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‘GONE, GIRL’ — MY GRIZZLY (DANCE TEAM) TRYOUT

photo by Janell Davis

“Cheerleading, I’ve always thought, is not so much a real sport as a pleat-skirted excuse for attention-starved girls who want to make it with the first string quarterback. I’ve long believed that cheerleaders aren’t real athletes, just frustrated acrobats with great lungs. They wear bows in their hair and seriously discuss things like “spirit fingers.” And dance teams? Come on, they’re just mute cheerleaders. So when the Flyer received a press release about the open auditions for the Memphis Grizzlies Dance Team, how could I resist? It would be hilarious.

I faked a resume (5 years of hip-hop dance experience was required) and had the Flyer’s art department mock up a professional-looking headshot. They had a blast photoshopping my face and the resume was quite possibly the best fiction I’ve ever written. In it I discussed how I had experience “integrating innovative dance techniques into traditional environments.” — i.e., making up shit on the dance floor. And I copied my “hobbies” section straight from the Laker Girls website, stealing such tasty morsels as “I enjoy dog watching (watching?) and working with underprivileged children,” from the bio of an actual Laker girl.

I’m a tough chick, a kickboxer. My girliness only shows itself in a sincere love for make-up, clothes, and women’s magazines. And I’ve always been a tomboy. At age six my dance teacher asked me to quit ballet classes after I royally ruined the recital. Incidentally, that same year my troop leader asked me to quit the Brownies. She said something about a bad attitude.

So to prepare for the try outs, I watched the cheerleading movie “Bring It On” four times and agonized over my audition outfit. The day of the

audition, what I lacked in talent and experience, I made up for in look and attitude.

The press release said that women should wear “beige tights, dance trunks, and a sports bra.” I had beige tights, leftover from a Halloween costume, and I certainly had sports bras — even some cute ones. But “dance trunks” I

wasn’t so sure about. I guessed that they were those bloomery-underweary looking things that all the girls in “A Chorus Line” wear. And, digging

through my workout wear, I found a pair that looked right enough. However, when I put them on over the tights and practiced dancing in the mirror, I realized that the insta-wedgie look wasn’t an attractive one on me. So I improvised dance trunks by rolling up the legs of some boy shorts.

Seriously, it looked cute.

Arriving at 8:57 (registration was from 8:30 to 9:00) was a very smart, though unintentional, move. My number, 126, was one of the last ones to be given out and the audition would go according to number. The poor eager girl who got there first was screwed.

I expected to find a room full of washed=up high school cheerleaders, strippers craving legitimacy, and leg-warmered dancers who had perfected their “jazz hands.” Minus the leg warmers I was right on with the last category, and there were a few washed up cheerleaders, but no (obvious) strippers.

Everyone was stretching and practicing little dance moves, each trying to psyche out everyone around them. Knowing that none of my karate moves would impress the dancers, I focused on dazzling them with my stretches, and it must have worked on a few of the girls standing around. At one point pre-audition, just after we’d been shown the routine, two BAP-ish women (big

hair, big booties, gold teeth) approached me and asked if I would teach it to them. Only able to momentarily bask in their appreciation of my

stretches, I quickly had to tell them that I would if I could, but that I, too, was totally clueless.

At this admission one of the women said, “Girl, I thought they said hip-hop dancing. This shit is ballet.” My sentiments exactly. I came ready

to percolate, to butterfly, to slide, bounce, booty shake and squat dance low on the floor. I soon realized that none of this would be enough. If you couldn’t pirouette, do gazelle-ish flying leaps, and back handsprings — all in perfect time to the music — you had as much chance of making the team as a dwarf does of playing in the NBA.

We were all gathered up and introduced to the choreographer, a pixie-ish woman who, we were told, was once a Laker Girl herself – a.k.a., a goddess in the cheerleading hierarchy. Moreover, she later went on to choreograph for the Laker Girls. Which led to her also choreographing videos for “Paula Abdul and Janet,” (apparently no last name required). Everyone present

aaahed audibly and then whispered, “Oh my God, Janet,” to each other – in noticeably reverential tones. I was definitely in over my head.

We were told that the first cut would come after everyone performed for the judges, who were seated at table on the long side of the basketball court. The routine was shown to us, again and again and again.

“Pah-duh-beret, sha-ta-say”- (these are my phonetic spellings), the choreographer ordered. My first thought was, ‘Does she know she’s not in

Canada anymore and that we speak English here?’ But looking around and realizing that many of the girls knew what these words meant reaffirmed my

notion that showing up for this try-out had been a BIG mistake. All I could figure was that you do a little kicky thing, spin left once, spin right

twice, spin left again, spin right again, throw your hands out, throw your hands up, and step back. As you might guess, I didn’t make it past the first cut. In fact, the first cut eliminated most everyone over 30, wearing Princess Reeboks, spandex bike shorts, or — like me — who simply fancied themselves to be extraordinary night club dancers.

Which turned out to be a very good thing. Sure, I was disappointed and bummed out at first, but later realized that never in my life have I been so happy to fail. To succeed past the first cut was to expose oneself to further humiliation, toil, and hamstring pulling torture.

So I stuck around to watch.

As the day went on, I witnessed dozens of people expertly executing super-human feats. They sailed through the air with gravity-defying ease and danced while standing on their heads. They bounced from one corner of the floor to the other on their hands and did toe-touches ten feet off the ground. These were girls (and boys) whose resumes were real, not faked like mine; who had spent years leaning on barres, not bars; whose toe shoes didn’t have spike heels; and who wore dance trunks made by Danceskin – not just modified boy shorts.

I actually caught myself feeling guilty for all those years that I made fun of cheerleaders and laughed at girls who took dance classes. The men and women who made the final cut, I now have no problem saying, are world-class athletes, honed and toned to perfection by years of grueling practice.

It was a humbling day, to be sure, but not entirely a waste of time for me. I’m even thinking about signing up for some dance classes. Because if I learned one thing from my two counts of eight across the floor, it’s that I may be a lover and a fighter, but I ain’t no dancer.

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What A C Stands For

God knew what He was doing when he made A C Wharton color-blind. With that small alteration He made a man who would live his life seeing things a little bit differently from the rest of us.

But if you ask A C — whose name is simply that, the letters don’t stand for anything — about his color blindness, or anything else for that matter, he’s apt to shrug, downplay the effect it’s had on him, and chalk up all of his good fortune to just being lucky. But the truth is that this 56-year-old — who’s been Shelby County’s public defender for more than 20 years, who maintains a successful private criminal defense practice and sits on the boards of Methodist-Le Bonheur Hospital and the Tennessee Higher Education Commission, and who has taught law at Ole Miss for 25 years — works very, very hard.

But it’s hard to get Wharton to acknowledge all that he’s done and all that he’s overcome to get to where he is today. He’d rather hide behind the illustrious lives of some of his better-known clients than sing his own praises. A feat that’s easy enough considering he’s represented Mayor W.W. Herenton, Senator John Ford, Tamara Mitchell Ford, Lynn Lang, Michael Hooks Sr., Michael Hooks Jr., WillieAnn Madison, Ray Mills, Stephen Toarmina, John J. Pickett III, Tic Price, and Timothy Shane Prink. Chances are, if something is a hot topic around watercoolers in Memphis, A C Wharton is probably involved at some level. But don’t count on him waiting around for the 10 o’clock news just to catch a glimpse of himself.

“If there’s one thing I will not watch on TV, it’s myself,” says Wharton. “It’s vanity if you have to watch yourself on TV to see who you are. I don’t like to read about myself, either.”

All of which becomes increasingly difficult with each high-profile case Wharton takes on. So, to keep from having to watch or read about himself, Wharton stays busy with the other responsibilities he has taken on.

“I have not had a dull day in — well, I don’t think I’ve ever had a dull day,” says Wharton. “If I get bored with criminal defense, then there’s the hospital board and all the challenges that hospitals are facing these days. When I become tired of that, I can deal with my board work with higher education. When I’m bored with that, I can deal with white-collar crime, and then there’s street crime. It’s the diversity and the variety that keep life interesting.”

In addition, Wharton managed Herenton’s 1999 mayoral campaign, served as an adviser to Al Gore, and, together with his wife Ruby, has raised four children. Though he’s always maintained an active position on the perimeter of politics, Wharton shrugs off suggestions that he run for mayor, saying that he thinks Herenton is doing a fine job and there’s no need to run against him.

Herenton, for his part, thinks A C is up to the job.

“I’ve known A C for 20 years and have watched him grow in stature as a lawyer and become increasingly politically astute,” says Herenton. “If A C were to seek the office of mayor and get elected, I think the citizens would have an excellent mayor.”

Another old friend of Wharton’s, Joe Brown, known for his television program Judge Joe Brown, jokes that there’s one thing that would stop Wharton from winning the office of mayor.

“A C as mayor? He’d have to stand in line behind yours truly! Besides, the Doc [Mayor Herenton] is a good friend of mine and he’s doing a bang-up job, so I don’t imagine A C or myself would run anytime soon,” says Brown. “But A C’s the type of person who can cut across lines in Memphis with a dignified manner. If he ran for mayor, I might even be persuaded to vote for him.”

It’s no accident that Wharton is approachable, identifiable, and universally respected in this city.

“One of the reasons why I stay so busy is that if you see me in so many different channels, you won’t have time to see me from a racial perspective,” explains Wharton. “You may deal with me today in a hospital setting, tomorrow in a criminal justice setting, the next day in an educational setting. If you [work with me] in all of those channels, it’ll take a long time for things to get dull enough for you stop and say, ‘That’s a black guy.’ You’ll be more interested in the product, in what I have to say. You’ve heard the B.B. King song ‘You Better Not Look Down’? I think we all ought to be so busy that we don’t have time to look down.”

Obviously it’s a theory that’s worked well for him. But, as a black child raised in the rural middle Tennessee town of Lebanon, race was an issue Wharton became very familiar with.

Early “Training”

“My school was segregated — Wilson County Training School,” he says. “The white kids went to Lebanon High. The black kids went to training school, the white kids went to high school. That was just typical of the thought back then. The thought was that black kids didn’t need an education, they needed training. White kids would get the education. It was supposed to have been our high school but it had the name Wilson County Training School, and that speaks volumes about the kind of education we got back then. When I got to Tennessee State, I was so proud I hung my diploma in a little brass picture frame on the wall, and kids from Detroit and wherever else would see that ‘Training School’ and they’d say, ‘What did you do?’ In other states, a training school was a home for delinquents, a reformatory. They assumed that I’d committed a crime.”

The stigma that such experiences left on Wharton would stay with him. But instead of being bitter about his past, he’s taken it and turned it into fuel for his passion to educate all children.

“My high school did not have a lot of things,” says Wharton. “We never had Bunsen burners in our chemistry class. The only thing that set the chemistry room apart from the other rooms in the school was the elements chart, so I memorized that and can still recite it.”

Wharton’s eyes well up with tears and it becomes apparent that his lack of an adequate secondary education is something he’s still troubled by.

“Education deprivation is the worst thing you can do to a child,” he continues. “When you think of depriving a child — who hasn’t done anything to anybody — of an education, that’s hard. We’re doing that now. We’re doing that with college kids. They’re getting watered-down educations. That hurts and nobody can see it. They don’t know what we’re doing to them. The fact of the matter is that we’re giving them a piss-poor wannabe education and they can’t compete. I’m not even talking about them competing against kids from Massachusetts and wherever else. I’m talking about them competing against kids from Georgia, Kentucky, West Virginia, and soon from Mississippi.

“It hurt when I found myself in college and kids from Detroit were having to show me how to do percentages and fractions, not to mention algebra and calculus. And don’t talk about physics. The kids from Detroit had learned this and were helping me do my homework. It ought to be downright illegal. It ought to be criminal,” he says. “Once you lose those learning moments, you cannot go back and recapture them. If I make them available to you later on, you feel awkward and embarrassed. It’s a stigma that you always carry with you. I’m still putting my building blocks together, learning things I should have learned by now.” Even getting to college wasn’t easy for Wharton. At times it seemed like only his parents believed he was smart and capable enough to be a college man, and even Wharton often had doubts.

“Back at my high school, the principal knew that he wanted his son, Skippy, to attend college and become an engineer. So the principal started teaching Skippy and Bobby Joe Jenkins, Skippy’s best friend, classes like algebra and calculus in the little clinic room each morning. My mother heard about it and she told me, ‘Brother’ — that’s what everyone called me — ‘you ought to ask Mr. Bryant if you can take those classes that he’s teaching Bobby Joe and Skippy.’ One day I finally got my nerve up and I approached the principal. He always sold popcorn between classes to raise money for things like cheerleading uniforms, so that day I decided that I would buy a bag of popcorn and that would be my entree. Keep in mind that the principal was always bigger than life; principals were giants. So I went up to him and I said, ‘Mr. Bryant, my momma said that I should ask you if I can take those classes you’re teaching Bobby Joe and Skippy.’

“He didn’t mean anything by it, but he had a very loud, authoritative voice and he said, ‘No, no, that’s just for boys who are going to college.’

“It wasn’t anything personal against me, he just never thought I would be going to college. And every day in college when I was struggling through my math classes, I relived that moment. Once you get that kind of rejection, you don’t fully recover.”

Despite the rejection, despite economic circumstances, despite a widespread lack of faith in his abilities, Wharton did manage to get a scholarship to Tennessee State University but only after overcoming yet another obstacle.

“I’ll never forget that year I had a summer job, making 35 cents an hour raking rocks on a white man’s farm on Tater Peeler Road. That road is still there, by the way, right off the expressway near the new mall. Legend has it that the road is so rocky that a farmer had a load of potatoes in his wagon and started down that road and by the time he got to downtown Lebanon, all the potatoes were peeled. That year, come late August I had to go register for college and I said to the man, ‘I can’t be here tomorrow because I have to go register.’ Well, my daddy worked for the same man. Keep in mind that I’m a child and this is a white man. The man said to me, ‘Boy, you ought to come on to work, you can go to school anytime. You need to be at work tomorrow.’ I get home and my daddy is sitting down taking off his shoes and I just kind of blurted it out: ‘Daddy, I’m supposed to register tomorrow, but Mr. Taylor says I ought to come to work.’ The next morning he says to the man, ‘I understand that you told Brother that he didn’t have to go register for school.’ My daddy said, ‘I work for you, so I’ll do what you tell me. But I run my house, and I’ll tell my son whether to register for school or not.’ On one hand I was so proud of my daddy, but on the other hand I was afraid that my daddy might lose his job and it would be my fault.”

Turning to the law

It was a racial incident, an intense explosion of hate manifested in the beating of a black man and witnessed by a young Wharton, that caused him to decide on the legal profession.

“Around ’61 or ’62, I didn’t really know what to do for a living. I knew I was too skinny to do a lot of physical work and I kept reading about the civil-rights demonstrations in Nashville and attorney Z. Alexander Looby and all that he was doing in the state of Tennessee. About that time I saw Bob Jr. Peaks walking down College Street in Lebanon on a Saturday.” (Wharton explains that “in the country the Jr. comes in the middle of your name” instead of at the end.)

“Perhaps Bob Jr.’s greatest sin in Lebanon was getting drunk on Saturday afternoons. He was walking up College Street, staggering, and a police officer drove up and hollered at him, ‘Get out of the street!’ and Bob Jr. jumped and fell into the ditch. The officer then told him to get out of the ditch. Well, he was drunk. He couldn’t get out of the ditch. The officer then administered the worst beating I’ve ever seen, I mean the worst, right there down in the ditch, and I saw it all happen. And so the community got up in arms and we all wanted to hire attorney Looby to represent him, and for a while we thought that he would come.”

At this his voice takes on an almost boyish animation. A natural storyteller, it’s easy to see why Wharton has been so successful as a litigator.

“We had never seen a man like Z. Alexander Looby. We wondered what kind of car he would have; it would have to be a Cadillac or Lincoln. We just knew he wouldn’t have something as common as a Studebaker or a Ford or a Chevy. Days passed and that’s all anyone could talk about. Well, as luck would have it, for some reason Z. Alexander Looby couldn’t come and he sent Avon Williams instead. Now we didn’t know much about this Avon Williams except that he was a young lawyer who was helping attorney Looby. So we started speculating about him, too. ‘Wonder what kind of car he’ll drive?'”

At the time, Looby was middle Tennessee’s best-known civil-rights lawyer and his progressive stance on controversial cases would eventually lead his detractors to burn down his house. Williams, though still unknown when Wharton first encountered him, would go on to a very illustrious career as a civil-rights lawyer himself.

“I’ll never forget the day we finally laid eyes on him. There were several false alarms, someone would run around yelling, ‘He’s coming! He’s coming!’ And eventually he did show up, driving a little black Ford. And he parked and I was so disappointed because I had bet that he’d be driving a big Cadillac. And he was a little guy. I thought that all lawyers had to be big, bad folks. Because back then, if you were white, you were big. It didn’t matter how tall you actually were. They could be shorter than you, but if they were white, they were 10 feet tall. So to go against these white men, I figured Avon Williams would have to be a big man. I pictured some gruff-talking, big man in a big car. But when he got out, he wasn’t much bigger than me and he was slender. And I thought, ‘Oh, no, they’re going to kill him.'”

But they didn’t, and as Wharton goes on to explain, the black community in Lebanon soon rallied behind him and the white community was forced to take notice.

“The trial was supposed to be held in city court but the white folks had already gotten in there and taken up all the room for spectators. So that meant that Bob Jr. was going to be tried before a room full of white folks with no black folks in there. Avon Williams stood up and said, ‘Your Honor, there’s a crowd of people outside who deserve to see this trial and I’m not trying this case unless those people get to see it.’ Well, we all thought, ‘Oh, no, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.’ But sure enough the judge said, ‘This is a trial and we’re going to have this trial wherever I say, so we’re going to move it over to the county courthouse.’

“Seeing that, something just kind of came over me. Seeing the law in the person of Avon Williams, a black man who just came into that little town and, just as confident as he was, got this white judge to say that we we’re going to have this trial where everyone could see it, that really made an impact on me. It just hit me, right then, that Avon was willing to come into that town and trust the law and use the law. And that judge, knowing that the law said that trials have to be open to all the people, was willing to buck the people in that town and move it to the county courthouse. It just hit me, right then, that’s what I really wanted to do.”

Career Moves

After finishing at TSU, Wharton attended a summer program at Harvard University aimed at recruiting young African Americans who were interested in law careers. It was there that he met Ruby, his wife. After she finished law school at Boston College, the two married. Wharton was still in law school at Ole Miss, however, and Ruby accepted a job in Atlanta, so for a time the two took turns traveling back and forth to visit each other.

Upon his graduation from law school they each took jobs in Washington, D.C., because they could work there without having to take another bar exam and they wanted to pay off their student loans. After two years, though, Wharton got a call from George Brown, now a judge here in Memphis, asking if A C would apply for the position Brown was vacating as director of legal services. Brown had become familiar with Wharton during his law school years when he was working part-time at the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission office in Memphis.

“We had developed an affinity for Memphis,” says Ruby Wharton. “It was a place we each thought we’d like to live. But at the time we could probably count on two hands the number of black lawyers practicing in Memphis, and I know I was the only black female practicing law.”

The number of black lawyers would soon increase by one, when Wharton recruited Joe Brown for a position in the legal services office. He tells the story that Brown was supposed to come in for an interview at 9 a.m. but by lunch time he still hadn’t shown. Finally, around 4 p.m., Wharton says he saw a black man on a big motorcycle packed down with stuff and wearing jeans and motorcycle boots pull up front. He hired Brown that day. Eventually, Brown would be the Boy Scout troop leader for two of Wharton’s sons but not before he spent many, many long nights with A C and Ruby.

“I used to sleep on their kitchen floor,” says Brown. “Some nights when Ruby would start cooking, we’d all go in the kitchen, sit around on the floor, and start drinking while she cooked. Everyone would just sit on the floor. I was a bachelor then, so if I’d had too much to drink, I’d go to sleep right there on the floor.”

Aside from glowing praise for his work and his character, what you hear most about A C Wharton when you talk to his friends is that he’s an impeccable dresser. Brown even tells a story about how one day Wharton got home from church and mowed the yard in his suit, tie, and nice shoes. Considering that he keeps a shoe-shine machine in his office, it’s easy to believe that looking nice is important to this man. Some of his friends insist that due to A C’s color blindness, Ruby lays out all of his clothes for him, but she’s quick to dismiss the notion.

“I don’t lay out all of his clothes, he does a lot on his own,” says Ruby. “He’s not totally color-blind. He loves clothes and he makes no bones about it. But my husband is not a vain man. I could not be married to a vain man.”

You can e-mail Rebekah Gleaves at gleaves@memphisflyer.com.


Wharton for the Defense

A C Wharton has represented a veritable “who’s who” of defendants in his long career. Herewith, a partial list:

Mayor W.W. Herenton — In 1989, Wharton defended Herenton, then superintendent of Memphis City Schools, against a woman’s claims of sexual discrimination.

Senator John Ford — Having known John Ford and Harold Ford Sr. since college, Wharton has represented the state senator on numerous issues, including the controversy surrounding Cherokee Children and Family Services.

Tamara Mitchell-Ford — When the wife of state Senator John Ford was charged with vehicular assault and child endangerment after an accident that occurred in 1997, Wharton helped her get the charges dismissed.

Lynn Lang — The former head football coach at Trezevant High came under intense criticism last year for allegedly receiving $200,000 in exchange for steering football player Albert Means to the University of Alabama. Lang enlisted Wharton’s services to help him deal with each element of the investigation.

Michael Hooks Sr. — When the county commissioner was caught with drug paraphernalia earlier this year, it was Wharton who helped him avoid criminal charges in exchange for seeking rehabilitation.

Michael Hooks Jr. — In June of this year, the younger Hooks saw allegations resurface that he had purchased a stolen Rolex watch. Hooks, who thought the matter had been dropped in 1999, sought Wharton’s help in handling the situation.

WillieAnn Madison — Like John Ford, Madison hired Wharton to help her with matters related to the Cherokee Children and Family Services.

Ray Mills and Stephen Toarmina — Under the advice of Wharton, these two former Shelby County Sheriff’s deputies (Mills was chief deputy) admitted that they sold deputy jobs to others for cash.

John J. Pickett III — After being caught as the result of a federal corruption probe, this former Tunica County Sheriff pled guilty to extortion on the advice of Wharton. Pickett and several under him were said to have accepted money in exchange for protecting cocaine dealers in Tunica County.

Tic Price — The former University of Memphis basketball coach hired Wharton when he was caught having an affair with Chenoa Douglass, a 23-year-old student at the school, who Price also admitted to paying $17,000 after the affair ended.

Timothy Shane Prink — Prink, then a 20-year-old Cordova man, hired Wharton after admitting that he killed four of his family members and tried to kill a fifth.

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Take That!

On a beautiful, late-fall day last year I threw Royce Gracie to the mat. Three times.

Martial arts and no-holds-barred fighting fans will be familiar with the Gracie name, but many of you have probably never heard of Royce (pronounced “Hoyce”). He’s usually called by his first name since his 7 (!) brothers are also internationally accomplished fighters, but Royce is the best known of the Gracie clan due to his multiple Ultimate Fighting Championship wins.

This modern-day martial arts legend was in Memphis on that fabled fall day for a Brazilian jiujitsu workshop and a training session with the West Memphis police department. His visit was arranged by Chad Chilcutt, head instructor at Memphis Karate Institute, and the workshop was held at the institute’s Wimbleton Sportsplex location.

On the day of the workshop the eager students arrived at 9 a.m. mostly gi-clad and bleary-eyed. They laughed and stretched out, awaiting the day’s lesson. When it looked like everyone was there, Royce raised his fingers to his lips and gave out two short, loud whistles. The students hurriedly gathered in the center of a room that had grown as quiet as a church, ready to watch and learn from a master.

To put Royce’s accomplishments and abilities on a pedestrian level, if you put him in a ring with Tyson, Royce would win. If you put him in a ring with Ali, Royce would win. If you put him in a ring, one-on-one with Bruce Lee, Don the Dragon, Van Damme, Seagal, the Rock, or Stone Cold, Royce would win each match and stroll out without even looking tired. Perhaps this explains my giddiness at feeling this man’s weight being propelled to the ground by my own.

Granted, he let me throw him. In fact, he showed me how to do it. Nevertheless, it felt good to see someone who has left hulks of men quivering and whimpering go sailing over my shoulder. Three times. (Did I already mention that?)

Actually, I had to ask him to let me do it. More specifically, I asked if he would demonstrate a technique on me and he counter-suggested that I demonstrate one on him. A martial artist myself, this would be akin to Eric Clapton asking the lead guitarist in a high school garage band to show him some riffs.

So I stuck my arm out and followed his instructions, not sure if said arm was trembling out of respect for this man or out of attraction to him. But by the third throw my shakes had slightly subsided and I was about to start kicking my own ass for not bringing a camera.

On Friday, June 1st, the rest of Memphis will get a chance to see Royce first-hand when he and several other UFC veterans fight a total of 12 bouts at Denim & Diamonds. Before fighting Friday night, Royce will host several workshops at Memphis Karate Institute on Thursday night and all day Friday. The two-hour classes on Thursday and Friday are $40; one-hour classes are $20. Call Chad Chilcutt (388-6338) for more information. The Friday night fight at Denim & Diamonds will begin at 7:30 p.m. and admission is $10 per person.

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The Heat Is On

Barbecue judging is great, so long as you’re hungry, but get full and it becomes a task, torture even. Another rib to eat, some more shoulder to sample, the sight of a whole hog — gutted, boned, and splayed out, legs akimbo on an elaborately garnished grill — all become enough to make your stomach turn.

Parking at festivals is always scarce. Sunburns are de rigueur. Sunglasses on, sunglasses off, repetition, monotony. The judges’ days are spent under the wedge of shade provided by a sun visor or the bill of a giveaway hat from a prior event. It’s an existence of dusty gravel roads, shoddy carnival rides, marginally talented boy bands, and state fair-ish sibling gospel groups. Judges grow to expect the crunchy sound of public-address systems, bad weather, tummy aches, and screaming babies.

And they love it.

Committed barbecue judges live lives of comfortable shoes and farmer tans, Rolaids and palate cleansers. Different towns, different events, sometimes (though not usually) even different teams. Judges move from one weekend to the next, from contest to contest. And this weekend they’re here in Memphis for the “Superbowl of Swine,” the biggest event of them all — the Memphis in May World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest.

Bar-B-Crazy

They’ve gathered here in Tom Lee Park, over 500 judges and 236 teams, drawn like polar-opposite magnets. On Wednesday, the teams started setting up their tents and assembling their gear. They’ve come from all over Z–e nation. Using word-of-mouth, mailer updates, and a plethora of Web sites to learn of upcoming competitions, they pack up and go — embarking on the never-ending quest for a more perfect rub, a tangier sauce, and meat that will pull — but not shake — off the bone. Despite all the beer and late-T–ght parties, the teams know this is serious business.

Even the teams’ tents are impressive. Ranging from ramshackle afterthoughts to elaborate, two-story, lattice-trimmed and wrought-iron-fenced mini-homes, the tents will be the primary residences for many of the team members for the next four days. Come Sunday, they’ll tear everything down, pack it up, and start planning for the next event. But make no mistake, this one is the biggie, truly the Superbowl of Swine — the largest pork barbecue contest in the world and a testament to all the good a hog can do.

“Barbecue fest is one of the best weeks to be in Memphis,” says Dan Fain, a motorcycle cop by day and a 20-year veteran judge for the event. “Everyone comes together to eat, drink, and have a good time.”

On Wednesday night the park is open only to team members, but on Thursday non-cooking friends can come in, and that’s when the party really begins. It’s not uncommon for 200 people to be in a single tent at a time, and some of the barbecue teams don’t even enter the contest. Rather, some of these “patio teams” just pull low-budget grills out of their garages and drag them riverside so they can be a part of the party. (There is a whole category just for patio teams, though.) There’s live music, experimental barbecue, and beer — lots and lots of beer. Team members feed their friends, listen to Southern rock, and enjoy the last few days of pleasant spring weather before Memphis morphs into the outdoor sauna of summer.

It’s said that the Thursday night party tradition began because at least one person would have to stay up all night to watch the meat. Now, some 24 years after the barbecue festival began, Thursday night is a second- and third-winded college party, a chance to stay in the park until 4 a.m., drinking and carousing with several thousand strangers who will soon feel like close friends.

By Friday night, the event is in full swing, but for the teams it’s time to get serious. While Thursday was an all-night keg party, Friday is crunch time. Judging begins Saturday morning, and these teams don’t spend an average of $2,000 per contest — even more for Memphis’ big-league event — to lose.

To many Memphians, the barbecue fest is Memphis in May. Forget the adolescent-patchouli-street-mosh of Music Fest; barbecue fest is the pinnacle of the month. But if you don’t know the right people — that is, people on a barbecue team — it can be no fun at all.

And at times, it’s no fun for the judges. They must adhere to somewhat Draconian rules.

“Q”-ing Up To Judge

“The teams want to see your eyes,” an event organizer tells the judges at their organizing briefing. “So take off your sunglasses when you go in their tent. You all know the rules: no guests, no cameras, no briefcases, no smoking, no cell phones, no beepers, and no alcohol. Alcohol will kill your taste buds and your attention span. Most of the complaints we get from teams is that one of their judges was drunk.”

Under the massive tent, this disjointed fraternity of like-minded souls gathers like flies at a Fourth of July picnic, swarming and buzzing morning greetings to each other. They help themselves to doughnuts and too-hot coffee with no apparent concern that a jelly-filled or chocolate-glazed breakfast might seem like a bad idea when that last plate piled high with steaming shoulder is set before them in a few hours. They’re a mixed bag, these judges, and though Monday through Friday their lives are very different, this Saturday they are united in their passion for perfect barbecue.

“I usually fast the night before judging a contest,” says Fain. “If you don’t eat a lot when you’re judging, the teams think you don’t like their food.”

Not surprisingly, most (though not Fain) seem to be carrying about 40 extra pounds, and a disproportionate number are wearing T-shirts that bear the images of various cartoon pigs. These people don’t just eat pork, they live it.

At the briefing the judges are instructed to go over the list of teams they’ll be judging to look for potential conflicts of interest.

“Conflicts are not if you partied with the team last night,” the judges are instructed, “but if a team member fired you last week. Then you’d have a conflict. Also, if a team offers you a gift, you can’t accept it until after the contest.”

Most of the judges are white, most are over 40. There’s a pretty fair mix of both sexes, and all — absolutely all of them — love barbecue with a zeal normally reserved for religious deities. Even so, compared to the zeal shown by the teams they judge, the judges seem positively lukewarm.

For the “On-Site” judging competition, where the judges see the grills and score the teams on presentation, the competitors pull out all the stops. The judges can expect royal treatment. Some teams will bring in window-unit air conditioners just to cool them off. They often will be invited to sit at tables covered in white linens and set with fine china. Some teams even hire professional servers who will offer the judges a choice of wines to accompany their barbecue, though the judges are instructed to shun alcohol while judging.

Each judge arrives at each tent with an “ambassador,” another volunteer who will time the judge to ensure that 12 to 15 minutes are spent in each tent. The ambassadors usually won’t go in with the judge, and, sticklers that they are, many go out of their way to avoid influencing the judges.

“If Ann [a judge] had even asked me to hold her clipboard or something so that she could finish filling out her form, I’d have to tell her, No, because it could appear that I was trying to influence her,” says Mike Case, an ambassador. (Case used to be a judge until his doctor recommended that he quit eating pork due to health problems.)

The head cook will give a separate presentation to each of the three on-site judges. He’ll (head cooks are almost exclusively male) tell them about his grill, charcoal, rubs, cuts of meat, cooking times, and sauce. He’ll show them the meat still on the grill, typically surrounded by garnish so colorful it looks like a salad bar. Other team members, usually in matching outfits, will hang back, sometimes staying completely out of sight.

“It’s fun to listen to their spiels,” says Fain, “because none of it has to be true and these people are real enthusiastic. One year, I judged 25 contests — that’s a lot of road trips. Some of the judges are retired or are teachers who don’t have to work in the summertime — they’re almost professional.”

But judging 25 events in a year is hardly typical. Most judges will go to five to 10 contests a year. However, many of the teams will compete in 25. Twenty-five weekends a year means that these team members devote roughly four of every 10 days to barbecue. And, with the big, corporate-sponsored teams, it’s a safe bet that the head cook will spend even his days off experimenting with rubs, sauces, temperatures, and cooking times. For some, barbecue actually is their full-time, year-round job. Contests take place throughout the year, and in some places you’ll see the cookers spitting out smoke while surrounded by snow.

The teams’ rigs are equally staggering. One competing team has a simple grill made from a converted Memphis Light, Gas and Water oil pipe; another has a $300,000 mobile cooking unit the size of an efficiency apartment. But the amount of money spent on the equipment tends to have no effect on the taste of the meat. Besides, no matter how much gear they have, they haul it all from contest to contest, and when there’s no contest to go to, they take their rigs to auto races and tailgate parties. In their customized RVs, towing elaborate cooking rigs from fairground to fairground, the teams live a vagrant life of chemical toilets, keg beer, and 10-years-since-their-last-hit bands. And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

With the teams taking “Q” so seriously, it can only be expected that the judges would be equally somber (and sober) during the judging itself. For the privilege of judging the Memphis in May World Championship the judges actually have to pay, plus they have to have graduated from “Barbecue School” and must have already judged three smaller events before they are considered worthy of tackling the Superbowl of Swine.

Getting Schooled

“Barbecue School” is a one-day seminar on all things pork. Participants are given an anatomy course on pigs: Each cut of meat is laboriously explained, each bone dissected, each classification detailed. They are taught the difference between Spare Ribs, St. Louis-style Ribs, Loin (Baby Back) Ribs, and Country-style Ribs. And that’s just the rib-grouping.

The judges are taught how to evaluate each team’s entry using six criteria: Area and Personal Appearance of the team; Presentation of the Entry; Appearance of the Entry; the Tenderness of the Entry; Flavor of the Entry; and the judge’s Overall Impression of the entry. Likewise, the team gets to score the judge’s knowledge, attentiveness, and time spent with them. Each judge must write their Social Security number on their judging ballot and on the ballot the team completes. All of the judges’ scores are tallied and recorded. Using specially created software, MIM officials log every score and use the Social Security numbers to track an individual judge’s record. If a judge is thought to be “playing God” by scoring one team really high and scoring all the others really low, it’s likely that judge won’t be invited back.

“Blind Judging” — judging several numbered entries without knowing which teams prepared them — influences a team’s score more than on-site judging does. The judges know this and take their blind-judging duties even more seriously. No one speaks during blind-judging, and any who do are apt to be shushed. The judges are given paper plates divided into several pie-shaped sections. Each team’s entry is placed in a different section and judged using the aforementioned categories. If an entry is served with a sauce or rub, the entry is judged as a whole. No additional points are awarded for serving a sauce or rub.

According to one judge, “If they give you a rub and a sauce then you judge the rub alone, then the rub with the meat, then the meat with the sauce, then just the sauce, then just the meat, then the sauce, the rub, and meat all together.”

Judges for the final round have it the best, or the worst, depending on how full they are. These four judges must sample each of the nine finalists: three in the shoulder competition, three in ribs, three in whole hog. They travel from tent to tent by golf cart on Saturday afternoon and have the final word on which teams produce the best barbecued pork in the world.

Of all the barbecue contests sanctioned nationwide by the Memphis in May organization, the one in the Bluff City is the only one where the judges have to pay. But the $30 fee is pretty reasonable considering they’ll be munching on the world’s best barbecue. With all the time, effort, grade of meat, spices, and sauces the teams put into their product, a single rack of these contest-caliber ribs would cost upwards of $50 in a restaurant.

Besides, the $30 buys an invite to the judges’ dinner and it gets them an apron, and in barbecue circles aprons equal credibility. The teams and the judges like to brag about how many aprons they have and from which festivals. Aprons are what separate the amateurs from the pros, and for some of the judges, the apron alone is worth $30.

Likewise, a stroll down “Rib Row” at Memphis’ event illustrates that for the teams aprons are more than just silk-screened cloths. They are trophies — proof that they came, sweated, and sometimes even conquered.

Tom Jenkins, the organizer of Lakeland’s Fun Fest and a veteran Memphis in May-sanctioned judge, says that when he first began his Lakeland festival 21 years ago, the primary draw was a 10K “Fun Run.”

“But runners don’t drink,” Jenkins says, laughing. “Runners don’t eat the Pronto Pups, and they don’t party. They just run and then they leave. We wanted to find something that would draw and keep the crowd and get everyone partying, so we brought in barbecue.”

Now with other sanctioning groups springing up all over the country to compete with Memphis in May, people everywhere are coming to Jenkins’ realization. There are now sanctioning groups based in Kansas City, Seattle, Texas, and Boston. And each of these regions boasts its own unique events. In Boston, they grill shellfish. In Kansas City, they judge chicken, beef, and pork. And in Texas — you guessed it — it’s beef. Even here in Memphis, the proverbial sow of all contests, teams can be judged in the “Everything But” category. This often includes exotic meats like ostrich, emu, or as Fain recalls from one year, “a perfectly cooked road-kill possum that no one would eat but everyone agreed should win — and it did.”

Still, despite the competition from other competitions, the Memphis in May trophy is still the most coveted. You might keep that in mind this year when you’re walking down Rib Row drinking keg beer courtesy of one team and eating ribs from another. Know that there are people there charged with picking a winner. It’s a messy, messy job — but somebody’s got to do it.

Naming Names

Some people can’t leave it at putting a pig on the grill. Long before the first flank sizzles, some participants get busy cooking up an outrageous team name. Some of those names are listed below (in alphabetical order). Please note the ingenious use of the double meaning of “pork.” Subtly delicious! — RG

Adribbers

Any Pork in a Storm

Backseat Porkers

Barefoot in the Pork

Betchurazz Barbeque

The Beverly Pigbillies

Cherry Porkers

Eighteen Squealers

Eller Swign’s Natural Born Grillers

Highway Ribbery

M.E.M.P.H.I.S.

(Makin’ Easy Money

Pimpin Hogs In Style)

Notorious P.I.G.

P-Funk and the Fat Back Allstars

Pigs in Zen

Pigs-O-War

The Pit & Pigulum II

Pork Authority

Pork Crastinators

Pork Fiction

Pork Me Tender

Pork, Sweat & Beers

Snoop Hoggy Hog

South Pork

Squealer Dealers

Sweet Swine O’ Mine

Swinefeld

The Ten That Grilled Elvis

Transporkers

Uniporkers

Wolves in Pig’s Clothing

You Be the Judge

Memphis in May offers several barbecue judging seminars (BBQ School) each year. For more information on Memphis in May-sanctioned events and to learn how to become a judge yourself, go to the Memphis in May Web site, www.memphisinmay.org, or call Pam Hetsel at (901) 525-4611.

RG

KNOW YOUR MEAT

Definitions used in Memphis in May-sanctioned events:

Whole Hog — an entire hog, whose dressed weight is 85 pounds or more prior to the removal of the head, feet, and skin, which must be cooked as one unit on one grill surface. No portion or portions of the whole hog may be separated prior to or during the cooking process.

Shoulder — the portion containing the arm bone, shank bone, and a portion of the blade bone. The pork ham, considered a shoulder entry, contains the hind-leg bone. Boston butts or picnic shoulders are not valid entries.

Ribs — that portion containing the ribs and further classified as a spare rib or a loin-rib portion. Country-style ribs are not a valid entry. See below.

Spare Ribs — the rib section from the belly, with or without the brisket.

St. Louis-style Ribs — spare ribs with brisket and skirt meat removed.

Loin Ribs (Baby Back Ribs) — prepared from blade and center sections of the loin.

Country-style Ribs — prepared from the blade end of the loin. — RG

Categories
Opinion Viewpoint

Why I Left Nashville

All the NBA talk these days seems to have resurrected the sibling rivalry
between Memphis and Nashville. But contrary to Bluff City beliefs, it’s more
city envy than rivalry. Most Nashvillians only think about Memphis long enough
to say, “I wish it would just fall into the river,” “Isn’t that
the largest city in Mississippi?” or simply, “Memphis is such an
armpit.”

Actually that last one was mine. Having grown up in Nashville,
that’s what I used to tell tourists when they asked me if visiting Memphis was
worth the three-hour drive. I’d puff up and insist that Memphis was a sweaty
den of misfits and crime, crumbling buildings and bad roads. And the faces of
these tourists, no doubt having envisioned a romanticized, Route 66-ish trek
to Graceland, would fall. For as a native Tennessean, I was an expert, even
though I’d never really been to Memphis.

So a couple of years ago, when I began telling people in
Nashville that I was moving to Memphis, I got looks of utter confusion. They
might have been less shocked if I had told them that I was getting reverse
liposuction so that I could add fat to my hips and thighs. And at first it did
seem like a bad move, so I drove back to Nashville every weekend. But the
longer I stayed away from Nashville, the sillier the Music City seemed.

Chalk it up to all the silicone and saline, the botoxed cheeks
and collagen-plumped lips. Even analogously speaking, Nashville is a breast
implant and Memphis is the real thing. Implants are fake and look perfect.
Real breasts, however, are apt to sag, have stretch marks, and be irregular.
It’s all a matter of preference, really. But most everyone I’ve talked to that
has a preference seems to agree that implants just feel weird. And that’s why
I’ve stayed in Memphis.

You can only take so much of a porcelain-veneered city before
your psyche starts screaming for reality. The latest U.S. census figures
missed some important factors — like the massive numbers of retro-cowboy cool
boys in Nashville or how many men in that city consider fashion to be a white
spandex T-shirt with a tacky gold chain and a nipple ring. Sporting
aggressively gelled hairstyles, they rapidly drop their ever-present platinum
cards and hold huge, phallic cigars while constantly eyeing their
conspicuously parked Ferraris. And that’s just the men. Never mind the roving
posses of attention-starved, puddle-deep Shania Twins or the endless
supply of songwriters. Even my dry cleaner there had a demo tape and a
publishing deal. (I took to calling them “singer-songwaiters” before
I left.)

Plus, it’s not the town to be in if, like me, you’ve got a low
tolerance for Contemporary Christian Music stars hanging out in titty bars
while hard-line Baptists talk only about keeping a lottery out of the
state.

I tired of the fake smiles and even faker laughs, and the fake
hair plugs and fake extensions that cap the fake-orange tans. Oh, and then
there’s the cocaine. And the cocaine. And did I mention the cocaine? After I
moved, one of my favorite bars in Nashville combined the men’s and women’s
bathrooms into one (a la Ally McBeal) and installed nose-level mirrored
shelves on the walls. Just to make a quick snort even quicker, you know, keep
the line — the bathroom line, that is — from getting too long.

In fact, a typical night out in Nashville goes something like
this: You have drinks in one bar and then dinner in the trendy-nouvelle-
California-pan-Asian restaurant of the moment with the hottest dumb hostesses
and hottest dumb bartenders. After dinner, you have drinks in another trendy-
nouvelle bar, but in this one the servers wear all black and never, ever
smile. Next you hit a meat market bar (because even the married people seem
single in Nashville), where “everyone” drinks a jumbo-sized
raspberry-coconut-lime-martini and yells into their cell phones the whole time
because “there’s no one here,” though the line at the bar is three-
deep. “Everyone” then heads downtown to the corporately owned dance
club of the moment.

After dancing for an hour or so, “everyone” decides
that it’s lame, if they hadn’t decided that the moment they entered. So you go
to the new as-yet-unproven club, and it’s packed, and “everyone’s
there,” so you stay until it closes. And then you go to an after-hours
club, do whatever bathtub drug is en vogue and drink a lot of bottled water.
(In the über-trendy club scene, alcohol is passé.)

These are the reasons why I left. Seriously, People of Memphis,
stop with all this sibling-rivalry talk. Why would you want Memphis to be
Nashville? With all of the sprawl to the south, sprawl to the north, sprawl to
the east and the west, Nashville is hell-bent on first becoming the “next
Atlanta” and then the “next L.A.” — and I don’t know about
you, but I hate both of those cities. I’ll take Memphis’ grit and, well, soul
over Nashville’s plasticized and airbrushed takes on reality any day.
It stopped being a cool place to live about 10 years ago when someone on Music
Row realized that “cool” could be marketed, exaggerated, adulterated
— and ruined.

Nashville’s a shopping mall of a city. Everything is clean,
perfect, and meticulously showcased for your browsing pleasure — a Pottery
Barn-ed, nonoffensive collection of mediocre attractions and “something
for everyone” offerings. I’ll pass. Give me some dirt, some grit, some
depth, and soul. And keep your implants to yourself.

You can e-mail Rebekah Gleaves at gleaves@memphisflyer.com.

Categories
Cover Feature News

A Perfect Storm

Without electricity Mamie Parker’s son Keith’s life hangs in the balance, and there’s nothing she nor modern medicine can do about it. If 19-month-old Keith has an asthma attack while the power is turned off, his electrically powered breathing machine is useless. Memphis Light, Gas & Water has already shut off her power once and Parker says the utility has threatened to turn it off again if she does not pay $500 by April 12th. She has asked MLGW representatives numerous times about their publicized payment plans but each time she has been told that the plans do not exist. Parker, who makes $600 a month, is trying to cope with a $700 utility bill. She is frustrated and she wants to know why it was so high.

Parker is not alone. A lot of Memphians want to know why their utility bills were so high this winter. Unfortunately, the answer isn’t as simple as plugging a cord into a socket. It’s much more complicated.

Over the past year a number of forces coalesced, and unforeseen factors materialized and meshed and rolled over the utility’s customers like a storm, a perfect storm. Perfectly horrible. Perfectly breaking bank accounts across Shelby County. If anything good came from this winter’s astronomical gas bills it was that everyone — black, white, Hispanic, Asian, young, old, rich, poor, gay, straight — was united in their anger at Memphis Light, Gas, & Water.

It was a storm brewed with a powerful combination of elements: record cold weather, inexperienced gas purchasers, a badly-timed customer warning, poorly executed or nonexistent payment plans, and a discrimination lawsuit filed by a former manager. The result: gas bills that were 25 percent over the national average.

Unfortunately, the storm hit low-income Memphians like Mamie Parker the hardest. Elderly poor, those on fixed incomes, single mothers, middle-class families staggering under hefty Christmas bills — these are the people who got hurt the most. Now two questions remain: How did it happen, and will we ever get the money back?

In the Storm’s Wake

When the first steep heating bills began arriving in January, you can be sure city council members heard about it. It was the coldest winter in recorded history, we were told, and as icicles lengthened and pipes froze, the highest utility bills most people had ever seen began to arrive in the mail. Many Memphians simply couldn’t pay their utility bills; elderly citizens told of being forced to choose between food and heat; and most people below the middle-income line feared their power would be turned off. Something had to be done.

On January 30th MLGW and city council member Rickey Peete announced a payment plan that would prevent cutoffs and allow utility customers to spread their bill payments over several months. Peete and MLGW crafted three payment policies: “Smart Pay,” a 12-month program that would average winter bills into equal monthly installments; a plan for lower-income customers that would spread December and January’s bills over 12 months; and a plan to credit customers for water leaks.

However, Parker and other Memphians interviewed by the Flyer say they went to the MLGW offices to sign up for these programs and were told the alternate billing plans, particularly Smart Pay, were not available. Parker’s experience, and others’, also indicate that the utility did not cease power cutoffs as they’d promised.

When Diane Moore-Trombi’s heating bill increased from $54 for the month of November to $333 in December, she tried to take advantage of the advertised payment options. When she went to the MLGW bill payment office on Main Street, she too was told that no such plans existed.

“I asked the girl behind the counter specifically about the 12-month payment option,” says Moore-Trombi, “and she became very coy and said, ‘We’re finding out that that plan doesn’t really work.’ There was no 12-month plan. I was not offered any other plan and I asked about all of them. The payment plans simply didn’t exist.”

“If in fact this is true,” says Peete, “I’m totally shocked and concerned that MLGW would make a public commitment to the citizens and the council and not honor that commitment.”

Mark Heuberger, MLGW’s director of corporate communications, says the utility has signed up more than 7500 people on the Smart Pay and emergency pay plans.

While citizens like Parker and Moore-Trombi were being frustrated by a lack of payment options and assistance, the utility was still putting on a good face for the city council. At City Hall on February 6th, members of the council praised MLGW for the utility’s willingness to work with rate-payers and establish payment plans. Brent Taylor and Rickey Peete read a lengthy proclamation from the North Little Rock City Council thanking MLGW for its help during that community’s December ice storm.

Was the lack of payment options available to some customers simply a service error, a matter of MLGW personnel being ignorant of their employer’s own payment plans? Or was the utility trying to keep participation down? Memphians will probably never know, but by publicly introducing the payment plans the utility undoubtedly deflected much of the negative attention it had been receiving.

However, another critical omission does call MLGW’s motives into question. In promoting the new payment programs the utility neglected to mention that Smart Pay would not be available until March — after gas prices and high gas usage dropped.

Eddie Baker, manager of customer-service field operations for MLGW, says that if customers attempted to enroll in Smart Pay during the month of February they would have been turned down because the program did not begin until March.

Baker did say that customers like Moore-Trombi can now enroll in the Smart Pay program, and if their winter bills are not yet paid off, they can begin the program with a balance.

“We’ll work with customers to find an arrangement that’s mutually satisfactory,” says Baker.

But finding a way for customers to pay their bills still begs another question: Why were they so high in the first place?

Fuzzy Math

The Flyer reported in its March 22nd issue that MLGW charged its customers 25 percent more for natural gas than the national average for the months of December and January. Using information provided by the gas industry publications Inside FERC and Gas Daily, the Flyer compared the monthly and daily amounts billed by natural-gas suppliers Texas Gas Transmission Corporation and Trunkline Gas Company to the amount MLGW reports that it paid for the same resource this past winter.

For the months of November, December, January, and February MLGW billed its residential customers $0.50, $0.82, $1.31, and $0.41, respectively, per 100 cubic feet (CCF) of gas. For the same months the average amounts paid by other customers of Texas Gas and Trunkline were $0.45, $0.60, $0.99, and $0.62.

MLGW’s Dana Jeanes, assistant manager for budget, plant, and rates, told the Flyer that there were other factors to consider.

“You compared what appears to be the first-of-the-month index prices on each pipeline to the PGA,” said Jeanes, referring to the Purchase Gas Adjustment (PGA) amount the utility adds to the embedded cost of gas to establish the billing amount. “A more valid comparison is that between MLGW’s gas costs and the index prices. Even then, some caution is in order. MLGW could not purchase its entire requirements at the first-of-the-month index prices.”

Jeanes explained that in periods of extremely cold weather, when gas usage increases, MLGW has to buy gas on the spot market to supplement the gas already purchased by the utility. He says that the spot market cost of gas is typically higher than the index price.

However, when the Flyer compared gas costs as billed by MLGW to Gas Daily‘s price indices, which report the average daily price paid for natural gas, the numbers still did not match up. The Gas Daily indices show that the highest average price paid for any day in December was $10.52 per thousand British Thermal Units (mmbtu). Adjusted for delivery costs and converted to CCF, this equals $1.12 per CCF. MLGW billed $1.31 per CCF, a significantly higher amount. Furthermore, in December natural gas prices only reached this highest level for five days. For most of the month the gas prices were much lower, making the $1.31 per CCF figure billed by MLGW even more out of line.

How Your Bill is Calculated

Understanding the gas portion of your MLGW bill is tricky.

Here’s a nuts-and-bolts explanation: In 1993, the Memphis City Council approved a gas rate adjuster as a part of the residential rate. In addition, the council approved an assumed purchase cost of gas of $0.22 per CCF that would also be embedded in the residential rate. These two components added together should reflect MLGW’s purchase cost for gas.

To cover its own fixed costs, MLGW subtracts the assumed cost of gas from the residential rate. When the purchase cost of gas for MLGW is different from this assumed gas cost, MLGW adds or subtracts a purchase gas adjustment (PGA) amount to determine the final amount billed to customers. The PGA is listed on each customer’s monthly bill.

The city council approved the PGA in 1993 because the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) had deregulated the natural gas market and MLGW felt that having a variable PGA would allow it to stay flexible during market fluctuations. But in order to adjust the price, the utility had to have an assumed cost of gas to adjust from, so it established the embedded adjuster, which is currently $0.22 per CCF, according to Dana Jeanes.

The upside (and the downside) to the gas rate adjuster for residential customers is that MLGW can pass fluctuations in the cost of gas on to its customers. For the last few years, though, the utility has not purchased gas at less than $0.22 per CCF.

Unfortunately there appears to be little financial incentive for MLGW to secure natural gas contracts at the lowest prices. If the utility pays more for gas than it should, the increased amount can simply be passed on to the customers.

By instituting the gas rate adjustor, MLGW gained financial security, assuring that it would be repaid for gas purchased regardless of what it paid. The utility could then “hedge” gas on the spot market to minimize price fluctuations to its customers. Unfortunately, it appears MLGW did not hedge significant amounts of gas for this winter, despite several warnings and the advice of their futures consultant.

Here’s how it played out this winter: In November 2000, the embedded cost was $0.22, the PGA was $0.28, and the gas cost component of the amount billed to customers was $0.50. These numbers add up to near the national average and everything’s kosher, right? Wrong.

In December 2000, the embedded rate was still $0.22, but market fluctuations caused the PGA to nearly triple to $0.60, and the cost of gas billed to customers was $0.82. However, the average price paid for gas nationally in December, according to Inside FERC, was $0.58 — a full $0.24 cents per CCF less than MLGW customers paid.

Even worse, in January with the embedded cost still at $0.22, MLGW’s PGA skyrocketed to $1.09, and customers were billed $1.31 per CCF. But the national average for January was $0.95, or $0.36 per CCF less than MLGW customers paid.

Ignoring the Forecasts

In a normal year, rate-payers probably wouldn’t have noticed the fuzzy math on their bills. But coupled with this year’s unprecedented natural gas prices, the sticker shock was too painful to ignore. And it’s of little comfort now to learn that steps could have been taken to protect Memphians from rising natural gas prices.

Long before the skies darkened over the utility’s billing and public relations departments, conditions were rocky in the utility’s gas-purchasing system. MLGW officials knew as early as November of 1998 that gas prices this winter could soar but did not act to insulate the utility and its customers.

Prior to the 1993 deregulation of the gas market, purchasing gas for a major utility was a relatively easy job. Purchase prices were set by the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) and utility officials responsible for purchasing entered into contracts with the pipelines serving Memphis. But as the 1993 deadline for deregulation loomed, the roles of gas purchasers began to change. Gas deregulation meant that MLGW would assume full accountability for purchasing. Executives responsible for gas purchasing now needed to analyze the market to ensure that they would be purchasing gas from reliable suppliers at the market’s best prices. Utilities everywhere began restructuring their purchasing departments and MLGW was considered among the most innovative in the country.

A January 1994 article in the Journal of Commerce, a business magazine focused on supply planning and shipping, praised MLGW’s futures contracts system as a model for other utilities to follow in the wake of deregulation.

Seth Wilson, then the industrial marketing representative for MLGW, was quoted by the Journal of Commerce as saying, “Futures contracts, which specify delivery by a certain date at a guaranteed price, have helped the city control its fuel costs by locking in prices when they are favorable.”

MLGW was the first municipal utility to institute a program using natural gas futures, options, and financial derivatives to hedge MLGW’s natural gas portfolio in order to provide price stabilization to customers in a deregulated market. The utility began this program in 1990 as a pilot program and then expanded it in 1993 when the gas industry became fully deregulated. At that time MLGW was able to hedge 100 percent of its anticipated gas needs.

From 1991 until 1999, the gas market stayed fairly flat. The only significant fluctuations in price were seasonal and therefore predictable. But the stable market wouldn’t last, as executives at MLGW were aware. In hopes of circumventing major market changes, the utility enlisted the services of Walter Zimmerman.

Zimmerman, one of the nation’s foremost experts on the gas futures market, is vice president of United Energy, Inc. and studied under Dr. Ilya Prigogine, who was named a 1977 Nobel Laureate in chemistry for a study titled “Non-Equilibrium Dissipated Structures.” Using what he learned with Prigogine, Zimmerman applies chaos theory to the futures market in order to identify market price patterns. This is what he is currently paid to do for MLGW.

In November 1998 Zimmerman made his first official visit to Memphis when MLGW executives invited him to talk to the utility’s executives about the changes in the gas market.

“I spoke to employees at MLGW about the outlook for natural gas prices,” says Zimmerman of his 1998 lecture. “I predicted higher natural gas prices with a record high preseason rally in 2000. I didn’t tell them that prices would get as high as $10 [per CCF] because it’s hard to predict what panic can do to the market. I predicted that prices could get as high as $7 per CCF, though.”

He also explained the 60-year nature of economic cycles to the MLGW execs. This theory holds that inflation and deflation follow 20-year patterns: inflation for 20 years followed by 20 years of deflation. Zimmerman explained to those in attendance that the new cycle would begin in February 1999, ushering in 20 years of inflation. Prices would then accelerate in January 2000, beginning the uptrend. Zimmerman specifically warned MLGW officials in 1998 that natural gas prices would likely double for the winter of 2000-2001.

Moving from lecturer to consultant, Zimmerman stayed on at MLGW. According to MLGW’s Heuberger, Zimmerman receives $21,600 a year to advise the utility on the natural gas market fluctuations.

Zimmerman says that though this winter’s brutally cold temperatures were unforeseeable, the market fluctuations occurred on cue.

“It happens most every year that prices will spike up fast and then come down just as fast,” says Zimmerman. “They tend to peak out between late October and late December. The worst month is usually January. We usually get pummeled early in the month of January, and then prices collapse later in January.”

Though no one could have predicted the staggering heights that prices in the natural gas market would eventually reach, MLGW officials had been warned that the market could hit a high in January and then fall to near-normal levels at the end of the month. With Zimmerman’s warnings two years ago and his ongoing consultations, MLGW should have been one of the most insulated utilities in the country against the wild gas-price spikes. One option would have been for the utility to purchase gas futures in advance when prices were relatively low.

Zimmerman, though, is quick to add that it’s unfair to judge MLGW for not acting differently.

“I’ve learned that looking back is just fruitless speculation,” says Zimmerman. “Any company that survived this winter’s fluctuations did something right. What happened during the fourth quarter with natural gas is unprecedented with physical commodities in history.”

He also says that MLGW officials may not have taken his predictions seriously because they were so dramatic.

“If your forecasts are too far outside the normal price range, they tend to be dismissed,” says Zimmerman. “Nobody thought natural gas would go from $2 to $10.”

Inadequate Warnings

MLGW’s decision to keep Zimmerman’s warnings under wraps is a bit like the National Weather Service deciding that there’s no point in worrying people over a potential tornado. But the utility soon learned that when you ignore the forces of nature, there’s public-relations hell to pay.

Should MLGW have used Zimmerman’s predictions to warn customers of upcoming higher prices? Doing so would certainly have given customers a better chance to budget for upcoming increases. Other gas companies, like Mississippi Valley Gas of Jackson, Mississippi, seemed to think this was a prudent plan. That utility mailed a warning letter to all of its customers on September 20, 2000, which read, in part: “At Mississippi Valley Gas, we expect prices could rise as much as 50 percent. But, if our winter is colder than normal, gas bills could rise even more.”

MLGW, however, did not make an official announcement until January 2, 2001 — just days before customers would begin receiving their hefty December bills. Prior to the January announcement the utility had made no public mention of the gas-price increase other than in an October 6th Commercial Appeal article. Even then the article only hinted at rising prices and focused instead on the highly publicized 13 percent temporary rate decrease MLGW was initiating.

The Commercial Appeal article quotes Mark Winfield, MLGW’s manager of budget, plant, and rates, as saying that the rate decrease would “soften the blow” to customers, causing them to pay on average $77 more for the January to March heating period than in years past. This was well below the increase most customers actually received on their bills, many of which were triple and quadruple what they had paid in recent years.

In fact, instead of issuing a warning about the increase, the utility made much ado about its temporary rate decrease. According to the October 6th article, without the rate decrease, MLGW customers would be paying on average $112 more than they had the year before.

This action caused many MLGW customers to believe that they would be protected from the nationally predicted gas-price increase this past winter. Only when they received their utility bills did rate-payers realize that they were not protected by the rate “decrease” but were in fact were paying higher rates than ever before.

Herman Morris

Jumping Ship

Just as the sailors in Sebastian Junger’s novel The Perfect Storm needed a skilled captain and crew to sail as far as they did, MLGW customers needed an experienced captain and crew at the helm this year. Unfortunately, many of MLGW’s experienced hands have left the utility in recent years.

On December 31, 1996, Bill Crawford stepped down as president of MLGW. Crawford had spent 39 years with the utility, five-and-a-half of them as president and eight as senior vice president. He was replaced by Herman Morris, an appointee of Mayor Willie Herenton. Morris had worked as general counsel in MLGW’s legal department since 1989. But aside from advising the utility on legal issues, Morris had little prior hands-on experience with light, gas, or water operations.

Next to go was Sandy Novick, vice president of operations and a critical figure in the creation of the futures contract program. Novick retired in March 1997 and was replaced by Alonzo Weaver. Weaver, like Morris, has strong connections with MLGW board members and leaders, but little experience with regulatory issues or gas purchasing. He has been manager for electric operations and has a strong engineering background. His MLGW job description states that he is now “responsible for the control and operation of the electric, gas, and water utility systems and for the acquisition/production of electric power, natural gas, and water supplies for the utility.”

Paul Harris, senior vice president and chief operations officer, retired from MLGW in 1998 after 30 years of service. The utility promoted Larry Thompson to the position, who has had relatively few dealings in gas acquisition. Though Thompson has worked for MLGW since 1965, he dealt primarily with construction-related issues.

Henry Nickell, manager of systems operations and energy resources, was replaced in April 2000 by Lee Smart, who has a degree in electrical engineering and has spent 22 years working for MLGW in the construction department. He has no prior experience in supply planning or gas acquisitions.

But Nickell’s story is not so simple. He’s going down fighting.

Manager Sues

On December 18, 1997, Nickell filed an Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) charge of discrimination based on race and age against MLGW when he was passed over for a promotion. Nickell, who is white, claims that after he filed the complaint working conditions for him at MLGW worsened. He then filed a lawsuit against the utility claiming that he was harmed by MLGW’s retaliatory actions against him and that he suffered humiliation, depression, anxiety, and other emotional and physical suffering. Nickell is asking $5.2 million in compensatory and punitive damages.

Nickell’s suit specifically alleges that in 1997 Herman Morris began intentionally excluding Nickell from meetings that he was required to attend in order to perform his job. Nickell claims that Morris would not inform him of the time or location of these meetings. He also says that he was assigned additional responsibilities but not allocated the staff or resources to complete the work and that deadlines for completing assigned tasks were changed without Nickell receiving notice.

Nickell declined comment for this story because his lawsuit is still pending.

In January 1999 Nickell received notice from MLGW’s human resource department that a survey conducted by the American Gas Association showed that Nickell was the only employee in his department who was substantially underpaid. Mike Magness, director of human resources for MLGW, told Nickell that he (Magness) had recommended that Nickell’s salary be increased. However, no adjustment was made.

While Nickell was still employed by the utility, he says that MLGW security circulated “wanted” posters with Nickell’s picture on them and guards were told that Nickell was no longer allowed in the building. Nickell alleges that MLGW employees were instructed to take detailed notes during any conversations with him and that those notes were to be turned in to Alonzo Weaver. While Nickell was technically still the manager, the access code to the door was changed and the new code was not given to Nickell. The acting manager, Bill Bullock, is alleged to have told employees to use their discretion when deciding whether or not to allow Nickell, still their boss, in the office.

Nickell also alleges that his replacement, Lee Smart, is less than qualified and received his job based on connections rather than competence.

An excerpt from MLGW’s Alonzo Weaver’s deposition in Nickell’s lawsuit is revealing:

Nickell’s attorney, Kathleen Caldwell: “Have you ever put your name on a report written by Henry Nickell? Did you change the name on any report so that it showed that it was coming from you?”

Alonzo Weaver: “I don’t remember.”

Caldwell: “Is it possible?”

Weaver: “It’s possible.”

Caldwell: “Would you agree that you had a lot to learn in a short amount of time in order to effectively handle the job of vice president of operations?”

Weaver: “I’ve had a lot to learn, yes.”

Caldwell: “Did you talk to Herman Morris about an executive position before he became president of MLGW?”

Weaver: “I do not remember; it’s possible that I did.”

Caldwell: “Did you meet with Franketta Guinn [chairman of the board for MLGW] for about half a day just prior to you being named acting vice president?”

Weaver: “I do not recollect.”

Caldwell: “Have you ever discussed your future with her?”

Weaver: “I may have.”

Caldwell: “Have you ever told any of your co-workers at MLGW that you know the mayor?”

Weaver: “It’s possible.”

On April 21, 2000, Nickell tendered his resignation on the advice of his physician. Nickell says in his complaint that working conditions at MLGW were so difficult or unpleasant that a reasonable person in Nickell’s shoes would have felt compelled to resign.

MLGW’s Heuberger responded to the Flyer‘s request for information on Nickell and on other former employees with this faxed statement:

“In order to protect the privacy of our employees, we will not discuss personnel records or conditions of employment about any current or former MLGW employee.”

After the Storm

Recovering from the financial pain MLGW inflicted on its customers this winter will take time. Some, like Mamie Parker, will keep trying to have excessive bills spread out so that she can make smaller payments. Others, who could afford the increase but wrote their checks reluctantly, are no doubt thinking of ways they would have rather spent the money. Everyone wants to know if such a thing could happen again.

Unfortunately, the answer is probably yes. MLGW is still managed by those who brought on this year’s financial and public relations fiasco, a group that didn’t properly heed the cautions of its own paid consultant. Cronyism is rampant, insiders and former employees say. And as long as MLGW is allowed to use a PGA to determine the amount to bill customers, the utility will have the leeway to adjust prices up or down to cover its losses — alleviating a major incentive to purchase gas at the lowest prices. The bottom line: If MLGW could charge its customers 25 percent more than the national average in December and January with no repercussions, then what’s to stop it from doing the same — or worse — next winter? n

You can e-mail Rebekah Gleaves at gleaves@memphisflyer.com.

Categories
We Recommend We Recommend

Fast Company

Seven dates with seven men in less than two hour’s time. It’s enough
to make Wilt Chamberlain fall over in exhaustion, and it was my latest
assignment here at the Flyer.

The upside for me was that I’d get a free meal, meet a bunch of
people, and get to write about something that has nothing to do with law,
policy, or corruption. That was all the convincing I needed. Besides, I was
curious to see if I was even capable of keeping up. But after hearing that
speed dating had been the focus of episodes of both Frasier and Sex
and the City
I reasoned that if sitcom characters can do it, then I can
too.

However, I’m already happily in a relationship. Hmm, problematic.
Funny how the whole “going on dates with seven men tonight” thing
doesn’t seem to go over well with a significant other. After pondering this
dilemma with me, another staff writer noted that this could be kind of like my
own Temptation Island. Suits me.

So I called the organizers and told them to sign me up. They
asked me a few semi-personal questions: first name and last initial; age;
occupation; zodiac sign (yeah, that one was kind of hokey). The next few
questions required more thought: Smoker? well, um Drinker? I guess Interests?
I prattled off the first few that came to mind Dating goals? I said that I
just wanted to have fun, only to later realize how that comment could be
taken.

Move over, Mandy, I just became the whore on this Temptation
Island
.

And that was it. They told me to be at Melange at 6:30 p.m.,
dressed in “business-casual” wear — which to us workers in
“casual-casual” offices meant my leather pants and a sweater. Maybe
I really am the whore here…

I parked on the street and walked into the bar at Melange
promptly at 6:30 p.m. That’s when I realized that this really would be like
Temptation Island. There was even a Fox film crew.

As one of the first women to arrive on the scene, I felt like a
bacon-wrapped filet dangling over a crowd of hunger-strikers. Heads turned and
I was being scrutinized, so I quickly ordered a drink and sat down at the bar.
The man next to me, an attractive, well-dressed gentleman in his 50s, seemed
unsure whether he should talk to me or not. He was also there to speed date,
and we didn’t know if we were allowed to meet before the event began. But we
started talking and soon agreed that the presence of Fox cameras was doing
nothing to assuage our reservations. He said something like, “I don’t
want everyone I know to see me doing this,” and I echoed that
sentiment.

Seriously, I felt like pulling a Billy and turning to the
cameraman to say, “This doesn’t concern the show, man. This is my
life.” But, in fact, it wasn’t my life, it was research for this story.
Besides, the crew was just there to do a quick spot for the Fox 13 evening
newscast. So I kept myself in profile all night and vowed to decline an
interview if I was asked. I wasn’t.

However, the Fox cameras zoomed in when I had my date with —
let’s call him Kaya — a very attractive man with an adorable British accent.
Oh my God, I really am on Temptation Island.

We talked about Memphis, our jobs, and ate a shrimp appetizer. It
was all said and done in 10 minutes time. Oh, Kaya, I’ll never forget you. I
even got to relive part of our date the next night during the Fox 13
newscast.

Truly playing Mandy the Whore, I had six other dates that night
with extremely interesting, polite, attractive men. In fact, I met as many
interesting, datable men during those two hours as I have in the year and half
I’ve been in Memphis.

When all of the “dates” were finished, the organizers
brought each of us a checklist with the names of everyone who participated. We
were instructed to check the name of anyone we wanted to see again, and the
organizers would see if any love connections were made and then contact each
party with the other’s digits. This was probably my favorite aspect of the
whole speed-dating process. The element of rejection is completely removed. No
one gets rejected and no one has to reject. Hassle-free dating, and who can
argue with that?

After leaving the restaurant I told my boyfriend all about it
(slutty Mandy didn’t do that), knowing that he’d likely see it on Fox the next
night anyway. As for Kaya and me, well, we’ll always have, er, Melange.

For more information on Speed Dating, call 335-3152.

Categories
Cover Feature News

Nobody’s Children

PHOTOS BY TREY HARRISON

“Children don’t vote, foster children don’t have a powerful lobby working for them. These children don’t have a voice.”

— Ira Lustbader, attorney for Children’s Rights, Inc.

Every day many of the more than 11,000 foster children in Tennessee are sucked into a fierce downward spiral. Their lives deteriorate, their futures obliterate, their options dissolve. As you read this story, many of these children are being beaten, raped, and shuffled from home to home. They are being medicated into trances with psychotropic drugs or denied the psychological treatment necessary for them to retain a semblance of sanity. The foster care system in Tennessee devours childhoods, in some cases literally raping, killing, and permanently handicapping children, and turning others, the comparably lucky ones, out onto the streets with no money, no support system, and little hope.

As wards of the state, these are Tennessee’s children. As Tennessee citizens, we are responsible for their well-being. Yet many of these children have never lived in homes where they were safe from abuse. Many of these children have never slept undisturbed. All of these children want to live in safe homes with loving parents, but very few of them ever will.

The state of Tennessee removes infants, toddlers, youths, and teens from nightmarish horrors — forced prostitution, rapists, guardians who use burns as punishment, parents who withhold food for days — evils we’d like to think are not possible in our state. This first step is a positive one, but too often these children are then placed into situations that are just as bad, and sometimes worse. The hope is that these children will grow up to be responsible adults. But it shouln’t be surprising that the children we abandon to a flawed foster care system grow up to become rapists and murderers themselves. Many will join gangs or become thieves, welfare mothers, or dementia-addled homeless beggars. The system is failing. And in the long run it is we who will pay the price.

Charles

Charles will never be normal. He spends his waking hours peering out from underneath a helmet worn to protect him from himself. It’s a bitter irony. After years of being victimized by others, Charles’ brain now compels him to abuse himself.

Seven-year-old Charles was healthy and normal until a Department of Children’s Services (DCS) case manager suggested he be returned to his crack-addicted mother. The reunification attempt left him permanently brain-damaged and physically and developmentally handicapped after he ingested his mother’s crack and went into a violent seizure. Worst of all, Charles was doing fine before DCS sent him back to hell.

Charles was originally removed from his mother’s custody at birth, when he tested positive for crack cocaine. He was placed in the same foster home in Shelby County as four of his other siblings. They lived this way until Charles was 5 years old. At that time he was in a regular kindergarten class, and despite some behavioral and emotional difficulties resulting from being born addicted, he was progressing normally.

Though their mother continued to smoke crack, DCS took Charles and his 4-year-old sister from their foster home and returned them to her custody. The children and their mother were not monitored by DCS, and soon after being returned, Charles ate some of his mother’s crack and went into the seizure, suffering massive and permanent brain damage.

After the seizure, DCS removed Charles and his sister from the home. His sister was returned to the original foster parent, but because of his new handicapped status, Charles could not go back. Instead, DCS moved him in and out of several foster homes before placing him in permanent therapeutic care.

Besides being a child with a heartbreaking story, Charles is a named plaintiff in a lawsuit brought against Governor Sundquist and the state of Tennessee by Children’s Rights, Inc. (CRI) — a non-profit child advocacy group headquartered in New York. The suit, known as Brian A. v. Sundquist, was also filed on behalf of all 11,300 children in Tennessee’s substitute care system. It is patterned after suits filed by Children’s Rights, Inc., in other states and cities, including Connecticut, New York, New Mexico, and the cities of Washington, D.C., Philadelphia, Kansas City, and Milwaukee.

The outcome of this case could be dramatic. Most likely the parties will reach a settlement agreement, the court will issue a consent decree, and DCS could be held in contempt if it does not comply with the decree. In the extreme, Tennessee could lose the right to operate its own system. This is what happened in Washington, D.C.

In 1995, a federal court judge determined that the District of Columbia was so negligent in operating its foster care system that the entire system was taken out of the district’s control and given to a private receivership. Four months after the court-appointed receiver took control he and his staff were still trying to account for all of the children living in state custody, as well as for how the budget was being spent. Before taking control, the receiver estimated that there were about 2,000 children in the district’s foster system, only to later discover 9,000 active files on children in custody. The receiver also discovered that many of the abused and neglected children had been mistakenly brought into state custody in handcuffs and then treated as juvenile delinquents.

For now, Federal Court judge Todd Campbell, who is presiding over the Brian A. v. Sundquist case, has ordered the parties to try to reach a settlement agreement.

“We are fully prepared to take this case to trial to get a court order demanding that these changes occur,” says Ira Lustbader, lead counsel for CRI in the Tennessee case. “In the worst of situations [DCS] can lose the authority to run their system. Or they can be held in contempt to comply with the federal court demands in a way that, frankly, they have not done on their own.”

Carla Aaron, public information officer for DCS, told the Flyer that DCS was prevented from speaking to the media because Judge Campbell had issued a gag order. However, clerks in Judge Campbell’s office told the Flyer on two separate occasions that no such order had been issued. At press time Aaron again refused to comment and Judge Campbell had still not issued a gag order. Representatives from Governor Sundquist’s office did not return repeated calls from the Flyer.

State officials have known for years that the foster system in Tennessee is dangerous to children. In 1998, DCS’s flaws came to the attention of state Representative Tommie Brown. At that time Brown asked the Tennessee Comptroller of the Treasury to conduct a study on the children in state custody. Many of the allegations cited in CRI’s complaint are drawn directly from the comptroller’s study and from a report created in 1999 by the Child Welfare League of America (CWLA).

“After 10 or more years of failed efforts, we’ve come into play,” says Lustbader. “This is not a novel, early-on move. This is the last effort to force changes where other methods have failed. There is no doubt that Tennessee is among the worst states in the country [for foster children].”

Lustbader says that CRI decided to file the lawsuit in Tennessee after independent children’s advocates across the state began contacting CRI with evidence of “frightening, systemic problems.” CRI conducted an investigation, sending field-workers out to speak with birth parents, foster parents, children, workers at private agencies, judges, and DCS caseworkers who had recently quit working for the agency.

“We found consistent, fundamental problems everywhere,” says Lustbader. “We identified the individual children who were later named in the plaintiff’s case. These children’s problems represented the collective problems of all the children currently in state custody. Unfortunately, their circumstances are not isolated or unique.”

JACK

Jaded and callous, Jack has no roots. For most of his young life he has spent no more than six months in any one “home.” After 11 years in state custody, the 14-year-old has had 23 different homes, 23 guardians, 23 sets of foster “brothers” and “sisters.” He currently lives in a Shelby County group facility, and he knows that his 24th home is forthcoming.

Living in the group home, Jack has suffered a dislocated knee, torn ligaments, and countless bruises at the hands of the facility’s staff, who have improperly restrained him during his emotional outbursts. Jack has attended a string of schools, made and abandoned friends, and each time he settles into a new environment he is uprooted again.

Because of the frequent moves, it is unlikely that Jack will ever enjoy what many of us take for granted: friends, romantic involvements, a successful marriage. Studies and statistics show that children are permanently emotionally damaged after only four placements, especially if their moves began at a young age like Jack’s. After 23 placements, Jack may never form emotional bonds with anyone.

He has been legally free for adoption since 1996, when his biological mother’s rights were terminated, but DCS has not found a permanent home for him. He is an angry child, filled with hatred and frustration for the system. He desperately wants parents and a permanent home and has been writing poems and songs lately that speak about being “tossed around” and “stepped on.” In one poem Jack writes that he would “rather be dead.”

“What’s happening is kids are getting stuck,” says Lustbader. “They’re languishing in foster care. In Tennessee there is an alarmingly high percentage of teenagers in foster homes. There is also a shocking number of children who have been in 10 or more placements. Twenty-three percent of the children in Tennessee’s system have had 10 or more placements. As children get passed around they become more and more damaged and adoption eventually becomes impossible.”

Jack will probably never be adopted. At 14, he’s too old, and furthermore he’s black, facts that, sadly, condemn him to a life of multiple placements. As African Americans in Tennessee’s system, Jack and Charles will stay in foster care 32 percent longer than most white children do. Tennessee does not maintain records that specifically show the length of time spent in care by race, but a Children’s Program Outcome Review Team (C-PORT) report commissioned by the Tennessee Commission on Children and Youth (TCCY) does show the discrepancy. According to the study, African-American children between the ages of 12 and 17 are twice as likely as white children of the same age to be in state custody. One of CRI’s allegations in the Tennessee case is that DCS does not try to place African-American children as aggressively as it does white children.

Children like Charles and Jack are what author Jennifer Toth terms “orphans of the living,” a phrase she uses as the title of her book. And in Shelby County the vast majority of these orphans are African-American. Statewide, black children account for 39 percent of all kids in foster care, though they represent only 21 percent of all children in Tennessee. The statistics are even worse nationwide. Nationally, though African Americans account for only 15 percent of those under 18, they represent 49 percent of all children in foster care.

TRACY

Tracy has spent much of her life moving. She first entered state custody when she was 4 years old, after she had been sexually abused by her father. At that time DCS placed her in four homes in four years and then decided to reunite her with her biological mother. In May 1999, Tracy’s mother physically abused her, and she and her siblings were again removed from the home.

Now 13 years old, Tracy has lived in 15 homes in a single year. Her 13-year-old brother Jeffrey has fared even worse. He was raped by several other children in the foster home where he was placed and then was left in that same home for six months after the rapes first occurred. When he was finally removed, he was placed in a wilderness camp where he was abused by a staff member until DCS returned him to his mother’s custody. Tracy’s oldest brother, 17-year-old Jerry, has been bounced between delinquency detainment and foster-care placements.

Tracy and her brothers’ stories are far from surprising to persons familiar with DCS in Tennessee and with similar agencies in other states. Recognizing that foster-care systems nationwide often do more harm than good, some caseworkers elect to leave children in their biological homes. These caseworkers have even said that if a child’s life is not in immediate danger in the natural home, they will leave the child there, even in cases of abuse. They reason that at least in the natural home the horrors are known.

A study conducted in Baltimore, Maryland, showed that reports of abuse were three times more frequent in foster homes than in biological homes. The same study found that the rate of physical abuse was seven times greater in foster homes than in biological homes.

Denise

Denise was removed from her mother’s custody at birth due to abuse and neglect. Now 8 years old, she has lived in the same foster home for her entire life. Denise has not yet been adopted because up until a few months ago she had never seen a DCS caseworker.

Though Denise was freed for adoption more than five years ago, DCS has not taken steps to secure a permanent home for her. She currently lives with five other foster children and two adopted children in a foster home. DCS has placed as many as 15 children in her home at a time and only recently asked the foster mother if she would be interested in adopting Denise. Though the number of children already in the home would make this difficult, the foster mother has inquired to see if any financial or therapeutic resources would be available if she were to adopt Denise. DCS has not responded. In the meantime, Denise waits to see if she will ever have a real, permanent parent.

Shocking though these stories are, DCS caseworkers are not entirely to blame. Caseworkers in Tennessee, with a starting annual salary of $20,184, are among the worst-paid in the nation. These caseworkers are on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week, working to fix problems that often have no solution. Turnover is high, and in 1999, 23 percent of DCS caseworkers had less than one year’s experience. Even among the more experienced, the scant three weeks of training the workers receive scarcely qualifies them to determine the fates of children. The average Tennessee caseworker will manage about 45 cases at a time, making it impossible to investigate each case. By contrast, the Association of American Social Workers recommends caseworkers work up to seven cases at a time. Likewise, the Child Welfare League has specifically recommended that Tennessee decrease caseloads to 25 per caseworker. This would mean that Tennessee would have to add more than 120 new caseworkers.

Additionally, the bulk of the problems with the substitute care system in Tennessee stem from using an antiquated system to address modern problems. The current system was designed to provide shelter only for true orphans — the surviving children of deceased parents. Tennessee’s system was not designed to help the majority of the children in foster care today, who have at least one living parent who can’t or won’t care for them.

A 1990 study of foster-care systems in 19 states revealed that 46 percent of the children in custody were there because child protective service workers found them living in dangerous or abusive circumstances. The same study showed that just over 20 percent of the children were placed in foster care because their parents experienced financial hardships, incarceration, illness, handicaps, or were dead. About 13 percent of the children were placed in custody because of a troubled relationship with their parents. About 2 percent were there because the children were handicapped, and about 1 percent were placed in custody because their parents simply didn’t want them anymore.

Brian

For 10 months last year 9-year-old Brian didn’t belong anywhere. Each night he curled up with a blanket and pillow that weren’t his own, in a house he didn’t really live in, with guardians who weren’t really his. The roof over his head was that of a Shelby County temporary placement home. Though policy dictated that Brian could only stay in the home for a maximum of 30 days, he got stuck for almost a year. With nowhere to go, no one who wanted him, and no plans for his future, Brian’s only option was to wait out the days and hope that a DCS caseworker would eventually remember that he existed.

In 1996, Brian and his five siblings were removed from their home because Brian’s drug-addicted parents were essentially using the children as punching bags.

Brian had been beaten daily for most of his life, and it continued when he came under DCS’s watch. After being removed from his first foster home for behavioral problems, Brian told a counselor that the foster parent had routinely beaten him with a walking cane.

Brian’s behavioral problems worsened and he tried to run away from his next home several times. DCS workers told his then-foster parents that he would be removed from their home and placed in a therapeutic foster home so that his special needs could be better addressed. Instead, he was placed and forgotten in the grossly overcrowded “temporary” home that took nearly a year of his young life.

Because Brian had not been officially placed in a foster or adoptive home, he was ineligible for state services, including schooling and health care. He languished, nobody’s child, another victim of the nameless, faceless system that is robbing thousands of Tennessee’s children of what should be an inalienable right — a safe, decent home with responsible care providers.

In addition to being a real kid without a real guardian or a real home, Brian is another named plaintiff in the CRI lawsuit. Because of his status as a minor, all other details of Brian’s life, including his full name, are not available. However, state reports show that life in temporary placement facilities sometimes consists of children (in this case, boys) sharing space with more than 20 others. During a period beginning in September 1998 and ending in March 1999, almost 500 children were in temporary DCS placements. About 40 percent of the children in temporary placements at that time had been there longer than the permitted 30 days.

In these facilities, “school” means gathering Brian and the other boys — ages 6 to 16 — into two classrooms where they are taught by two instructors. Some of the children have been removed from their homes because they were accused of violent crimes and sexual assault. Others have been removed because they were victims of violence and sexual abuse. In the words of one judge quoted in the Tennessee comptroller’s report, “It’s like mixing predators with prey.”

DCS does not separately monitor or report abuse of dependent and neglected children while they are in state custody. The data currently available from the agency does not distinguish between the victim and the abuser, nor does it specify the type of abuse, the placement of the victim at the time of the abuse, the characteristics of the victim, or the outcome of the investigation. Because the information is not tracked, DCS officials do not know how many children are suffering while in the department’s care.

Though Tennessee does have laws that prohibit the placement of abused and neglected children in an institution designed to hold delinquent children, no laws prohibit the placement of dangerous children in temporary facilities designed for abused and neglected children. Moreover, DCS does not monitor or report the extent to which child-on-child abuse or other violent incidents occur while children are in state custody. The agency is, in effect, looking the other way while kids beat up and rape each other.

At first glance the children living in Shelby County’s temporary shelter look like any other children. Upon closer inspection their silence begins to seem eerie, their dirty, tear-streaked faces come into focus. One child pleads quietly, “I just want to go home.”

These children, mostly toddlers, spend their days with a guard, watching television and taking naps just a few doors down a fluorescent-lit hall from Shelby County’s female juvenile offenders. They enter the shelter filthy and terrified, having been removed from nightmarish situations only hours or days earlier. In the shelter these innocent kids huddle together, sometimes electing to sleep two or three to a bed, doing their undeserved time and waiting to be returned to their parents or placed in foster care.

“It’s a chaotic and dangerous system,” says Lustbader. “Children are removed from dangerous situations and placed in a foster-care situation which damages them further. Too many children are losing their childhood to foster care.”

Though federal and state laws require that all children in custody receiving TennCare aid receive Early and Periodic Screenings, Diagnosis, and Treatment (EPSDT) evaluations within 30 days of entering state custody, children in Tennessee’s foster system do not. EPSDTs are used to determine the physical and psychological needs of the children. However, a sample group of children under DCS care showed that 58 percent were in need of mental-health help and 34 percent had been sexually abused and needed, but did not receive, counseling.

Dr. Charles Glisson, director of the Children’s Mental Health Research Center at UT-Knoxville (and himself a DCS consultant), has shown that the majority of the children entering state custody were in need of clinical intervention, yet only 14 percent were referred for mental-health services. According to Glisson, “Most children who enter state custody, regardless of cause or placement, have psychosocial problems that require clinical mental-health services.”

Amy

Amy is a 16-year-old whose father used to beat her by throwing a mattress on top of her and kicking it. She has been in state custody since 1997, and since entering custody, Amy has been in 14 foster-care placements. Now, predictably, Amy exhibits severe emotional problems. Currently she is living in a Level III DCS facility in East Tennessee’s Knox County, where presumably her emotional needs are being better addressed.

However, she has only recently been moved to the Level III facility. Before, as Amy’s emotional problems increased, she was bounced from one foster placement to another. She has now been through three expensive, 30-day diagnostic and evaluation stays that could have been avoided if DCS had not misplaced Amy in foster and group homes.

During one of her stays in a Level II facility, Amy was placed on heavy medication which made her hallucinate and hear voices that told her to hurt herself and others. After her hallucinations were made known, DCS moved Amy to a hospital for a five-day evaluation and then back to the Level II facility, where her condition only worsened. The hallucinations increased, her hygiene suffered, and her weight ballooned from 115 to 240 pounds, most likely due to the medications she was prescribed. She was moved to a hospital for a 30-day evaluation, where it was determined that she was emotionally disturbed and that the medications were only making her condition worse.

During this evaluation, Amy was visited by a Court-Appointed Special Advocate (CASA) volunteer who found her living in a dirty room with food and garbage strewn about. The CASA reported that Amy was so over-medicated that she was slurring her speech and could barely form words. Her obesity was also being ignored by the hospital staff.

Amy’s situation is not unique. One juvenile court judge interviewed for the comptroller’s report believes that children in custody are not only being denied services and treatment, but that DCS is actively discouraging certain types of treatment even when need is clearly demonstrated. This judge said that DCS has told community mental-health centers not to recommend foster children for inpatient care.

Bureaucratic Bungling

Many of Tennessee’s children could be adopted much sooner if the state had the legal resources to expedite the adoptions and employed policies to move children through faster. Several states have begun using a system that allows for both the termination of parental rights and the adoption proceedings to begin simultaneously. This method prevents children from spending unnecessary time in limbo after parental rights have been terminated but before the adoption is finalized. Tennessee has not implemented this system.

In the past, DCS has not had enough attorneys to handle the termination of parental-rights hearings rapidly. Results from a 1998 C-PORT study show that approximately 10 percent (over 1,100) of the children in custody were currently ready and waiting to have parental rights terminated, all they lacked was a lawyer. In September 1998, 7,219 active cases were handled by only 16 attorneys — that’s more than 400 active cases per lawyer. Caseloads are expected to only increase as Tennessee begins adhering to the Adoption and Safe Families Act, which was signed into law in 1997. This act requires that if children have been in foster care for 15 of the prior 22 months, DCS must either terminate parental rights or reunite the children with their families. As is evident in the accounts of the children mentioned here, DCS is not in full compliance with this act. Funding was allocated in the 1999-2000 budget to add 36 new attorneys statewide, but DCS would not tell the Flyer if additional attorneys had been hired.

Charlette

Five-year-old Charlette has seen and done things that would make most adults shudder. Her biological mother is a prostitute, and while in her mother’s custody, Charlette and her brother John frequently watched their mother turn tricks. The children were also forced to watch pornographic movies, and the men who had sex with their mother often had sex with Charlette and John, too.

Without first investigating the situation, DCS placed the children with their grandparents. Things didn’t get any better in the grandparents’ home, where Charlette and John were sexually abused by their grandfather and uncles. DCS then removed the children from the grandparents’ custody, only to inexplicably place them again with their mother, where again they were abused and again they were removed, before finally being placed in a foster home.

Charlette has been prescribed medication to help her sleep at night and to assuage her recurring nightmares but has not been provided with counseling or therapy. As one might expect, her brother John exhibits sexually aggressive behavior, often toward Charlette, but also has not received any counseling or therapy.

The two children were freed for adoption in 1999 but adoptive homes have not been found for them. Charlette’s foster parents have told DCS that they would be interested in adopting both of the children if DCS can provide some assistance for the children’s expensive psychological needs. A full year has passed since the foster parents made the inquiry, and DCS has still not responded. While the foster parents wait to see if they can afford to take Charlette and John, the children also wait, fearing that they will be moved again.

Criticisms of Children’s Rights, Inc.

Not everyone working within the foster-care system believes that a federal lawsuit is the best way to solve the state’s problems. Some think that, though Tennessee’s problems need to be fixed immediately, a federal lawsuit is premature.

“My sole objection to the federal lawsuit is the timing,” says Dan Michael, executive director of CASA for Shelby County. “I have no problem with CRI and I don’t argue that there is a huge problem with foster care here in Tennessee, but I do not think that the lawsuit is ripe. CRI seems to be coming in on the heels of a genuine effort by the state to fix the problem.”

Michael says that CRI’s suit was filed soon after the Child Welfare League of America (CWLA) reported its findings to the state and that DCS had already been seeking funding and begun implementing some of the CWLA’s recommendations when the suit was filed.

“If two years after receiving the CWLA’s recommendations DCS had done nothing, then I would probably be one of the first parties joining in on the lawsuit,” says Michael. “Now DCS’s legal resources are being tied up trying to settle this federal lawsuit instead of focusing on addressing the issues in Tennessee.”

Lustbader and the attorneys he is working with, who include Richard Fields, John Pierotti, and Robert Hutton in Memphis, remain unfazed.

“If nothing else, we’ve managed to open up an otherwise closed system,” says Lustbader. “Before a federal judge ordered it, this information was not available, no one really knew how bad it was. The problems we’ve found are as great, if not worse, than the ones we identified in the complaint. They are all being borne out.”

Lustbader says that regardless of the outcome of the settlement discussions, CRI’s lawsuit will help make the daily lives of Tennessee’s approximately 11,300 foster children more tolerable. He contends that at least now the hellish situations they live in are known.

Terry

Terry is an 18-year-old girl who was recently discharged from the foster-care system, ill-prepared for life on her own.

While in substitute care, Terry was diagnosed as having bipolar disorder and was heavily medicated with several psychotropic drugs, which caused her to sleep most of the day.

Besides not having emotional stability or life skills, Terry’s medication often caused her to sleep through school hours. Being frequently moved from placement to placement caused Terry to fall even farther behind in school. She does not have a high school education and will most likely face difficulty in securing employment.

Sadly, Terry’s story fits easily into the statistics. Once in the system these children have a greater chance of becoming homeless, getting pregnant as teens, dropping out of school, or being incarcerated than they do of ever being adopted.

Nationally, 40 percent of foster children will enter either the welfare rolls or the prison system within two years of leaving the foster-care system. Only 17 percent will become completely self-sufficient two to four years after leaving substitute care. Similarly, only 49 percent will be gainfully employed as adults and almost 60 percent of the girls will give birth within two years of leaving the system. Former foster children are three times more likely to be homeless than parented children are, and most metropolitan areas report that 30 to 40 percent of their homeless population have passed through their foster-care system.

“What gets lost in the thought process is that it is ultimately less costly to provide resources at the front end,” says Lustbader. “Otherwise the children can become strains on other state systems, criminal justice, welfare, and they could have their own children that enter state custody. It’s a cycle.”

Whether or not CRI’s actions are appropriate, the fact remains that thousands of children are growing up in Tennessee without any support or guidance. Many of these forgotten kids will never see their names written on a birthday cake, never attend their prom, never graduate from high school. Many have only a garbage bag to carry their second-hand clothes in when DCS moves them time and again. For these children college is as real as the tooth fairy, love as distant as the moon.

Simply sleeping safe from sexual predators and physical abusers is as much as they can hope for, and even at that we fail them. These children — kids like Charles, Jack, Tracy, Denise, Brian, Amy, Charlette, and Terry — slip through the cracks while we look the other way. Often born into abuse and poverty, we “rescue” them only to make their lives worse, and then we imprison them years later when they act on what they’ve learned under our watch. They are orphans of the living and every day of their lives is worse than the day before. Each day they grow older, more callous, and less likely to ever have a place to call home.

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News News Feature

AS CLEAR AS MUD

Trying to understand the utility industry’s jargon and practices is no easy feat. After a conference call with Memphis Light, Gas and Water’s assistant manager of utility resources Bill Bullock, chief financial officer John McCullough, and the utility’s director of corporate communications Mark Heuberger, the Flyer tried to shed some light on what’s going on at the publicly owned utility. Unfortunately, sometimes getting an answer from MLGW only makes the issues more confusing.

First, according to the officials, the checkbook pain Memphians are feeling is due to an increase in gas prices , not rates . Semantics? Maybe. In utility-speak, prices and rates are different. But as the MLGW officials explained it, most utilities use a base rate (Memphis’ is $2.10 per unit, according to these guys) and then add to that a Purchase Gas Adjustment (PGA).

Crystal clear, right?

They further explained that it’s kind of like the escrow account used for a house note. The base rate is billed in and then later the utility considers what was actually paid in and then tallies up or down from the $2.10 figure to set the gas price. If more is owed, the price is raised; if less, the price is lowered. Also, the city council has to approve the rate. Lucky for us, the council approved a rate decrease in May. If they hadn’t, the MLGW officials say we’d be paying even more now.

But if the price is going to be determined by how much is needed for the purchase of gas in addition to the rate amount, then the rate decrease that was hyped this year may not really mean anything at all to the consumer. Got that?

Things just get more confusing from here. A study of MLGW’s gas expenditures for 1989, 1994, 1997, 1998, and 1999 listed in the 1999 financial report reveals that in 1997 MLGW spent $145,562,708 for gas that was later sold to customers. This amount stands out because in the other years examined MLGW spent an average of $116,677,751 each year on the gas the utility bought from suppliers, a difference of $28,884,957. A nearly $29 million discrepancy is apt to raise some eyebrows, considering that this amount is almost half of what MLGW is borrowing this year to pay its own bills.

When questioned about the 1997 numbers the officials said they didn’t know why so much more was spent on gas that year. They did agree with the Flyer that consumer gas prices should have increased in kind if so much more was spent by the utility on gas that year. The officials said that they would call back with a complete explanation (at press time they had not) but surmised that it might be due to industrial customers opting to purchase gas from MLGW that year instead of procuring it on their own on the open market.

Are we then to assume that in 1997, and not in any of the prior or subsequent years considered, industrial customers chose to buy gas from MLGW? The officials didn’t know.

Further, according to the notes following the financial statements in the 1999 report, “The Gas Division enters into futures contracts for the purchase of gas to manage the risk of increases in the market price of gas on anticipated purchase transactions.”

If this month’s bill is any indication, the futures contracts concept doesn’t seem to be working very well.

The MLGW officials volunteered that these contracts are entered into up to a year in advance but typically six to nine months prior to delivery of the gas and that MLGW enters contracts with several suppliers to “minimize risks.”

So, if these contracts were entered into at least six months in advance, with the prices the utility would be paying for gas locked in, then the utility knew months ago that there would be a dramatic increase in the consumer cost of gas, right? Well, um, sort of.

And if the utility knew in June at the latest (that’s six months before December, folks) that gas prices would skyrocket, why did they wait until October to say anything? And why didn’t they increase the price consumers pay for gas year-round to offset the winter increase so that consumers wouldn’t be hit so hard in December (right after Christmas, no less)?

The answer: They didn’t think it would be this bad.

The officials say that they didn’t purchase all of the gas the utility needed on the futures market because they hoped prices would go down. Fair enough. The $5-per-unit price that MLGW locked in this summer seemed awfully high compared to normal rates, so the utility’s gas buyers took a risk that prices would get lower. That’s prudent, even if it didn’t quite work out like they hoped. In fact, when prices soared as high as $10 per unit, and now that they’re about $8 or $9 per unit, MLGW and Memphis have been pretty lucky to have that $5-per-unit gas sitting around.

Score one for MLGW, no? No.

They still hadn’t answered the question about why the price increase wasn’t spread out over several months to lessen the blow. Oh wait, they tried.

Their answer: MLGW has offered a billing plan for a while now so that customers can pay an average bill amount each month. But that doesn’t answer the question.

Sorry, the officials have another meeting. They only have time for one more question from the Flyer . Here goes:

You told us the last time we talked (we said) that MLGW can’t borrow the money it needs to cover the cost of gas from the electric or water divisions because regulatory laws prevent one division from loaning money to another. You also told us this was why MLGW needed to borrow $20 million from the city of Memphis to fund the privately owned Memphis Networx venture.

Okay, but on your financial report there’s a “common account” listed with $220 million in it. The report says this money is then put into revenue-producing safe investments like mutual funds and government bonds. If the utility can combine revenue from the three divisions to invest the money together, why can’t it inter-divisionally borrow money?

Their answer: “Common account” is an accounting term, not a practical one. The money is separated back in the end.

But, hold on. It’s separated back? So it was together at some point, wait …

They really do have to go now.

Hope that clears it all up. Let us know if we can help you with anything else.

Click.

So it all makes sense now, doesn’t it?

( If you’ve got any answers, or if you’ve got more questions you’d like the Flyer to pose to MLGW, you can e-mail Rebekah Gleaves at gleaves@memphisflyer.com. )

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News News Feature

Talking With the Duchess of York

Time has mellowed, but not calmed Sarah Ferguson.

The voice that gushes from beneath her vibrant red hair still betrays her passion, but even that trademark mane is a now more subdued. Worn straight with a side part, glancing the shoulders of a rather conservative suit, the firecracker Fergie seems to have yielded with time to this new Sarah. Her zealous nature is nonetheless apparent, but it is guided now, her energy is focused, and a new, wizened Fergie has come into view. Reflective, contemplative, even philosophical – but certainly not silent.

Tell-tale lines creep from the corners of her eyes, betraying her 41 years, the last 15 or so spent under the harsh spotlight of public scrutiny. She’s a bit more cautious and somewhat guarded, but apt and eager to speak her mind, contorting her face into the punctuating expressions that instantly endear her to all.

Taking a break from touring the United States as the spokeswoman for Wedgewood china, ( a tour which brought her to the Oak Court Mall Goldsmith’s) Fergie recently journeyed through India, arriving back in the west with a more relaxed attitude and an eastern-influenced perspective on life which she recently shared with the Flyer.

“I think you can make anything different,” she says, her shoulders relaxing as she sips a cup of tea. “It’s just the way you look at it. It’s rather like giving someone a rose. If you hand it to them with the thorns, they’ll prick themselves, but if you hand it with the petals, it’s pretty and soft.”

This seems to be the approach Fergie has adopted towards promoting herself. She’s still the same English rose, and the thorns are still there, but the years have taught her to show her petals first.

“It’s honoring the moment, that’s what is different in the east,” says Ferguson, telling about her trip. “At the train station in Delhi, I asked this beggar woman on the platform if I could take a photo with her. She was very beautiful, but she wearing an old, torn, sari – she had nothing. When I asked if I could have a photo with her, she said she was not ready. She fixed her hair, rearranged her sari, and then smiled and said, ‘Now, I’m ready.’ It was an absolutely wonderful moment. She was honoring the moment.”

When she affixes her intense-but-tired blue eyes on you, you know that Fergie is connecting, she too, is honoring the moment. Clearly she wrestled with finding relevance in her work while in India; the Duchess of York, spokeswoman for a fine china company, amidst absolute poverty and squalor.

“I always try to get back to what is important in life, rather than only talking about china,” says Ferguson nodding knowingly. “I think, why am I talking about Wedgewood? Why do we rush in our everyday life and have our coffee and tea in Styrofoam instead of having a nice cup and saucer? I go into these poverty stricken areas in India and think, ‘How could you even talk about china?’ but on the other hand they, themselves, on the street, they give you a cup of tea. We rush around putting our coffee or tea in Styrofoam, and on the street they give you chai in a porcelain cup.”

Fergie continues, saying that we should to be grateful and appreciative of what we have. We should enjoy our blessings rather than save them for later.

“That’s what I try to bring to Wedgewood. Why do we think of china as something we do not use? We must use it and love it, and appreciate it because we are lucky, we are so very lucky. There are people in this world who do not even have a plate.”

But, while Fergie certainly has plenty of plates (Wedgewood, no doubt) she has hardly had a life free from worry. Since she came to international attention as the paramour of Prince Andrew in the mid-1980’s, Ferguson has blistered under scathing criticisms. Constant comparisons of the gregarious, boisterous, sometimes reckless Fergie to the dainty, delicate and usually quiet Princess Diana coupled with harsh taunts from the international media about her fluctuating weight have afforded Sarah little solitude. But when others might have slunk into the shadows to avoid any more attention, Fergie faced it head own, seeming to challenge her detractors.

“I’m glad I’ve caught the grief that I have,” says Ferguson, softening her face into a casual smile. “It’s tough but it’s true. So why do I have to hide? Of course I have regrets. I have lots of regrets. Or I did before going to India, now I think I’ve gained some perspective. I’m going to just go forward now. Come clean, say it as it is and it’s much easier than saying ‘well, it could be this or it could be that,”. It’s tough. Not many people will just say things as they are.”

Ferguson says that generally she’s more welcomed and accepted in the states than she is the U.K. According to her, Americans tend to appreciate her aggressive attitude where the Brits are polite but usually show disdain for her ways.

Even with her enlightened views, Fergie says she does carry with her one regret:

“I would say my one regret would be divorcing Andrew.” says Ferguson. “We are the most united couple there is. I often say that we’re the happiest divorced couple in the world. We haven’t discussed whether we would ever get back together, though.”

Her relationship with Prince Andrew plays heavily into Fergie’s priorities. She lives with hers and Andrew’s two daughters, Beatrice, 12, and Eugenie, 10, in the home that Prince Andrew also occupies.

“The most important thing I’ve done through the rumors and everything is that I’ve been a really strong mum, I’m really proud of that. They are really secure because of it. You hear so many people say, ‘We stayed together just for the sake of the children.’ That’s a terrible amount of pressure to put on a child. They’ll think it’s their fault. For the sake of our children, Andrew and I separated and then we united. In some ways it would have been easier for me if Andrew and I were not so close. I would have been able to disappear more.”

And at times it seems that Fergie would have liked to disappear. The Duchess never quite seemed in step with Buckingham Palace, a fact belabored by tabloids everywhere. From her own good and bad experiences with the royal family, she offers this advice to any young girls hoping to woo Princes Will and Harry:

“First, they could not be interested in nicer boys. Will and Harry are lovely boys. Any girls interested in them should just enjoy the present and not worry about the future. Look around and enjoy it all. But, I wonder if they would ever want to marry Will or Harry. I wonder if anyone would want to take on such a public role. It’s a big role to take on. It is definitely a big role when you get married.”

The Duchess does think that things might be easier for the next generation of royal wives and she realizes that this is due in no small part to the barriers she and Diana broke down.

“Diana and I were the fore runners,” says Ferguson. “We were very much aware of the demands placed upon us as royalty then and also of the changing role of women in society. But, I don’t think we knew how much we were changing things at the time. Things would be much different for someone marrying into the royal family now. Now, there are different expectations.”

Sarah stresses that now she is focusing on accepting what life hands her and on looking at certain events as just being part of her destiny.

“Maybe if I accept more on destiny…” she begins and then fades off. “Maybe if I looked back over my life, maybe it is in a graph, maybe it is all mapped out for everybody.”

She contemplates the idea that in each of her incarnations – the rebellious duchess, the overweight pariah, the mother, the best selling author, the “Today Show” journalist, the spokesperson – that she reinvents herself, disappearing from the public eye just long enough to discover a new challenge to embrace. That her life, with it’s ebbs and flows, creates something a graph of ups and downs.

She wrinkles her face and then simultaneously turns both corners of her mouth down in the same charming befuddled expression that made Hugh Grant famous.

“I don’t know. It’s kind of fun when you accept things. You can’t do anything about them anyway. It’s feels very nice to take life step by step.”

Her expression changes into a knowing look, one befitting a woman wizened by years of falling down and getting back up.

“It’s your choice how you spend time. We should look at the rose from the petal end, not the thorn end. Why not take an extra moment and pour a cup of tea? We are so lucky we have it. If you change the whole structure of communication and open up the dialogue, everything is different. That’s what Andrew and I do.”

And it does appear that things are, in fact, different for Fergie. Seasoned and matured, she has inadvertently adopted the same grace that was so admired in Diana. But she has done so in her own inimitable way, still rocking boats, but just not getting caught as often.

“I think I’m one of those people who will probably never get her privacy back because I’m so red-headed and straight-forward. Whenever I disappear from the public eye, everyone seems to wonder what I’m up to.”

(You can write Rebekah Gleaves at gleaves@memphisflyer.com)