My City’s Mayoral Race Roundtable Was Delightfully Insane

Two things: I wanted to see my city’s old library. And I wanted to figure out who deserves my vote for mayor.

So I went to the library, a historic Spanish building that overlooks the ocean and is rarely open—except for the occasional wedding—to watch a roundtable with the men and women who want to run my little beach town of 67,000.

From what I’d read in our local newsmagazine and on campaign websites, 2 of the 5 candidates seemed qualified, and they’d all done a tremendous job, in their written manifestos, of obscuring their party affiliation and general political beliefs. I needed to see them in person. To see what lights them up, what they side-eye.

As I walked in, a woman asked me if I’m a surf club member. I am not, I said, as I signed my name and email on a yellow legal pad, for whom or why, I didn’t know. Our local newsmagazine sponsored the round table, along with a company that does a lot of business with the city, and a non-profit surf club. I pulled out my tiny notepad and noted that as weird. We do have a town hall. That seems like a good place to have a town hall, no sponsors necessary. 

I looked around. In a crowd of maybe 100, there was exactly one red 45 hat, on a long-haired old man. And one flesh-colored cowboy hat, on a younger man, that was either a nod to the Most Ick 2025 Super Bowl Commercial, or a terrible mistake.

Then I spotted a reporter. I knew he was a reporter from the camera and tiny notepad he carried.  I would say takes one to know one, but reporters look pretty reportery, even to those who don’t report.

I’d decided to pay more attention to local politics, I said. One candidate appeared smarter on paper, but also smarter in the way where he could be into corruption. Another seemed more dedicated to pure public service. But he’d been a career lifeguard, so I pictured him running meetings in red swim trunks.

An undecided voter! The reporter held his pen to paper. No, I said, don’t put me in there. I told him one reason I’d to come is the local newsmagazine had asked the candidates about campaign contributions, then ran their carefully constructed responses without verification. Not super helpful.

“It’s really hard to find that stuff,” he said.

The clock struck 7! The moderator—the only person of color I saw in the room—began the talk.

He and the candidates sat on lounge chairs on a small stage, facing 8 rows of folding seats and a few dozen people standing. Through a window behind the stage, an enormous, uplit tree ominously stared at everyone, as if to say, “Whatever happens, I’ll be here long after you’re gone.” She’s probably right.

First, the intros:

1. The Matron. A retiree and long-time public servant with shoulder-length silver hair. Short, leopard-print skirt. Purple eyelids, bright pink lips. Even after her intro, I didn’t know why she ran. But my god, would it all come out in the end!
2. The Incumbent. A retired aerospace engineer—suit jacket, no tie, no hair—who assumed position of mayor when our previous mayor died. Said he would not run, but there he was.
3. The Lifeguard. The youngest person on stage, maybe 40s, lots of hair. An 8-year city councilman. Full suit with tie. Forget my previous qualms about shirt wearing. 
4. The Artist. A former public arts commissioner bringing big no-nonsense Uma Heller (Only Murders In the Building) energy, in jeans and a maroon sweater. Long hair.
5. The Goof. A smiley, kindly property manager and former city councilman, about 50, wearing a well-designed t-shirt with his name and a QR code on it. Hair under baseball cap.

The moderator kicked things off talking about pickleball. Sure, OK. He asked if schools should pay for crossing guards. He quoted a proverb: “Without a vision the people perish.” This is where The Goof dropped off. He wants people to tell him what they want. “I don’t have a specific vision,” he said. OK. I write in my little notebook: Goof-Let the people perish.

The Lifeguard said he wants to prepare us to handle the 2028 Olympics. Probably not top of mind for voters right now, but OK.

The Artist wants more public art. OK.

The Matron wants more development. OK.

The Incumbent said he wants to, and I quote, “Restore our city to the crown jewel it once was.”

I’m sorry, what?

Intentionally or not, this sounds like the first go at creating MAGA. Restore us to our crown jeweled greatness? RUTOCJG? Too wordy, try again.

They talked about our harbor, long overdue for revitalization, our defunct power plant. Then they talked about leases, and this is where it became obvious that one company sponsoring the event has a big stake in leasing land and buildings from the city, and, I assume, would like those leases long term. That company is also involved with a new members-only surf club. The city is the surf club’s landlord. (File under: Things I should’ve known. Also: It’s never too late to get involved in local politics.)

I do not know how the non-profit surf club feels about the new for-profit surf club. But I’m certain I’m now on someone’s mailing list.

The only candidate shrewd enough—or brave enough?—to say that long-term leases would hinder revitalization/development in the very blah harbor area where the for-profit surf club is currently leasing was The Lifeguard. Noted.

(Fun fact: 100 years ago, that blah area once housed a wooden roller coaster and a giant bath house. If a roller coaster was the crown jewel The Incumbent was referring to, I’d take it. He did reference the “early 1900s” as the era in which he believes our city was once great. But he mostly talked about cops.)

The moderator asked who contributed to each person’s campaign. In a confession I did not see coming, The Matron said she took $500 from cannabis companies. Then The Incumbent touted his police endorsement. The Lifeguard said he does not take endorsements or money from anyone who would do business/leases with the city, to cheers from half the audience.

Now and never, during the entire evening, would anyone acknowledge the world outside of our city. I noted that as insane. What about federal grants to our health department? Industry-wide layoffs that would affect the city’s tax base and housing?

Then the moderator asked a question that got close to recognizing something beyond our beach, and the whole room tensed up: What does DEI mean to you? But he did not roundtable this question. He only asked The Artist (If it’s not hurting you, let people live their lives.) and The Goof (Can’t we all just get along?). He skipped the headliners.

Then the moderator launched into a series of questions seemingly written by AI prompted to “write 5 questions about leadership for managers.”

“People will forget what you say, but never forget how you made them feel. How do you make people feel?”

“Your high school year book voted you most likely to…”

“If you could have a casual meal with anyone in the world, who would it be?”

In the moderator’s defense, that last one opened up The Matron, who said it’d be a Yale professor who studies ageism, because everyone told her, she said, that she was too old to run. It also came out that she ran not simply to show the youngins, but because she was pissed at the, in her mind, untransparent way The Incumbent became mayor in the first place, upon the death of our previous mayor.

Finally, some tea!

To end, there were closing pitches:

The Artist: More art!

The Matron: Keep our city beautiful!

The Goof: You tell me!

The Lifeguard: I’ll make businesses thrive! Also, let’s be a welcoming Olympic host city!

The Incumbent: Restore our city as it once was! (Again! He said it again!)

Then, after a bit of rambling about how maybe future elections should be moved to a different time of year to encourage more participation, the evening was over. And several men sitting in the folding chairs turned to walk out, revealing their police hoodies, there to support the candidate with the unfortunate (revealing?) rallying cry. 

I’ll take The Lifeguard, thank you.