Paper Chase Ends With Invitation

Armies may march on their stomachs, but government bureaucracy feeds on paper--so much that cities and other public agencies must systematically shred, burn or recycle old and unneeded records.

But Dana Point goes a step further. For the last three years, it has placed advertisements in newspapers and distributed press releases announcing that the soon-to-be-discarded records are available for public inspection.

In the stacks of discards this year, there’s a staff report on how much refuse apartment buildings generate, code-enforcement records and a document titled “Management Guidelines For Use of Fertilizers And Pesticides.”

In the last three years, one person has come down to poke through the piles of files.

That doesn’t discourage Mary Pridham, the keeper of the city’s records. Her main job is making sure all these documents are correctly cataloged, microfilmed when appropriate and tossed out when their time has come.

It’s almost a passion, and the trim, gray-haired civil servant talks about destruction with the same ardor as a general. “We have a fantastic system for destruction,” she says with pride.

However, even she has to admit this year’s crop of cast- off records lacks a certain resonance. “I really think we have a boring batch this year,” Pridham said ruefully.

Take, for example, the dirty laundry found in Dana Point’s discarded code enforcement records. The documents tell who keeps old washers and dryers on their front patio, who lets their yards turn into jungles and who adorns their driveways with junk cars.

State law requires that all but the most sensitive records (such as those on personnel and ongoing litigation or negotiations) be available to citizens. In fact, the public can make arrangements almost any time to visit a seat of government and review a variety of reports. Because disputes over land uses and encroachments are common, most people want to see building permits and other property records.

But few, if any, local governments go so far as Dana Point by formally inviting people to come check out the written records before they perish.

“I never heard of anybody doing that,” said Fullerton City Clerk Audrey Culver, who has worked in the city clerk’s office for 30 years.

A nasty little spat in early 1996 prompted Dana Point to take the unusual step for openness.

Amid a City Council recall campaign, then-Councilwoman Toni Gallagher and a handful of residents descended upon City Hall after hours and copied 1,500 pages of old documents headed for the dust bin.

Gallagher said she had found “irregularities” in the files, but didn’t explain. The city manager at the time chastened her for sniffing around without a city staff person being in attendance, as city rules requires.

In response, the council changed its policy to permit a 60-day public review period before aged records are given the boot.

Experts said they hear very few complaints about public officials trying to cover up misdeeds by destroying public records. Terry Francke, general counsel of the California First Amendment Coalition, said he recalls only two such incidents related to officials cleaning out their files before leaving office.

Enter Pridham, the protector of the public’s right to know.

Her domain is a small, undecorated room where documents go to die.

There are tract maps rolled up like Dead Sea scrolls, metal file drawers and shelves crammed with paperwork--about 25 boxes worth headed toward Never Never Land.

Before they meet their fate, Pridham makes sure all records are on a precise schedule that lays out how long they’re kept and whether a given document is kept on file or destroyed.

Among the most sacrosanct documents are City Council minutes, ordinances and resolutions and final tract maps.

Nothing is destroyed before the city clerk, the appropriate department head, the city attorney and ultimately the council give approval.

This appeals to Pridham’s sense of order. And she knows the horrors of government files gone berserk, especially in older cities where records have stacked up unpruned for decades. “Things come out of the warehouses moldy and with rat bites,” she said.

In the three years since the Dana Point’s review went into effect, “only one person came in trying to find something,” she said. And that was right after the council tiff over records.

Not every official relishes being in charge of a blizzard of papers heading inexorably toward their final destination.

“I feel I’m performing a service,” Pridham said. “It’s something somebody has to do, and I enjoy it. I wanted to be an archivist, really, but this is the next best thing.”

City Clerk Kathie Mendoza, Pridham’s boss, said: “I told her she can never retire.”