ROANOKE TIMES 
                      Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times

DATE: Sunday, February 25, 1996              TAG: 9602260012
SECTION: VIRGINIA                 PAGE: A-1  EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: DAN CASEY STAFF WRITER
NOTE: Above 


DON'T CUSS, AND DON'T CROSS HIM

HIS TREATMENT once left a frustrated Roanoke resident in tears.

For the 17 years that former Mayor Noel Taylor presided over City Council, peace and harmony reigned.

While council members often disagreed or split on votes, outbursts of anger were rare. The only council member who ever challenged Taylor publicly was David Bowers.

The tenor of council meetings has changed a bit since Bowers became mayor in 1992, and part of it has to do with the mayor's well-known temper.

Although he is generally gracious to residents and other council members, he won't tolerate anyone who utters "hell" or "damn" while addressing council. They get a stern rebuke.

It also appears to unnerve Bowers when more than one council member or person in the audience tries to speak at the same time. On the relatively rare occasions this occurs, Bowers silences both speakers, then directs them to speak one at a time.

"With David, it's a control thing," Council member Mac McCadden said. "I think David sometimes feels that if he's the mayor and he's controlling the meeting, then he should be in control - that he's the boss of the meeting."

On other occasions, Bowers' temper can get the best of him. McCadden, who said the outbursts have occurred with less frequency the longer Bowers has been in office, terms the episodes "childish tirades."

"He does not take criticism well at all, whether it's constructive criticism or just total disagreement with him," said Onzlee Ware, a Roanoke lawyer and 6th District Democratic chairman.

At an October council meeting after the Million Man March in Washington, for example, Bowers gave a speech in which he said that, while he detected racial divisiveness in the nation as a whole, "I really don't see much divisiveness in Roanoke."

Gainsboro activist Evelyn Bethel challenged that remark. The evidence was right there in council chambers, she said: the recent moving of former Mayor Noel Taylor's photograph to the back of the room.

Five times, Bowers ruled her out of order, telling her she could have her say later in the meeting. The mayor allowed Bethel to finish only after Council member William White spoke up and said, "Let's let her have her say."

The incident left Bethel in tears. Bowers, meanwhile, chewed out White in private after the meeting for challenging him in public, council sources said.

On another occasion last March, the mayor blew up in public when council refused to endorse his recommendation that Roanoke County hold down teacher raises to prevent a gap between city and county teacher salaries.

Bowers suddenly banged the gavel and called a recess, walking out of council chambers in the middle of remarks by McCadden. He said later that he needed the break "to regain my composure" because he was startled by the opposition on the issue.

His anger flashed again May 8 during a 90-minute executive session to discuss salary increases for top city administrators. Council member Linda Wyatt objected to the size of the raises.

"He blew up when we were discussing salaries and when would be an opportune time to give raises," Wyatt recalled shortly after the meeting. "I voiced an opinion, and the next thing is, he's going off. 'Is that the way it's going to be? I say one thing, you say another?' And he jumped up and walked out. He does not like to be challenged."

Similar episodes have happened at other times during executive sessions. A 1993 closed-door meeting in which council rebuffed Bowers' bid to get on the Hotel Roanoke and Conference Center commission left him so "visibly upset" that the mayor had to leave the meeting, McCadden recalled.

Bowers also has shown his emotional side in private. On one occasion, it resulted in a 911 call and a subsequent complaint about how city dispatchers handled the call.

The incident occurred late June 1, 1994, and involved a request for police assistance by Bowers' then-wife, Alison Weaver.

It happened at Bowers' Camilla Avenue Southeast home about six weeks after Weaver moved out of the house, but before they signed a formal separation agreement. The couple have since divorced.

Rumors of the incident prompted the newspaper to ask Weaver and Bowers about it.

According to Weaver's account, during a June 1 phone call Bowers threatened to throw out winter clothes and belongings that Weaver had left in the house when she moved out in April.

Weaver said she went to the house to ensure the clothes and other items were locked in a closet. After trying to block her from entering, Bowers threw her car keys outside in the dark and tried to stop her from securing the belongings, Weaver said.

Weaver said she called 911 on a cellular telephone she carried in her pocket. She reached state police, who transferred the call to city dispatchers. Identifying herself and Bowers by name, Weaver requested that police come to the house, she said.

A few minutes after Weaver's call, the mayor called 911 on his personal phone and canceled the request, Weaver said. Meanwhile, she stood in a nearby hallway and yelled, "Send the police!''

Weaver waited for the police about 20 minutes, but officers were never dispatched to Bowers' house. After a friend of Bowers' who was at the house calmed him down, Weaver said, she was able to lock the closet. Her car keys were returned, and she left.

The following day, Weaver said, she complained to the communication department about dispatchers' failure to send the police. Then-manager Robert Agnor told her he had listened to the tape and discussed the calls with the dispatchers who were on duty, Weaver said.

Agnor declined to comment on the incident.

Ron Wade, acting city communications manager, confirmed that a woman called 911 during a domestic disturbance shortly after 11 p.m. on June 1, 1994. Wade also confirmed that her husband called 911 back to cancel the call. Wade said dispatchers did so without transferring it to the Police Department, a violation of policy.

Wade declined to identify either caller, citing a policy not to divulge the names of people who request assistance.

The woman's complaint on June 2 prompted a memo from Wade to dispatchers the same day. It cautioned dispatchers that they may cancel requests for police assistance only after speaking to the person who first called 911.

Wade said dispatchers who handled the request for assistance were later counseled about city policy on cancelling 911 calls. "As far as we know, there has been no reoccurrence," he said.

The 911 tapes, which are recycled every 30 days, don't exist any more. Weaver said she asked Agnor to make a copy, but city officials say they can't find one.

"I would like to believe that this could never happen to another citizen," Weaver said. "And I very firmly believe that David's position as mayor influenced the way the call was handled. How else do you explain the fact - Bob Agnor listened to the tape and told me they could hear my voice begging that the police be sent - that police never received notification of the call?''

Asked whether he used his position as mayor to cancel the call, Bowers said, "Absolutely not."

While he disputed Weaver's version of the events surrounding the calls, he declined to discuss them in detail.

"I have no response at this time regarding the 1994 incident when my former wife came to my house after our separation. If necessary, after I've read the article, I'll act and respond accordingly," Bowers said.

Weaver said she and Bowers signed a formal separation agreement a few days after the incident.


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