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2002 had its share of oddities, milestones, and strange moments. Among the year's more notorious local feats worth their own awards:

The Balkan medal of freedom

goes to the advocates of Market Square development. Before 2002, it was so simple: you either favored private, "organic" development for the Square, or the Big Fist approach, which might mean enforced covenants, single ownership/management, even a dome. However, this year, in the wake of the Kinsey Probasco charette, Market Square's advocates fragmented into pro-traffic and anti-traffic camps; pro-sawtooth-oaks and anti-sawtooth-oaks agitators; pro-shed and anti-shed people; pro-Sundowners and anti-Sundowners; pro-public input and anti-public input; at least 32 distinct factions in all, at least among those we've counted. We've just gotten news that there are now 64 warring pro-Market Square factions. And the phone's ringing again? What's that? 128, now? This could be a long year, folks.

The uninvited guest award

After the taxpayers spent money to convert Volunteer Landing into a park where nature and civilization coexisted, two beavers moved in and started eating some of the trees. At first, it didn't seem so bad, but then they started munching away at several ornamental laurel bushes. By the time the city hired a professional beaver catcher to remove the uncivilized tenants, they had destroyed about $2,500 worth of government property.

The sentimentality award

To everyone, for getting so excited about the anniversary of the 1982 World's Fair. The News-Sentinel ran a typically fluffy retrospective, while we at Metro Pulse remembered the fair's seamy side, and 8,900 visitors passed through the East Tennessee Historical Museum's exhibit on the fair (thank heavens the 11,127,786 people who attended the original fair decided not to make a repeat appearance—it's such a mess right now)...oh, and to honor one of the few vestigial reminders that there was ever a fair in Knoxville at all, the World's Fair Tennessee Amphitheater, the PBA decided we should knock it down.

At last report, the amphitheater had been given a short stay of execution—just long enough for the public to give its input on the proposal. After that's over with, it'll be knocked down.

The voyeurism award

To one of downtown Knoxville's biggest hotels. In August, Ohio resident Bryan Brewer filed a lawsuit against the Knoxville Marriott after he noticed there was a hidden camera in the light fixture of the bathroom of the room he had rented. Brewer said he found the camera because he saw a black spot in the light fixture and, thinking it was an insect, tried to kill it. It was then that he noticed that the insect had wires attached to it, he said. By year's end, neither the hotel nor the Knox County Sheriff's Department (why the Knoxville Police were not brought in to investigate the crime was never understood) had explained what the hidden camera was doing in there.

The popularity award

To the Tennessee Department of Transportation. Tennessee's most controversial state department spent most of 2002 proving that, in Knoxville, you really can't get there from here—especially if you live in South Knoxville. With the Gay Street Bridge closed and the current wrangling over the South Knox Connector, traveling to Pigeon Forge became simpler than driving downtown. The rest of the city didn't get off much easier this year, though. Whether it be construction hang-ups on I-40, 321, Alcoa Highway, I-640 and Pellissippi Parkway or road construction threats stemming from the proposed beltway, TDOT hovered over the city like a hurricane, tearing up asphalt and dropping orange barrels. Perhaps the best Christmas gift we could hope for is to be ignored by TDOT in 2003.

The backfire award

To the Knoxville Police Department. In 2002, KPD's contemptuous phrase for Tribe One, "Hug-A-Thug," became a positive slogan for the organization dedicated to helping troubled inner-city youth. Upon hearing it, Chris Woodhull—who, with the late Danny Mayfield, founded Tribe One—seized on the phrase as a means of expressing the reality of what the organization does; it "acknowledged that we were interacting with our target audience," in Woodhull's words. Shirts with the "Hug-A-Thug" slogan emblazoned on them have been produced by Boom Boom Industries and sold at Disc Exchange or directly through Tribe One. While some officers liked the shirts, others were Not Amused.

The rubber backbone award

To the state Legislature. After being told again and again the problems with a sales-tax-based system in the era of Internet shopping and the service economy, and after considering every type of new state-wide tax under the sun—from a wheel tax to a service tax to an income tax—lawmakers chose to make the tax structure worse by raising the sales tax. In the process, the Legislature even managed to confuse grocery store owners by making the sales tax different for Snicker's bars (considered "candy") than for Twix bars (considered "food").

The Rip Van Winkle award

To Barbara Caprita of the Environmental Protection Agency. In September, after local and state officials said it was OK for West Knox County residents to return to their homes after the train derailment and sulfuric acid spill, Caprita told television reporters that the decision to let the refugees go home was made "without notifying" the EPA. In fact, Caprita had slept late and missed a meeting at which the decision was made.

The corporal punishment award

To the News-Sentinel, whose executives so love the newspaper's shiny new building that they've passed a series of new rules for reporters working at their desks. Among them: No plants, no hot food, no books piled on desks, and a limit of only one family photo per reporter. That's one way to get lazy reporters to get out of the building in search of news.

The Cinderella award

To Charles Davenport. In the beginning of the year, he was a mild-mannered rural school librarian with little public-library experience and no administrative experience. At year's end, thanks to his fairy-godmotherly board of trustees, he's the Knox County Public Library system's top librarian, in charge of hundreds of employees in 15 branches, with a large salary, a secretary, and an office on the third floor of Lawson McGhee Library. Only in America.

The self-promotion award

To the people of Knoxville. According to a survey done early in the year by the Convention and Visitor's Bureau, most Knoxvillians don't think that there is much for tourists to do here and usually suggest that visitors go to Gatlinburg or Pigeon Forge.

The it takes balls award

To Gene Loveless, who thought it would be all right to start an exotic dancing establishment called the Last Chance adult theater in the Old City, which already had a dance club (Fiction) that frequently has nights where women are encouraged to dress scantily. After one week in operation, the city shut down the Last Chance, citing a local ordinance that prohibits exotic dancing establishments within 1,000 feet of a business that serves liquor.

December 18, 2002 * Vol. 12, No. 51
© 2002 Metro Pulse