Photography by Kevin Roberts
A dam Paul spots me at Saint Louis Bread Co. and comes up grinning, right hand outstretched. He’s wearing a polo shirt with a City of Ellisville logo—a bluebird inside a circle. He’s the mayor again. You’ll remember this past spring’s fight to impeach him; it could have been a reality-TV pilot. What I’m wondering now is what made him take on City Hall in the first place. “I got beat up a lot growing up—I’m the youngest of 11 kids,” he says. “So I’ve always been a fighter.” He is now suing four of his opponents individually, for defamation of character.
You moved to Ellisville from Chicago in 2009. Why?
My wife and I had kids. The city has its shelf life. And my wife did not like the Chicago suburbs. We chose St. Louis because it was close to Springfield, Ill., where half of my family still resides. So we went from living a mile north of Wrigley Field to Ellisville, and for what we paid for a 960-square-foot condo in Chicago, we have a 3,200-square-foot home in the suburbs.
What made you want to be mayor of your new town?
When I lived in Chicago, I always had political aspirations because of the corruption. I followed city politics closely. They abused TIFs terribly up there. They’d knock down a Motel 6 and put up a Ritz on the taxpayer dollar. You saw the whole TIF life cycle. And then you moved here and found out the Ellisville City Council wanted to give Walmart a TIF… At least in Chicago, they did blighted buildings! To use tax subsidies for one of the busiest intersections in the area, at Clarkson and Manchester, on a pad-ready piece of property—flat, primo real estate—and knock down 23 of our affordable-living apartment buildings? Residents were going to be relocated—divorcées, widows, people with disabilities, college students—all at the cost of the taxpayers, just to put up a Walmart!
So you announced your candidacy.
Yeah, I ran a shoestring campaign. At the time, I was 31. On my signs, I put the simple message of “No Walmart.” I didn’t want any campaign contributions—I didn’t want anyone to think anyone owned me. My own parents didn’t even donate to my campaign. My own wife didn’t think I was going to win. But I received 44 percent of the vote in a four-way race. The second- and third-place candidates were both former councilwomen, and I got more votes than both of them combined.
What was your first clue that the job wouldn’t be paradise?
A week before I get sworn in, the current mayor, Matt Pirrello, gives me a call, and he tells me Ellisville’s always been kind of a good-ol’-boys’ club, and he wants to know where I stand. I say, “I’m not part of any man’s club. And besides, I’m into women.” And he hangs up on me. So I knew there would be some problems at City Hall. I knew I’d be ineffective until I got a majority.
Why do small-town politics get so heated?
Ellisville’s an affluent suburb, and it’s been a club for years. Usually, it breeds people who are part of the agenda. The agenda has been, “The residents fell off the cabbage truck, and us superior elected officials know more than the people we represent.” I never fell off the cabbage truck.
But you did dive into politics. Do you regret it?
I hate the word “politician”—I think it sounds like “magician.” I like to consider myself a people’s mayor. And they weren’t listening to the people. Three individuals were truly running the city: the city manager, the city attorney, and Matt Pirrello. They knew the balance of power would shift in April 2013, [when three city-council seats opened], and their whole club was at risk.
Would you have run if residents wanted the Walmart?
Yeah. There were door-to-door polls done by residents, and 83 percent didn’t want this Walmart. If 83 percent had, I would say OK [to the Walmart]. There’s nothing wrong if Walmart wanted to move in on its own dime. I’m a believer in letting the free market dictate. [He groans.] Now I totally sound like a politician.
When the city council voted to impeach you, were you tempted to go quietly?
I had no choice but to fight. They were calling me a belligerent alcoholic. They claimed I was mixing vodka with my energy drink. Council members would bring these 42-ounce gut-buster cups to the meetings and put them on the dais. My wife said, “That is so unprofessional.” So she’d give me a stainless-steel thermos to take to the meeting, and I’d dump in my energy drink and throw the can away. So they put that I was drinking vodka. If they’re going to lie about my drink, I’m more of a bourbon guy.
So you took—and passed—a polygraph test?
I didn’t want my kids Googling me in nine years and thinking, “Daddy got impeached.” A news article on the front page of the paper saying I drink on the job? That pisses me off. So that was my call; I just went and took a polygraph. I know it’s not admissible in court, but it is in the court of public perception, and I have nothing to hide.
The council withdrew the drinking allegation, but still accused you of initiating illegal contact with a resident-relocation consultant.
They wanted to impeach me for asking if my residents would still be compensated after the January 1 deadline.
They also withdrew the allegation that you used foul language…
I said “shit.” In a closed meeting.
…but they kept the charge that you demanded a gun and a badge…
The long-ago former mayor, Ed O’Reilly, was one of my supporters. He said, “Hey, have they given you your gun and your badge yet?” I said, “No way!” He showed me his old badge. So I just sent an email, and they immediately said no, that doesn’t happen anymore. I had to ask, ’cause I’ve got two curtain-climbers at home, 5 and 4, and I didn’t know how my wife was going to react.
…and publicized a private event on a city-owned sign.
It was a BackStoppers charity event, for families of police officers and firefighters.
At a certain point, this must have gotten fun.
I even led them on. I said, “Well, if I resign, when can I run again? Can I just run in the next special election?” And they said, “No, you can’t. We already looked that up.” They thought I was just going to walk away. I said, “I want the meanest attorney in St. Louis who’s honest.” I hired Chet Pleban, and we started doing depositions. If I ever write a book on this, the title’s gonna be Waiving Attorney-Client Privilege.
Not so sexy.
No, but see, in the motion they made to draft a resolution to impeach me—which the city attorney wrote—he included the words “waiving attorney-client privilege.” So Chet made a motion before the hearings: “Hey, we want access to all this, because you waived attorney-client privilege.” Until that point, we didn’t have any hard evidence; everything was a conspiracy theory. Then Chet starts going through these emails, reading them aloud, and I’m shaking: It’s all documented right there. How to get me out, the time frame—they already had the resolution finding me guilty written out, weeks before the vote was taken.
Those emails make lively reading—in one, Pirrello suggests adopting an ordinance at the next meeting, and city attorney Paul Martin replies, “No. Too contrived.” Another sketches the future proceedings: “After the hearing, Council adopts final resolutions of removal…” And you were desperately trying to get an independent judge to recognize what was happening.
We’d file writs and orders, and the courts kept saying no decision had been made on the municipal level, so it was inappropriate for them to get involved. At that point, I didn’t know who I could trust. I thought I was going to get bound and gagged and thrown in a trunk! My wife was in tears. She kept saying, “Oh my God! I gave you that thermos!”
Is there any aspect of your opponents’ point of view that you understand?
That’s a good question. Um…no. As far as the Robert’s Rules stuff—they would try to unravel me by doing these high-level motions and points of order. I didn’t know much about Robert’s Rules; in fact, I still hate Robert and his rules. But if they were normal and passionate people who cared about the new mayor, they would have helped me.
What about the charge that you failed to keep order in meetings?
There, I can see some of their points. I let the public speak over three minutes, because I was interested in what they were saying. But I can see that procedure’s important. Picking up the gavel, memorizing a 45-page charter—I’ve had a crash course in everything.
What advice would you give a mayoral candidate?
If you’re part of the minority instead of the majority, you’re facing major problems. Within time, you will have your way, if that’s what the people want. If I could go back and do it over, I’d methodically wait. Because I knew I couldn’t do anything. But then, if they’d impeached me without people knowing my stance, I wouldn’t have the support I have now.
The former mayor promised to step down from the city council if a judge found you innocent, but he hasn’t.
He says the judge ruled just to get this thing over with, and I got reinstated on a technicality. They violated my due process, and that’s an inalienable constitutional right, but he says it’s a technicality.
So now you two work together. How’s that going?
The day after he voted to impeach me, we’re both supposed to be on—I think it was Charlie Brennan’s show—and he sent me a text message asking if I want to carpool to the radio station. I said, “You just impeached me!” A few weeks ago, he asked if I was going to be in the golf tournament, and when I said yeah, he said, “I’ll sign us up to play together.” I said, “I’m suing you!” [“Politics is politics, and civility is civility,” Pirrello notes. “I wasn’t being flippant.”]
He wasn’t always so cordial?
He told me not to get my panties in a wad and called me Mayor Pyle in emails. He’s saying I’m unprofessional?
The St. Louis Post-Dispatch wrote an editorial urging the council to “stop this silly suburban exercise in the politics of hatred.” Is that how you see the situation?
I would sum it up as the incestuous politics of Ellisville being cleansed.
What was hardest when you returned to office?
Killing this Walmart project. I think Sansone [the developer] is a great businessman. Anyone that asks for 30 percent of their project costs and gets it, good for them. But shame on these municipalities. The St. Louis region, they live on these TIFs. If people really believed there was no way this project would be built without the assistance, I’d tell them to go pound sand.
Do you plan a future in politics?
Right now, I’ve got unfinished business in the city of Ellisville. Down the road, I would love to be a state senator. But I will never change who I am, and I’ll never forget what this process has taught me. So you’d better get your popcorn ready.
