Talking points on ‘calling the clock’ at council

“You’ve got to know when to hold ’em / Know when to fold ’em / Know when to walk away / Know when to run … “

I grew up listening to Kenny Rogers. This was way before iTunes, even before he became synonymous with roasted chicken. His greatest hits album was among the vinyls (and 8-tracks) in heavy rotation on the living room stereo and in the motorhome.

This also was before I got into poker. I’ve played a few family games, but mostly I watch tournament telecasts. It added a deeper level to my understanding of Rogers’ song “The Gambler” — refrain above.

Poker came to mind during this week’s City Council meeting, when Tom van Overbeek did the legislative equivalent of calling the clock on his fellow freshman, Addison Winslow.

Players can skip to the next paragraph; for those unfamiliar with the term, “calling the clock” is an option for anyone who grows tired of waiting on someone else at the table to act. At their behest, the dealer beckons the tournament director to give the indecisive person one minute to make up their mind — to bet or fold — after which time, their hand is dead.

It’s not a routine action; mostly, it’s a last resort. Poker is a game of math and psychology. The bigger the stakes (i.e., the pot), the more leeway players tend to give a deliberator. It’s an unwritten understanding.

The council has something similar, what van Overbeek called “a gentleman’s (and) gentlewoman’s agreement” among colleagues.

Codified rules — administrative procedures and policies, or AP&P — call for councilors to keep comments to three minutes, which happens to match the time given to citizens. Specifically, section 10b of AP&P 10-10 says councilors “are encouraged to limit their comments to three minutes each.” It also says councilors “should refrain from interrupting the speakers before the end of their allotted three minutes,” though that clause appears in relation to members of the public.

Those are the rules. Rarely does a councilor call for their enforcement.

Van Overbeek did. He proverbially called the clock during the afternoon budget session and again during the evening regular session after Winslow asked a string of questions about the proposed budget and the Urban Forest Master Plan, respectively. In the first instance, he interrupted Winslow mid-sentence to do so.

Explaining his action later, van Overbeek asserted that Winslow was “playing to his audience” with his line of questioning. Van Overbeek wasn’t alone: Sean Morgan — the longestserving current councilor and a former mayor — told dais neighbor Winslow, “You’re grandstanding,” after prefacing a yesor-no vote with commentary. Morgan and Winslow clashed in previous meetings, most notably over an AP&P on how councilors may present requests for agenda items, though they emerged as unlikely allies in opposition of renaming the city’s Pallet shelter facility.

Why does this matter? Beyond interpersonal drama, how does this squabbling affect governance?

Significantly, in multiple ways.

First, let’s revisit the theme of optics. (It’s becoming my thing …)

Winslow represents a district but also a broader constituency. Van Overbeek wryly reasoned, “I think he thinks because he’s the only progressive and there are six conservatives that he has to talk six times as much.” Whatever the ratio, Winslow articulates perspectives shared by more than one-seventh of the residents in a city split fairly evenly along political lines, regardless of the council’s current alignment.

Clamping down on his speech gives the impression — optics — of censoring dissent. Chicoans are saying as much across social media.

There’s another sense of proportion: the magnitude of the discussion. The 2023-24 city budget, including capital projects, runs 810 pages. Winslow said councilors got it last Thursday, just three working days ahead of the meeting. He had a lot of questions that might have been answered ahead of time; indeed, he got very granular. But a primary, if not the foremost, responsibility of the council is keeping the city solvent. That’s the budget, all 810 pages of line items.

The Urban Forest Master

Plan, as van Overbeek pointed out, contains 121 action items. It’s 170 pages long. Its complexity prompted councilors to refer it to the Internal Affairs Committee for a comprehensive review. When van Overbeek, the IAC chair, and Councilor Dale Bennett started suggesting changes not presented earlier, Winslow had questions — understandably so.

I’m not suggesting councilors should have unlimited license. Protracted meetings drain attention; they’re not conducive to good decision-making. But calling the clock should be a last resort, not a reflex.