By G.D. Maxwell
"Live the dream? Am I hearing you right? Live the dream?" At this point I wasn’t sure whether I was dreamin’ or not.
"Yup. Live the dream. I’ve decided. That’s my campaign slogan. Live the dream."
I’d dropped by the Galt for Mayor headquarters – Tapley’s – to see what was going on in the heart of the Never Ending Party. Well, actually I’d dropped by HQ to see if there was still a Galt for Mayor campaign going on, there having been enough silence about Dave’s run for mayor to get me thinkin’ he might have changed his mind or lost interest.
I found the candidate, looking tanned, rested and distinguished, in a local politics sort of way, hunched over a pad of paper jotting down cryptic notes and making drawings that looked, vaguely, like a weird car of some kind.
"Live the dream? What the heck does that mean, Dave?"
"Means what it says, of course," he answered, not looking up from his pad.
"’Splain it to me. I’m a simple man. I never fully understood the thousand points of light either when pappy Bush made it the cornerstone of his campaign," I prodded.
"It’s why we’re all here, isn’t it? Didn’t you move here to live the dream? I can’t believe you moved here out of a burning desire to work a front-line service job or even to write your silly column. You moved to Whistler because it seemed like a magical place. Unbelievable setting, vast natural beauty, mountains, lakes, trails, more activities than you could possibly do. It seemed like a dream, was a dream, and now I’m not sure it’s a dream we’re going to be able to pass along. Too many people are beginning to find it more a nightmare than a dream."
"Okay, can’t argue with that but politically, aren’t you afraid ‘live the dream’ sounds, well, sounds kinda air-headed? You know, simple thoughts for simple minds?"
"Simple, profound, it’s all highly subjective. I think; therefore I am. Simple or profound? I don’t really care. What I do care about is what it means for this town when there isn’t a dream to live anymore. It was easy, up until a couple of years ago to believe everyone – at least a large enough percentage of everyone that anyone who didn’t was the exception that proved the rule – that everyone who came here came to live the dream. And everyone who stayed, stayed because they’d found the dream and wanted to hold on to it."
"What’s changed?"
"The nature of success has changed. Our success. Now there seem to be so many people whose only dream is to turn a quick buck, run a scam, park money until they can find a better place to invest it, be part of some scene they think exists here because of the buzz you media types create, people who seem to have no real connection to this community other than looking at it as a fatted lamb."
"You’re a dreamer."
"Exactly. Glad you agree with me."
"So, other than living the dream, what’s the campaign about?"
"It’s evolving. Part of it’s about waste. Waste and indecision."
"Fer example?"
"Where to start? How about the multimillion dollar retirement fund for consultants, the CSP?"
"Gotta plan, Dave. You know what they say, without a plan, anywhere you go is the right direction."
"I thought they said that about not having a map?"
"Whatever. You know what I mean. Hell, the CSP is a bargain. Sustainability plan and official community plan rolled into one."
"And something so complex we’ll be lucky if it’s even comprehensible. I’m beginning to seriously wonder whether Whistler 2020 isn’t a target date."
"You don’t think we need a plan?"
"Of course we need a plan. What we don’t need is a banquet. Planning’s like painting."
"Oh no. Is this one of those painter homilies?"
"Planning’s like painting. Surface prep’s 80 per cent of the job… but nothing gets finished until you pick up a brush and start to paint. We can plan ‘til the cows come home – which we’ve been doing now for so long I can’t remember when we started – but planning for the future isn’t getting the future built. We need to shift our focus to doing. We’re a smart community. If we hadn’t abandoned the town hall model, we’d probably have a much better idea of where we’re going and have a lot of dough left in our jeans."
"Town hall model?"
"Yeah. It’s a whole paradigm – cool word, eh? – for open government. I’d like to lose this Fortress Muni Hall mentality, the them and us, management and labour, haves and have nots mentality. We need to deal more openly with issues like whether we really need to pay a guy a quarter of a million to be "our man" on VANOC for five years. Or why it takes two guys to do the job of one guy who’s retired. We need to lose the department heads who seem to operate under the Management by Dracula school of thought. We need to make more of the decisions that are being made before the eyes of the public instead of in meetings not open to the public. We need to have clear conflict of interest guidelines for people sitting on council and for awarding muni contracts. It’s absolutely ludicrous what gets done with seemingly no public discussion yet, when questions come up, everybody seems to go into a ‘Who’s on First’ roundabout. What’s to hide? You know, even the best whitewash won’t cover a dirty surface."
"More painterly wisdom?"
"Hey, it’s what I do."
"So what, for instance, would you do about the growing-weirder-by-the-moment contract negotiations between CUPE and the muni?"
"Negotiate. It’s taking longer to hammer out a contract with them than it did to end the Vietnam war. No one knows why because no one from the Fortress’ll talk. I’ll grant this town is unusual, but these kinds of contracts get worked out in much more complex settings all the time. Who’s driving this agenda? A contractor is only as good as his subs, y’know."
"You don’t say. So what’s on the pad?"
"I’m trying to design a Live the Dream float for the Canada Day parade."
"A float?"
"Okay, maybe that’s a bit over the top. Maybe I’ll just opt for a Live the Dream bike. More sustainable anyway."
"Can you get it done in time?"
"Well, the job’s not done until your brushes are clean, you know."
"Where do you come up with these gems?"
"I’ve got a million of ’em."
"That’s what I’m afraid of."
Now, why’s the alarm going off?
