We all know the term: “Pagosa Time.” Presumably, we all learned its meaning shortly after arriving here with our high hopes that we’d finally found a piece of Paradise. Yes, the area was gorgeously beautiful, and the funky little downtown had a warm Western friendliness — but when we hired that contractor to fix the broken steps leading to our front door, the work seemed to drag on and on, as if we were in some kind of rural Colorado “time-warp.”
“Didn’t you say you would have this done two months ago?” we asked the contractor, as politely as possible.
“Well, they ran out of deck screws at Red Barn Lumber. That’s where I have my charge account. Plus my ex-wife was in town.”
“Welcome to Pagosa Time,” was the way our neighbor explained it. “Everything takes ten times longer here, especially if it’s something important.”
 Time is not the only thing warped here in Pagosa, however. This warm and friendly little Colorado town seems to suffer from another curious, and often unpleasant, condition. I’ve never heard anyone give it a name, so it’s a bit harder to talk about — a bit harder to put your finger on — than the well-known concept, “Pagosa Time.” But it's just as real.
I’m going to call it “the Pagosa Troubles.”
I remember well one of my own experiences of this painful phenomenon. I was, back then, sitting on the Board of Directors of a community theater group — the Pagosa Pretenders Family Theatre. My friend Addi Greer and I had started the group about ten years earlier, and “The Pretenders,” as we tended to call it, had put on one production each year, featuring original, cast-written plays and cast sizes ranging from 35 to 105 — children and adults, heavy on the children.
Our theater policy was: if you audition, you are in the cast. We wrote each play to fit the cast we had. And then we performed it for the public — during the early years, at the Elementary School, and then later, at the new High School Auditorium. The cast and production staff were all volunteer, and all the money we made went back into the next production — or, later, into paying for a self-storage unit full of costumes and set pieces, and into making donations to the School District.
One day, the theater group acquired a Board of Directors. The formation of a new Board of Directors here in Pagosa Springs, unfortunately, can often signal the beginning of “the Pagosa Troubles”, as I was about to learn.
Before the Pretenders got its Board, all the final decisions had been in the hands of each show’s producer. The producer chose the title of the play, appointed the production assistants, wrote the final “script” and basically handled all the important details. When the Board arrived, every important decision now had to be approved by a group vote. In fact, as I remember it, even some stupidly unimportant decisions had to be approved by a group vote.
I got along pretty well with the other Board members, but we did have one point of contention. I felt, since the group was now bringing in a considerable amount of revenue with each show, we ought to start paying the producer of each show. The producer’s job had grown, as the productions grew and the cast sizes blossomed to over 100 children and adults. During the last weeks of a show, the producer was now doing a full time job.
If we wanted this group to survive, we needed to think about paying the producer. Or so I suggested.
The Board did not agree with me. They wanted the producer to be a volunteer. We discussed the issue a few times, and I think the Board finally made a written policy: No one can be paid. No one.
Unfortunately, the producer job had become too big, and in fact, no one on the Board wanted to produce the next show. So I came up with a plan to circumvent the “no pay” policy. Clarissa and I had recently started our own a non-profit arts organization, Artstream Cultural Resources, and we ‘d begun to organize theater projects in the public schools. I approached the Pretenders Board with this proposal:
Since the Pretenders don’t have a producer for the next show, why don’t you contract with Artstream to produce your next show? We will split the final revenues 50-50. That way, Artstream can pay the producer, and the Pretenders can keep to their Board “no pay for producers” policy.
Since no other producers were coming forward, the Board reluctantly agreed to my proposal. Artstream produced a successful show, and we split the revenues. But, down deep, I think, the Pretenders Board was basically unhappy that their “no pay” policy had been circumvented.
The following year, the Board was again facing the same problem. No one wanted to produce the next show.
I had a show in mind, but I decided to produce it independently through Artstream, and I began approaching the School District about reserving performance space. Since I had been the main producer for the Pretenders for many years, one of the high school students who heard about my inquiries thought I was representing The Pretenders and mentioned my planned show to a member of the Pretenders Board.
A few days later, the Pretenders Board had a regular meeting, and I was unable to attend due to some business dealings. I got an email the next day, telling me I had been removed from the Board, because I was causing harm to the organization. I was misrepresenting the Board by planning a show without their approval, the email said.
I was flabbergasted. Could this really be happening? Without meeting with me — me, the group’s original co-founder, the person who had produced the majority of their past shows — without hearing my side of the story, they were removing me from the Board? Didn’t they want to hear my side of the story first? Wasn’t I innocent until proven guilty?
This story, up to this point, illustrates the strange phenomenon that I’m calling “the Pagosa Troubles.” So many times, it seems, the Boards and Commissions that do much of the decision-making in this little rural Colorado town make a choice to fire people, instead of working through the problems, and coming to a mutually beneficial resolution.
When “the Pagosa Troubles” strike, someone becomes a scapegoat. Unfortunately, everyone loses when that happens — because the problems are actually being created, not by the person who was fired, but by the Board’s own policies, or lack of policies. But the Board doesn’t want to take responsibility. So let’s just fire somebody, and blame the problems on them?
In the case of the Pagosa Pretenders Family Theatre — yes, I was fired off the Board. And maybe I deserved it, for insolently planning an independent Artstream theater project without first discussing it with the Pretenders Board.
But one fact remains: The Pagosa Pretenders have not produced a successful show in the five years since.
The latest example of “the Pagosa Troubles” may have reared its ugly head at the County Courthouse last Friday, with a decision by the Board of County Commissioners to ask the entire Archuleta County Planning Commission to resign.
In a story that appeared in the Pagosa Springs SUN yesterday, reporter James Robinson summarized the BoCC’s “official” reasons for dismissing the entire Planning Commission. One reason, it appears, was a dreadful lack of qualifications.
“In addition, a county staff report also indicates all the county planning commissioners fail to meet their own bylaws in regard to guidelines for technical knowledge and professional qualifications needed to serve on the advisory board," Robinson wrote. "The report also cites leadership issues, conflicts of interest by some commissioners and a lack of balance in opposing views on land use issues.”
That paragraph makes the Planning Commission look pretty bad, we must admit. So, who exactly wrote this “county staff report”? Which “technical knowledge and professional qualifications” are curiously missing from the Planning Commission?
Is this another case of “the Pagosa Troubles” — or is it, rather, a thoroughly justified, carefully thought out move by the BoCC to improve our County government?
Read Part Two... |