Metro Pulse/Ear to the Ground

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Saving the Fort (or what's left of it)

It was refreshing to see the Metropolitan Planning Commission take a stand in Fort Sanders and recommend City Council approve the NC-1 when it votes on it Sept. 19. That the MPC didn't kowtow to some of the property owners opposed to any regulation might be due in part to some serious institutional backing. The Fort's three most powerful residents—Fort Sanders Regional Medical Center, Children's Hospital, and the University of Tennessee—all sent letters to the city supporting the plan. While their support should be applauded, these three institutions have in the past been among the Fort's biggest abusers, with long records of tearing down homes for parking lots. That they're now seeing the value to preserving the neighborhood is encouraging. It's just too bad the NC-1 won't be retroactive.

The Watkins Chain-Saw Massacree

We don't know whether Ron Watkins, of Worsham Watkins fame, is as cavalier with other people's property as some folks make him out to be, but we were curious to look into a rumor that's been making the rounds of local saloons this summer.

In 1993, Watkins was building a home on Badgett Road in West Knox County. Circuit Court archives disclose that Watkins apparently didn't make a good first impression on his new neighbors. One of them, fellow controversial-development titan Bill Sansom, alleged that Watkins or his hired help chain-sawed 63 trees on Sansom's property. It seems the offending trees, several of them reportedly more than 100 years old, troubled Watkins because they impeded his view of the lake, so Watkins' woodsmen crossed over into Sansom's yard and sawed them down.

Sansom sued Watkins over the incursion, asking for compensatory and punitive damages of $300,000. Watkins insisted that his rogue woodsmen had disobeyed his instructions, sawing down a few dozen more trees than he asked them to.

Court documents also turned up something we hadn't heard about: that, instead of cutting down Sansom's trees, Watkins intended to cut down trees on public property, for the same purpose of view enhancement. To his credit, Watkins asked Knox County for permission in writing. Unfortunately, he apparently asked for that formal permission after all the sawing was finished and his unruly workmen had gone home. In any case, Knox County promptly denied Watkins permission to do the cutting—apparently unaware that it had already been done.

Whether any Knox County trees were damaged, or whether Knox County knew about the cutting, is unclear in the record. County officials today say they don't remember the case.

According to our sources, Watkins settled the private matter with Sansom out of court for $100,000, which Watkins paid in 1996. The money went to Sansom's favorite charity, the Knoxville Museum of Art—which, small world, is adjacent to and partially surrounded by the proposed Worsham Watkins development.

Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn...

Remember all that speculation about the real reasons for the city taking away the Holiday Inn property next to the new convention center site? Mayor Victor Ashe insisted the site was needed for a new visitor's center (which somehow got left out of the original convention center plans) and for planned redesign of the surrounding streets. Skeptics wondered if it had more to do with clearing out a potential competitor to the snazzy new Marriott hotel that's included in the grand Worsham Watkins International development proposal. Last week, Dale Smith—CEO of the Public Building Authority, which is overseeing the whole project for the city—threw a little more gas on those fires. At a meeting of the Fountain City Business Association, County Commissioner Mary Lou Horner asked Smith what would happen if Holiday Inn owner Franklin Haney ties up the city in court. Smith replied, "I think you'd see the Marriott Corporation hit the pause button." Whoa, Nelly. Does that mean the Marriott deal is contingent on the city seizing the Holiday Inn (which would constitute an interesting use of eminent domain power, at best)? Smith says no, or not necessarily. He maintains he was just speculating about how the Marriott might respond, which he says has nothing to do with the legitimate reasons for removing the hotel. "The thing was really driven by [road] design issues," he says. "I also made the comment it's kind of hard to believe you'd want to leave that ugly thing [a.k.a. the Holiday Inn] in the midst of a $300 million development. But that wasn't the reason for taking it, either."

Library Dues

Time was, John Griess was one of the most city-friendly members of County Commission. That's eroding these days, as Griess gets more and more ticked off at the rapacious rate of annexations. He's been reading the fine print in the legal notices, and he says his district mate Frank Leuthold will be in for a surprise when he returns from his vacation. Leuthold, one of the staunchest annexation opponents around, was honored last year when a new library in his district was named for him."I've been kind of obsessed with all this annexation, and while researching the parcels that have been annexed, I found one property that showed Knox County as the owner. It was 9045 Cross Park Drive. I kept thinking it sounded familiar, and, sure enough, when I looked it up, it was the Frank O. Leuthold Branch Library."

Mayor Hatah?

The raft of County Commissioners who turned out to cut the ribbon for the new Magnolia Avenue branch of Pellissippi State Monday figured they were entitled, since the Commission, under the prodding of Commissioner Diane Jordan, led the way on the Catholic Diocese proposal to transform the old Catholic High building into a Pellissippi branch. Also present was Mayor Victor Ashe, who figured he was likewise entitled, since the city contributed to the project as well. But the illusion of working together was shattered soon enough when Ashe—evidently smarting over a story in the morning paper about Commissioner John Griess' notion that the county might help with inner-city redevelopment if Ashe would agree to stop his raping and pillaging, errr, annexing—lit into Commissioner John Schmid.

Schmid had been quoted being critical of Ashe's proposal that he and County Executive Tommy Schumpert should get together and agree on how much county territory to cede the city under the Urban Growth law. "Victor said I called him a name," Schmid said. What name? "An 'antagonizer,' " said Schmid, who enjoyed Ashe's support when he ran for office two years ago. "He lectured me."

As for the epithet, Schmid said he realizes that "antagonizer" probably isn't a real word. "Hey, I went to Webb. I guess my education in English wasn't very good."

'Cheer Up County, The Worst Is Yet To Come'

That old Knoxville High School cheer used to be directed at archrival Central High School in an era when Fountain City was part of the county. But now it could be revived as a rallying cry for the city's annexation binge.

Mayor Ashe has vowed to accelerate the pace of annexation between now and July 1 when the state's growth plan law takes full effect. Assuming the city gets an expansive urban growth boundary within which it can annex under the new law, Ashe predicts even more of same. "Under present law we can only annex on a parcel-by-parcel basis. Under the new law we'll start taking in whole areas," he says.

Along with the cheer, City Council could open its meetings by singing the Knoxville High fight song that went (to the tune of the "Washington & Lee Swing"): "Oh, when those Knoxville Trojans fell in line, we're going to win that game another time... And then we'll roll old county on the sod, on the sod, Knoxville High."

Baby You Can Drive My Car

Lawyer/politico Wayne Ritchie was working late the other week, getting ready to go to Dallas for some depositions the next morning, and he decided to snag some cash on the way home around 2 a.m. He stopped outside Walgreens on Northshore, and went inside to an ATM—not only leaving the keys in the ignition of his Mercedes, but leaving it running, with his briefcase, case file, luggage and plane tickets inside.

"I heard tires squeal, and when I looked out, my car was moving without me in it," Ritchie said.

It could have been worse—Ritchie consoles himself by pointing out that it was a '93 Mercedes with 141,000 miles. Ticket sales are recorded electronically, so he got down to Dallas, and he says he is luckier than one of his lawyer friends.

"A buddy of mine was walking out of his office about midnight in the Riverview Tower parking garage, and three guys came running toward him with masks on..." Ritchie says the thugs pulled out guns, and his daredevil friend (whom he did not identify) jumped in his car and took off.

And no, this is not a lawyer joke.