He shows up at the birthday party of a local centenarian, and when he hears about a leaky roof at a school, Mayor Bill Purcell rushes out to give it a look.

In fact, one such visit on Monday to Joelton Middle School—where Purcell provided a perfect photo opportunity by climbing on the roof in his blue suit—got this response from an interested citizen who heard about the incident: “Is he doing this in other departments where he hears about some minor thing and he goes charging out there and says fix this and fix that?”

It’s fair to say former Mayor Phil Bredesen wouldn’t have made the trip to the northern part of the county for such a viewing, which is not to say Purcell should be like Bredesen.

But there is definitely a figurehead tendency to the new mayor that Nashville hasn’t had a dose of in a while. Indeed, it’s as if the city suddenly has its own sort of Queen of England, a leader with inchoate ideas who is making up for lack of a specific agenda by at least showing up to say he cares.

Purcell’s been in office nearly two months now—with a six-week transition before that—and there has yet to be an announcement about any major initiative. And, there is no real evidence that the new mayor has any blockbuster projects in the works.

During a comparable period of time, his predecessor had compiled a beefy list of accomplishments and plans. First, Bredesen created an ethics policy for Metro employees (which Purcell has continued) and unveiled a plan for the Meharry merger with Metro’s General Hospital. Also, during the first week in November, Bredesen released an interim solid waste plan in response to the state balking at giving Metro a necessary permit.

Purcell’s leisurely shift from candidate to mayor is beginning to draw some criticism from inside the government—even from Purcell loyalists—that the new mayor is without focus, that Metro is a bit unguided at the moment. What’s interesting about that, though, is that not everyone thinks such a state of affairs is all that bad.

“There is something to be said for the government to have a little bit of a lull and getting feet wet, because obviously, we’ve got new Council members who are learning what they’re doing and making silly mistakes,” says one Metro Council member. “I’m not sure it’s all bad that we’re rudderless.”

By all accounts, Purcell and key administration officials are spending most of their time getting their arms around the city’s more than $1 billion budget, figuring out what they can afford to do and what they can’t. Purcell will have to submit a new budget for the Metro Council to consider before the next fiscal year begins on July 1.

“Rather than say they’re going to do all these things then figure out how they’re going to pay for it, they’re trying to figure out where they stand,” one city official says of the Purcell administration. “I think they’re just being cautious and going slow so they don’t have a bunch of what look like freshman gaffes, you know, where you get your mouth out ahead of your facts.”

Amid an otherwise foggy—if at all existing—agenda, there is at least one specific expenditure for which Purcell wants to find money: hiring of new police officers, something he pledged to do as a candidate. In fact, he made a good deal of hay about the fact that Bredesen had cut the 45-member police recruit class from last year’s Metro budget, as the city was facing falling sales tax revenues.

“His campaign promises are driving him ape-shit,” one Metro insider says. “I mean, he is obsessed with finding the money for the police recruit class, which isn’t there.”

While the city faces no immediate danger of losing its well-respected standing among the rating agencies that monitor Metro’s financial health, Nashville’s financial picture isn’t expected to allow extravagant spending. And Purcell has already said he has no plans to raise property taxes, at least during the first term.

“He’s looking for money is what he’s doing,” says at-large Metro Council member David Briley. “He may want to have an agenda, but there’s no money for him to have one without a tax increase. I would look for nothing to happen until the summer, on the Council side too.”

Lack of resources, Briley and others suggest, may help explain Purcell’s emphasis on simply showing up places and offering what may be well-intentioned—if ultimately meaningless—attention to the details of city government.

But it should be noted that while Purcell is quickly developing a reputation for wallowing in the minutiae—one Council member says he’s an “unbelievable micromanager, a control freak, and it’s going to make him miserable”—the mayor adamantly denies that characterization.

Responding critically to a Scene story that recounted Purcell’s efforts to brighten up the Metro Courthouse lobby with new fluorescent light bulbs, the mayor recently told a luncheon group at Vanderbilt University that he “will not spend the next four or eight years of [his] life focused on the minutiae of government.”

He continued, “I have no desire to micromanage or supervise down to that level, I promise.”

Eye gouging

Politics is rough, but things are getting really ugly at the Legislature.

Legislators such as freshman Diane Black, a Republican from Sumner County, have recounted to the Scene and other media outlets stories about discouraging meetings with Gov. Don Sundquist in which the tax crusader apparently has threatened to pull his political support and pork funding from their districts if they don’t support an income tax.

The situation is bad enough that tax foes have complained to the FBI that Sundquist has crossed the line into illegalities with his efforts to persuade lawmakers to vote for the state income tax. As a matter of policy, the FBI will neither confirm nor deny whether there is any investigation, but sources say agents have questioned at least one legislator.

Aides to Sundquist say their accusers are merely throwing up a smoke screen to divert attention from the state’s revenue woes. Indeed, the FBI inquiry is believed to be little more than a formality. If G-men are expected to open an investigation every time a state lawmaker’s arm is twisted, they’ll need to open a branch office at the Capitol.

Has Sundquist gone too far in his meetings with lawmakers? “Who’s to say in the field of battle?” replies Sen. Tim Burchett, a Republican from Knoxville who’s against the income tax. “I didn’t sign any Geneva Conference agreement up here, and neither has he. We’re still friends.”

Tax reformers, meanwhile, are irate because one group—former state Republican Party chairman Tommy Hopper’s Free Enterprise Coalition—is airing anti-tax radio ads giving the home phone number of Democratic Sen. Bob Rochelle of Lebanon, the sponsor of the governor’s bill.

“Tommy Hopper has moved from political disagreement to tacitly encouraging threats against legislators and their families,” says Bo Harmon of Citizens for Fair Taxes. He describes Hopper as “lunatic fringe” and adds, “Broadcasting legislators’ private home phone numbers crosses the line.”

Duh!

District Metro Council member Vic Lineweaver is the winner of this month’s Ludicrous Legislation of the Month award for his sponsorship of a resolution asking the Tennessee Department of Environment and Conservation “to rescind its approval permitting the recycling of radioactive metals from the Oak Ridge nuclear weapons facility.”

Such legislation doesn’t belong in the Metro Council, although it might be appropriate for the local legislative body in Oak Ridge, where other Metro Council members might well wish Lineweaver resided.

To reach Liz, call her at 244-7989, ext. 406, or e-mail her at liz@nashvillescene.com.