Best Government Customer Service 2009 | Maricopa County Superior Court records room | People & Places | Phoenix
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Like just about everywhere else, the staff at the records room in the basement of the Jackson Street parking structure has shrunk in the past year or so. That has meant longer lines and shorter tempers at times. But we would be remiss if we didn't tip our caps to the clerks who quietly labor behind the counter there five days a week. They are attentive, efficient, helpful, and smile easily. The latter isn't necessarily part of the job description, but it sure does make life easier and more pleasant for all concerned. But, hey, county people, they've got more than enough on their hands at the moment. Please, please don't make any more cuts down there!

Ana Garcia, a sophomore at a Phoenix-area high school, surely didn't mean to set off a public firestorm when she sent a quick e-mail to State Senator Linda Gray. Garcia was simply asking the Legislature not to cut funds for education. But Gray — who clearly didn't realize she was dealing with a 15-year-old with learning challenges — dashed off a snooty response upbraiding Garcia for her bad writing skills. "You should be ashamed of displaying such ignorance in writing to a public servant," the Republican legislator wrote. "Perhaps you watch too much TV or don't know how to speak proper English." Or could it be that perhaps not every student is blessed with the ability to score 140 on an IQ test? Suffice it to say the exchange got out and things got crazy. The lefty Web site DailyKos went ballistic; Gray was forced to apologize to Garcia; plans were made for the senator to visit the student at school and take a look at the programs she was attempting to cut. And thanks to Linda Gray, we all learned a bit more about thinking twice before hitting "reply."

If we had something to sell, or a position to defend, or an ass to cover, you can bet we'd call Jason Rose. We always feel dizzy when we hang up the phone with the PR exec, but, hey, at least he takes our calls. That's more than we can say for a lot of the cowards in this town. Political public relations can make for some scuzzy bedfellows, and Rose has cuddled with the worst of them, but we are always fascinated by his success. So is he, clearly — the guy drives a Maserati and recently bought a multimillion-dollar fixer-upper in Paradise Valley. He makes us feel a little dirty at times, but we'll admit it: Jason, if we get in trouble, you're our first phone call.

It's been an awful year for the East Valley Tribune. The once-venerable newspaper laid off half of its staff and trimmed its publication from daily to four days a week — only to eventually shed even more staffers and cut back to three days. With many of the best staffers gone and the Web site an awful red mess, we can safely say the Trib has become entirely irrelevant. And yet this year, the paper scored a coup that demonstrates how one short year ago, it wasn't just going head to head with the Arizona Republic, it was killing it. The Trib's Pulitzer Prize for Local Coverage was well deserved — and it's certainly not the fault of (now departed) ace reporters Paul Giblin and Ryan Gabrielson that the thing seems more like a sad epitaph than a mark of ongoing quality.

NPR has always been the classiest act on our airwaves. And lately, with more and more radio stations cutting their news staff, it's now also, hands down, the most informative. The morning drive-time show doesn't give us just local headlines at the top of the hour; there's also a good chance we'll get a locally produced feature or two. Later in the day, we have great appreciation for Steve Goldstein's long-form interviews with local politicos. Nobody else devotes so much time and seriousness to its local coverage. For that, we salute KJZZ.

Jim Cross sounds believable and accurate, and with good reason: He is. KTAR's lead news reporter has been telling us important stories from around the state day after day, pounding that rigorous 3 to 11 a.m. shift with the same enthusiasm now as when he was hired in 1999. Cross especially excels during crunch time, when events are fluid and outcomes unsure. His coverage of the Rodeo-Chediski fire in 2002 and the Southern California firestorm in 2007 was as good as it gets — graphic, yet never maudlin. His description of the first commercial airplane lifting off at Sky Harbor days after 9/11 was riveting and heartfelt. And we also recall his fair coverage of the stunning 2007 arrests of this paper's two principal owners by Joe Arpaio's goons. Good reporter that he is, he drove over to the paper, waited until someone gave him a decent quote, and then put it on the air, all within minutes. What more can you ask?

It's downright impossible to find competition for Mike Watkiss in this wrecking ball of a media market. Watkiss, a mighty mite with a big voice and a bigger heart, is definitely old school. (For the record, we consider that a compliment.) The guy literally pounds the pavement looking for lowdown stories about murder, mayhem, and the otherwise seamy side of life. And he's charming — if you're not the subject of one of his stories. He still wears his O.J. Simpson press pass around his neck as a badge of honor. Sadly, street reporters like Watkiss are a dying breed, so enjoy him while you can. We love the SOB.

Since taking the host's seat at Channel 8's Horizon show a few years ago, Simons has done wonders to spice up a public-affairs show that, frankly, had become as exciting as watching toast brown or water boil. The guy truly is erudite, able to discuss the nuances of Dylan's Blonde on Blonde in one breath and evolving Arizona water policies, local politics, and Supreme Court appointments in the next. (That said, we're still gonna scream the next time we hear windbag Howie Fischer use the phrase "In terms of . . ." when he chimes in during Simons' roundtable discussion most Friday nights.) Simons is one smooth operator, able to mix it up in his own genteel way with characters as diverse as Sheriff Joe Arpaio, ASU President Michael Crow, cartoonist Steve Benson, and ex-Governor Janet Napolitano. What we really want to know is how Mr. Simons keeps his hair from ever moving — even a little — onscreen.

Shane Matsumoto hates it when people trash the local music scene. "I'm tired of people calling our scene the red-headed stepchild of L.A.," he says. "We're the fifth-largest city in the U.S., and there's lots of good musicians here. People who criticize Phoenix just don't know where to look for it." The 33-year-old co-owner of the Highland Recorders Studio certainly knows where to look, as he's dedicated himself to ferreting out the best our burg has to offer for his TV show, Indie Music Phoenix. Since debuting last November, the weekly 30-minute program has broadcast interviews with dozens of Valley outfits across multiple genres, ranging from shoegaze indie to punk and hip-hop — not to mention concert footage from recent gigs. IMP also one-ups MTV and VH1 by actually showing music videos on a regular basis (shocking, we know). And if the public can't make it home from the bar in time to tune in, Matsumoto will sometimes bring the show to them by hosting occasional live-music nights at venues like Tempe's Yucca Tap Room, featuring many of the same bands seen on the program. He also posts episodes online. From meatspace to cyberspace, Matsumoto has Phoenix music covered.

Okay, first, let's get past the jokes: Yes, ASU's radio station, The Blaze 1330 AM, has an — ahem — limited range. In fact, your signal may start to break up on the south side of campus, which is why most listeners are online. But what the Blaze lacks in speaker-rattling power, it makes up for by being more in tune with local music than any other tower in town. Yes, this traditional (read: dazed students playing OK Computer front to back) college radio station goes crazy for all those blogger buzz bands, but it's been the only spot on the dial (or, more realistically, the only feed in your iTunes) that'll give you a steady diet of bands like Kinch, Miniature Tigers, and Dear and the Headlights. For that, we love them — at least until we go west of Mill.

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