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Show A-22 The Park Record Meetings and agendas Sat/Sun/Mon/Tues, July 7-10, 2018 More dogs on Main By Tom Clyde TO PUBLISH YOUR PUBLIC NOTICES AND AGENDAS, PLEASE EMAIL CLASSIFIEDS@PARKRECORD.COM Give life Notice is hereby given that the Snyderville Basin Planning Commission will meet in regular session Tuesday, July 10, 2018 Location: Sheldon Richins Building (Library), 1885 West Ute Boulevard, Park City, UT 84098 AGENDA Agenda items may or may not be discussed in the order listed. 4:30 p.m. Regular Session 5. Approval of minutes: March 27, 2018 and May 8, 2018 1. Public input for items not on the agenda or pending applications. 2. ***This public hearing has been cancelled***Public hearing and possible action regarding a Condominium Plat Amendment for Lot 19 at the Park City Business Center; 4554 North Forestdale Drive; PEIIBCC-41 – PEIIBCC-48; Jared Higgins, applicant.– Sean Lewis, County Planner 3. Public hearing and possible action regarding a Conditional Use Permit for a 300,00 gallon water tank for Phases 5G and 5H of the Colony Development; Near 330 White Pine Canyon Rd; PP-S-MC-1; Iron Mountain Associates, applicant. – Amir Caus, County Planner 4. Public hearing and possible action regarding potential amendments to Sections 10-8 General Regulations of the Snyderville Basin Development Code to allow for the operation of Mobile Food Trucks and Mobile Food Courts in Certain Areas of the Snyderville Basin.– Ray Milliner, Principal Planner DRC Updates Commission Comments Director Items Adjourn A majority of Snyderville Basin Planning Commission members may meet socially after the meeting. If so, the location will be announced by the Chair or Vice-Chair. County business will not be conducted. To view staff reports available after Friday, July 6, 2018 please visit: www.summitcounty.org Individuals needing special accommodations pursuant to the Americans with Disabilities Act regarding this meeting may contact Melissa Hardy, Summit County Community Development Department, at (435) 6153157. Posted: July 6, 2018 Published: July 7, 2018 – The Park Record BYU won’t recognize group Associated Press SALT LAKE CITY – An LGBTQ group at the Mormon church-owned Brigham Young University has tried unsuccessfully for three years to get recognition from the school. Members of the Understanding Same Gender Attraction group told the Salt Lake Tribune for a story published this week that they feel like they have been strung along as school administrators repeatedly delay approving their application. “BYU is sending the message that its LGBT students are not good enough or not worthy enough to be able to start their own club,” said Addison Jenkins, an urban planning student and former club president. “I think that’s an incredibly damaging message.” The group has 100 members and meets almost every week off campus at the Provo City Library. BYU’s associate dean of students, Casey Peterson, said in a statement that he had met with the group over several years but worried that recognizing them would hurt “other groups of students equally invested in assisting and serving.” It’s unclear what other groups he was referring to because Understanding Same Gender Attraction is the only established LGBTQ organization at the university. In 2016, the school formed a working group to study the group’s application and explore other ways to support gay and transgender students. But it’s never added it to the list of more than 250 recognized clubs dedicated to a range of interests including roller skating, Shakespeare and a cappella. BYU students are held to a strict honor code that forbids “all forms of physical intimacy that give expression to homosexual feelings.” Some students worry that attending the group’s meetings would get them in trouble with the school’s administration. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints teaches that being attracted to someone of the same sex is not a sin but that acting on those feelings is. JD Goates, a former group president and recent BYU graduate, said the organization would be invaluable for LGBTQ students who feel lost and are looking for a community. “There are people wanting to kill themselves,” he said. Group members say they want to be recognized by the end of the year. They already have drafted a charter, mocked up a website and picked out faculty advisers in case the school gives them the go-ahead. “It feels like we’re screaming at a brick wall,” Goates said. A first for a Provo parade Associated Press PROVO – Utah LGBTQ groups marched for the first time Wednesday in a prominent July Fourth festival in the conservative city of Provo after years of organizers blocking the groups from participating. The groups were met by cheers and rainbow flags as they marched Wednesday morning in the America’s Freedom Festival parade. Participating groups included a center for LGBTQ youth and an organization that works to bridge divides between the LGBTQ community and the Mormon church. The groups have been blocked in the past from participating. Their parade application was initially denied this year by festival organizers who said participants cannot focus on political or social issues but should instead focus on patriotism. County officials threatened to pull $100,000 in taxpayer money from the privately-organized event until festival organizers struck a deal allowing the groups to participate. I’m looking at a photo my sister sent me. It’s of her daughter – my niece – and a man none of us know. They are both in hospital gowns, smiling, and looking inexplicably relaxed given what is about to happen. Anybody looking at the picture would think they are a good-looking young couple. You’d never assume they were strangers. What’s really happening is that they are both about to go into surgery where he will donate a kidney to my niece. Nice to meet you. There are really no protocols for that relationship. Facebook has no button to click to describe your relationship as “Live Organ Donation.” The donor is a stranger. He’s a friend of a friend’s cousin’s neighbor or something like that. He heard about my niece’s kidney failure somehow, and decided he would give her a kidney. Why not? The only bond is that they are both parents of children with Down syndrome. The man considered the challenges their children face, and how much harder their lives would be if they were without a parent. So, after months of testing, he and his wife flew up from California and gave her a kidney. The two couples went to dinner the night before the surgeries. It’s hard to imagine that conversation. The whole thing is so surreal. They probably talked about their handicapped kids and the challenges their whole families face there. Maybe a little World Cup action, while steering clear of politics, and, oh, by the way, thank you for putting your life at risk to save mine. It’s really nice to meet you. We’ll pick up the check for dinner. Amazing. You just don’t pick up a kidney at Home Depot. Within a large and supportive family, she had been unable to find a suitable match. Most of us were categorically disqualified because of age, blood pressure, and other issues. The screening system knocked me out almost before I got my name entered. Apparently high blood pressure puts me at risk of someday needing to find a replacement kidney, and they aren’t about to let me give one up. Her sister was generally compatible, but kidneys aren’t as standardized as you’d think, and the plumbing didn’t match up. There are complicated trades, where a donor who is incompatible with his or her family member donates to a stranger who The donor is a stranger. ... He heard about my niece’s kidney failure somehow, and decided he would give her a kidney. Why not?” matches, and somebody in that stranger’s circle of potential donors turns out to be compatible with your family member. The hospitals almost run a brokerage on them. I’ll confess to being somewhat relieved that I wasn’t an acceptable match. I was so summarily rejected that I never really had to come face to face with the decision. I think I would have made the donation for my niece, but it’s easy to say that when you’re punted out of the system on the first question. Would I donate a kidney to a total stranger? Well, um, boy, it’s been a long time since we had any rain around here. When nobody in the extended family is a suitable match, you begin casting the net a little wider. She didn’t exactly start calling best friends from second grade and asking for a kidney, but did put the word out there. She had an overwhelming response among friends, but nothing matched. It’s not an easy request. “Would you take care of my dog next weekend?” is one thing, but to add, “and by the way, I need a kidney,” is quite another. And a year passed, and then a couple more, and nothing happened until a random, stranger came along and made an incredible sacrifice. The surgery seems both miraculous and routine. Pull one from the parts bin, take the old one out; sew the new one in. Within just minutes, the donated organ was functioning properly. She was on the mend almost immediately. The donor may have the more difficult recovery. In addition to a major surgery, his remaining kidney needs to pick up the full load. Nobody is leaving the hospital for a while. The medical team involved made it all seem routine. They knock out several of these a week. My father knew Willem Kolff, who was the inventor of dialysis. I remember him being at our house when I was young, talking about the mechanical, artificial kidney, and saying miraculous as it was, the future was organ transplant, not his machines. Maybe in the not too distant future, we will be making new organs on 3D printers from our own cells. For the time being, the option is organ transplant. It’s easy to become an organ donor, and if you do it after you are dead, it’s also not frightening or an act of great courage. You won’t be needing your organs when you’re gone. Go to YesUtah. org and register online. It’s that easy. Tom Clyde practiced law in Park City for many years. He lives on a working ranch in Woodland and has been writing this column since 1986. sunday in the Park By Teri Orr Small town news... “We’re putting a damn paper out tomorrow.” Those were the words that showed up on Twitter from the crime scene that was also the newsroom last week. And everyone who ever worked in a newsroom understood the pain and the passion in that short, declarative sentence. Five journalists were murdered last week at their desks — except for Wendi — who reportedly charged the shooter in order to protect her fellow reporters. The community paper in Annapolis, Maryland, can trace its roots back to 1727 — one of the oldest papers in the country. And it had been doing what community papers do — covering births and deaths and school events and meetings in city hall. Or as Jim DeButts, an editor there wrote — “There are no 40-hour weeks, no big paydays — just a passion for telling stories from our community,” DeButts wrote on Twitter. “We keep doing more with less. We find ways to cover high school sports, breaking news, tax hikes, school budgets & local entertainment. We are there in times of tragedy. We do our best to share the stories of people, those who make our community better. Please understand, we do all this to serve our community.” The community newspaper model has been dying for decades now all by itself. From mergers and acquisitions to failing circulations to online short flashes of updates that are mistaken for thoughtful coverage. But the occasional barbs of harsh words from disgruntled readers were really about as dangerous as a newsroom got. When we learned the shooter was someone who was “known to the staff” because he filed a suit against them — that was something all small papers understood as well. “He had a long-standing grudge against the paper.” Every community has one of those nuisance readers who feel wronged and they doggedly push the paper for corrections and retractions and a “redo” on stories. And some threaten something more. Maybe a lawsuit. You just never think one will load up a shotgun and show up in your office to “even a score.” My friend David, who is a techie guy and documentary filmmaker and who also produces an amazing TEDx event there, was the first I saw to post the story. It was his community paper. These were reporters he knew. It was devastating to consider. This wasn’t a paper of great swings to either side of the political spectrum. It was a small community paper, covering parts of a greater community the locals call Smalltimore. The photos of the vigil showed average folks of a variety of ages carrying candles down a kinda Main Street USA past simple storefronts. Those photos showed the unity in community and a sadness born from knowing the victims personally. They had lost their friends in a senseless, all too American way — a man with a gun who opened fire with the intent of “killing every person.” According to a strange manifesto he left behind. When I read the five obits the next day they could have been from so many small papers in any state. They were average people who loved journalism as it played out in community life. At least three of the writers were feature writers — a rare breed that exists still by the grace of a few benevolent publishers in the business. The luxury of telling stories about characters that live among us. About the new barber shop or the lady who always has the best flower garden. Or the young people who are working toward a scholarship in sports or band or stagecraft. Small stories not front-page headlines, but the kind of journalism that can elevate a cause or a human — either of which can need exposure to succeed. Feature writers are those who paint the essence of a community with word portraits to show us our neighbors and our neighborhoods. John covered regional sports — the kinda beat that shines a light on young people who need that public place to validate the agony of victory of a regional playoff championship that might result in a scholarship that might help get a kid to college. But “he could write, he could edit, he could design — he was a jack of all trades,” a former colleague told the Baltimore Sun. Wendi was a feature writer. One of her children told the Sun, “You could plan on her showing up late but with a great story to tell.” The paper did get out the next day but the opinion page — where some of the deceased writers normally appeared — was blank. Save for the words — “We are speechless.” and the list of each of the names of those murdered. This paper, here, has existed since 1880. It survived the fire of 1889 by putting the paper together in a tent and taking it to Salt Lake City to the Tribune offices to print for awhile. When the town nearly folded in the ’50s the paper nearly folded with it. When I came to Park City in 1979 the Park Record was an eight page tabloid size paper with three columnists anchoring the pages. It covered the city and the schools and the front page was a full page photo. Letters to the editor were an entire page. There were a handful of small ads — for the grocery, the bookstore, the mercantile. Everything was black and white. There are still small towns across America where that kind of community journalism is the norm. My friend, Sena Taylor, is the publisher of an award-winning paper in Moab that has been in her family for over 100 years. Ed Abbey used to write letters to their editor. There is nothing small about small town journalism. It is the fabric that dresses a community in joy and sorrow and hope and caution. What happened in Baltimore could have happened in any small town across America. And that should be enough to sadden us all this Sunday in the Park... Teri Orr is a former editor of The Park Record. She is the director of the Park City Institute, which provides programming for the George S. and Dolores Doré Eccles Center for the Performing Arts. |