Victory by a Landslide

Victory by a Landslide

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Back when I lived in Washington, a theatre group of which I was a member met every Tuesday morning for breakfast at Sheila’s By the Bay, a local café. That’s where we made the day-to-day decisions of running our theatre. And we also discussed a wide range of current topics. One morning Gayle, a retired government spook, leaned across the table and said, “Sondra, you are the most apolitical person I know.”

“Why, thank you,” I replied. I was pleased to accept the compliment and to ignore the hint of frustration in Gayle’s voice. So it is hard for me to explain how I have ended up in city government.

It was five years ago in January. I had just arrived in town. Unopened boxes cluttered my living room, rows of paint cans lined the floor, lighting fixtures gathered sawdust while waiting to be hung, and a miter saw held court in the middle of the dining room table.

I wanted to get involved in my new community as soon as possible. I believe in community service. So I responded to a notice in the post office and wrote a letter of interest about filling a city council vacancy.

I considered my letter to be a simple test run. No way was I, a stranger in town, going to be chosen to fill a vacant council seat. Also, I knew nothing of city government. Frankly, I had about as much interest as the average citizen, which seems to be very little indeed. (I find that people expect things to run well and complain when they don’t.) So, my letter was an exercise, practice until something more interesting came along.

It was the evening of the council meeting. I did not realize I was supposed to be at city hall. I had just sat down to dinner with guests when the phone rang. It was the mayor. “Aren’t you coming? We are waiting for you. We have to choose the new councilperson before we can hold the meeting.”

“Oops, I mean, of course. I’ll be there in four minutes,” I said while I struggled into my coat, ran a comb through my hair and slammed out the door.

Oh, dear. Things did not go the way they were supposed to. A half hour later, I found myself raising my hand, promising to do my duty to the best of my ability and seated in a chair behind the long table. The meeting started. I was terrified. I voted on things I had no notion of at all.

This would not do. That week I began my intensive education into city government. My first six months in office I felt like I didn’t understand a thing. I listened a lot. I read a lot. The more I read, the more interested I got. I attended a wide range of meetings and trainings. The next six months I knew enough to begin asking questions. By the following year I dubbed myself the Queen of Dumb Questions. I have proudly held that honorable title ever since.

When the year of my appointment was up, I had become fascinated with city government and eager to learn more. So I ran for election. I am not a political-type person. To be in city government in our small town is very much a volunteer in-service position. I did not come to town to “change things” nor to “make things run the way they did back where I come from” nor to recreate life “the way it used to be when I grew up around here”.

Yet this year when my term was due to expire, I had a hard time making the decision to run again. Maybe, I thought, five years is long enough for me. I mulled it over. I talked with a lot of people. I even tried to convince a couple other citizens into running. Both of them responded, “Better you than me.” In the end, I drove to the court house in Chinook and registered to run.

I like the people I serve with. I feel we make a good team, despite the rolling of eyeballs when I say something like, “I’ve been thinking. . .” What we do makes a difference. And, how else would I get to meet stimulating people throughout the state, many of whom have become friends.

So I am proud to announce that last Tuesday on Election Day I won the race for my council seat by a landslide.

Oh, I forgot to mention. I ran unopposed.

Sondra Ashton
HDN: Looking out my back door
November 17, 2011

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Small town people running small towns—with help from the LGC

Small town people running small towns—with help from the LGC
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The highway from Harlem to Billings at four o’clock in the morning is an empty stretch of road. Mayor Bill drove the Yukon . Council Member Sondra rode shotgun. The mayor and I were headed to the annual Municipal Elected Officials Workshop. Bill’s handsome young grandson Brandon, resplendent in Navy whites, slept upright in the back seat. Bill and I talked quietly. We noted the greening beauty of the countryside, the play of shadow as the sun rose, the abundance of wildlife.



We arrived at the Billings airport, our first stop, too early for Brandon to check in for his flight to Norfolk , so we went upstairs to the restaurant. After a leisurely though hearty breakfast, we lingered over coffee. Once we had seen the young man safely on his way, Bill and I drove to the Heights for a short visit with my sister, a visit I thoroughly enjoyed, more so since I had not seen her for a couple of years. Judy, who owns her own shop, cut my hair. We caught up on family gossip and hugs.



The workshop we were attending was provided by the Local Government Center , an educational outreach extension of Montana State University . In conjunction with the Montana Municipal Interlocal Authority and the Clerks Institute, it offers trainings, technical assistance and research for elected officials of Montana cities and towns. There were sessions for mayors and council members, city attorneys and clerks from all over the state. Once we checked into our rooms we immersed ourselves in trainings from Wednesday through Friday. City clerks and treasurers had arrived early for a full week of day and night sessions. Sometimes we met jointly; other workshops were specific to each group.



Lectures, simulated incidents, table-top exercises, group discussions, Q&A sessions—all were valuable. Emergency management, jurisdictions, the declaration process, how to request assistance—all good stuff! Issues that require public participation and deliberation, tips on researching an issue, and ways to advocate to decision makers so that public policy may be developed or changed—this was exciting! Wetlands, flood mitigation, maximizing benefits of wetlands, improving water quality—how timely. Managing conflict constructively—gathering tools and skills to effectively manage potentially contentious interpersonal and community conversations—all provocative topics.



The whole workshop experience definitely increased my ability to be effective in my role as a council person. But the best part, to me, was interacting with other elected officials from around Montana . Some were friends from previous workshops; others I met for the first time. We shared our stories. We asked multitudes of questions, to one another and to the workshop leaders. We indulged in stimulating dialogue as each workshop topic brought new challenges.



We found that most of us know the same frustrations and rewards of living in small communities. When we don’t take the opportunity to share our experiences, strengths, hopes, failures and frustrations with one another, we often get to feeling like we are pushing a heavy boulder uphill by ourselves. At least that is how I felt when I arrived at the workshop.



This was beautifully summed up by a workshop leader, “Most small towns are run by STP.” “What does that acronym stand for?” we asked. “Same Ten People”. The room exploded with laughter. And I felt at home. I learned that I am not alone.



Our jobs would be extremely difficult without the help of the Local Government Center and the trainings and workshops they hold throughout the state. Being a municipal official is a lot like getting married or like parenting. We sign up for it without a clue, without a training manual, without a step-by-step book of instructions. LGC fills the gap.



LGC means a lot to me and to my home town. Any one of us in city government can pick up the phone and dial for help. LGC personnel are always ready to answer questions, give us information, help with research, steer us in the right direction, and keep us out of jail. The Legislature, in their dubious wisdom, failed to fund the LGC this session. Instead they gave a no-strings chunk of money to the University system and suggested LGC request funding from them. I hope the University Regents listen.



Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

May 19, 2011
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

1969 Chevy Pick-up Truck

Whadda ya think?
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
1969 Chevy Pick-up Truck

Last weekend I drove to Missoula to deliver a couch to a customer. It was fun to be back in Missoula , seeing old sights, visiting old friends. I felt nostalgic for the days when I lived on Alder Street with my young son. My friends and I shared all our resources. We could always count on each other for help. It was a time of stimulating talk, good friends and little money.

On my way back home I stopped at Ma’s Café in Loma. The Sunday evening special was a juicy a rib-eye steak. I washed it down with a tall glass of iced-tea. Satisfied and satiated, I rambled out to my elderly, but trustworthy, cargo van. I climbed into the driver’s seat and started to turn the key. In front of me, angled off to the side just a hair, sat a sky blue Chevy pick-up. A red and white FOR SALE sign was stuck prominently under the windshield wiper. The minute I saw it, I said out loud, “With that truck I could be a politician.”

For a person involved in city government, I am about as apolitical as one can be. I have never had political ambitions. But when I saw that truck, political lust struck. I knew this truck would be the perfect campaign outfit. With it, I knew I could win any race I chose to enter. Now I know nothing about politics, but I have observed that ignorance is no detriment to the job.

I bounced out of my van and walked around the old pick-up. It was a 1969 Chevy C-10. A gun rack spanned the rear window. An older model 30.06 nestled snug in the rack. A cap with a fish skeleton logo dangled from the rear-view mirror. An NRA sticker was plastered in the back window. Old Glory flew from a stake in the back right hand side of the box and an old broom stuck up, right behind the cab. The brake lights were mounted on posts on each side of the missing tail gate. The grill was noticeable by its absence, but that was no big deal. Both front fenders were intact though thoroughly dented. I kicked the tires. She was a beauty. This outfit, complete with all the accouterments, was everything I would need to launch my new political career. The only thing missing was a horn which could play “Yankee Doodle”. I jotted down the phone number. I knew I would pay any price.

I could see myself tooling around, up and down all the back roads of Montana . I would plaster campaign posters all over the truck. I would make speeches in local Fire Halls, shake hands with farmers, kiss babies and eat fried chicken. With my truck I would lead the Fourth of July parade. One look at my truck would convince the voters that I was a woman of the people, by far the best candidate. And if I had a flat tire, I could change it myself.

In these troubled times, people are flocking to the polls in every state to vote for sincere, well-meaning folks with little or no experience. I would fit right in. I also have noticed that these same voters are leery of the two established parties. There is already a Tea Party. So I thought I’d give mine a name that would appeal to more of my constituents. I would call it the Kaffee-Klatsch Party. I’ve been listening to the men sitting around the front table in Deb’s Diner. I’ve noticed that more political talk takes place over coffee than tea.

I had a moment of apprehension when I recalled the grief and aggravation my Harlem friends, our mayor and the county commissioner, put up with. I flung that fleeting fear aside. Maybe I could recruit one of them to be my campaign manager. With support from my friends and the right truck, there would be no stopping me.

Driving between Loma and Big Sandy, day-dreaming of fame to come, I saw three sets of genuine crop circles. What is this world coming to!

Sondra Ashton
HDN: Looking out my back door
August 19, 2010
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________