For small-town officials, it's all in a day's work

By Chad Previch

Published: October 7, 2007

When Jim Postier took on the responsibility of becoming mayor of Covington, battling pit bull terriers wasn't in the job description.

But when the town catcher quit in July and a resident called the town officials reporting vicious dogs terrorizing her and her grandchildren, the mayor of the Garfield County town of 550 residents got a change in job description.

"When I got out of the pickup and went over there, oh boy, here they came,” Postier said. "They meant business.”

Postier, 66, stumbled, fell and cracked his head on cement. Luckily, his 47-year-old son was able to fight off the dogs. The mayor spent a few days in a hospital with a fractured skull.

Postier is like many small-town officials in Oklahoma.

They do the things their big-city counterparts can avoid.

Kathy Morrison, Wakita's town clerk, treasurer, court clerk (you get the picture), has done everything from plan the town's future to read meters.

Recently, she found herself pulling weeds on Main Street and cutting down a bush that blocked a stop sign in her Grant County town of 420.

"Someone laughed and said, ‘Is that in my job description?'” Morrison said.

"And I laughed. I said, ‘My job description says do whatever you have to do.'”

That's the same job description that Velma Mayor Winston Dumas follows.

He chips in by cultivating a park for his town of 660 people in Stephens County. It's cheaper than paying someone.

He's also been cutting down dead trees in the cemetery. He's been 10 feet up, saw in hand, conducting town business on his cell phone.

Morrison has been the town clerk at Wakita for 28 years. She makes $305 a month as clerk. Consider her weeding and metering skills volunteer work.

"You have to wear all those hats,” she said. "You never know what's going to happen when you come to work in the morning.”

Morrison considers her job tougher than ever these days.

Small towns, spared from tough governmental mandates for years, are now being hit.

Diane Pedicord, general counsel for the Oklahoma Municipal League, said rules, especially from environmental agencies, have increased on these towns the last 20 years. That creates funding shortages for towns that generate little revenue, she said.

That's why it's vital officials tackle duties that otherwise would demand a paid worker, Pedicord said.

"There are a lot of heroes out there. We don't always appreciate the good acts,” Pedicord said.

Those heroes have friends in the Legislature. Rep. Dale DeWitt, R-Braman, said he gets weird looks from fellow legislators when he asks how bills affect rural residents.

DeWitt said some politicians are working to decrease costs for running small towns. DeWitt says that small-town dollars trickle into cities.

"If they will help us then in the long run, they will come out the winner,” he said.

Money the Legislature appropriates is sometimes considered vital, said Braman Fire Chief Carl Tanner.

Although the Kay County town has only 240 residents, its fire district covers 90 square miles and is made up of only 13 volunteers.

Tanner's department and 245 other rural departments — about a quarter of the state's rural force — received a new truck last year from the state.

Of what small towns can accomplish, Tanner said: "We can't do brain surgery, but we can do a lot of things.”

Like fight off charging pit bulls.

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