Jim Kenyon

Jim Kenyon: Co-op Election Failure

Only five days remain for the Hanover Co-op’s 21,000 or so members to cast their ballots in the monthlong governing board election. Is there still time to call in U.N. election observers? This election has smelled fishy from the start. And I’m not talking about $30-a-pound Chilean sea bass in the Co-op’s seafood department. The seven candidates vying for four seats have not done or said anything unseemly that I can tell. But the election process itself has a hanging-chad feel. It started with a

Jim Kenyon: Home Sweet Hostel

Stephen Gibbons was actually looking forward to three weeks of intensive physical therapy at Dartmouth-Hitchcock’s spine center in Lebanon. Anything to avoid more surgery. Anything that might alleviate the chronic pain in his back and right leg, the nagging residue of injuries suffered at sea during his 20-year U.S. Coast Guard career. There was just one problem. Gibbons, 44, lives in southern Maine, a three-hour drive from the Upper Valley. Insurance would cover his eight hours a day, five days a week of treatment at

Jim Kenyon: A Broker’s Payback

In May 2009, Rob Fenyk, a stockbroker who ran a small branch office in Woodstock for investment banking giant Raymond James Financial Services, was abruptly fired. Over a couple of emails. But before delving into that part of the story, here’s some background: Fenyk moved to Barnard with his domestic partner in 2004, two years after going to work for Raymond James, a publicly traded company with roughly $480 billion in client assets, in New York. Fenyk, who had worked in the financial industry since

Jim Kenyon: Hiring a Police Prosecutor Is Just the First Step

I think it’s safe to presume that trust in law enforcement, nationally, isn’t extremely high at the moment. After the cellphone video of the police shooting in North Charleston, S.C., surfaced last week, how could it be? But from a thousand miles away, in the idyllic Upper Valley, it’s easy to believe the abuse of police power is not something we need to worry about. Still, when a community is given the chance to build safeguards that could protect the public from potential police wrongdoing,

Jim Kenyon: Hospital Monitors

Like most empires, Dartmouth-Hitchcock goes to great lengths to protect its territory. That means enlisting a small army of communications/marketing/media relations specialists to make sure employees don’t say anything that could prove potentially damaging or embarrassing to what Dartmouth-Hitchcock unabashedly refers to as its “brand.” With 9,000 employees to keep tabs on, Dartmouth-Hitchcock’s flacks, as they’re known in the journalism world, are busier than your average high school hall monitor, but they seem to relish the task. A couple of recent examples: My colleague Rick

Jim Kenyon: Uniform Improvements at Chittenden Regional Correctional Facility

Forget about orange being the new black. Three years ago, Vermont’s sole prison for women was in such sorry shape that inmates weren’t even issued uniforms, orange or otherwise. Inmates at the Chittenden Regional Correctional Facility in South Burlington had to supply their own clothing, which could be problematic if they didn’t have family or friends on the outside to outfit them. Or if they were trying to get by on the $1.50 a day they got paid for working on the inside. As it

Jim Kenyon: Election Time at the Co-op

It’s been a while since I attended a Hanover Co-op board meeting. So I took it as a sign of progress when I didn’t see the Co-op’s labor lawyer sitting in the front row or hear mention of its public relations consultant (whose newest client, by the way, is Jeb Bush) at last Wednesday’s meeting. But, unfortunately, some things haven’t changed. Members of the Co-op’s governing board and upper management team are as defensive — you might even say hostile — as I remembered. They

Jim Kenyon: The Question Is Begging

Lebanon cops could be doing all of us a favor with their ban the panhandlers campaign. Just think: When a guy with matted hair and dirty fingernails carrying a “I’m Homeless” sign asks for a buck at a stoplight on Route 12A, we’ll no longer have to feel guilty about looking away and pretending to check our smartphones. As soon as the light turns green, we can stomp on the gas pedal and not have to fret that spurning the needy invites bad karma. Lebanon

Jim Kenyon: Outside Opportunity

Laird Stanard was 17 years old in December 1999 when on holiday break from boarding school, he killed his mother with a single blast from a 20-gauge shotgun at the family’s home in West Windsor. He took aim at his father as well, but missed. Stanard, now 32, was released from the Northern State Correctional Facility in Newport, Vt., last month. He spent a little more than 15 years behind bars. Some people might argue that’s not a long time for someone who pleaded no

Jim Kenyon: Who You Gonna Call ... If You Know Your House Will Be Searched?

This is the story of a Lebanon resident, who after arriving home from playing tennis on a hot summer afternoon, felt he might be suffering a heart attack: His pulse was irregular, he was sweating profusely and he was dizzy. He called 911, requesting the city send an ambulance to his house. It did, but along with medical help, the city sent a cop. Are you starting to get an idea where this is headed? Let me start at the beginning, using court records provided