The idea that government can do things well is a tough sell in some circles. But I’ll go out on a limb to argue Measure A, the half-cent sales tax for transportation approved twice by local voters, is a success story.
Don’t confuse this with the so-called “citizens’ initiative” Measure A that went down in flames in 2022. That Measure A was opposed by good-government groups such as the League of Women Voters, who denounced it as “the product of developers, business organizations and labor advocates” rather than sound and balanced transportation planning.
The environmental and community activist became known by her battles against sprawl and shoddy development in Natomas, where she’s lived for decades.
These days, four decades after those fights, Fargo and her allies meet with community groups, elected officials, city and county staff, and others to push back against what they see as more damaging development in the Natomas Basin north of Downtown.
City life, by its very nature, requires places to escape. Even in our most livable urban areas humans need sanctuaries to get away from traffic, noise, congestion, crowds and other annoyances.
That’s why we cherish parks, museums, beaches and other oases. Calm, relaxing locations where we slow down and forget the stress.
Few places offer the peace and beauty of a well-designed, plush botanical garden. Now a group of determined Sacramentans is working to bring this amenity to the capital city.
Like a lot of people in Sacramento, Marcia Eymann is anxious to find a permanent home, but not for herself or her family. She’s searching for a new place to house the Center for Sacramento History. It’s personal and professional. She’s city historian.
Funded by the city and county, the 25,000-square-foot center is a fascinating, if hidden, repository of local and regional history. But because it’s located in a nondescript strip center north of Downtown with limited exhibit space, most treasures go unseen.
In every city with a decent daily newspaper, historic decisions swirled around the building where journalism was conceived, produced, printed and distributed.
That was certainly true at 21st and Q streets. For seven decades, the Bee reported on political scandals, natural disasters, athletic achievements, social shifts and horrific crimes. Stories from the paper’s Midtown headquarters impacted generations.
In my 16 years at the Bee, I was fortunate to work with many talented journalists at 21st and Q. I covered elections, earthquakes, floods and murders—endless human accomplishments and failings. It’s natural that I feel melancholy when I see the Bee building today, silent and empty.
Our core city suffered blows in recent years. Early in 2020, with a Downtown renaissance underway, COVID-19 stopped everything. Two months later, protests over George Floyd’s murder turned destructive. Restaurants and businesses boarded up and closed.
With state employees working remotely and several deadly gun crimes generating news, the core was a ghost town, recovery a pipedream.
Today a fair amount of pre-pandemic energy is returning. The Kings’ brief playoff run brought thousands Downtown. Increased police presence made people feel safer. We still miss state workers, but restaurants are crowded and nightlife jumps again.
