This week, I want to bring you a feel-good story. One of those tales that fills you with warm fuzzies and makes you wanna run out and adopt a dog from Sarah McLachlan or something. Today, I use my platform to salute a tireless community activist who goes the extra mile to help his entire neighborhood through times of crisis.
Yes, today I'd like to celebrate... ME. As it turns out, I'm kinda awesome.
I've been called MANY things, but "community activist" has never been one of them. I like my community just fine, but in the motion picture that is my neighborhood, I much prefer the coveted role of "quiet guy who mostly keeps to himself although sometimes we occasionally hear dance beats coming out of his basement." This is the carefully crafted mystique I have painstakingly carved for myself, and I'm in no hurry to change that.
As a Rock Island homeowner, my demands have been fairly minimal. I like to feel safe in my neighborhood. I like to treat people with kindness and hope they do the same in return. I like peace and calm. And I like driving down my alley without feeling like someone kicked me between the legs. One of these things has been a challenge of late.
To call the chasm at the end of my alley a "pothole" would be a bit of an understatement. For some time now, it's been less of a pothole and more of a pot-canyon. Our delightful Midwest weather routinely wreaks havoc on our area roadways, and my own neighborhood is no exception. What started as a wee crack last year where my alley meets the streets has now become a crevasse unfit for man nor Hyundai. There's been one tiny remaining parcel of pavement that you could ride out to the street if you aimed JUST right. But if you miss that mark a few inches to the left, you're basically falling into the Land of the Lost where you can only hope the Sleestacks are friendly folk who operate affordable tire repair shops.
I've been dealing with it for weeks now. And yes, I could simply drive the OTHER direction and exit my alley from the far end, but that's a lot to ask of my brain at 8:00 a.m. before it's had coffee. I always forget until I pull up right to the edge of the hole, and by then I'm usually stubborn, lazy, late for work, and resigned to allowing my left tires to take a quick spelunking expedition to the lower depths of Rock Island.
Last week, I finally decided to take action. That's right, at great time and personal sacrifice, I Googled "HOW TO REPORT POTHOLE ROCK ISLAND ILLINOIS." To my surprise, Google answered quickly. I had no idea that many of our local governments use a service called SeeClickFix to allow residents to report potholes, animal control, graffiti, and other non-emergency issues. The process is smooth and takes just a few seconds.
I clicked submit and had to laugh when SeeClickFix replied with the message, "Thank you for reporting Pothole (#16128520)." I may have even posted a snarky comment on Facebook that 16,128,520 potholes in Rock Island seemed accurate.
I didn't expect any type of immediate resolution. Heck, part of me didn't expect ANY resolution other than the personal satisfaction of narcing out my pothole to some kind of electronic powers-that-be. I took Civics class in junior high, and I've even been to a couple city council meetings. Here's what I expected to happen: My report would be logged. Perhaps one day, it might be even be seen by a human. That human might then bring it to the attention of other humans who probably have a subcommittee that's created a task force to analyze these sorts of complaints. And maybe, just maybe, one day the issue might get resolved.
Once you've registered on the SeeClickFix site, it sends you alerts when other issues in your neighborhood get reported. A few days later, someone else reported a different pothole a block away. When I was online checking that out, I also looked at the status of MY request. The last time I'd checked, it was under the status of "ACKNOWLEDGED." It had since moved to "CLOSED." The pothole had NOT been fixed. Hmm.
I decided to message Rock Island Alderman Dylan Parker. He's not MY alderman, but we're friendly on social media, so I asked if he knew what the "CLOSED" status meant. "That means they think it's resolved," he replied, and asked me to send him a pic of the pothole. But I don't live in Dylan's ward and didn't want to bug him. Instead, I did something I've never done before. I wrote MY alderman and explained the issue. I've never met the guy before. I always assumed they were busy, you know, aldering and what-not.
I certainly didn't expect a prompt response that my request had been forwarded to the City Manager and the Public Works Director. And I definitely didn't expect to come home two hours later to discover the mighty chasm filled with fresh smooth blacktop. The next day, I noticed the other pothole a block away had been patched as well. Ask and ye shall receive, I guess.
Guess what? City governments actually DO work for the people sometimes. Honestly, I'm still blown away. Frankly, it took more work to write the thank-you reply than it did to get the pothole fixed, and that's just awesome. I had a preconceived notion in my head that my request would get filed in a "we'll-get-to-it-when-we-get-to-it" pile, and the city just proved me wrong in the best way.
So here's a big public thank you to Aldermen Robinson and Parker and the whole Public Works team at the City of Rock Island. I've seen umpteen people complaining about potholes on social media. I was one of 'em. As it turns out, maybe we should all stop complaining to the gods of Facebook and instead try submitting our requests to the elected people who can (and do) make a difference. You might just be surprised what you can get accomplished.
I don't think I'm cut out for city government. My skin's probably not tough enough for everything they have to endure. But I'm AWFULLY good at whining, so maybe community activism should be my new calling. What should I tackle next? Economic development? Gentrification? Crime prevention? Wait, I know:
"Dear Mr. Mayor, for too long, my neighborhood has been shamefully lacking in taco trucks..."
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