The Creamsicle colors of Knoxville are in fullest bloom on any given fall Saturday. Time comes to a standstill in those precious moments when the Volunteers take the field. And for those several months of football fever, the quality of life in East Tennessee rises and falls according to the numbers on the scoreboard.

As a symbol of the city, the UT team ranks high, and, of course, there is also the university itself. The “Gateway to the Smokies” moniker sounds nice, and people do come here to go there. But, as the name suggests, a gateway is what you go through on the way to somewhere else.

Unlike Nashville (Music City, state capital), Memphis (Beale Street, Mississippi River, the Pyramid) and even Chattanooga (Tennessee Aquarium, “Chattanooga Choo-Choo”), Knoxville lacks a distinctive trademark. One recurring image is not exactly welcome. We get aggravated when we are portrayed as being populated mainly by reincarnations of Ernest T. Bass, barefoot Appalachian inbreds whose toes outnumber their teeth.

Meanwhile, Knoxville is a city that regularly shows up on most-livable and least-taxed lists. A few years ago, Knoxville’s mayor was in California, meeting with a firm that helps corporations decide where to locate. He had just started to run down his list of community virtues, when he was interrupted. “You don’t need to tell me; you’re on everybody’s short list,” said the corporate rep, who then proceeded to rattle off a list of Good Things About Knoxville. The bottom line about Knoxville is that people who live here don’t want to leave, and people who have lived here seem to want to come back. In fact, they come back every year. They come back saying, “How ’bout them Vols!”

Whittled away

Jake Butcher is no longer around, and Chris Whittle has departed. The Whittle Communications collapse shoved a lot of downtown boosters into a temporary funk. The $50 million-plus building, constructed by Whittle, was evidence of a downtown that knew, just knew, it was on a roll, careening toward new days of prosperity. Unfortunately, Whittle did most of the careening. Plans for expansion and a new broadcasting headquarters all vaporized in the maelstrom that was the Whittle collapse.

On the Knoxville streets, Whittle employees stood out because of their Soho wardrobes. Whittle top executives were recognizable because of their Mercedes 500s and Porsche Carreras. Whittle legions have dispersed, but many found work in other Knoxville businesses or formed their own companies.

From Chris Whittle on down, the company made contributions to Knoxville’s arts, business and social service communities. When Whittle folded, the leaders of many not-for-profits walked the streets with their hands over their hearts. Today, the Whittle Communications building, that onetime monument to entrepreneurship, is in transition. It will become the Howard H. Baker Jr. Federal Courthouse.

Knoxville has reason to be bullish about downtown. A bright spot is the Old City, once a near-wasteland but now a vibrant site where out-of-towners and locals flock. New downtown buildings have been built, and many older structures are under renovation.

Down by the riverside, Knoxville’s efforts at waterfront development are beginning to take shape. Construction equipment is churning up dirt along Knoxville’s waterfront—such dirt as there is. The problem with developing Knoxville’s waterfront is that there’s more dirt in the average residential backyard than there is on the north side of the Tennessee River.

Waterfront development originally called for shops, restaurants and enticements for tourists. Today the development calls for a park to clean up and beautify the waterfront. Condos overlooking the water will add residential flavor to the project. City officials hope the activity will lead to increased commercial development that will shore up downtown Knoxville as well as the waterfront.

Besides the general positive buzz over downtown, besides the recent Rodin show, besides the ballet and symphony and all that, there are other more problematic headlines. Lately, the high-profile problems of prominent Knoxvillians have been dominating local over-drinks talk. Financier Joe Taylor shot himself Nov. 3, leaving behind a morass of financial losses and questions that have entangled some of Knoxville’s best-known personalities. One lawyer working on the case says more than $100 million is involved. At a recent court hearing, approximately 100 lawyers showed up, a sure indication that a lot of people got taken for a lot of dough.

Perhaps the worst story to tarnish Knoxville’s image in recent years resulted from the burning of an interracial church. No one yet knows who set the blaze, but clearly there was plenty of news around the country about racial slurs found scrawled on the gutted building. Reggie White of the Green Bay Packers—certified local hero—is a member of the congregation.

In another recent development, a racist organization set up business in Knoxville, opening a bookstore several years ago. They probably looked at the demographics—12 to 15 percent African-American population in the city, only about half of the county-wide percentages—and decided that, if they spread a little manure, something might grow. Within a few months, they and their bookstore slithered away. City fathers smiled. The racists’ seed had fallen on rocky ground, they said.

Merging traffic

Unlike Metro Nashville, Knoxville still functions under a city government and a county government. The city-county relationship is different today from what it was before the election of 1994, just as the relationship between France and Germany has been different since the end of World War II.

From 1980 through 1994, Dwight Kessel served as Knox County executive. Victor Ashe became mayor of Knoxville in 1988. The relationship between Bill Clinton and Rush Limbaugh is a love feast compared to the relationship between Kessel and Ashe. Kessel once pointedly refused to shake Ashe’s hand in full view of an audience.

Kessel chiefly resented Ashe because he was a proponent of annexation. Ashe saw annexation as a responsible way of providing city services at lower cost, but Kessel saw it as Ashe’s March Through the County. Over the years, Ashe has been successful in broadening Knoxville’s boundaries nonetheless.

In a war of words that continued, unabated, for years, Ashe most often let his surrogates take the real heat. Meanwhile, he proceeded to build political support at high-profile events that kept him in the public eye. Once a month, Ashe holds “Mayor’s Nights In,” during which anyone who wants to talk with him on any subject is welcome to visit. Ashe goes door-to-door in a different neighborhood each month.

Kessel, who had a long history as an elected official on both the city and county sides, naturally greeted the “Mayor’s Nights In” as so much PR fluff. He didn’t like Ashe and suggested that anyone with any sense wouldn’t like him either. Despite his reputation for fiscal austerity, Republican Kessel, in a predominantly Republican county—in the biggest Republican year in memory—lost his 1994 re-election bid to a Democratic opponent, County Trustee Tommy Schumpert. In 1995, Ashe won an unprecedented third four-year term with 64 percent of the vote.

In the city versus county conflict, the heavy guns are now quiet. In Schumpert, Knox County has a leader who is so nice that many wonder why he got into politics. The former Knoxville Central High School football coach seems to be on a first-name basis with everybody in the county.

Schumpert and Ashe are in agreement on issues that kept Kessel and Ashe at loggerheads. Both have said they want to create a single government. Schumpert asked for, and Ashe agreed to, a partial moratorium on involuntary annexation pending the outcome of a city-county unification effort. The two leaders also cooperated in appointing a commission to design a charter.

All has not been smooth sailing, however. Faced with the prospect of a new government, city and county residents have had to agree on what to name it. County folks didn’t like the “Metro” tag—they thought it was code for a city-dominated government. “Consolidated” government antagonized city partisans—they believed it meant the county would be the big hog at the one-government trough. The charter commission has dubbed the new entity “The Unified Government of Knoxville and Knox County”—how’s that for finding middle ground?

Publicly, most city and county officials are genuflecting at the altar of unification. Still, elected officials are wondering how many seats will exist in the new legislative body. Employees of the two governments, political appointees, members of boards and commissions, businesses that serve the city and county all wonder, “What, good or bad, is in this for us?”

Time will tell.

Knox County Sheriff Tim Hutchison is one high-ranking official who voices reservations about a metro government. Hutchison wants an elected chief law enforcement officer in any unified government. The city side—which appoints its police chief—prefers that the job remain apolitical.

No one yet knows if the “top cop” issue will be a deal-breaker or a sidebar story that fades away before next November’s vote on unification.

Public opinion polls have shown a generally favorable attitude toward unification. Conventional wisdom suggests that the measure will fare well in the city but will run into trouble with voters outside city limits.

Nashville plays a role in Knox County’s consolidation deliberations. Mention the words “Nashville Metro Council” aloud, and courageous politicians turn to jellyfish. Strong men and women cower behind crucifixes. Wailing parents throw themselves over their children.

How do you even pass gas through a 40-member council?

Upon reflection, never mind.