Marion Barry has died.

The feisty, unapologetic, larger-than-life Barry may have been dubbed “Mayor for Life” facetiously by D.C.’s City Paper, but he made the designation his own and wore it like a mantle. Never was he without an opinion about the city or about how something affected it.

His entire career was devoted to helping people, first at SNCC (where he served as its first chairman), then through the non-profit he co-founded, and finally through the city political machine, where he served on the Board of Education, in the Council (where he was shot in the line of duty), and as mayor. And he did many good things for people and for the District over the years.

However, it cannot be said that Barry lacked pride in what he accomplished or in himself. As with many people (particularly men) in power, he seemed to feel himself above the law — and a victim to it when it took him down. Certainly it can be argued that his own addictions made him slower to react as drugs became a growing problem in the urban landscape.

His misdeeds and personal failings will paint how the nation remembers him. And it isn’t wrong for those things to be counted in a final tally.

Yet, I understand how he continued to be elected to the council to represent Ward 8, something that outraged and confused many of my peers as we moved in from elsewhere with our own desires to see and help D.C. move forward with its urban renewal. In an area of the city where poverty, unemployment, illness, and past mistakes haunt a large percentage of its residents, I can see how they would have seen Barry as continuing to represent and champion their views. When they — or their kids — needed jobs, or a turkey to put on their tables at Thanksgiving, Barry came through for them, or at least seemed to make an effort at a time when the case could be made that their needs were considered far below people in wealthier sections of town.

Say what you will about him (and people will say plenty in the coming days), I really believe Barry cared about his constituents — and they about him.

May he rest in peace.

I should not be allowed to write just before bed because I misspelled Marion Barry’s name as Marion Berry when I first published this and awoke realizing the mistake I’d made. My apologies for the error.

Tomorrow we have an election in D.C.

First, and foremost, let me urge anyone in D.C. who’s registered to vote here to do so. Even if you don’t care who wins the council seat, there is a referendum question on the ballot that is an important one to address. It concerns the District’s ability to decide how to use the money, such as tax revenue, that it raises.

Currently, we are at Congress’ whims for all our budgetary concerns. Regardless of how you might feel about the Founding Fathers’ opinions about D.C. governance and our representation (or lack thereof) in Congress, it seems only fair that we should have some autonomy in setting our own budget priorities. You know how everyone’s talking about how sequestration will affect various government bodies? D.C.’s one of them. When the government threatens to shut down all non-essential federal agencies? That includes D.C.’s libraries, because Congress gets final sign-off on our entire budget. An argument could be made that it is fair that the national government should oversee the District’s use of federal funds. However, it is harder to see how it’s fair that they dictate how we spend the percentage of our budget (roughly 70%, by the way) that comes into our coffers via our own sources of funding, such as local taxes. Voting yes tomorrow on the referendum will indicate that residents of D.C. would like and expect to receive that same privilege that other local governments take for granted.

Harder for me to offer insight into is the at-large council race seat that’s being contested. This is the seat that opened up when Phil Mendelson won election to council chair, which in turn was vacated by Kwame Brown in a corruption scandal. So at its heart, this election should be about ethics. And, at least on the surface, it is. All the current contenders bandy the term about. If we eliminate the candidate who’s already dropped out (but who still remains on the ballot and, thus, will take at least a certain percentage of the vote), we’re still left with six candidates, four of whom are running in the District’s de facto single party. (more…)

I’d like to offer up this David Wilcox classic in honor of Small Business Saturday:

It’s probably good to remember there’s an East Asheville equivalent in so many of our shopping avenues, so make sure you hit Politics & Prose or Powell’s before you go to Amazon or Barnes and Noble and your IGA store or farmers market before you head to Stop & Shop or Trader Joe’s. Yes, you’ll probably still have to do some shopping from the big box (or big site) stores, but it doesn’t have to be your first choice. And buying local and independent when it’s an option really does matter to a community: studies suggest that money spent at independent businesses gets reinvested in the community 50-100% percent more often than money spent at large, non-local chain stores.

So, a day is a good start. It’s definitely better than not shopping locally at all. But why not make it a predominantly Small Business Season if you’re able?

I admit that I was worried about this election. So many ways for it to go so wrong. So much at stake. So long we’ve been hearing about it. I felt worn down by it all and stressed. And I didn’t really want to be worried in public, even among friends, even after a massive infusion of sugar. Which did not make me good company when I found myself hanging out at a bar watching election returns.

But if I’d stayed home, I would have missed out on being part of this:

The impromptu crowd at Lafayette Park, just north of the White House, on Election Night, shortly after President Obama clinched a second term.

Four years ago, we were in a car, heading home after Barack Obama won the presidency, when we found ourselves caught up among revelers heading toward the White House.

This year we got off the bus by the White House and became revelers ourselves, four (Rudi, John, Nicole, and me) among hundreds of jubilant voters.

It was a good night.

Two years ago Rudi and I switched to eco-friendly toilet paper.

Last year we made the move to bring our own bags to the store (and were reinforced in January when D.C. began to charge you an extra fee per disposable bag at the store).

This year I’m going to make the long-overdue effort to stop using disposable cups. I own several travel mugs and a number of places we frequent offer ceramic mugs for sit-down service. I need to make better use of those options and not accept as many throw-away cups as I do.

Did you make any green resolutions today, the 40th celebration of Earth Day?

If you don’t live in the area or follow the news, you might not be aware that there’s currently an international nuclear summit going on in D.C. I admit that the first I’d heard of it last Sunday and I live here, so don’t feel bad if you didn’t know.

Visiting dignitaries are nothing new to our nation’s capital. Important people routinely caravan across town, pausing our lives with their motorcades. However, a simultaneous visit from nearly 40 heads of state and another dozen VIPs from around the world is another magnitude above and beyond what even locals are used to.

Obama is holding the summit at the Washington Convention Center, which is located about half a dozen blocks from my office (which is also four blocks in the other direction from the White House). Last week, word began to leak out about road closures. Then we learned there would be a secure perimeter. Some businesses located within the fencing were opting to close for the duration of the summit in order not to lose business. Residents of the housing project located along one edge of the perimeter would have to turn out their bags and pockets every time they want to return home.

This was not going to be your everyday Washington meeting. [Editor’s note: D.C. or the District is what locals call the area where we live. Washington is used to refer to the federal government or by people outside the region. It is frequently said with scorn or disdain.]

By Friday, our building was astir and managers instructed employees to check the hotline before coming into work today. The helicopter presence ramped up on Saturday and at this point their whir is omnipresent. The boosted police force in the metro and on the streets became noticeable with blue or black uniforms, flashing lights, and sirens becoming commonplace.

I thought I was prepared until I stepped outside by my office this morning. There were cars parked at every corner for blocks in order to stop traffic at a moment’s notice. The streets were laden with dark SUVs (which, it turns out, have been rented by the Indian media). National Guard vehicles were posted along the outside of the perimeter along with dump trucks filled with sand. A squadron’s worth of police officers seemed to be on every corner.

So much hoopla was associated with this event that when I left my office at 7 to discover the building swathed in yellow police tape and the road closed just outside that I wasn’t surprised. I saw a protest walking down the street next to ours and assumed the two events were related. Apparently not. The local media is reporting that a cyclist was somehow struck and killed by one of the National Guard vehicles as it was pulling into place to block the road for a motorcade to pass through. The details are few at the moment, but it is a terribly sad thing regardless.

I hope good things come out of Obama’s summit because certainly nuclear weapons are a serious problem requiring intense discussion. And I appreciate that the topic and the quantity of heads of state from around the world dictate that a high measure of safety precautions are imperative and take precedence over our desire to get around unimpeded. But it does make me wonder if maybe a large conference call or online chat might be a better option next time.

ETA Tuesday a.m.: This morning’s sad email informs me that the cyclist was a colleague. I didn’t know her personally, but we often lunched at the same time upstairs. My thoughts go out to her family.