She got a ticket.
The City of the Village of Clarkston issued Clarkston News muralist Michelle Tynan a ticket, because, apparently, the sign on her scaffolding violates a city ordinance.
Please! Clarkston’s Selective Ordinance Enforcement policy is out of hand.
So, all personal opinions on the mural aside, if Michelle got a ticket, what about the ordinance about keeping the grass cut? A few months back the council spent an hour debating the DPW’s weekly lawn-cutting operation at the home of a resident who couldn’t be bothered with the upkeep of his property.
Clarkston residents, your tax dollars are paying for your neighbor’s lawn service.
What about the kids’and adults’bicycling through the city after a walk-your-bike ordinance passed last year? Tickets for them?
And what about the ordinance prohibiting sandwich boards in town, the one passed because the signs allegedly block sidewalks and cause squabbling between certain business owners?
Fine, but why is Rudy’s allowed to ‘block? the sidewalk with displays? And while we’re at it, why is it OK for city councilman Jim Brueck to ignore the dog-on-a-leash ordinance?
Wait, don’t tell me.
Rudy’s brings business into town. They’re an exception.
And Jim Brueck is a well-respected asset to the council and the watershed group. Besides, his dog is exceptionally well behaved. What’s the big deal?
I like Rudy’s’maybe a little too much, judging by my debit card statements and my bathroom scale. And I like Jim Brueck. But who we like shouldn’t be a factor in who gets to break the law.
The Selective Ordinance Enforcement has gone on too long; it’s time for the city to clean up its act.
If the laws aren’t working, change them, then figure out, once and for all, who’s in charge of enforcement.
The council keeps saying Clarkston is a small town and doesn’t need to be overwhelmed with rules.
But some might argue big cities (Detroit?) are the place for politicians and others who think they’re above the law.
For Clarkston to be the small hometown some profess it to be, laws need to be enforced fairly and equally for everyone.
Otherwise, what kind of town are you really living in?

It might be summer, but the last couple months have been no picnic around The Clarkston News.
Don’t send any ant traps or mosquito repellent, though; it’s not bugs bugging us.
It’s the election.
Since the first retirement announcement arrived and the first candidates stepped up for election or reelection, we’ve been taking it seriously.
That means doing it right’you know, getting at the truth.
You know, the truth.
This may come as a shock, but the truth’the whole truth and nothing but the truth’is often hard to come by, especially in politics, and that’s what’s been bugging us lately.
And before I go any further, yes, I’m taking the liberty of speaking for myself, as well as my editorial coworkers; when four people work five or six’seven this week’days at a stretch in the same room, when they discuss people and issues, vent frustrations, share stories and work within easy earshot of every phone call and every in-office interview, they get to know one another.
Because I know them, I can say without a doubt we each care about the community, about doing our jobs to the best of our ability, and about the outcome of the August 5 primary election.
It hasn’t been easy, in some cases, getting at the truth about who a candidate is, and what he or she really stands for.
What motivates a person to run for office?
A job? Personal interests and political gain? Or a true desire to serve the community?
In Independence and Springfield Township both, there’s a lot at stake, and a lot, perhaps, going on behind the scenes.
Same over in the 52-2 District Court. What’s the real story?
Do you believe everything’or anything you hear?
We’ve talked and listened as candidates discussed their ideas and visions. We found ourselves believing in some’not so much in others, especially those who manipulate and twist the truth around to sway voters.
We haven’t seen many like that, but they’re out there.
Next week, the Clarkston News will render its own humble opinions in our candidate endorsements. We’ll tell you what we think, based on the knowledge and insight we’ve collected along the way.
The rest will be up to you. Whether you like our endorsements or you like the other guy, we hope you’ll get out there and vote.
God bless America.

Nothing says Clarkston like a trip through The Clarkston News archives.
The archives are informative, interesting and often provide a historical perspective on many of the issues you read about in these pages today.
The archives are also a source of amusement’I’ve seen many of you sporting plaid pants, big 80s hair and even bigger 60s hair.
But my latest favorite discovery’it’s a treasure trove in there, really’is the lead story in the June 17, 1981 edition.
It’s headlined ‘Vandals wreak havoc in Clarkston,’ and it begins like this: ‘As schools close for the summer and malicious activity at the Clarkston Mills Mall increases, merchants gear up to face the onslaught of thievery, vandalism and pranks.?
Hazy television images of Detroit, 1967 begin to form in my head.
I continue reading anyway.
‘Every day, business owners are haunted by returning bands of junior high students who verbally abuse storeowners and apparently take a perverse delight in destruction.?
What?? Returning bands? Perverse delight?
In downtown Clarkston?
Anybody want to tell me what the heck was going on around here?
For those of you who weren’t around these parts during the Great Mills Mall Brawl of ?81, I’ll continue on with the story, painful as it is.
Imagine, if you will, prepubescent humans racing bikes from one end of the mall to the other while seedy accomplices spew vulgar language and burn holes in yellow cushions and macram? wall hangings.
‘I’ve had a boy let a pigeon loose in my store,? one business owner told The Clarkston News. ‘They eat submarine sandwiches in the mall and throw pieces of lettuce, tomatoes and salami around the base of the tree.?
It gets worse.
Imagine restrooms transformed into a pot and cigarette smoking haven for hoodlums who flick ashes carelessly and extinguish butts on walls and floors.
And, without any apparent sanitary concerns whatsoever, the whippersnappers reportedly ate food in the restroom’the story doesn’t indicate whether submarine sandwiches were consumed in the restroom or reserved specifically for mall munching’and strewed leftovers about the floor along with the cigarette and marijuana ashes.
Imagine soap-smeared mirrors, overflowed sinks and wet globs of paper towel dripping from the ceiling.
And then the elevator. The little horrors apparently got a jolt from joyrides in the mall’s elevator, which they’d stop between floors and lean on the emergency buzzer.
It was, according to the story, a very loud buzzer that could be heard for miles. Or a long way, at least.
Finally, the worst of it’seriously.
They urinated in the elevator.
Yeah. The story says these kids urinated in the elevator and left business owners to ‘deal with the smell.?
But you know what I find particularly odd about this story?
There’s no mention of anyone doing anything about this band of brats haunting Mills Mall.
Oh sure, the business owners wonder where the parents are, and muse about how the kids behave at home. But there’s no mention of police, dutiful vigilante types or stern boot camp drill sergeant.
There’s no indication these folks were anything more than helpless hostages in the Great Mills Mall Brawl of ’81.
Clarkston, you want to tell me what the heck was going on around here?

You know those people who walk around with sayings like ‘let me tell you about my grandchildren? on their sweatshirts?
I get it. Oh, do I get it.
Ryan arrived July 19, six days late, just like his momma in 1987.
Christy asked me to be in the delivery room, and I happily obliged, oblivious of what I was getting myself into.
Ryan’s birth was, unequivocally, the most beautiful event I’ve ever witnessed.
Christy was in labor for many hours, and Mark and I were with her the whole time. I did what I could to help, but mostly I stood by and watched the two of them draw their strength from one another all day, and all night long.
They told us Ryan was a big boy, and that a cesarean was not out of the question.
So when she finally went into active labor I encouraged’she’d use a different word’her to work hard, make it happen, push harder, harder, harder. Harder!
I hated it. My momma instincts just wanted to make it somehow all better for her, to take away the pain and the hurt and, well, if she’d stop growling at me to shut up through clenched teeth, well, that’d be OK, too.
But Christy was as beautiful and as strong as I’ve ever seen her, and Mark was great. The nurses told him he was better, more loving and supportive, than 99 percent of fathers they see.
And in those last moments, as Ryan finally made his way into the world, the miracle of life struck at my core.
It was the most amazing, awe-inspiring event I’ve ever experienced.
The sheer beauty of it lasted about 4 seconds, until they whisked my grandson across the room, put a tiny plastic mask over his tiny face and began to vigorously rub him with a towel.
‘Come on,? murmured a nurse to little Ryan.
What the?.
‘We need peds!? I don’t know who said it.
‘You need to go over there,? another nurse barked when I went to investigate.
He wasn’t breathing.
‘Mom, is he OK??
I looked at my daughter, at my grandson, at my daughter.
‘Mom??
I was terrified. I couldn’t answer her yes or no.
Finally, three minutes and twenty-six seconds later, those wonderful, beautiful heroic nurses at St. Joe’s Hospital in Pontiac made my grandson cry.
My knees weakened with relief.
Now, two months later, he’s my Lil? Sweetie, and in the whole world, there’s nothing better than rocking him while he drifts off to sleep.

Where’s the chief? Here’s the chief. Finally!
Clarkston’s Police Selection Committee assembled months ago, did the research, developed meaningful questions, made phone calls. They sifted through a stack of 23 resumes, called eight prospects to interviews, then brought two finalists in for a second round.
The committee talked, discussed, debated, and argued, and in the end, they found the best guy for the job.
I was impressed, and well, sort of proud.
In the past, the city’s police department has been plagued with problems. There’s been in-fighting, officers caught sleeping and doing things they’d be embarrassed to read about in the paper, and officers not doing the things they’re paid to do.
Seems like a leadership problem to me, and it seems like those who care, those who want better for the city they call home and fondly refer to as ‘the village,? have finally reached a point where they’re willing to put a foot dawn, and say what needs to be said.
Enough already.
So they rolled up their sleeves and got to work. Finally, with interviews concluded and dust cleared, all but one of six committee members believed Dale LaCroix was the man they wanted, the man who, from those 23 original candidates, could best lead the Clarkston Police Department back to the tightly-run, respectable ship envisioned when Clarkston was forced to begin its own force when the city incorporated in 1992.
So last week the committee made its recommendation, and the city manager made a phone call to Dale LaCroix.
If LaCroix, who retired in December from his position as Waterford Township’s deputy police chief, accepts the position, he’ll have his work cut out for him.
First, LaCroix can help the Clarkston PD step away from its shroud of secrecy.
Occasionally, a tidbit of ‘good news? makes its way toward The Clarkston News, but under former and current leadership, the department prefers to operate on hush-hush principles’a slap in the face, if you as me, to taxpayers who support Clarkston’s police force and pay officer salaries.
My own experience with the department, its secretive administration and manipulative city council liaison, has been less than stellar over the past year.
Operating in a covert manner is flat-out bad PR, causes imaginations to run wild, and leads to distrust.
But with new leadership comes new hope, and a chance for change, a chance for residents to feel the proud of Clarkston’s men and women in blue.
This, because your Police Chief Selection Committee was committed to the doing a job, and doing it right.
There are no guarantees about anything or anyone, but take comfort, and be proud to know your community is home to folks who really care.
LauraLColvin@aol.com

It’s been less than two weeks since I arrived in town, but a busy two weeks it’s been. I’ve already attended a Tea Party (no tea, but plenty of angry Americans), a sculpture garden gallery opening at Lake Orion High School, and two football games’Dragons won both, woo-hoo! What a wild football town.
I made one late-night return trip to the Review office here in downtown Lake Orion for village election results, two trips to the substation to see what the bad guys have been up to, and took only one quick walk through town (resulting in a long list of places to check out later, when there’s time. Wait, time?)
I’ve also made one commitment to help judge the chalk art contest during at Dragon on the Lake as Lake Orion celebrates its 150 anniversary next week. Can’t wait.
As the Review’s new editor, I have a lot of ideas, but my main goal is to find new ways to bring the community closer together through these pages.
Tell us about your events before they happen so we can let people know and get them involved. Lets make something good happen.
Me? Well, I have a Bachelor of Arts in journalism and public relations. Writing has always been my passion, but through journalism I’ve also discovered a passion for photography.
Before coming to the Review I spent three years as a reporter at the Clarkston News, one of the Review’s sister publications, where I covered everything from murder trials’OK, just one murder trial, environmental issues, local government and feel-good community events.
In addition to my love of writing and photography, I also have a passion for the truth, and a disdain for injustice.
In March of this year, when the 146-year-old Seattle Post-Intelligencer turned off its printing presses and went web-only, I came across a quote that pretty much summed up why I do what I do.
P-I reporter Angela Galloway said ‘The P-I’always strove for a noble cause, which was to give voice to those without power and scrutiny of those with power.?
Yep, that’s it.

Four weeks with my head in the editor’s hat here at the Review. I’ve met lots of new people, heard some interesting stories and seen some interesting things. A giant, fire-breathing dragon, for example. And dragons’approximately the size and shape of high school boys’who appear to breathe fire when they, say, take a 42-12 homecoming victory on a chilly, miraculously rain-free Friday night.
It’s been fun. The little details’please don’t say the word ‘Tuesday? to me’are getting a easier. Slowly.
A few things you might want to know: The ‘Public Safety? reports can now’and forever more, I hope’be found on page 12. Yes, your Oakland County Sheriff’s Office deputy reports are still there, just expanded to provide a little more detail. We’ll be looking at doing the same for the village reports in the months ahead.
‘Around Town? is bigger and better, too. You’ll find it on page 11, chock full of places to go, people to see and things to do. Want to list something? Call, email, fax or stop in and let us know about your event. Send a pigeon if you have to.
Have an event you want us to cover? Please let us know as far in advance as possible, and we’ll absolutely be there if we can. But since we’re an editorial staff of two and one-fifth’Megan, me, and our 7-hour-a- week intern, Sarah’we invite you to send us your own photos, as well.
Coffee? One of our sister papers, The Citizen, began hosting a community coffee hour about a year-and-a-half-ago. Everyone’s invited for an informal, once-a-month get-together to chat about everything and nothing.
I went out to join them a few weeks back, and liked what I saw. So lets do it. Details to come’stay posted.
A few things I’d like to know: What’s your story? What bugs you? Who’s your unsung Lake Orion hero? What can we do better here at the paper. Let it fly’no use going half-way.
Call me at 248-693-8331. Lemme know what you think.