Gene4DesMoines

I've always been interested in historic preservation, and I have been lucky enough to apply that interest to preserving the Bubbleator from the 1962 Seattle World's Fair.

I had a chance to share that interest with the late City Councilwoman Carmen Scott, whose vision of using Des Moines' past as a pathway to our future struck a chord. Her determination to save the former church camp facilities at Beach Park led to creating the highly popular Beach Park Event Center (for which I created the logo).

I have little doubt of what she would think about our missed opportunities to save the Masonic Home (Landmark on the Sound) and the historic Van Gasken House, which the City now plans to demolish after telling us they were saving it for posterity.

CityStream: What Happened to the Bubbleator? | seattlechannel.org The Space Needle, Monorail, and Pacific Science Center helped Seattle shine as the city of the future during the 1962 Seattle World’s Fair. A lesser-known but equally unique attraction was the Bubbleator. What happened to it?

Forty-six years ago, Beach Drive South swallowed a dump truck. That was my introduction to Redondo.
As a rookie reporter for the Federal Way News, I was sent to get a photograph. There it was, a fully loaded rig barely peeking out of a sinkhole. The roadway swallowed a truck; Redondo swallowed my heart.
A year later, I moved into a dilapidated beach house and fell in love with the community. Redondo wasn't a neighborhood; it was a community. Communities are defined by people of common interests rather than lines on a map. Cities map neighborhoods; communities exist in our hearts.
I served 14 years as president of the Redondo Community Club. When having to choose to annex to one of the neighboring cities, I helped lead the effort for Woodmont and Redondo to become part of Des Moines in 1997.
Des Moines was a good fit back then. It teemed with vibrant communities. We felt at home. People looked out for each other.
Sometimes those communities were at odds over particular topics, but ultimately, we were all citizens of Des Moines.
Over the years, economic hard times and, lately, city councils more focused on drawing lines and determining which of our communities can be heard are eroding that sense of being at home.
In 2014, I was proud to become president of the Des Moines Legacy Foundation. Our mission was simple, supporting our most vulnerable citizens. And we had fun doing it. We never had tax dollars. Instead, when we asked, Des Moines residents dug deep into their pockets to support a cause close to their hearts.
But when the city council decided it wanted to make changes affecting the programs we were supporting, we weren't allowed to participate. In fact, one council member told me the council resented that we wanted to have a say, that it was the council's decision, not the public's.
And the bullying has not stopped. Cross this city management, and the retribution is swift and brutal.
I dream of a day when communities matter again and when decision-making is determined through open and transparent processes. A day when all volunteers are welcomed and appreciated. Our finances may be on better grounds, but our sense of belonging is bleeding.
I want our city government to support and nourish our communities, be they of color, economic status, or particular interest. We all win when we govern from the heart.