At the end of 2025, Grand Prairie City Council approved a charter amendment aimed at taking control back of city council meetings. The intention is understandable: bring order, reduce tension, and keep meetings efficient and professional. However, the underlying issues that have caused meetings to become unpredictable are not primarily a decorum problem or a “people talk too long” problem. They are a parliamentary procedure problem. By focusing on limiting public comment time rather than enforcing consistent procedure—especially during the consent agenda portion—Council may have solved the wrong problem and made the meeting dynamics worse as a result.

Grand Prairie residents have three opportunities to speak during a council meeting: consent agenda comments, public hearing comments, and general citizen comments. Historically, general comments have already been limited to a set amount of time and can be about anything the speaker chooses. Public hearing comments are structured by the hearing itself and are expected to remain relevant to the topic under consideration. Neither of those comment periods has been the true source of disruption. The recurring breakdown has been during consent agenda discussion, where the city has historically allowed residents to pull items for separate consideration without consistently applying a defined set of procedural rules regarding relevance, time, and the role of Council in responding.

A consent agenda is typically intended to group routine items together so they can be approved efficiently with a single motion. That structure can be appropriate in many cities when it is used for truly non-controversial business. In Grand Prairie, however, consent agendas have often grown large and complex, and some residents have reasonably felt that significant items were being bundled in a way that reduces transparency. When the city loads too many substantial actions into one grouped vote, it becomes harder for the general public to follow what is being approved, harder to distinguish routine approvals from major decisions, and easier for consequential actions to pass with limited public understanding. It is worth asking whether Council’s heavy reliance on large consent agendas has contributed to the very problem that needs fixing.

Compounding that problem, the city allowed a pattern to form where one frequent speaker could pull every consent agenda item off the floor for discussion. In practice, this did not function as meaningful agenda-based comment. Instead, it often became a prolonged question-and-answer process, mixed with personal political commentary that was unrelated to Grand Prairie governance and unrelated to the consent agenda items themselves. That is not what consent agenda discussion is supposed to be. Consent agenda discussion should remain focused on the agenda item in question, and it should never become a procedural loophole for turning a city meeting into a personal platform.

Over time, this dynamic has had a predictable effect on the room. Meetings have become tense, reactive, and uncomfortable to watch—let alone participate in. And it’s not just councilmembers and staff feeling that strain. Regular citizens who are not looking for conflict and are simply trying to follow city business have been put off by the atmosphere entirely. The result is that the process begins to filter out the very people it’s supposed to serve: engaged residents who want a functional public meeting, not a confrontation.

Importantly, if a speaker wants to address national politics or personal opinions unrelated to city business, there is already an appropriate place for that: the general citizen comment period. A resident can use their allotted general comment time to speak about anything they want, including Washington D.C. politics or the presidential election. The consent agenda discussion period, however, is not meant for that. Consent agenda discussion exists so citizens can comment on specific items of city business before a vote—not so a meeting can be redirected into unrelated political arguments.

This is why the city’s new charter amendment is so significant, and why it appears to address the wrong problem. The approved language states that citizens may sign up to speak regarding any item on the agenda, but for items listed on the consent agenda, each speaker will have a total of up to five minutes for all consent items combined. Citizens may speak for up to three minutes on any item scheduled for a public hearing, individual consideration, or during citizen comments, with zoning applicants receiving up to five minutes.

In plain terms, the city has placed a blanket five-minute limit on consent agenda comments regardless of whether a speaker is addressing one consent item or multiple consent items. This treats the consent agenda as if it is one unified topic, when in reality it may include numerous unrelated decisions involving spending, contracts, policy actions, agreements, and approvals. The result is that a resident attempting to engage seriously with multiple consent agenda items is now required to compress and rush their concerns, while a disruptive speaker retains the same five minutes with no greater requirement to be focused or relevant. This change does not correct the underlying disorder; it simply shortens the time available for the public to raise legitimate questions.

Even more concerning is the discussion from the Mayor and Council during the November council meeting that the new rule can be applied how they see fit, which also led to questions about when the speaker’s time started and stops if there are questions to be answered. That approach risks recreating the very instability Council claims it wants to eliminate. When procedural rules are subjective, enforcement becomes inconsistent. When enforcement is inconsistent, it appears political. And when it appears political, meetings become more tense, not less. Instead of restoring structure, the city may be expanding the conditions that lead to conflict—because residents will no longer know what to expect or what standard is being applied from meeting to meeting.

The final irony is that bundling consent agenda items is supposed to save time, but in Grand Prairie it has not achieved that outcome. Council still has to manage the consent agenda comment period, track speaker time across multiple items, determine what counts as addressing a consent item, and make judgment calls in real time. The city has not removed complexity from meetings; it has added a new layer of conflict around timing and enforcement. This is not a procedural improvement. It is a shift in where the tension will occur.

If Grand Prairie wants meetings that are orderly, professional, and productive, the solution is not primarily reducing citizen comment time. The solution is restoring a consistent framework of parliamentary procedure and enforcing it evenly. That means limiting consent agendas to truly routine items, separating major items for individual consideration, requiring comments to stay relevant to agenda items when speaking on those items, preventing back-and-forth debate during comment periods, and ensuring the chair maintains order without improvising new standards mid-meeting. This is not about silencing the public. It is about conducting public business with clarity, predictability, and fairness—so the meeting serves the residents of Grand Prairie instead of becoming a recurring flashpoint.

The new amendment takes effect this month, how it will go remains to be seen.

If it’s truly believed that there’s nothing we can do about excessive fireworks and gunfire on holidays, or more specifically, if our police believe that - then why even waste time on the pretense of a city ordinance at all?

Something tells me that as our nation celebrates its 250th birthday this year, the summer of 2026 is going to be a doozy for these kind of celebrations, so it’s my opinion that it’s worth discussing as a city now, rather than waiting until July 4 to begin warning people about it.

“Nothing Can Be Done.”

When people say “there’s nothing that can be done,” what they mean is that there’s nothing the police can do in the moment. And on that point, I don’t disagree. Once fireworks or gunshots are reported, the activity is often over by the time the 911 call ends. Unless it happens directly in front of an officer and the exact location is known, there’s little practical way for police to determine where to respond. Compounding that reality is the fact that, on nights like New Year’s Eve, police are prioritizing emergencies that pose more immediate danger they can reasonably respond to—drunk drivers, assaults at parties, and other active threats. Fireworks, while disruptive and illegal, don’t rise to the same level of urgency. Even when officers do respond to a reported address, if the activity has already stopped, it’s rarely worth the time to stop and question residents.

So again, this begs the question - what’s the point of having a fireworks city ordinance at all? Ordinances are effective in two ways: 1) if they are realistically enforceable; 2) If they aren’t enforceable, residents respect them simply as a rule.

What happens when an ordinance becomes ineffective? I believe this is where we are in Grand Prairie.

In the case of people who fire off guns or shoot off fireworks illegally, they are people put 60 seconds of their own fun and excitement ahead of the elderly, scared children, scared animals, veterans, and every other neighbor living within earshot of their “celebrations.” In other words - they’re assholes. I wish there were a different label (sorry to my pastor and my parents) but there isn’t one.

Solving the A$$hole Problem - Why Ordinances Don’t Work

In the case of fireworks, the ordinance may actually contribute to the behavior. Breaking the rule becomes part of the appeal—a short burst of excitement with little perceived risk. What’s happening here is less about criminal intent and more about teenagers and adults making stupid, reckless decisions they would never tolerate in any other context. That distinction matters, because it means this problem isn’t solved by stronger enforcement—it’s solved by changing social norms. You’re not dealing with heartless criminals, you’re dealing with people acting like momentary jerks.

Texas has already faced—and solved—a problem with the same characteristics. “Don’t Mess with Texas,” launched by the Texas Department of Transportation to combat littering, addressed a behavior that was momentary, thoughtless, and nearly impossible to police in real time. TxDOT’s research also showed that young men ages 18–24 were overwhelmingly responsible for the problem.

The state didn’t respond by writing more tickets or threatening harsher penalties. Instead, it changed how people felt about the behavior. “Don’t Mess with Texas” didn’t focus on fines; it reframed littering as embarrassing, inconsiderate, and un-Texan. That shift in social perception caused people to pause before acting. To drive the message home, TxDOT featured Stevie Ray Vaughan in a commercial that aired during the Cotton Bowl on New Year’s Day in 1986—placing the message directly in front of the audience most likely to ignore a lecture but respond to cultural cues.

The message spread like wildfire because they intentionally saturated the message in media, on highway signs, through the influence of famous Texans, collaborating with businesses and in conjunction with community efforts. Before that, the state relied on “Keep Texas Beautiful,” a slogan that resonated with middle aged women who weren’t the ones littering to begin with.

A citywide campaign aimed squarely at this kind of antisocial behavior—not through enforcement, but through social pressure—could have benefits far beyond fireworks and gunfire. When enforcement is unrealistic, changing what behavior is socially acceptable is often the only lever that works. A campaign that makes it clear this conduct isn’t bold, funny, or harmless—but embarrassing and inconsiderate—has the potential to reduce a whole category of problems that laws alone struggle to control.

There’s a real opportunity here for the city and police to work through the networks that already shape local behavior. Neighborhood leaders, National Night Out organizers, Grand Prairie–based influencers, local Facebook group administrators, and media platforms like Faces of Grand Prairie already have trust and visibility in the spaces where these norms are formed. If city leadership and law enforcement partnered with those voices to create an effective campaign, the message would actually permeate the places that matter.

The people engaging in this behavior aren’t taking cues from city websites or press releases. They’re taking cues from peers, group chats, neighborhood pages, and local social feeds. When those spaces consistently communicate the same expectation—that this behavior is embarrassing, inconsiderate, and not accepted—the pressure comes from the community itself, not enforcement after the fact. That’s how messaging reaches the audience that policing alone can’t.

This is a long-form investigative feature exploring how Grand Prairie’s city-owned corporations are reshaping local government, business, and public life. You can listen to an audio version of this story below. Support future independent reporting like this through buymeacoffee.com/facesofgp.

When Councilman Kurt Johnson told residents at a recent town hall that Grand Prairie was freezing hiring and couldn’t give raises to employees due to falling sales tax revenues, the statement didn’t seem to match the city’s financial reports. After a review of the Grand Prairie’s 2024 Annual Comprehensive Financial Report, I saw no clear signs of financial distress.

That contradiction led me to dig deeper into how Grand Prairie’s finances actually work. What I found wasn’t a budget problem — it was a boundary problem. The city has built a system of corporations that blur the line between public service and private enterprise, shaping everything from downtown projects to land ownership.

The Rise of City-Owned Corporations

Over the past several years, the City of Grand Prairie has massively expanded its city-owned corporation structure designed to spur development, manage major assets and provide services to residents. For decades, the city operated with just two corporations— the Sports Facilities Development Corporation and the Housing Finance Corporation — both created several years ago.

The Sports Facilities Development Corporation was created in the 90’s to operate Lone Star Park.

The Housing Finance Corporation was created in the 90’s to manage affordable housing projects, including Mountain Creek Retirement Community, Cotton Creek Apartments, Willow Tree Apartments, and a workforce housing education program. In the past year, it’s acquired 7 existing apartment complexes in response to an aggressive campaign of so-called “traveling HFCs.” Five Housing Finance Corporations in Texas cities, namely Pecos, TX, began aggressively targeting apartments located in other cities for purchase, leaving many Texas cities to respond by purchasing their own apartment complexes themselves. These cities exploited a loophole in state law, and in response, cities like Grand Prairie filed a grievance with the state, which outlawed the practice of traveling HFCs in September 2025, but not before the city of Grand Prairie had acquired them.

But between 2020 and 2024, three new entities were added: the Local Government Corporation, the Hotel Development Corporation and the Public Finance Corporation.

The Grand Prairie Local Government Corporation was created in 2020 to acquire, develop, and redevelop property on the city’s behalf; it’s the corporation which fuels the development for EpicCentral and now the Downtown Revitalization project that is underway.

The Grand Prairie Hotel Development Corporation was created in 2021 to promote economic development, including but not limited to the acquisition, development, and redevelopment of real property within the City and the lease of City facilities, including two hotels and a conference center.

The Public Finance Corporation was created in 2023 but so far has no assets or activity, according to the recent ACFR.

While each of these corporations serves a specific purpose, together they’ve created a complex financial ecosystem. While private corporations are for-profit businesses owned by individuals or shareholders, municipally owned corporations are government entities established by a municipality to provide public services rather than to make a profit. Profitability makes it easy to determine whether a private corporation is successful or failing. But how do you determine success or failure of a municipally owned corporation when it’s based on providing services? Municipal financial operations are both complicated and straight-forward. By state law, when tax revenue is collected, there are specific places it must be spent. What makes Councilman Johnson’s comments confusing for the average resident is that in terms of Grand Prairie’s tax dollars and municipal utilities, such as water, property taxes, streets, etc - they are operating in the black and doing well.

Alternatively, city’s corporation finances are difficult to understand because they are “legally, financially, and administratively autonomous separate corporations” from the city itself. Each of these corporations are directed by a board of 4-7 people who are appointed by the city council, though the city council and the mayor sit on many of these boards themselves. This means that elected officials are largely the ones driving the city’s corporate activities, while the city government itself oversees the rest.

These corporations in cities of our size aren’t uncommon, but what makes Grand Prairie’s corporate strategy unique is the scope and grand vision. While other cities rely more heavily on public-private partnerships, if they use corporations at all, Grand Prairie’s corporations largely operate separately from its private sector. For example, Arlington built up its entertainment district through major private investment and city support, entities such as sponsored ATT Stadium for the Dallas Cowboys and Texas Live which is privately owned and operated with city support.

Grand Prairie owns several of its ventures such as The Summit, Epic Waters, The Epic, Lone Star Park, Epic Central, the Grand Prairie Convention Center, Ruthe Jackson Event Center, Prairie Lakes Golf Course, Tangle Ridge Golf Course, etc - all owned and operated by the city of Grand Prairie. Companies lease space or property managers manage it, but Grand Prairie controls a great deal of its oversight and vision.

Elected CEOs and the Three-Year Cycle

Unlike private corporations with long-term executives, the leadership of Grand Prairie’s system changes every three years — determined not by market performance but by voter turnout. Each new council brings new priorities, and since those council members appoint the boards — and often serve on them — the direction of the city’s corporations shifts with every election. We elect our representatives to steward tax dollars, maintain infrastructure, and represent the public — not to run corporations with complex revenue streams across multiple industries. That responsibility demands a different kind of expertise and a level of continuity that city government, by nature, can’t provide. And yet, the council now oversees four separate companies — none of which must be profitable in the open market to survive, and all of which they also help govern.

That instability wasn’t built into the system by design, but it’s an unavoidable byproduct of it. The model assumes continuity where politics guarantees change. What began as a long-term strategy to serve residents has become a revolving-door enterprise managed by people whose primary job was never meant to include corporate governance of this scope. This is where the larger question starts to surface: when does a service become a business? Each new board may inherit a mission to serve, but over time, service takes on the logic of business: expansion, revenue, and self-preservation. It’s not a flaw in leadership; it’s a flaw in design. A structure meant to guarantee service has instead created an endless cycle of shifting priorities — one election away from redefining what “public good” even means.

This structure entangles tax dollars with elections in ways few people recognize. Imagine a council member sitting on the board of a city-owned corporation that’s losing money while running for reelection. That official has an incentive to protect the project’s image until after the vote. In a private company, a struggling CEO can be replaced overnight. In government, accountability comes only with the next election — or an expensive recall — long after the financial damage has been done.

The opportunity or appearance of eventual corruption in a system like this is inevitable. A council that functions both as regulator and competitor is inevitably placed in situations where private development threatens a city-owned venture. Even the perception of that conflict undermines public trust, and the more the city expands its corporate footprint, the more impossible it becomes to avoid those overlaps.

Corporations Built to “Serve”

To maintain the level of services the city feels the residents need, Grand Prairie has chosen to expand rapidly — annexing new land, approving more housing developments, and investing heavily in tourism and entertainment through its city-run corporations. The strategy appears to bring energy and attention to the community, filling the calendar with city-hosted festivals, performances, and attractions that draw visitors to EpicCentral and Main Street. But again, we ask how the city now defines “service.” Each new project and “free” event is framed as something done for residents yet it depends on the same consumer spending that sustains private corporations because the city also relies on the sales tax revenue to make their corporations sustainable. While you’re in EpicCentral at the Arts and Music Festival, the hope is that you’ll spend money at one of the surrounding restaurants. The issue is that the city also invites food trucks and venders to attend the event at $125-$175 each, all of which compete with the restaurants themselves. The result is a system where public service and market performance are increasingly indistinguishable — where maintaining amenities now means selling experiences. When a city only does a few of these events a year, they do contribute to community togetherness and spur growth, but the city has ramped up its event activities to the point that there are essentially one major event happening every week. Each of these events become less popular with residents because they happen so frequently, but they also pull people away from other businesses in their own city. Which leads to the next issue: competition with its own business community.

City Hall vs. Main Street

By operating its own corporations, the city has placed itself in direct competition with the very businesses it’s meant to support. When taxpayer dollars are used to advertise city-owned ventures, the line between public service and marketplace competition disappears. The Grand Prairie Convention Center created competition for privately owned event centers in the city - as well as competition for the Ruthe Jackson Center it already owned less than two miles away. It begs the question - what growth is necessary because of demand and what growth is the city’s own grandiose plans? Were the entities that the city already owned making money? Were they self-sustaining?

It’s beginning to feel like Grand Prairie has built a model that treats growth itself as a public service.

Something else noticed more by residents is that the city often duplicates the work already being done by its own residents, nonprofits, and businesses — not because it needs to, but because it doesn’t seem to know how to support what’s already there. As an institution, it seems to feel a constant need to do something to prove its value — another event, another initiative, another program, another development — even when the community already has it covered.

This year, for example, local nonprofits and corporate sponsors organized four separate school supply drives, fully funded by private donations. The city and city council members hosted four more. The demand didn’t double — it just scattered. With families divided across eight different events, half the privately funded supplies went undistributed. That’s not collaboration; that’s waste — of private generosity, volunteer time, and taxpayer labor. The same thing happens throughout the year. While numerous churches and organizations plan trunk-or-treats, the city launches its own “Street or Treat” and other pre-Halloween celebrations. When the business community holds networking events, the city organizes its own.

The truth is, the city could probably cut back on a quarter of what it’s doing and residents would still feel like it was doing plenty. Grand Prairie already has an active calendar and visible leadership — no one is accusing the city of not doing enough. That’s what makes it feel less like coordination and more like a kind of civic anxiety — a need to prove it’s working for the community when, in reality, it’s often just working beside it — or worse, against it. But most taxpayers aren’t demanding more programs or festivals — they’re just asking for another grocery store on the north side of town.

So much of this effort seems driven by the idea that activity equals service, that motion equals progress. But sometimes, the most effective thing a city can do is to step back, listen, and let the people already doing the work keep doing it — with the city’s support, not its shadow.

Tax Exemptions for City Corporations, Not Small Businesses

The city is providing “services,” but it still relies on sales tax revenues to fund those services. When sales tax revenue dips, but the debt and overhead is still owed, it creates an imbalance. That imbalance helps explain why leaders now warn residents about ballot measures like Proposition 9, which would exempt a portion of business property from taxation.

Councilman Junior Ezeonu addressed Proposition 9 publicly, posting a video urging residents to vote against it. The amendment increases the real property ad valorem tax exemption for business owners from $25,000 to $125,000 — a change he called “a tax giveaway to large corporations that would shift the financial burden to homeowners,” a comment that shows a lack of understanding for how tax exemptions work.

In reality, Proposition 9 most directly benefits small and mid-sized businesses — the ones paying annual taxes on the equipment, furniture, or tools they already own. Most residents have no idea that businesses are taxed annually on things classified as Business Personal Property - tangible, moveable assets that a business can use to generate revenue. These would be any items from a hair dryer in a salon to a computer in an insurance office that are not attached to the property itself, which means that even businesses that lease their space must pay property tax for the items they own inside. For a large corporation like IKEA, a $125,000 exemption is negligible; for a local salon, café, or retail shop on Main Street, it’s the difference between surviving and closing.

Ezeonu’s comments reveal something deeper than disagreement over tax policy. They expose the tension at the heart of Grand Prairie’s financial model. The city’s growing network of corporations has become so intertwined with local revenues that even modest reductions in the tax base feel like existential threats. In a city like Arlington, where public-private partnerships share the burden of growth, a measure like Prop 9 might be absorbed easily. But in Grand Prairie, where the city itself operates entertainment venues, water parks, rec centers and housing complexes, every lost tax dollar reverberates through a system built to sustain itself.

Something else to consider is that the city’s enterprises pay no ad valorem taxes at all, yet the same officials who manage those entities caution against small tax relief for private business owners. It’s a level of hypocrisy that’s hard to ignore. “Good for me, but not for thee.” Each time Grand Prairie acquires a property or business under one of its corporations, that asset is removed from the tax rolls, meaning it no longer contributes to the very schools and services the system was designed to support. Members of the school board have expressed concern about this, requesting a seat at the table for decisions that directly affect their budgets — requests that, so far, have gone unanswered.

Adding to the complexity, Grand Prairie’s debt isn’t supported solely by property taxes but by the revenues of its city-run corporations. According to the 2024 bond filings, taxpayers remain ultimately responsible if tourism or sales revenues underperform. That dependency helps explain why city leaders view measures like Proposition 9 as threats rather than relief — not because the proposal itself is reckless, but because the city’s system has blurred the boundary between public service and private sustainability.

This pattern also helps explain the long, uneasy distance between City Hall and the business community. For decades, the city’s posture toward local enterprise — and especially toward the Chamber of Commerce — has been one of cautious detachment. That’s not to say every council member or employee shares that attitude; many are genuinely supportive of local business. But as an institution, Grand Prairie often prefers to operate alone — a habit deeply ingrained over time. Instead of collaborating with local companies for sponsorships or programming, the city often looks beyond its borders for partners or stages events entirely on its own. One councilman has said to multiple people, including the previous Chamber CEO, that he doesn’t believe we need a Chamber at all. It’s a mindset born from the same philosophy that built its corporations: if we control it, we can make it work our way. While much of this vision is framed around service and community improvement, it’s also about control — a struggle that has defined Grand Prairie’s leadership for generations.

This approach is reaching its limits. Rather than telling small business owners they don’t need tax relief while spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to host another city-sponsored event, Grand Prairie could be working with them — not merely as vendors at pop-up markets, but as sponsors, planners, and true partners in shaping the community’s future. Increasingly, the business community has noticed that it is being ignored, sidelined, or even placed in direct competition with the city itself — a pattern that is breeding resentment and deserves urgent attention.

Do Our Elected Leaders Really Understand the Numbers?

Perhaps the biggest concern about this system is the competency of our elected officials when it comes to operating these large scale operations. Councilmembers aren’t elected by voters because of their extensive knowledge of finance; often, it’s for their likeability and willingness to show up and support their constituents. I’ve listened to several town halls this year, town halls that rely heavily on city employees sitting in the audience and helping council members answer questions, especially on matters of finance. These council members are expected to make decisions upon the assumption they understand how everything works; these town halls give me pause that some aren’t doing their financial homework. To continue operating our city in a way that doesn’t lead down a dark financial path, residents will need to start demanding more financial literacy of our elected officials and voting like we want to keep our city financially solvent.

We’re All In This Together

The truth is, everyone wants Grand Prairie to work. The people running it, the people living in it — we all want the same thing. We want the city to keep growing, to stay safe, to keep feeling like home. That’s what makes this so hard to talk about. Most people don’t want to stir things up. They’ve known each other for years, gone to church together, raised kids on the same streets. It feels easier to stay quiet than to question something that’s done so much good.

But good intentions don’t make a system sustainable. At some point, a city has to decide what it is — a public service or a business trying to support one. Right now, Grand Prairie is trying to be both, and it’s starting to strain under the weight of that choice. But maybe it’s time we start talking about balance. Maybe we let the city stay in the public service business — keeping our parks clean, our streets safe, our water running — and let the business community stay in the private sector business — growing, hiring, creating, and investing in the city we all share. And where those two lines meet, we should do it together.

Here’s the truth: watching it gave me a headache and a wave of anxiety. As someone who believes parliamentary procedure isn’t just formality but a safeguard for fairness, I could not get a handle on how these meetings were structured. Robert’s Rules are supposed to be the framework, but in practice, they’re applied loosely, leaving wide discretion to the mayor.

It made me realize that people don’t disengage from local government because they don’t care. They disengage because it’s too complicated to follow. The structure, the jargon, the consent agendas, the avalanche of committees, the reliance on “trust us, staff has vetted this” — all of it adds up to a system so sprawling that even someone who enjoys this stuff (like me) struggles to keep pace.

We often blame “apathy.” But it’s not apathy — it’s defeat. A sense that no normal person, no matter how invested, can realistically attend enough meetings, read enough pages, and track enough decisions to feel informed.

City government is supposed to be the most accessible form of democracy — the place where residents can walk into a meeting, raise concerns, and directly observe how decisions are made. In principle, the system is designed to be open. But in practice, the sheer scope and pace of what happens inside City Hall makes meaningful participation feel almost impossible.

In Grand Prairie city government, on paper, the structure looks straightforward: a mayor, eight councilmembers, and a city charter that sets out how meetings are run. The council sets its own rules of procedure, with agendas prepared by the City Secretary’s office. Robert’s Rules of Order are followed — but loosely, giving the mayor leeway to guide discussions as the meeting’s leader. From the outside, though, meetings don’t always feel like they’re being run under any strict parliamentary framework at all.

The Overload of Meetings

If a citizen truly wanted to stay informed, they’d need to attend not just the two monthly City Council meetings, but also a dizzying rotation of advisory boards, commissions, and corporations.

• Animal Shelter Advisory Committee meets quarterly.

• Building Advisory & Appeals Board meets monthly.

• Commission on Aging meets four times a year.

• Housing Finance Corporation meets monthly.

• Keep Grand Prairie Beautiful Commission meets every four months.

• Local Government Corporation meets as needed, sometimes with little notice.

• Park Board meets monthly, plus annual duties as the Tree Board.

• PlayGrand Adventures Board meets annually.

• Planning & Zoning Commission meets twice a month.

• Public Facility Corporation has irregular meetings (last posted agenda was in 2023).

• Public Health Advisory Committee meets irregularly, with agendas only occasionally posted.

• Sports Facilities Development Corporation meets quarterly, with some upcoming meetings posted.

• Tax Increment Financing Boards meet as development projects require.

• Zoning Board of Adjustments and Appeals meets monthly.

• Council Committees like Finance & Government or Public Safety, Health & Environment meet regularly in addition to full council.

That’s well over a dozen separate entities, many of them with overlapping authority or influence. Some post their agendas consistently; others don’t. Some meet monthly; others annually. For a citizen to track them all, they’d need a calendar full of dates, plus the time to sit in on multiple hours-long meetings each week.

And even showing up isn’t enough. To fully understand what’s going on, a resident would also need to read hundreds of pages of packets, staff reports, budget documents, and minutes from prior meetings. The expectation — whether explicit or not — is that ordinary citizens should simply trust staff and councilmembers who have already done that homework.

The Confusing Consent Agenda

One of the clearest examples of how overwhelming — and opaque — city governance can feel is the consent agenda. In theory, it’s a practical tool: bundling “routine” items together so the council doesn’t waste time voting on them one by one. Approving minutes, renewing contracts, small budget adjustments — all of this can be grouped into a single motion.

But in practice, consent agendas often become a catch-all for big-ticket items right alongside the minor ones. They can contain millions of dollars in expenditures, agreements with outside organizations, or policy changes that affect neighborhoods for years. And unless a councilmember specifically requests that an item be “pulled” for discussion, the entire slate gets passed with almost no conversation.

The process usually looks like this one, from the meeting above…this was directly after the opening prayer:

“I'd recognize Mayor Pro Tem is on you for the consent agenda. I do not have any speaker cards on the consent agenda.” “Thank you.” “Go ahead, Council Member, it's on you.” “Thank you, Mayor. I'd like to make a motion that we approve items number two, well, actually, to item number five, and pull item number six for individual consideration.” “We have a motion to second.” “All in favor say aye.” “Aye.” “Opposed, say nay.”

That’s it. In less than a minute, dozens of decisions may have been finalized — decisions that, on their own, would have warranted real debate and explanation.

City officials often assume these items have already been vetted in committees, workshops, or staff reviews. But for ordinary residents, those earlier conversations are either inaccessible or buried in packets hundreds of pages long. The end result is that much of the city’s real decision-making never plays out in the one public forum most citizens actually watch: the council meeting itself.

And when citizens do notice and raise questions, it can come across as though they’re second-guessing or slowing down the process — which can put residents and council at odds, even though the underlying issue is transparency, not trust.

Transparency vs. Trust

This is the core tension. The whole system is premised on the idea that citizens can trust their government: trust that committees are meeting, that staff are doing their research, that councilmembers are asking the right questions behind the scenes. But when ordinary people do try to follow along, they run into an avalanche of information, confusing structures, and rushed public proceedings.

When you point this out, officials sometimes get defensive. They may see questions as challenges to their integrity, when in reality the frustration is about access and clarity. Citizens want to understand — and have a right to understand — what decisions are being made in their name.

Yet with the city expanding at an astronomical pace, everything seems to move faster and faster. Meetings get rushed. Parliamentary rules are stretched thin. Important discussions are pushed to subcommittees or executive sessions. For residents, it creates a sense of disconnection: things are happening too quickly, in too many places, for anyone outside government to keep up.

The Bigger Picture

After all, the entire point of holding meetings in public is so that the public can understand what’s going on. Transparency isn’t just about checking boxes by posting agendas online — it’s about creating conditions where citizens can realistically follow the process. Right now, that’s nearly impossible.

To keep up, you’d need to block out multiple nights a week, read thousands of pages, and track a dozen committees — and even then, you’d probably miss something critical. It’s not that city officials are deliberately trying to be confusing; it’s that the machinery of local government has become too sprawling, too fast-moving, and too dependent on trust in insiders to truly be transparent for outsiders.

And that’s the reality many citizens live with: watching meetings, taking notes, spending hours researching, and still feeling like they can’t quite grasp the full picture — or whether their input even makes a difference.

The longer you’ve been behind the desk in City Hall, the harder it becomes to empathize with just how difficult it is for ordinary citizens to keep up. From the inside, you have access to staff briefings, closed-door committee work, and colleagues who can help you parse through the details. From the outside, all most residents see are rapid-fire votes and cryptic agenda items.

But here’s the irony: even for council members themselves, it’s hard to keep up. That’s why so many of our previous officials disappear after their terms. They aren’t basking in the glow of civic duty — they’re exhausted. Worn down by the same nonstop volume of meetings, documents, and decisions that citizens struggle to even glimpse.

I don’t know the answer. Perhaps our city government has simply grown too large and moves too fast to slow down at this point. The pace of development, the sheer volume of boards and committees, the stacks of budget documents and agendas — it all creates a system that no ordinary resident could ever fully track.

Rick Harold was an instrumental contributor in the growth of Grand Prairie as it is today. His innovation and commitment to creating a community here cannot be overstated. Rick thought outside the box, which is unique to find amongst city government employees. This interview was from February 2020, and it’s one of my most memorable, mostly because Rick was just a memorable guy. He’s since passed away and I couldn’t be prouder to get this interview on the books when I did.

In the video, you’ll hear Rick in his own cadence: reflective, sometimes funny, always sincere (a great radio voice if you ask me). I personally loved hearing stories about how he solved problems, like asking residents in The Colony to donate the use of their pools since the city didn’t have a pool for swimming lessons. “We didn’t have the budget for everything the city needed,” he recalled, “but that never stopped us from finding a way. If you asked people the right way, they usually said yes.” That was Rick—practical, creative, and bold enough to imagine a solution where others might have stopped at the problem. “It doesn’t always take money to change lives,” he said.

At one point he mused, “My job wasn’t about saying no, it was about figuring out how to get to yes.” Listening to him, you don’t just learn about city projects, you learn about how he thought, how he cared, and how he measured success in community terms rather than personal ones.

We recorded this episode in the theater at The Summit — a place Rick himself helped bring into being, as he tells in the interview. “This building,” he said with quiet pride, “wasn’t just bricks and steel. It was a promise that our seniors and families deserved something first-class right here at home.” Sitting in that very room, talking with him about how it came to be, added a kind of resonance you don’t often get in conversations like this. It wasn’t just a backdrop; it was living proof of his ideas turned real.

Rick Harold left his mark not just in buildings and projects, but in the culture of possibility he nurtured in Grand Prairie. “If you believe in people, they’ll surprise you,” he said. His way of leading was rooted in asking, listening, and inviting others into the work of building something better. His voice, his ideas, and his example remain part of the city’s foundation.

Listening again now, I’m struck by the clarity of his perspective. Rick didn’t need to speak loudly to make a point; his words carried because they were lived-in.

He believed in leaving things better than you found them:

“If you leave a place better than you found it, that’s success. It doesn’t have to be big — just better.”

He believed in resilience, not as toughness, but as a way of adapting:

“You can’t control everything, but you can control how you respond. That’s where character shows up.”

And he believed in gratitude — not the easy kind, but the kind that comes from walking through the hard seasons with good people beside you:

“I’ve been lucky. Not because everything went my way, but because I had people to walk with me when it didn’t.”

These weren’t just words for Rick; they were the foundation of his work. His willingness to innovate, to challenge conventional approaches, and to think creatively made him a rare kind of public servant — one who saw city government not as bureaucracy, but as an opportunity to imagine a better future.

But what does that reprimand even mean when the very councilman being reprimanded is handed the floor, allowed nearly three minutes to address the room, and when finished, formally makes the motion to reprimand himself?

The tone for the night was set before the vote even began. Additional security lined the chambers — a quiet acknowledgment that city leadership anticipated heightened emotions from frustrated residents. The room was full, a sign that the community was paying attention.

But when it came time for public comment on Agenda Item #12, the motion for reprimand of Mike Del Bosque, only two speakers approached the podium: longtime resident Angela Luckey and David Collantes, the second man shown in the now-infamous video. Angela Luckey spoke about the need for a city charter provision to address misconduct of this nature—a sentiment that visibly resonated with those present.

David’s remarks followed and were more personal and even more striking. He expressed deep disappointment that it took four months for the council to even address this matter publicly. His testimony was heartfelt, measured, and cut off sharply at the five-minute mark when Mayor Ron Jensen told him his time was up.

Councilman Del Bosque was then given the floor. There was no call for his recusal for the vote. In fact, he delivered his own statement—invoking words like “transparency” and “accountability”—yet the tone was anything but humble, and there was no apology to the man sitting in front of him or to the citizens he’d embarrassed (according to his statement, he’d already apologized in a closed room at a city council briefing in April). He then formally made the motion to reprimand himself, which was immediately seconded by Councilman Kurt Johnson. Mayor Jensen called for the vote. Every council member said “aye.” And with that, the meeting moved briskly to the next agenda item, with that portion of the meeting lasting less than 10 minutes.

The entire exchange felt choreographed: by putting Del Bosque front and center, the council let him “fall on the sword” alone—sparing the others from having to speak—as long as Del Bosque got to do it on his own terms. But it was clear from the start that those on the council neither understood nor appreciated what the citizenry truly wanted.

One might be tempted to feel disappointed that more people didn’t step up to speak. But it wasn’t apathy—people cared deeply. You could feel it in the room. It was as if there was a collective, unspoken decision to stay silent and let the council reveal, through their own actions, exactly how they intended to lead. There was no chaos, no unruly crowd—it was heavier: a palpable loss of respect in the chamber itself and among those watching online.

And it wasn’t directed at one council member. It was directed at all of them. Every person on the council shared in the moment: voting, staying silent, offering nothing beyond a quick “aye” before moving on to the next item of business.

This wasn’t about losing faith in city government or the process itself. The process—the right of the people to speak, to gather, to hold leaders accountable—remains vital. What was lost last night was faith in the people sitting in those seats to honor that process with integrity.

And yet, in that same silence, citizens in attendance showed something telling. By choosing not to disrupt the meeting—by staying calm and letting the proceedings speak for themselves—the public signaled respect for the city and a desire to represent it well, even in disappointment. That quiet restraint stood in sharp contrast to the council’s handling of the moment.

Perhaps most telling: during public comment, the crowd reacted with brief applause—two seconds at most—before the mayor’s gavel came down. “We’re not at a baseball game,” Jensen said, reminding the audience of the rules of decorum. It was one of the clearest signs of the night: both the mayor and the police presence in the room suggested an underlying lack of trust in how citizens would behave—even as the public remained calm. The irony was hard to miss. The council came down harder on the public for two seconds of applause than they did on one of their own for the incident that prompted the reprimand—a quiet double standard of low expectations that hung over the entire exchange.

What lingers now is a question: whether trust in this council can be rebuilt—or whether, in time, new leadership will emerge to meet the expectations last night laid bare.

Grand Prairie has faced that question twice in just twelve months. Two high-profile cases — former GPISD Superintendent Jorge Arredando and sitting city councilman Mike Del Bosque — have revealed how easily bad faith actors can undermine public trust, leaving ethical officials and frustrated taxpayers caught in the middle.

In the case of former GPISD Superintendent Jorge Arredando, legal maneuvering became a shield against accountability. He used the courts to secure an injunction that tied the hands of the board overseeing him, effectively halting any action they could take. Even as public outrage justifiably mounted, the process was stalled — not by lack of evidence or will, but by a legal tactic that prioritized technicalities over trust, and forced taxpayers to watch their own money essentially be swindled from them without any justice, even to this day.

Meanwhile, sitting city councilman Mike Del Bosque revealed a different flaw: the limits of the city charter itself. Unlike Arredando’s use of the courts, Del Bosque hasn’t manipulated the system — he simply doesn’t care about the rules unless they benefit him or can be twisted to suit his own agenda. Despite widespread calls for resignation, he continues serving, leaving the council to address a councilman who lacks the basic moral integrity that most in the city expect from anyone in public office, constrained by rules that were never built to confront such deliberate defiance. His lawyer even reached out to CBS News and doubled down, calling Del Bosque’s actions “self defense.” This isn’t a man who thinks he’s done anything wrong in the first place.

The deeper problem isn’t just the misconduct of Arredando or Del Bosque — it’s the weak governing bodies surrounding them. City charters and bylaws assume that officials will hold each other accountable, but that only works if the governing body has the will to act. When councils are divided, hesitant, or unwilling to take even basic public stands, bad actors face little resistance.

A major factor in that hesitation is fear — not just political fear, but fear of legal backlash in an increasingly litigious culture. Elected officials know that every action could trigger lawsuits, injunctions, or personal liability claims, creating an environment where doing nothing often feels safer than doing what’s right. This dynamic creates a dangerous feedback loop. Misconduct goes unchecked because enforcement mechanisms are weak and members fear legal retaliation. Public trust erodes as citizens see accountability stall. And future bad actors are emboldened, realizing the system can be exploited if they’re willing to cross lines others won’t — and when people ask, “How did that person end up on _______ board?” this is how.

The next test of the council’s resolve comes on August 5, when members are scheduled to vote on whether to censure Del Bosque for his actions. For the average Grand Prairian who has seen the footage, the expectation seems obvious: censure should be unanimous. The behavior was appalling; anyone with humility would have resigned in disgrace. Yet Del Bosque has shown no remorse and has even framed himself as the hero in exchanges shared on social media.

Even if passed, the censure will be largely symbolic — not only because the charter provides no direct mechanism to remove him, but because it will reflect the mindset of the people who serve alongside him. Of the eight council members, only four have made any public statement about the incident, leaving the other four largely silent. Shockingly, when CBS News interviewed residents after watching the video, they reached out for comment for all 9 members of the council - not one of them responded. Are they prepared to do something hard and take a stand for accountability, or will fear — of political consequences, or of legal entanglements in a lawsuit-happy climate — dictate their response?

In both the Arredando and Del Bosque cases, one truth stands out: tax-paying, rule-following citizens are ignored, with the hope that the weak will be forgiven over time and that things will just blow over. Leaders are calculating a risk based on the good graces and mercy of the public, who to this point have often been willing to move past things. But patience appears to be running thin with many Grand Prairians — even among the most avid supporters.

Under Texas law, city charters like Grand Prairie’s can be amended with voter approval. But change requires council action or a petition from at least 5% of voters — a process designed for normal times, not emergencies created by bad actors. This means that when misconduct happens, the mechanisms to fix it lag far behind the harm being done. While reform is possible, it’s neither swift nor simple — and in the meantime, public frustration only grows.

The crises sparked by Arredando and Del Bosque are more than isolated scandals; they are warnings about systemic vulnerabilities. Changing rules or updating the charter won’t fix the deeper problem: a governing culture that hesitates to confront wrongdoing. Until elected officials are willing to act decisively — to put principle over politics, and accountability over fear — no policy change will matter. What Grand Prairie needs most is not new processes, but leaders with the courage to enforce the standards already in place.

Grand Prairie now faces a choice: continue relying on a charter built on assumptions of good faith, or confront the deeper issue — whether the people entrusted with authority are willing to use it. Even the strongest laws are meaningless if those in power refuse to act. And this time, it’s unclear if public patience will hold.

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Grand Prairie has worked hard over the past decade to rebuild its reputation. When I was growing up here, it wasn’t uncommon to hear unflattering nicknames — “the Armpit of the Metroplex” or “Ghetto Prairie.” On news stories about bad behavior, people would say things like, “That’s why I moved out — you can always count on GP to keep it classy.”

But that’s no longer our story. The city’s progress — and I give Mayor Jensen credit for what he’s done — has transformed how people view Grand Prairie. Today, it’s something to be proud of again. I live here, I own businesses here, and like so many others, I care deeply about this community we’ve worked so hard to uplift.

That’s why it’s discouraging to see our progress put at risk by the behavior of a few elected officials. We all understand that disagreements and mistakes happen — that’s part of public service. But intentional actions that embarrass the city or disrupt the work of governing reflect poorly on everyone and undermine what we’ve built together.

And this isn’t about one isolated incident or one governing body. Concerns have been raised about behavior on both the City Council and the School Board. The community’s frustration is bigger than one moment; it’s about expecting higher standards across the board.

According to the mayor, there is an upcoming vote at the next council meeting on August 5 to censure a councilman for such behavior, and many residents are watching closely. The expectation is simple: we want our leaders to set a standard for respectful conduct and show unity when addressing clear breaches of that standard. Those who stand against that expectation will find it a much harder election to win when voters return to the polls.

We value our city council and school board members and the service they provide, but some of the behavior we’ve seen suggests that respect for the community may not be mutual. And make no mistake — this concern is not held by just a few people; it reflects the overwhelming sentiment of Grand Prairians who are paying close attention.

It’s time to stop letting immaturity and disregard for rules and decorum define the work of our city. Stop letting bullies set the tone.

Share with your fellow Grand Prairians - use #GrandPrairiedeservesbetter and feel free to post the logo on your social media to show support for maintaining high behavioral standards for our leaders representing our city.

In the news story linked above, David Collantes, the agent, says he saw the black SUV turn down NW 10th going the wrong way toward the building, then stop beside the parking lot, where the agent was walking and talking on his phone. The video shows Del Bosque get out of the SUV with the intent of confronting the agent. That level of escalation should alarm everyone. It shows this wasn’t a misunderstanding or heat-of-the-moment argument; it was a deliberate choice to confront a real estate professional carrying out legitimate work.

It also speaks to a deeper concern: a lack of respect for business professionals in his own city — people who play a crucial role in Grand Prairie’s growth and reputation.

The parking lot confrontation occurred in April 2025. Since then, Councilman Del Bosque has shown no public remorse and has not issued an apology. If anything, his behavior has only grown more combative.

During the May 2025 election cycle, we reported on allegations of political intimidation raised by former councilman Jeff Copeland. Copeland posted on Facebook:

“Well it only took 3 hours for the strong arming to begin. Mike Del Bosque just told me via text that if I used his name ever again that he would make me eat my words. I wonder if he gave the 60‑year‑old man he was recently arrested for assaulting the same warning?”

Del Bosque himself later screenshot his own texts to Copeland and shared them publicly in the comments — drawing even more criticism, as many residents pointed out that posting the messages only highlighted their threatening tone.

This pattern — from the April confrontation with a real estate professional to the subsequent intimidation of a political candidate and former peers — raises serious concerns about fitness for office and the absence of any meaningful accountability. It underscores why both the city council and City Manager Bill Hills must respond, not just leave it for voters to sort out at the next election.

Mayor Jensen did release a statement — but instead of outlining any steps toward accountability that will be taken by the city or the council, he stated that it would be up to the councilman himself whether or not he wanted to run again in the next election and up to the voters if they wanted to vote for him.

Grand Prairie operates under a council–manager form of government. According to the city’s own framework:

“Grand Prairie is a Home Rule City governed by the City Charter and operates under a Council‑Manager form of government, which combines strong leadership, representative democracy through elected officials, and a professionally trained and educated city manager.” (City of Grand Prairie)

In this structure, the city council governs itself. The charter and council rules give members the authority to:

• Censure or reprimand a fellow member for misconduct

• Enforce rules of order during meetings

• Refer serious misconduct for legal investigation or action

No other entity in city government can directly discipline an elected councilmember — that power rests solely with the council itself.

The city manager — currently Bill Hills — does not discipline elected officials, but his responsibilities do give him an important role when misconduct affects the city’s operations or reputation. The charter tasks the manager with:

• Administering city departments and ensuring ordinances are enforced

• Advising the council on matters affecting city governance

• Reporting and escalating conduct that threatens staff safety, city property, or public trust

In a situation like the Del Bosque incident — where an elected official is seen on video driving to a property and confronting a real estate professional performing legitimate work — the city manager has the authority to:

• Document the incident as it affects city operations and professional conduct

• Inform the council that the behavior requires their review and possible censure

• Coordinate with legal counsel or outside authorities if the confrontation violates laws or ordinances

The council has the legal ability to censure or reprimand Councilman Del Bosque for his actions. The city manager has the administrative duty to raise the alarm and ensure professional standards are upheld.

Neither action requires waiting until the next election. Grand Prairie already has the tools — built into its charter — to address misconduct now.

What Another City’s Experience Shows Us

Grand Prairie operates under a council-manager form of government, just like Mountain View, California. In 2002, Mountain View faced a nearly identical situation: a councilmember repeatedly bullied staff, crossed professional boundaries, and ignored ethical standards.

Instead of deflecting responsibility to voters, city leadership — including the city manager and city attorney — took action within the framework of their government structure. They documented the misconduct, involved the council, and ultimately referred the case to outside authorities. This process led to the councilmember’s removal from office and restored public trust.

The lesson is clear: There are ways to address this kind of behavior without waiting for the next election. The structure Grand Prairie already has provides the tools — it’s a matter of choosing to use them.

This moment isn’t only about one councilmember. It’s about what kind of leadership and culture Grand Prairie chooses to uphold. Do we accept deflection to voters as the only accountability? Or do we expect council and city administration to set and enforce standards now?

As a real estate agent myself — and as a woman who owns this publication — this incident also raises personal concern. If public confrontations go unchecked, what message does that send to professionals, residents, or anyone who speaks up in this city?

What do you think? Should the council and city manager take action under the authority they already have? Share your thoughts in the comments.

If you value independent coverage of Grand Prairie, subscribe free or support local media to keep these conversations going.

Councilman Shotwell emphasizes the importance of collaboration among city officials and residents in addressing both current challenges and long-term goals. He highlights the need to balance growth with maintaining quality of life, stressing civic involvement as a cornerstone of effective governance. The conversation also touches on understanding local taxation, preserving the city's history, and ensuring equitable access to resources.

Throughout the interview, the message is clear: active participation from community members is essential to fostering a vibrant, resilient, and inclusive Grand Prairie.

This episode was originally published in February 2025.

Episode Time Stamps:

00:00Introduction and Background

05:20Personal History and Community Roots

08:01City Development and Changes

10:32Local Governance and Community Involvement

13:04The Importance of Local Elections

15:28Innovative Leadership in City Management

18:17Advice for Civic Engagement

21:12Understanding Local Boards and Commissions

25:25Empowering Future Generations

27:37The Role of Mentorship in Leadership

28:57Government Engagement and Community Involvement

32:21The Impact of Urban Development

35:37Challenges in Local Grocery Accessibility

38:42Revitalizing Dilapidated Properties

43:04Affordable Housing Initiatives

48:51Grant Funding and Community Support

51:29Exploring Local Health Services

53:33The Future of Healthcare in Grand Prairie

55:21City Council Dynamics and Community Engagement

57:29Goals for Community Development

01:00:02Infrastructure Challenges and Solutions

01:02:50The Impact of Transportation on Community

01:07:39Upcoming Developments in Grand Prairie

01:10:53Balancing Growth and Quality of Life

01:15:26Bidding Processes and City Council Decisions

01:16:50Understanding Local Taxation and Budgeting Processes

01:24:37The Impact of Home Values on Community Dynamics

01:34:46Community Engagement and Local Governance

01:42:08Preserving Local History and Community Identity

01:43:11Exploring Local History and Heritage

01:44:56The Evolution of Grand Prairie

01:47:28Community Engagement and Local Events

01:50:30Urban Development and Traffic Management

01:53:43The Role of Local Government and Civic Engagement

01:56:42Encouraging Youth Participation in Local Politics

02:01:11The Future of Local News and Community Involvement

This episode was originally released on February 11.

To Contact Junior: https://www.gptx.org/Government/Mayor-and-City-Council/Junior-Ezeonu-At-Large-Place-8/Contact-Council-Member-Junior-Ezeonu