The Columbia Courier

Dearest Gentle Reader, This author must confess she sat down to pen a lighter message this week: perhaps a bit of tittle-tattle regarding whose hedges need trimming, or which neighbor's dog has escaped to court scandal among the trash cans. Alas, the state of our fair borough will not permit such frivolity. For it seems, Dear Reader, that Columbia — our beloved, history-soaked, pride-drenched Columbia — is coming rather badly undone. Homicides. Assaults. Robberies. Fear and grief hang over our streets like a cloud that refuses to lift. It has taken up residence in our homes. The elders among us murmur that it was not always thus, that in years past such things did not happen, or certainly not to this degree. Whether memory flatters the past, this author cannot say. But the unease is real. As of this posting, killers are still at large. And where is our esteemed Mayor through all of this? One might expect him to address his frightened constituents directly, to post a message, perhap...

Dearest Gentle Reader , And so it is with great affection that this author must report upon the latest chapter in Columbia Borough's ongoing romance with a plot of land known as the former McGinness airfield, or less accurately as the McGinness Innovation Park. Some years past, a group of ambitious officials  conceived a vision so dazzling it might have been created by a vicar after too much sherry: a $20 million innovation park, replete with utilities, roads, and street lamps twinkling merrily over what was, in fairness, mostly dirt. The council voted 5-2 to purchase the property.  One former councilman, when pressed on the wisdom of wagering the public purse on this venture, assured Columbia that this was most certainly not gambling. No, no, he preferred the far more genteel term "managed risk." This author confesses a fondness for euphemism as much as the next diarist, but calling a wager "managed risk" is rather like calling a duel "assisted conflict re...

Dearest Gentle Reader , This author returns to her writing desk this week not with a quill dipped in scandal of the romantic variety, but in something considerably more grave, for it seems our fair Borough has, in the span of a few short days, furnished enough drama to fill an entire season. Let us begin, with the matter of the Borough Council, that most dignified assembly of civic gentlemen and gentlewomen who convene each fortnight to debate ordinances and whether the chambers can withstand the weight of an engaged citizenry.  The Council meeting scheduled for the 7th of July was postponed, on account of an expected crush of attendees so numerous that the modest chambers could not properly accommodate them. One is given to understand that a great many of these eager souls intended to voice their opinions — rather loudly, one presumes — on the matter of a certain proposed data center.  The Borough was caught rather flat-footed by the scale of public interest. One might say th...

Dearest Gentle Reader, This author has never been one to withhold an opinion when a milestone of such magnitude presents itself, and so let it be known: the nation has turned two hundred and fifty, and our own beloved Columbia Borough has turned three hundred, and both parties appear to have marked the occasion with the only sensible response available to civilized persons: fireworks, music — and hamburgers sizzling on an open grill, to paraphrase a certain Mr. Chuck Berry. In the capital, one is given to understand that weeks of "fireworks" in Washington reached their crescendo on the evening of the Fourth, with an extravagant display of pyrotechnics over the Mall and an address from the President, delivered, one presumes, with his customary restraint and modesty, though this author suspects restraint was in rather short supply. Closer to home, and rather more to this author's taste, Columbians gathered at Glatfelter's Field to fête their own tricentennial alongside ...