I attended a meeting of Renfrew Town Council last night, something I’ve not done in a very long time.  I wanted to get a sense of the dynamic of the place, the personalities present, political and administrative, official and non-official.  As in most such endeavours, information was gleaned, intelligence was gathered.

There were only four members in the public gallery, so I’ll have to assume that the legions of voters and interest groups out there ravenous for news emanating from a council meeting must have been taking it in via livestream.  But just like hockey, watching on television and seeing it live and in person are two different event experiences.  Seeing it live, up close, physically almost right there in the middle of it owing to the size of the room and its configuration, is far more personal, immediate, and telling.

I was half-expecting to see a ranking officer from the Ontario Provincial Police attending, possibly as a participant, perhaps, like me, as a witness.  But I saw no Bright White Shirts in the gallery, so no such luck there.  Mine remained the brightest white shirt in the crowd.

Too bad only four of us got to see all of this, but that’s on the public, not council.  So it was me, two gentlemen from a senior’s hockey club looking for a reduction of ice-time costs, and a former mayor and councillor busily scribbling notes for the entire two hours of the open meeting.

I had attended to get a look at the several people in the room who had failed to return an email outreach I had made to them late last week.  I wanted to see what it was about them that made them feel I could be dissuaded just by being simply ignored, a policy akin to an ostrich, its head, and the sand.  One councillor had even blocked my communication attempts, prompting me to wonder if I was embroiled in some sort of adolescent Facebook fight.