Is it worth it? City manager, city attorney say yes

They aren’t decision-makers, but they influence the ones who are.

They’ve been the flagships to Bonita’s original seven — an inexperienced six-member council and novice mayor who were elected after the city incorporated in 1999. Their backgrounds, rich with experience they’d use to steer council members away from lawsuits and toward decisions that would build the city’s newly set foundation, helped them win their high-profile and high-paid jobs.

Their public power, though, has come at the cost of a private life. Their kids read about them in newspaper headlines and letters to the editor. Their relationships become news. They log resident complaints in the grocery store, field angry phone calls from home and become responsible for votes they didn’t cast.

With six months left on their contracts and the opportunity to renew awaiting negotiation, both have to decide if the pluses outweigh the minuses.

Is the money worth the scrutiny? Are the projects worth the fighting? Is it worth it to keep jobs that don’t allow them to ever really leave work?

Yes. Bonita’s city manager and city attorney say they have had more good days than bad.

The beginning of Bonita

City Manager Gary Price and City Attorney Audrey Vance are two of the most powerful and powerless political players in Bonita Springs.

Over the past six years the pair has been in the forefront of a controversial redevelopment project and a handful of major road projects. Their work comes before and after council votes, crafting many of the ideas that grow into some of the city’s biggest undertakings.

“None of us really brought any municipal experience with us,” said Councilman Ben Nelson, who has held his seat since incorporation. “If we had started with freshmen staff we should have been in big, big trouble ... (they were) what caused everything to really congeal.”

For the first few years the two worked much like new parents, following their novice councilmen through their first steps. They proposed ideas and projects, and implemented the votes the council made. They advised and directed the six-man council and mayor while simultaneously helping to raise a city.

“It was real bad the first couple years,” Price said. “The citizens create a city on Monday and they expect all their concerns to be addressed on Tuesday ... The first year here, maybe even longer, people weren’t seeing results.”

Experience and direction only goes so far. Both serve under the City Council’s wishes. Price has seen projects he proposed killed, and Vance has seen her recommendations ignored. Though they are respected and leaned on, their ideas aren’t always approved, Price said.

“You almost can’t win. If the council by and large accepts a majority of your recommendations, then the public says the council is just rubber-stamping the city manager, that he’s really running things,” Price said. “If the council doesn’t accept the majority of your recommendations, you ought to be looking for another job.”

The city attorney holds even less torque with the council as that position is only supposed to present council members with their legal options. Vance’s past employers and co-workers have said she has built her reputation on her knowledge of the law and ability to present fair and accurate options.

Making it more difficult for public officials is that most of their work is done in public.

“It’s like living in a glass house with open windows,” said Lee County Attorney David Owen, Vance’s former boss. “Everything you do is open to public scrutiny.”

Including their salaries. In 2005, Vance was making $107,099.20 and Price was pulling in $134,513.60. Both also receive a car allowance and other benefits. City council members receive a stipend of close to $15,000 a year.

Work that leaves the office

When Price goes to the grocery store, someone unfailingly recognizes him as the Bonita Springs city manager. He’s a familiar face in City Hall chambers and his voice is beamed over the city’s government channel at least twice a month during council meetings.

But sometimes, City Manager Gary Price, 59, wants to be just Gary Price. No title before, no age after.

“Sometimes I have to get out of town to go someplace where I’m not known and I’m not responsible,” he said. “When I’m driving up and down the road here, going to the grocery store, I’m seeing things that need to be looked at, things that need to be fixed.”

He’s in his office from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., longer on days when council is in session. When he was first hired, he worked from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m., sometimes until midnight the week before a council meeting. His desk is cluttered with notepads and his four-tier inbox is on the brink of a paper avalanche.

“Believe it or not, I’m pretty organized,” he said.

The long hours and piles of work don’t stop him from answering the phone. Residents call, he talks to them. When people complain or ask for guidance, he gives it to them straight — sometimes too straight, some council members have complained.

“One of his great shortcomings is that he really is pretty sensitive to criticism,” said past District 5 Councilman David Piper during Price’s 2005 evaluation. “Maybe the older he gets he’ll mellow out more.”

He has.

“I can give it to you straight or I can sugar-coat it,” Price said. “If I don’t think they have a chance (with a zoning issue), I’ll tell them that I don’t think they have a chance.”

“People will be deny this, but I do have a heart,” Price said. “I’m the city manager and in many cases I’m the closest to the community.”

Newspaper, mommy

Just when Vance had overcome a little parental hurdle — getting her child to get the morning paper for her — she realized the downside of having him make the trip down the driveway.

“The first day I was able to con my 4-year-old to pick up the newspaper, there’s the headline, ‘Vance talks too much,’ with a picture of mommy,” she said.

It was a comment pulled from one of her first evaluations as the Bonita Springs city attorney that’s morphed into a buzzword for her now 9-year-old son, Jonathan. If she’s chatting in line at an amusement park or at a store and Jonathan thinks she’s talking too much, he’ll say, “newspaper.”

“It’s become a theme,” she said. “He’s a regular kid and he’s suddenly seeing mommy, who he sees as mommy, being thrown into the newspaper. Think of how surreal that is for a child.”

Or for an employee. Though Vance, 45, has worked in the public arena since she earned her law degree from the University of Florida, having her work evaluated in front of the whole city still isn’t something she’s completely comfortable with.

One of the most embarrassing career mistakes she’s made was for the entire city to see — literally. While working for Lee County, she helped to arrange for a driving range to erect nets to catch golf balls from flying into a nearby shopping area. Though a reasonable idea, the execution was a bit botched.

“It looked like there was a permanent circus in town,” she said. “It was aesthetically the most displeasing thing I think I ever did and taught me there’s consequences to everything you do. Sometimes you think you’re doing something so right and so justifiable, and then you see it out there and it’s like, ‘Oh, no. I made that happen.’”

Negotiations to begin

The City Council voted last month to negotiate contracts with Price and Vance, and despite the hard knocks, media interest and lack of a private life, both have expressed interest in keeping their positions. Mayor Jay Arend will begin negotiations in the next few months.

Though they came to their jobs for different reasons — Price was tempted out of retirement with an offer to manage a new city, and Vance found the job appealing because she lives in the city — they’ve found similar reasons to stay.

“They treat me pretty good here,” Price said.