Sacramento’s Milk Carton Mayor
Reading about Kevin Johnson’s bid to become Mayor of Sacramento I came across mention of some woman named “Fargo,” “Heather Fargo.” Allegedly, she is the current Mayor of Sacramento. I had presumed these past several years that the job was vacant and that Johnson was now simply stepping up to the plate to take on a largely ceremonial position that nobody else wanted.
I recall hearing the name in some context, usually in connection with her absence from some important event or task. At one point when I was still on the radio here, I lobbied to place her picture on milk cartons in order that we might locate the missing in action herhonor but nothing ever came of it and the job, I thought, remained vacant.
There have been state and federal officials inspecting our crumbling flood protection and turning that urgent public safety need into a political ping pong ball and photo opportunity (if you own a home in Natomas, good luck to you and remember that your seat cushion may be used as a floatation device). There have been controversies in the on-going saga of the K-Street Mall, a massive fiscal crisis and housing collapse, the County Sheriff annexing a block of Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd for Mexico, and more. Never a mention of a mayor being in attendance though.
Apparently, this Fargo woman wants to keep the job of Mayor and promptly proved herself illiterate in the ways of reading the public record by accusing Johnson of having outstanding tax liens, tax liens that he apparently does not have outstanding.
Maybe she’s been watching Hillary take pot shots at Obama and figured why not?
From what I hear, this Fargo person is quite the hit on the garden club circuit. It shouldn’t be too hard to frighten nice old ladies with garden trowels with images of turning the city over to a black man. Especially since this black man is an advocate for the revitalization of Oak Park and disadvantaged inner city (largely minority) youth. Polite garden club ladies don’t venture near (or speak of) Oak Park because, after all it is filled with disadvantaged, largely minority youths and we all know that one should always cross the street upon sighting one. Gosh, what if he’s a Muslim too? Dear goodness, the garden clubs would have massive attacks of the vapors and abandon plots all over town! When he goes door to door you may be sure that the nice ladies will have the telephone in their hand, having already dialed “9-1” and their finger hovering over the second “1” just in case.
Hmmm, I shall have to watch this unfold.
On another note, file this one under “appreciating what you’ve got.” Holly and I are back home from six grueling weeks in some of the most depressing and toxic geography we have ever endured – Albany, New York, where we keep an apartment to facilitate my radio show there.
Corrupt and mobbed up to the eyebrows, it is filthy, decaying, cold, dark, and dank and is populated by people either trapped by circumstances or preparing to leave. So massive is the outflow of population that it has dropped twenty places in rank as a media market since I last worked there in the mid-1990’s. Bald eagles and other wildlife are reclaiming abandoned industrial communities and have mutated evolved to thrive surrounded by raw industrial waste in a setting that looks like a Roger Corman directed, post-apocalyptic, B-movie from Mystery Science Theater 3000.
The most beautiful words I have heard in my life came through my headset as I was listening to our flight home communicate with Air Traffic Control on our decent into Sacramento International Airport:
“Capitol Tower, United Five-Seven-Seven on final for Three-Four Left, field in sight.”
“United Five-Seven-Seven, Capitol Tower, you are clear to land.”
A moment later, we touched down and in the roar of the reverse thrust that halted us, we actually cried with tears of joy.