From the outside, being a mayor looks like a pretty great job. Cutting ribbons, opening parks, giving speeches, waving to the crowd, posing for photos with kids, smiling for the cameras—you know the routine. But if that’s all you see, you’re only seeing the polished political image.
What you don’t see is what happens behind the scenes—and sometimes right in front of everyone. There’s always another side to the story, especially if a mayor hasn’t managed to surround themselves with council members who all think alike. And when a few of them insist on thinking for themselves…
Well, that’s when the real reality show begins.
Take Toms River, for example. The mayor and the township council found themselves in a full-blown email war, and the Shakespearean question of the day became: Who gets to drive the municipal vehicle, and can the mayor use it to commute to his private job? A government car and a private job aren’t exactly the perfect match. Imagine trying to run an entire town while fighting over a set of car keys.
Head a little farther north to Boonton, and the battle shifts to… a flag. The mayor vetoed not a law, but the Pride flag. The council fell short of the two-thirds majority needed to override the veto, so a veto is still a veto. Being mayor is serious business. In the end, the flag stayed beside the flagpole instead of flying from it.
Edison took things to another level. Three council members didn’t show up for the budget meeting, and a fourth simply walked out in the middle of it. With no quorum, the budget failed, and nearly 350 municipal employees came dangerously close to losing their jobs.
If anyone thought council members were just there to look good in group photos, Edison proved they can be one of the biggest—and most unpredictable—forces in local government.
Imagine telling your boss, “I can’t come to work today. I had a fight with my coworkers.” In most workplaces, that excuse wouldn’t get you very far. In local politics, apparently, sometimes it does.
The biggest shock came in Jersey City. When Mayor James Solomon walked into City Hall, he discovered a hole—not a black hole, but something even worse: a massive hole in the city’s budget. More than $255 million was missing from the municipal finances.
Then came the finger-pointing—a real “Kramer vs. Kramer,” or perhaps “Mayor vs. Mayor.” Solomon and former Mayor Steven Fulop each had their own version of the story, and no one seems to agree on who’s really responsible. Solomon has proposed different ways to climb out of the financial hole, while some council members looked at him as if he’d eaten the last burger at the barbecue.
Things got even stranger in Summit, where the big political fight wasn’t about taxes or development—it was about how long the mayor and council members were allowed to speak during meetings. The council president enforced a strict three-minute time limit on remarks by the mayor and council members. That rule had previously applied only to public comments, never to elected officials. Councilman Boyer even defended the mayor, calling the move “highly disrespectful.” At least no one could win an award for the longest speech—everybody got exactly three minutes. But imagine how the mayor felt.
Meanwhile, in Plainfield, Mayor Adrian Mapp unilaterally eliminated public comments via Zoom. Council President Julienne Cherry argued that the decision had been made without council approval and promised to restore virtual public participation within 30 days. And she did. On April 13, she simply announced, “It’s back.” At that point, it became difficult to tell whose authority carried more weight—the mayor’s or the council president’s. Another reminder that being mayor isn’t always as straightforward as it seems.
Jackson Township spent a small fortune settling discrimination lawsuits related to zoning. The township reached a $2.2 million settlement with a developer and a religious organization, and that was only the tip of the iceberg. Combined with earlier settlements involving state and federal authorities, the total cost runs into the millions. Instead of paying lawyers, they probably could have bought a beachfront mansion. As for the mayor, after approving millions in taxpayer-funded settlements, he now has to attend mandatory anti-discrimination training. Not exactly part of the glamorous side of public office.
Paterson has been struggling with its budget for so long that the city has operated for months under temporary spending plans while waiting for state assistance. By mid-July, officials still hadn’t finalized this year’s property tax rate. Council members might as well start paying bills with antique coins if Trenton doesn’t deliver its “golden egg.” And the mayor? He doesn’t seem overly worried. The budget was delayed until after the election because, as his administrator put it, “It’s impossible to adopt the budget right now.” Sometimes the best political strategy is simply… saying nothing.
If you think being the mayor of Linden is easy, think again. Sure, he had a little “family advantage”, both his brother and sister served on the City Council. But let’s be fair, life isn’t easy for him either. Everywhere he goes, people keep bringing up that pesky word: nepotism.
The poor man can’t even enjoy a pay raise in peace. Never mind that it was his sister’s vote that helped push it through — after all, who else is supposed to support family if not family?
And honestly, what’s the problem? Everyone has the right to vote and to run for office. Who’s stopping you from running in the next election with your brother, your sister, your aunt, your uncle, and the rest of your relatives? Democracy is open to everyone.
And finally…
Before anyone sends a legal letter or calls for a special council meeting, let’s be clear: this is political satire.
The people, cities, and events are real. The humor, irony, and occasional exaggeration are simply meant to entertain while reminding us that local politics can sometimes be far more dramatic than any television series.
Because behind every ribbon-cutting ceremony, smiling photo, and carefully prepared speech, there’s often far more drama than could ever fit into a single picture.
And if anyone happened to recognize themselves… well, maybe it’s time to schedule another council meeting.
By Jenny