in the Central Park pool. Suddenly authorities, alerted that she might have broken a racial barrier, pulled her out and checked her ethnicity. Anglo, but what humiliation to the young woman and what a sad commentary on our society then! Whites only! Still makes my Civil Rights Baby-Boomer mindset burn with furor! 

Wouldn't a reset on that venerable old pool be a terrific, healing thing for Garland? 

I've often suggested that the city might study re-creating the original Lake Garland as both a tourist attraction and locus of redevelopment along Garland Avenue. Wouldn't it be great to have our own city lake featuring high-quality swimming for people of all ethnicities—intentionally symbolizing racial reconciliation, recognizing the history that has gone before on that site, and making giant steps toward the future?

Yes, I'm a dreamer with lots and lots of ideas. I've been accused of seeing things others can't see about the potential in a situation. Just like John F. Kennedy, I plead guilty to the charge.

Actually, on this particular idea, I'm borrowing from a former president of Baylor University in Waco. When I was sophomore at Baylor, I heard Baylor President Abner V. McCall talk about his vision of damming up Waco Creek and creating Lake Brazos. He talked about sailboats, party boats, and all sorts of water sports in an area of Waco that then was nothing but embarrassing slums. I leaned over to the person sitting next to me and whispered, "What has that old man been smoking?" Most people found Dr. McCall's vision difficult to even comprehend.

If you know anything about Waco today, you may recognize that 50 years later the shoreline of Lake Brazos is one of the hottest developments in all of Texas. Even Chip and Joanna's Magnolia Market isn't far from that marvelous waterfront property.  

When I have suggested rebuilding Lake Garland, I'm always met with the legalistic answer, "We don't own the water rights."

Lake Garland, a private lake created by D. Cecil Williams in 1926. Photo from the Garland Landmark Society. Long after the dam over Duck Creek was removed and Lake Garland ceased to exist, ladders and landings could still be observed on the creek.

That's the same answer most people gave about all the creeks and rivers in south central Oklahoma when my Chickasaw ancestors tried to talk about the potential of those waterways. That is, until the U.S. Supreme Court made it clear who really does own the land and mineral rights under and the water passing through those waterways—the tribe!

At the same time, for nearly two decades I've lived a very bad memory of Central Park—the exact opposite of my wife's fond recall—and have been screaming my lungs out ever since about the Park's questionable overall security—an issue that must be addressed regardless of which side wins in the current battle about the property on the eastern edge of the park along Glenbrook.

After we moved to downtown nearly two decades ago, I went running in Central Park (on the side closest to Garland Avenue) early almost every morning—just like I used to do in nearby parks where we lived in Houston, Franklin, TN, and Richmond, VA.  

On one particular morning about sunrise I realized I was alone in the park except for a carload of young men who clearly had been out all night drinking and had decided to follow me very closely. Thanks to my nearly lifelong running skills, I was able to outmaneuver and outrun them and their car. I still dread to think of what might have happened had I not reacted quickly both mentally and physically. Once out of the park that morning, I never returned for my morning runs there.

Again and again since this matter first materialized, I've stated that one of my main concerns about Central Park hasn't been addressed.

About two months ago Kay and I took our two grandboys for a picnic at noon on a Saturday in the park. The only people in the park were us and a growing group of young men guzzling beer several picnic tables away. As their numbers grew and the amount of beer consumed increased, our wariness escalated, so we yielded the park to them.

When I later told a city official about it, the response was, "Drinking is not legal in our parks."

Did that fact seem to stop the party I just witnessed?

Once it was Grandma's sneakered feet that clambered over Central Park's natural draws. Now, we enjoy bringing grandboys to the same treasured setting. Our dream is that this beautiful old park can achieve its best!

To us, it's great that this dear-to-the-heart park now may have a chance to go back on the city's high priority list. We'd like to see it be elevated to the best park ever with whatever is the best solution for its beautiful acreage.

I wish the political battle lines in our city were not so deeply drawn over three elements in the park (the planned demolition of the armory's largest building, the proposed dog park, and the proposed skate park) on a few acres in the 50-acre park that no way seems to exist for the city to back up and look at the park from the bigger, global perspective.  

As I've often said, I prefer the big picture first and then the details. Some seem to prefer the details first from which they then form the bigger picture.

I would prefer for a well-vetted, blue-ribbon panel of citizens with a heart for the park to first develop a master plan that is neighborhood- and town-friendly for everything that runs from Garland Avenue to Glenbrook, from Avenue G to the apartments and cemeteries to the south—but given the political dynamics now at play over that small corner of the park along Glenbrook, sadly I don't see that happening.

As I have said, I dream big—not in small increments or building by building!

Maybe some day when the current political hurricane passes and some of the hurt feelings fade, we can get back to looking at the big picture of what is best overall for Garland's beloved Central Park. There's so much more to the park than just a few acres along Glenbrook—and all of it needs the city's tender-loving attention.

How great if it could again be said of Central Park in the current day: "If you're from Garland, you pretty much lived there."

PART 3: WHITHER GARLAND?: Do citizens really count here? I've long had my doubts.

With a securely cordoned-off skate park right behind them, these youngsters gear up for a picnic. A small road in this well-designed parks complex separates the skate park from a dog park in the vicinity. The municipality's government office building and a police sub-station are part of the complex, enhancing security.

(Third of three in Whither Garland? series)

My wife and I may be among the few Garlandites that have experienced a perfectly designed dog park/skate park plan up close and personal—and working splendidly.

In the Arizona community where we own investment properties, a top-notch dog park and skate park have been meticulously designed and built as part of a master plan for the community. They draw hundreds of visitors each day.

Our grandchildren, who visit, love to stand outside the fence surrounding each. They like to see the puppies arrive for their outings. They like to see the kids on skateboards. We all enjoy watching the great fellowship of the owners while the dogs are at play. It's a fun place for observers and skateboarders as well as for the canine population.

In this same recreation complex also are a walking trail, bike trail, kids' playground and splash pad, soccer fields, and a small cafe and picnic areas as well as many other attractions—all intertwined in a marvelous architecturally pleasing way. The dog park and skate park are separated from each other by a small road. We always feel perfectly safe and feel confident about our grandbabies' safety when we visit.

A nearby small cafe that serves ice cream is an allure for onlookers. Kiddos carry their ice cream over to watch the puppies and the skaters. The complex is close enough to attract nearby residents but far away enough not to be an impairment.

 
It is situated close enough to be effective for nearby residential subdivisions but far enough away to not be a nuisance. Our properties are just the right distance from the park. From our street one can easily see the park lights at night, but they are far enough away not to bother us or our snowbird tenants in the over-55 community.

One of the reasons we like the dog park/skate park is because the overall park includes a city government complex and a police substation. These entities maintain careful watch and aren't about to let anything happen that poses danger to visitors to the surrounding park features.

Considering myself having had firsthand experience with a successful dog park/skate park combo, ever since the issue of a dog park and skate park arose in Garland almost a year ago I have volunteered in various city circles to sit down and offer my lay expertise, provide contact information in that particular community, and put my suggestions in the mix. We even would have hosted appropriate city authorities to go and stay in one of our properties to see first hand how a dog park and skate park work successfully in tandem.

The dog park, surrounded by high fences, is positioned well behind the children's playground. Those who live in the area appreciate that the parks complex is a high traffic area because it gives the feeling of added security, especially with the police station a part of the mix. Surrounding neighborhoods are close but not too close.

I mentioned it to a current parks-department official, whose employment history has even included tenure in another Arizona municipality.

"Blink blink" has been the only reply. Those to whom I offered my suggestions blinked at me politely but never followed through on information that I believe would have been helpful to Garland—and might even could have saved the current dilemma.

This situation as well as many others make me wonder: Do citizens really matter in Garland?

Some years back, Mayor Athas decided to appoint then-private citizen David Gibbons (now council member and mayor pro tem) as chair of another of his "secret" task forces, this one assigned to work on a plan for the so-called Bankhead Triangle (where State Highway 66 divides into East Avenues B and D). He appointed a group of citizens and developers to figure out how to make that portion from the beginning of the triangle to First Street blossom. 


Gibbons wisely included District 2 Councilmember Anita Goebel on the secret committee. Her name appears in the minutes of that group. All was rolling along quite nicely when something went dreadfully wrong. Goebel decided the "secret" committee was holding "secret" meetings with the mayor at the Main Street Cafe downtown without her.
 

At the end of a televised Council meeting two weeks before Gibbons took office, Goebel publicly confronted the mayor and Gibbons, who was sitting in the audience, about the "secret" meeting. The meeting was soon ruled adjourned and the city's communications staff worked swiftly to shut off the TV cameras, but not before the TV audience caught a glimpse of the dramatic confrontation.

That task force never met again and soon was disbanded. Valuable citizen input was dropped.

So much for another great project! I and many others would have loved to see this idea and area developed to completion. An out-of-state developer was visiting the other day, so I drove him by the "Bankhead Triangle". We both saw such great potential there but felt sad that the disregarded citizen input lost over a council fight over secrecy had destroyed a great opportunity for our city—at least for now.

The old and abandoned Eastern Hills Country Club presented another opportunity for citizen input—and not just from the angry citizens living in that area.

Repeatedly I told elected and other city officials about a retired citizen who moved to Garland after spending his life building world-class golf courses all over the world, including Europe, China, and the Middle East. He has friends worldwide who are still in that business, including some who have transitioned into the specialty field of either restoring or re-purposing golf courses that have closed down.

It seemed normal to me that city leaders would want to meet and hear this citizen's insights regarding Eastern Hills Country Club.

While the fight flared between a representative of the Henry S. Miller Co., who proposed cramming 500-plus homes onto the old golf course, and Eastern Hills residents who opposed the Miller plan and struggled to find their own solution, my friend easily could have provided the contacts necessary to perhaps solve the problem.

He was never consulted.

About 10 months ago, my friend contacted someone in his field who has an interest in finding a solution for the Eastern Hills Golf Course. The three of us, along with an Eastern Hills resident, toured the golf course and talked about ideas. A few weeks later, we all four went to one of the citizens' meetings just to listen.

My friend's friend is also talking with investors about his idea. Will his plan work? I don’t know. My purpose here isn’t to tout one developer’s ideas. I’m more concerned that our citizens are not consulted, especially when they have more expertise in a field than the consultants with high price tags the city hires.

In this day of instant Internet access and public TV airing of important city business, where do citizens fit into the mix in this city? Do city bureaucrats believe that only they and their consultants deserve the right to have input taken seriously? Why are citizens minimized again and again and again?

As we worked on redeveloping our 11th Street in downtown Garland, I came across in a university library in West Texas a 1985 Garland citizens study of the future of downtown Garland. It contained absolutely fabulous ideas, including a proposed National Register historic district for our Travis College Hill neighborhood (only larger because it included houses that have since been torn down) and Downtown Garland around the Square.

When I finally located a now-retired city official who remembered the study, he shrugged it off as just another citizens committee that came up with a bunch of ideas that were never implemented. In the list of that committee’s members were names of people who still live in Garland and have lost their appetites for the “latest, greatest idea” for downtown Garland—because they and others were not taken seriously more than 40 years ago. One of those was the owner of the building on the north side of the Square that so many complain about because it sits empty. Had the committee he served on been taken seriously instead of just kissed off, think where we might be today with that empty building on the Square!

A recent public citizens' task force on streets, which recommended a slight tax increase to improve our wretched potholes, got treated about the same way as that 1985 committee.

Our neighborhood has just completed the first successful historic tax credit application in Garland. I have guided the application through the state bureaucracy and received 25-percent tax credit for an improvement on Garland's Historic Pace House, an investment property.

"It's too complicated," protest other citizens who have been reluctant to apply for their own downtown projects. I found it to be just the opposite, with a bevy of employees at the Texas Historical Commission and in the Texas Comptroller’s Office eager to help me. Significant amounts of additional outside funds could be pumped into Garland redevelopment, at no cost to the city. I have tons of tips at my disposal. To get the city's attention, I have had to work about as hard as I did to complete the tax-credit project. And the city reception has lacked enthusiasm.

To me, this should be information that the city is eagerly, aggressively seeking out. I wonder why I had to approach the city about this matter instead of the city approaching me? Because it's coming from a private citizen, and not a consultant under contract, is it given less value?

Do citizens really matter here? Or only city employees, their consultants, and elected officials?

Now enter the third of the known Athas task forces—the makerspace task force aka the makerspace ad hoc committee.

Apparently, unlike the other two I've mentioned in this series, Councilmember Goebel was not included in this group's meetings. Neither was I nor Councilmember Gibbons.

Though the group says on its website that other city councilmembers besides the mayor were involved with it, none of the current councilmembers claims foreknowledge. And the makerspace advocates have not publicly identified any sitting councilmembers as involved with their effort. They do, however, work closely with former city council member Randal Dunning.
 

So, here we are today in the middle of a great big political mess. The current crisis was created when the makerspace task force, with Athas' blessings, asked for the old National Guard Armory as its place of operation—setting it on a collision course with the Parks Department's efforts to follow council's direction a few weeks earlier and locate the new dog and skate parks at Central Park on the same property being eyed by the makerspace task force.
 A collision was inevitable and thus it happened. The fallout is sickening us all!

And all of this because yet another of the mayor's "secret" task forces had been at work—secretly. The makerspace ad hoc committee needed to be out on the table from the very beginning, with council and others aware of its existence early on. This is a microcosm of how secrecy on the part of elected officials and staff gets the City of Garland into so much difficulty.
 

So, how could this mess have been avoided?

Very simply: The mayor could have publicly acknowledged each of his special task forces, brought council in on what he was doing, and refused to call them "secret". He could have been more open with his council members about his actions. In fact, he could have encouraged some of them to set up their own private task forces to look into issues in their particular districts.

I also would have preferred this: During many of its reviews of its policies during the Athas years, council could have set guidelines on these mayoral task forces, kitchen cabinets, citizen committees, etc. Council could have requested—or demanded—that this mayor and any succeeding mayors simply make the groups he created known to council with or without an authorization vote and agreed to guidelines that the mayor was to follow about routine reports from his special task forces.

These seem like very natural and workable solutions to the problem.

Unfortunately, none of that has happened. Few in this culture seem to know or understand the principle, "Who else needs to know?" Secrecy just doesn't work!

So where are Garland's citizens in all of this? Too often left out "in the cold". Expertise from the public—beyond just reports from paid consultants—gets little regard. Those who seriously could lend a strong hand to helping solve city dilemmas are shunned.

The system is broken. It must be fixed, before Garland—a city with huge potential—becomes the laughingstock of all.

The city must find a way to include its citizens, who pay the bills for all the city does, to feel empowered and not minimized by their community's bureaucracy and elected officials.

Great ideas for the city's East End, hatched up by a citizens' committee, lie fallow while the area remains undeveloped. Does citizen input, because it's not the work of a high-priced consultant, make any difference? Are the only ideas that are taken seriously those that cost taxpayers money?

 

Part 2: WHITHER GARLAND?: Best to always ask, "Who else needs to know?"

             One tiny word—secrecy—but it represents a dynamic that causes stalemates and boondoggles where numerous Garland projects can't get accomplished.

"Who else needs to know?"

My wife's manager during the last job she held in the corporate world was almost a broken record with this question he posed to her constantly. When her editing team was about to roll out a new book or initiative or make some revolutionary change in the way things were done, he would query her endlessly about whether all the bases had been touched, commucations-wise.

This is the same message we both experienced while working in the corporate culture of the Houston Chronicle: run everything by the proper people. No surprises. Don't keep someone crucial out of the loop, so no opposition arises over procedural matters.

At the heart of the current political crisis facing Garland lies the mayor's penchant for secrecy and the council's curious hesitation to take on the issue more aggressively by the horns.

Let me say that again: "Who else needs to know?"

That practice of analyzing "Who else needs to know?" doesn't seem to be at the forefront of the mayor's modus operandi and that of some of our other Garland leaders.

It should be no surprise that the current issue between the mayor and council involves his secrecy tendencies, particularly his penchant for forming secret task forces to address issues. The matter involving the task force (aka ad hoc committee) on makerspaces and the old National Guard Armory buildings on the edge of Central Park is just the latest example of Athas' working in the shadows.

In this case, even the city’s Parks Department failed to follow the maxim when it abruptly started planning to tear down the South Garland Little League field as part of a bigger plan to tear down the armory and build dog and skate parks on the east side of Central Park along Glenbrook.

This framed artwork in our home reminds us of a question Kay's boss asked again and again when her team was rolling out this series of products: "Who else needs to know?", making sure all corporate bases were covered with proper communication.

Some neighbors in the nearby Embree neighborhood surrounding the controversial sites first complained about the possibility of a makerspace in the old armory, then later others complained about the last-minute notice regarding the dog and skate parks and the proposed demolition of the main armory building—that they had not had adequate awareness and input on any of the issues.

I’m sure these neighbors in Embree must feel whipsawed by all the communications blunders that have occurred on the Central Park side of their neighborhood.

Athas' tenure as mayor is littered with similar examples.

Councilmembers are wary of Athas’ tendency to secrecy, but I'm sometimes surprised that they have never brought this matter to the table to be addressed comprehensively and publicly. 

Individual council members have lashed out at the mayor on City TV over select issues related to secrecy, but it has never been addressed globally. Council could have called for a concerted study of the mayor's covert operations along this line, but never has. There certainly has been major concentrated effort to look into his expense report policies and his boards and commissions appointments.
 

Athas, one of Garland's most veteran politicians, is also quite skilled at envisioning ideas that are good for Garland. However, at the same time he seriously lacks some of the communications skills to pull these off. It's a regrettable combination.


I have firsthand knowledge of the inside of this situation. Shortly after his election as mayor, Doug Athas arrived at my home and then returned on several occasions to ask if I would chair his new Mayor's Task Force on Historical Preservation. I was honored and delighted; I accepted. He brought me books on historical preservation, gave me some great ideas, and in so many ways mentored me for my current interest in historical preservation in Garland.

Weeks after the task force began meeting, the mayor and I were in a public meeting with citizens. Athas told that group the task force was "a secret task force" and that they were not to leave the room and talk about anything he or I had said.

I thought he was joking and afterward asked him why he would make such an unusual comment. He was very clear he considered our task force to be "secret"—despite having just made this announcement to a well-networked group of people with many contacts throughout the city. How could it possibly be secret after this announcement? I wondered. I was very clear that I work in daylight, not darkness.

After that I tried to see that all councilmembers were informally briefed about the work of the task force—though I got my ears burned by several who were extremely bothered that the mayor was not keeping council as a group informed about our task force's activities.
 

I did what I believed was necessary; the mayor did what he believed was his right.
  

I also made certain that District 2 Councilmember Anita Goebel, in whose district much historical-preservation activity occurs, was invited to all meetings and encouraged to participate. Her name appears frequently in the minutes to the meetings.
 

The road on which that task force traveled was rocky at times. After Phase 1 of the work was finished (and successfully, I might add), I found myself mostly shut out of future mayoral task forces and totally minimized as a part of the city's next effort to add the Garland Downtown Historic District to the National Register of Historic Places—despite the fact that under Kay’s and my leadership our Travis College Hill Historic District became the first site ever in the history of Garland to be added to that prestigious federal registry. We did it at ZERO cost to the city, while the undisclosed city costs for the Square may have run into the multi thousands of dollars.

I was the guy with all the history and experience on this subject, but until I complained loud and long, I was not sought out in this next crucial process involving the Downtown district.


Experience didn't matter. Being unwilling to operate in the shadows and darkness did seem to be majorly important.


Now, don't get me wrong: I see no problem with a mayor having a "kitchen cabinet", a "citizens advisory council" on some matter, or even a "task force" to study a subject. Calling it secret, or allowing it to be discovered that the committee has been at work for a long time already without the rest of the council knowing, however, sets off dynamics with councilmembers and the public that are not good for anyone.

Then, the "secrecy" becomes the issue—not the merits of the subject studied.

The mayor's explanation for wanting the "secret" task forces was that the council members he disliked (or feared—I could never decide which) so intently would somehow work against the ultimate outcome of the task force.

I found exactly the opposite to be true. Councilmembers that the mayor identified as his enemies turned out to be key supporters of projects the "secret" task force I headed proposed. They seemed to appreciate my efforts to keep them informed and up-to-date on all we were doing.

We seem to be a city of secrets and that holds us back. I much prefer that we be a city of truth and light!

(Tomorrow: Do citizens really count?)

Part 1: WHITHER GARLAND? Fixing a Broken System Must Be Key Beyond Current Central Park Dilemma

 

Unbalanced tenant ratio in apartments at old bank site threatens downtown rebirth, which needs more nearby residents with money to spend.

"We have met the enemy and he is us," said the wise cartoon character, Pogo.

Too often Pogo's words apply to our hometown of Garland.

All too often, when yet another project either fails or gets badly mangled and bungled, I think of Pogo and his famous line.

Pogo's maxim has been on my mind these last few days in light of last Tuesday night's gut-wrenching, eye-popping City Council session, which culminated in Mayor Doug Athas announcing that he plans to resign.

The tensions on council have been steadily climbing for several years now, growing increasingly ugly during the past year with tempers flaring and incendiary remarks being made—forcing the city to look closely at the Open Meetings Act to determine what has to be by law aired in reruns and on public TV itself.

When you think things can't get any worse, they suddenly do. Now the whole DFW Metroplex and beyond knows Garland is in a state of political turmoil and facing a complex political dilemma that isn't going away any time soon.

Athas' plans to resign without a specific time-frame or date of departure and clear delineation for a path forward, along with his and his friends' public campaign against his six opponents on the City Council, leaves the city in a severe political crisis.

As it has escalated over the past year, the turmoil on council has resulted in numerous projects in the city being thrown into a state of confusion—sometimes into the trash can.


To name a few:

1. The Tinsley-Lyles House debacle (covered in a previous blog, "A Tale of Two Historic Garland Houses");

2. The Central Park makerspace/dog park/skate park/armory (and other related issues there) circus;

3. The so-called "Bankhead Triangle" (Highway 66 entrance into Garland where it divides into West Avenues B and D in the heart of one of Garland's remaining African-American communities) fiasco;

4. The Eastern Hills Country Club stalemate;

5. The potential powder keg looming on the horizon because 70 percent of the new apartments slowly being carved out of the old Bank of America site will very likely mostly be reserved for Section 8 (lower-income) tenants—in a location that desperately needs to draw inhabitants with extra money to spend in the developing cadre of restaurants and stores downtown.

When I focus on just those five (four of which are less than two miles of my home in District 2), I want to shake my head in disbelief. It is simply incredible that things have been allowed to get so out of hand. It's like a horror movie that runs nonstop.

Will Eastern Hills Country Club continue as another casualty of city government crisis?

Then when I think about the new city contract—two years in the making—to purchase the old Hypermart building site after the current owner tears the building down, I wonder whether it, too, will join the list of failed projects because it still has many roads to travel to redevelopment.

As I look around and see the huge economic and building boom occurring all over Dallas and most of the other DFW area cities, I cringe with fear that Garland—the second-largest city in Dallas County, the 12th-largest in Texas, and the 87th-largest in the U.S.—is going to once again miss out and lose the moment.

Instead it will be like the orchestra on the sinking Titanic insistently playing our city's old "Happy Days Are Here Again!" refrain about the good things happening along our northern rim surrounding the George Bush Freeway, in the old Raytheon site at Miller at Jupiter, and finally (after a 2.5-year wrangle with the city's red tape) what's going to happen on the former Wyrick Farm at Jupiter and Buckingham (which was not a city initiative but private enterprise at its best). While those developments are positive, they cannot cover up the difficulties that threaten our city at the moment.

No wonder no one, except in jest, mentions Garland as a potential site for Amazon's huge expansion that our sister cities in the area are busy trying to woo!

We need solutions to our issues, not political fights. We absolutely do not need a political civil war polarizing and destroying our city and turning citizens against one another—which is already happening.
  
Without fixing the broken system, however, the problems will perpetuate, only with new faces in the picture frames.
 
(Tomorrow I'll write more about the heart of the issue facing the city in its current crisis.)

The Tinsley-Lyles House debacle is one of five messes that needs to be fixed.

"You're what? By how much?" Native American heritage spawns questions, myths, and identification with others who are oppressed

I'm very proud of The Great Seal of the Chickasaw Nation that is displayed in the living room of our home in Garland.

I was privileged to be born a Texan—and, of course, a U.S. citizen at the same time.




I also was privileged to be born with Native American ancestry on my father's side. His father—my grandfather—was fastidious despite prejudice all around him to make sure all proper paperwork was in order for himself and his family. Because of that, I am a full citizen and elder of "the unconquered and unconquerable" Chickasaw Nation.

The pain my grandfather and other Chickasaw ancestors went through helps me empathize with other nonwhite groups that have suffered greatly because of prejudicial acts.

Because those on my mother's side were Scotch-Irish, some people don't understand my full Native American citizenship and ask me, "What percentage Indian are you really? You can't be full-blood. You look like a lot less. How can you be a Chickasaw citizen?"




We recently received some correspondence from a friend that, lightheartedly, described me as "part Chickasaw". However, legally, you are or you aren't a Chickasaw citizen. There's no in-between category. "Part" has no place in our Chickasaw Nation's laws or vocabulary.

What most people don't understand is that the U.S. government used blood quantums as one of many cruel means to try and assimilate Native Americans into the white culture—as a tool to erase the "Indian" tribes from history.

  

Had our government used the same means to describe African-Americans, who in many instances also have "white" ancestors, the technique would have backfired, exposing an additional ugly and despicable underside of American slavery—the assault of many female slaves by their white masters.



As Senator Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts has found out during her career, the matter of Native American blood quantum is badly misunderstood and misused by the American public today.




I know several other Garlandites, including one prominent pastor and one formerly active politico, who are like Senator Warren—they know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they have Native American roots and can even identify the tribe, but they just can't prove or document it.

 


Sometimes various Garland residents have asked for my help in establishing their Native American roots. Unfortunately, the U.S. government has made it next to impossible for them to do that unless one of their lineal ancestors actually had the courage to register by signing up for the Dawes Rolls. (Dawes Rolls are the Congressional-mandated listing of all tribal members in the U.S. as of December 31, 1906).




And furthermore, they must go through much government red tape (a series of birth certificates, death certificates, and even notarized, sworn statements from older relatives attesting to their parentage).
   




Unfortunately for Senator Warren, who grew up in the same era on another side of Oklahoma City from me, her grandparents or great-grandparents must have been, for whatever reason, frightened of acknowledging their Cherokee heritage and decided against registering on the government's Dawes Rolls, even though they apparently talked about their Indian heritage privately and quietly at home—a not-uncommon practice in the late 1800s and early 1900s, when some groups treated Native Americans as badly as they did African-Americans.
 




My paternal grandfather, on the other hand, was straightforward and proud of his Chickasaw heritage—and probably a little bull-headed about it, too. He was willing to endure whatever discrimination might come his way to publicly align himself with his roots. His great-grandmother had been a substantial property-holder in Mississippi but was forced to leave her native land during the 1830s "Indian removal" because of her Chickasaw bloodline. In fact, the last Chickasaw group of 186 people (including my grandfather's grandfather and grandmother and his father) to leave their homeland in Mississippi is named in history books for her—Delilah Love Mitchell Moore.

Before Delilah was forced to depart with her whole household and extended family, she even deeded some of her land as a gift for what is now the town of Holly Springs, MS. This one-time prosperous Southern lady lost everything due to the persecution of Native Americans. Today she lies buried in an unmarked grave in Ft. Washita, OK.

Despite her means and because she was Chickasaw, Grandmother Delilah is buried in an unmarked Oklahoma grave.

My grandfather carried this tragic family story etched on his heart throughout his life, so not identifying as a Chickasaw went against every fiber of his being. He signed when asked.




Unfortunately, the senator has none of the official documentation that I have on file both at the Chickasaw capital in Ada, OK, and locked in my bank's safety deposit box in Garland.



By the way, my bloodline includes some Choctaws, too, but the predominant strain is Chickasaw. One is allowed by law to be a member of only one tribe, usually the dominant strain.




To fully understand the whole debate over blood quantum, one has to study Native American history and the U.S. government's massive efforts in the 1800s and early 1900s to amalgamate the Native peoples, especially the so-called Five Civilized Tribes (Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek, and Seminole), into the white culture.




The modern Chickasaw Nation was among the first tribes in the U.S. to outlaw "the white man's" blood quantum formulas. Most tribes today have followed suit and done away with it.




Before the U.S. government effort began in the early 1800s, Chickasaws and other tribes had their own way of identifying and accounting for their tribal members. One had to have a bloodline that included Chickasaws, a parent who was a member of the tribe, and also a desire to identify with the Chickasaw Nation.




Toward the end of the 1800s and into the early 1900s U.S. government agents often would try to get uneducated and abused Native Americans registering for the government's official Dawes Rolls to describe themselves as one-half, one-fourth, one-eighth, one-sixteenth et al. Chickasaw, Choctaw, Cherokee, and so forth in hopes that when the percentage down the line would eventually get so small, tribal members would begin thinking of themselves as all white—and the tribes would fade into history.

Many who gave out those percentages really didn't know enough about their own personal genealogy to provide accurate percentages, a fact the Chickasaw citizenship office in Ada often cites. That office scorns any written percentages in the historical records as pure fantasy.


The policy didn't work. By the 1960s, the tribes were reorganizing after being marginalized and almost destroyed between 1907 and the late 1960s. Today, Chickasaw citizens like me make sure that their children, grandchildren, and so forth, are officially registered and certified.




Ironically, blood quantums were not something the government ever tried to force on African-Americans, despite the fact that it was common knowledge that black slave women were often forcibly raped or used as sexual objects by their white masters—thus producing children of truly "mixed blood". President Thomas Jefferson and his black slave, Sally Hemings, are the most prominent examples. Only in recent decades has the Jefferson family been willing to admit publicly its ties to Sally and her descendants, who were looked down on by white society as only African-Americans.
 




In my college days when I was involved in the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s, one of my African-American friends said rather bluntly, "Look at my family and you'll see that all 10 of my brothers and sisters and I have slightly different skin tones, even though all 11 of us have the same mom and dad. That's because of what the white slave masters did to my female ancestors. They raped them. Or used them as sex objects. And they often got them pregnant. Out of their behavior came children of so-called mixed blood. And they refused to acknowledge them, too. My white ancestry shows up in these variations of skin tones."



My friend claimed that a great number of African-Americans have white ancestry in their heritage, too. That made me wonder why the public brands all African-Americans as "black" when many are indeed "part white".
 




Had the U.S. government tried its blood quantum technique on the African slaves, it would have had to admit that an incredible amount of unreported sexual assault occurred to black slave women by their "masters" or male members of their "master's" household during the days of slavery—something our political leaders until late were loathe to do. So the issue of "blood quantum" never arose in the African-American community. Ignoring the sexual abuse of female slaves was shameful on the part of our government!


For nearly 50 years now I have voted not only in local, state, and U.S. federal elections but also in tribal elections, too. I also regularly have participated in tribal meetings.


I'm proud of those facts. I'm also proud of my grandfather who laid the foundation so that I, my children, and my grandchildren have a very fine, provable Native American heritage!

The Chickasaw White House in Oklahoma is similar in architectural style and date to Garland's Historic Pace House.

The safety of children of all races should be given the same consideration when a Garland makerspace site is proposed again

All of Garland's children of all ethnicities need to be taken into account when discussing makerspace sites.

So that the city won't "end up in the same tailspin all over again", Councilmember Scott LeMay has wisely proposed adopting specific zoning criteria regulating makerspaces in Garland—where they should be situated, how much parking is needed, and other such requirements for an operation in Garland.

I concur with the councilmember, who noted that even if a location other than the controversial armory site is found, it well could spark a repeat of Monday night's marathon council meeting—a site "next to something" that yet another group of citizens would oppose.

The city needs to think long and carefully about exactly whether we really want a makerspace in Garland, where exactly it should be situated if one indeed is created in this city, and what the precise and enforceable governing rules for it should be. (The Dallas Morning News' Ray Leszcynski this week gave a good "makerspace" definition: "places for do-it-yourself projects or business ventures that don't necessarily fit a garage.")

On this issue everybody needs to slow down, take a deep breath, and think further.

Monday night's debate was so fraught with dramatic moments on both sides that a "time out" to think this through clearly needs to occur. Developing a zoning use category for makerspaces could be that appropriate recess on the issue. It would give councilmembers time to clear their heads and carefully weigh everything that is concerned.

As I have often said during my nearly 10 years on the Garland Plan Commission, "Reasonable people, working for a reasonable amount of time on an issue, ought to be able to find a reasonable solution."

Much of the debate during the Council session centered on the appropriateness of using the old abandoned armory buildings along Glenbrook in Garland's Central Park for makerspaces. The majority of council members said they support having a makerspace in Garland but not in the old armory buildings, which the city had planned before the makerspace issue suddenly erupted to demolish to make way for a new dog park and skateboard park in Central Park but which the makerspace supporters said was perfect for their enterprise.

One issue in the debate leaped out at me with red lights flashing and red flags waiving.

Much was said about the inappropriateness of locating a makerspace operation close to the nearby historic Embree neighborhood, situated within hundreds of feet from the armory. Points were scored about the possibility of noise, dangerous propane fires, etc., occurring near homes, especially with children in them.

All are very valid concerns.

However, twice during the discussion it was suggested that a Garland makerspace could be located in an old, near-town manufacturing building that has been for sale for more than a year but that now is under contract. That vintage 1947-era facility, which is still occupied and used for light industry, is surrounded on the south and west by homes, some whose back yards are situated less than 20 feet from that building. Most of the houses that are closest to that facility have children living in them. Most of those children are Hispanic or other nonwhite groups.

That last fact points out another major reason not to act in haste but to carefully think through the issue fully. Otherwise the city could potentially end up in a major federal discrimination lawsuit, taking this current debate to an even worse level.

Though it has some Hispanic residents, Embree nearest the armory in Central Park is a predominantly white community. The houses surrounding the alternative site suggested Monday night are mostly Hispanic, especially the homes with children closest to the facility.

If a makerspace facility is inappropriate for a neighborhood mostly containing white children living hundreds of feet away, then it is also inappropriate for nonwhite children living and playing less than 20 feet away from this one alternate proposed facility.

All children are—or should be—precious to our community, too. 

The new ordinance must define clearly and carefully boundaries that do not favor one group in our community over another. I'd personally rather not have a makerspace facility in Garland than to have one nonwhite group of children be treated poorly—or more unfairly—than in contrast to another.

The discussion also pointed out the wide range of hobbyists that can use makerspaces. Like many others, I initially believed these were places where sewing, jewelry-making, woodworking, art, and other hobbies are advocated. Instead, opponents pointed out the list can be much wider. A video of racing cars and a noisy jet engine shown to the council definitely pointed out the need for guidelines to spell out noise and other limits on what occurs at a makerspace.

However, on the day when headlines around the world were reporting the deaths of 59 people and injury of more than 500 others in Las Vegas from an apparent lone gunman using a massive amount of guns and ammunition, Councilmember Robert Vera wisely asked proponents about the possibility of any guns or ammunition being at the makerspace facility. Much to my surprise, the makerspace proponents talked about a loophole in federal law that allows gun parts to be assembled into guns in such facilities as well as ammunition reloaded. They also talked about classes for citizens on cleaning guns, which means firearms (which they say would be unloaded) would be carried in and out of the facility.

In light of current circumstances, that matter raised more concerns than all the other noise and safety issues combined! At the minimum it needs to be discussed thoroughly and completely from all angles. It's another reason to slow down the process—think it through carefully and totally before any decision is made.

If we have a makerspace in Garland, we need Scott LeMay's proposal that a zoning design be written and adopted first to assure us citizens that it will be located in a safe place, operated in an appropriate manner, and respectful of all Garland citizens regardless of race, creed, color, or religion. 

Anything less is not acceptable!