In the midst of his Feb. 3 column in 2005, City Weekly poobah-turned-flightmaster John Saltas was finding it wise to "let the column just write itself."
"Each week," he revealed, "I fold myself into a paper airplane and take flight, not knowing how many turns I'll take, how long I'll stay aloft or what manner of landing I'll make. I've crashed plenty of times." Saltas found this process a welcome respite from the two decades he spent beating people over the head with anger and ink regarding the vexing issues and events of modern Utah living.
"Man, we knew everything," he mused. "If it wasn't me, it was Richard Barnum-Reece, Ron Yengich or John Harrington, all taking turns bashing away."
City Weekly still took "rightful hits at the notorious or the powerful," Saltas added, but with some exceptions, there was less anger throughout the paper. "That's due to equal parts growing up a bit, having Ben Fulton as editor (who quietly makes his points while still being a nice guy) and to the simple fact that it's hard to get excited about writing about the same topics over and over."
Saltas' appraisal of the paper in its 21st year seems apropos, for one would indeed require a dose of maturity and something like the versatility of an aeronaut to navigate the events unfolding in Utah and around the world.
The big box behemoths were continuing their strip-mall takeover of the Salt Lake Valley. National and state constitutional amendments were placed on the ballot to outlaw gay marriage—with Utah's Amendment 3 ultimately passing. Private schools were making early forays in their endless quest to divert public education funds into their own coffers. State-sanctioned torture at Cuba's Guantanamo Bay and Iraq's Abu Ghraib prisons repulsed the world through leaked images, as did the infamous "torture memos" penned by Brigham Young University grad Jay Bybee.
These were far from the only troubling shifts of atmospheric pressure during City Weekly's 21st flight.
There was the despicable killing of 1,800 turkeys at a Sanpete County farm by a group of young adults and the tragic premature death of Wankie the elephant at Hogle Zoo. There were the scandals of Salt Lake County Mayor Nancy Workman (1940-2020) over her hiring practices and use of public funds. There was conservative outcry over a speaking engagement by filmmaker Michael Moore at Utah Valley State College (now Utah Valley University) and the bitterly divisive presidential election of 2004.
And at the Legislature, measures were passed against a living wage while undocumented workers were required to hold "driving privilege cards." But hey, at least they passed resolutions recognizing "Ronald Reagan Day" and the birthday of Scruff McGruff, the crime dog!
Not all was tumultuous and nasty, though, for the late state senator and civil rights champion Eliud "Pete" Suazo (1951-2001) was honored through Gladys Gonzalez's west-side Suazo Business Center. A Major League Soccer stadium was in the works, ultimately finding its home in Sandy. Students from East and West high schools walked out of their classes to rally for peace in Iraq and to protest issues like No Child Left Behind and Utah's Amendment 3.
There were other memorable stories in the mix, too, like Dave Hollander's cover on the legacy of former Jazz basketball star Adrian Dantley; Don Merrill's report of the differences in vision among members of Salt Lake's branch of the NAACP; Miriam Axel-Lute on New York adherents of the Catholic Worker movement; and Ann Poore's profile of rare-book trader Ken Sanders.
For City Weekly's onboard flight—when the whole venture wasn't being banned from the Provo Library over supposedly "objectionable" material—there were new features for passengers to enjoy, such as the comic book and video game beats by writers like Charlie Deitch and Trevor Hale, as well as DVD reviews from Jeremy Mathews. And to commemorate the Summer Olympics in Athens, the staff credits in the Aug. 26 issue were Hellenized by "Zeus Saltas."
With so much in the air, the material really does write itself.
Remembering Vol. 21: In the wind
"Preston J. Truman grew up in Enterprise, Utah, at the height of the above-ground nuclear testing during the 1950s and '60s," began Mary Dickson's cover story on July 22, 2004. "Like countless others, he lived downwind, under the clouds of radioactive fallout. He doesn't like to talk about the lymphoma he suffered as a result of that fallout, even though it qualifies him to receive compensation from the federal government under the Radiation Exposure Compensation Act (RECA)."
Then the head of Downwinders Incorporated, Truman (1951-2021) had devoted his life to helping his fellow downwinders receive compensation, and yet he refused to accept compensation for himself.
"As long as compensation isn't applied equally for all downwinders," he told Dickson, "I won't take it."
In 2004, the federal government only compensated those who lived in one of 21 rural counties in Arizona, Nevada, and southern Utah during specified time periods, and only if they suffered specific maladies like leukemia, multiple myelomas, lymphomas or primary cancer of the thyroid, breast and esophagus (among others). Only 10 counties in Utah fell within possible compensation under RECA, which Truman found to be egregiously paltry.
"The rest of Utah got as much radiation as southern Utah," he attested. "And there are parts of Colorado, Iowa and New York that got levels of fallout as hot as, or hotter than, some of the politically acceptable counties. But none of them are covered."
At the time of Dickson's report, the National Academies' National Research Council was looking into whether Congress should expand RECA to additional areas and additional types of cancers, and public hearings were being scheduled in Utah to consider the matter. The downwinders she spoke to were eager to provide testimony that fallout had indeed affected far more people than just those in southern Utah.
To this assertion, Dickson provided a thorough historical backdrop of above-ground and underground nuclear testing that was conducted in Utah through the '50s, '60s and '70s, which affected countless residents.
"The majority of Americans, and even most Utahns, mistakenly assume that fallout affected only residents of southern Utah," Dickson noted. "But radiation doesn't stop at county or state lines. That's one of the hardest assumptions activists fight: The vast majority of those affected by fallout in this country don't even know they're downwinders."
Dickson contrasted this situation with the sobering irony that at the same time government hearings were taking place about expanding RECA coverage for the victims of earlier nuclear testing, the Bush administration was pushing for new weapons research and additional nuclear tests.
Today, roughly 20 years since this story was published, Dickson reports that "we are still fighting" for the expansion of RECA.
"I think a lot of people just forgot all about it," she said of the government's inaction. A downwinder herself, Dickson observed that all of the people with whom she labored 20 years ago on expanding RECA coverage have since died. She continues with this fight and collaborates with allied downwinders across the United States.
In review
As a longtime contributor to City Weekly's music and TV beats, Bill Frost had much to write about, from his warm reception of the debuts for Lost and The Office to his lamenting the absence of viewership for the comedy-drama Wonderfalls. One notable program to catch Frost's fancy was the comedy ensemble Arrested Development.
"Yes," Frost wrote in the Nov. 4, 2004, issue, "Fox's critically-acclaimed-to-the-point-of-oppression Arrested Development, the sitcom with no laugh track, [no] obvious linear direction nor business existing outside of cable, has actually managed to return for a second season. Quite a trick, considering Fox's notoriously low tolerance for shows with no viewers."
But TV reporting was not Frost's only specialty, for he had long been a contributor to the music scene as well. During this year, when he wasn't treating According to Jim as his personal punching-bag, Frost even revealed his poetic side with a number of CD reviews in haiku format.
From the March 31, 2005, issue, we find these stanzas on assorted releases:
Julie De Azevedo, Home: "Mormon pop gets hip, / Almost sensual, my heck! / Soccer moms rejoice."
Purr Bats, Bionic Fresh Moves: "So good it hurts, yo / Electro-swing tunes, smart words. / They rule their own world."
The Body, Call off the Search: "Hip-hop, live 'n' hard, / Tight band rockin' the backbeat. / Comfy as Converse."
Eat your heart out, Robert—there's a new Frost in town.
In the governor's chair
Succeeding Mike Leavitt as governor after the latter's departure for the Bush administration in the fall of 2003, Olene Walker (1930-2015) proved to be well-regarded by Utahns for her support of public education and affordable housing as well as her opposition to all gifts for lawmakers. With her term nearing its close at the start of 2005, many Utahns were dismayed to learn of the Utah Republican Party's rejection of Walker for candidates like Jon Huntsman, Jr.
"Walker was burdened by the baggage of the Leavitt administration and was tagged as a 'liberal' Republican, especially for her stands on public education," commented Katharine Biele on June 3, 2004. "All this, and an 80 percent approval rating."
Despite clamor for a write-in candidacy, Walker acceded to her party's convention decision. At the very least, she won "Best Utahn" for her troubles in the April 7, 2005, Best of Utah issue.
"If Best of Utah voters—or any voters for that matter—had a say during last year's Republican primary, Utah might be a very different place," City Weekly editors wrote. "Utah's GOP kicked Walker back to the curb before the popular election, but she went out with a bang. Never content just to be cute, the lame duck governor pressed for doomed, but sensible initiatives, including a tax-reform plan slightly more nuanced than refunding money to her wealthy campaign contributors. Olene, we hardly knew ye." CW