Cleavers find their way to City Hall

By Phil Stanford

The Portland Tribune, Apr 9, 2004, Updated Oct 30, 2009

I’m not kidding, folks, this guy Jack Bogdanski is very, very funny. Latest installment of his satirical “1221 SW 4th” Ñ “A weblog by some important public officials in a very livable Pacific Northwest City” Ñ includes the musings of an official (identified only as Vera), who has come to the conclusion that life at City Hall is just like “Leave It to Beaver.” É “Dan is Wally. Jim is Ward. Randy, of course, is Eddie Haskell. And Erik is our lovable Beaver.” É “It’s uncanny,” she says. “When I do housework, I wear pearls, just like June.” É Check it out for yourself at www.bojack.org/1221/. É Busiest man in show business these days has got to be former Motown drummer Mel Brown. Not only does he play three nights a week at Jimmy Mak’s, but he’s an accountant Ñ and in case you haven’t noticed, it’s tax season. É Which reminds me of what I consider the best more-or-less rhyming couplet in all of music: “Natural fact is/That I can’t pay my taxes.” É Lunch for two Ñ myself being the second party, of course Ñ at the restaurant of your choice to the first person who can Name That Song.

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With ballot mailing time just three weeks away, who do the polls show winning the mayor’s race? Some guy named Undecided, that’s who. No first name given, either. É Only thing for sure is widespread discontent with city and county government, which might not bode well for mayoral candidate Jim Francesconi, considering that he’s been on the City Council for Ñ what’s it been? Ñ seven years now. É Yes, I know. Not everyone agrees it’s tinker’s damn: There’s also an argument for tinker’s dam. But my dictionary prefers damn Ñ as in, “The cops who stopped James Jahar Perez probably didn’t give a tinker’s damn whether he failed to give a proper turn signal or not.” É Dave Oberkamper, who used to run a print shop on Southwest Sixth but now follows the Trib from Ireland, additionally informs me that it is now considered politically incorrect over there to call those itinerant menders of pots and pans “tinkers.” “Travelers” is the preferred. É OK, so they didn’t give a traveler’s damn.

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Die-hard lefty Michael Munk points out that Waddle’s restaurant, which, after 59 years, will be closing for good this month, once had a sign out front that read: “White Trade Only Please.” There’s a picture of it in Barbara Johns’ book, “Jet Dreams: Art of the Fifties in the Northwest.” É We don’t like to think about it, of course, but Portland was once one of the most segregated cities north of the Mason-Dixon line. Things didn’t start to change until the early ’50s. É Congratulations to P-town’s own Jon (Tonya Hot Sauce, Jail Blazer Jam) Farmer. Honolulu magazine, the islands’ counterpart of our own Portland Monthly, reports that his latest venture Ñ bottled “Pure Hawaiian Air” Ñ is doing just fine over there. Sold so far: 6,000 bottle at $6 a crack. É Located as it is on the periphery of the fashionable Brooklyn train yards (just follow the signs from Holgate south down Southeast 26th), Hip Chicks Do Wine is not your ordinary winery. They’ve got a new semisweet one called Vin Nombril Ñ French, I’m told, for “bellybutton wine.” Co-owner Laurie Lewis says it’s just right for sipping in one’s hot tub. Now all I gotta do is get me one of them hot tubs.

Contact Phil Stanford by phone at 503-546-5166 or by e-mail at pstanford@portlandtribune.com.

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