A bid to make the Cherokee police chief’s position an elected one isn’t dead, but Tribal Council has voted to complete a study examining the pros and cons of such a move before making a choice. Following a lengthy discussion at their July meeting and a two-and-a-half-hour work session later that month, the council voted to embark on a feasibility study examining the possible effects of the idea and needs in the police department.
Joe Martin had never worked for a newspaper or owned a handgun when he took the reins of the tribally owned Cherokee One Feather in 1995.
But when the first changed, so did the second. Then a 26-year-old whose only job experience since graduation from college was as a cage cashier at the casino, Martin found himself fast-tracked to a steep, steep learning curve.
With elections a week away and threat of a lawsuit still hanging, the Cherokee Tribal Council is considering a proposed budget that includes a pay raise of nearly 5 percent for its members.
If Patrick Lambert wins his bid for principal chief of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, he expects to be looking a monstrous political version of a honey-do list when Election Day is over.
Mary Crowe isn’t a councilmember, but when a Tribal Council session starts up in Cherokee, hers is one face you might expect to see — whether in the audience, at the podium or back in the TV room watching the proceedings from a distance.
The future is looking bright for plans to build a sidewalk along U.S. 441 where Jackson County meets Cherokee, with funding recently approved from state contingency funds.
Nearly 30 people have put their names in the hat for election to Cherokee’s 12-member Tribal Council this fall, and depending who you ask, a lot is at stake.
Whether from a seat in the auditorium or at home on the couch, more than 1,000 Cherokee people blocked out Thursday night (Aug. 6) to see the people vying for their vote as the tribe’s principal chief talk about everything from alcohol laws to government transparency to free press.
What in most courts would have been a simple case of violating a domestic violence protective order was a landmark moment for the Cherokee Tribal Court.
It’s been more than 10 years since Alen Baker decided, while recuperating from surgery, to pass the time by writing about what his Trout Unlimited chapter had been up to that year. Those 15 pages turned into a book, which turned into something even bigger — the idea that somebody should take it upon themselves to memorialize the Southern Appalachians’ fly fishing legacy in a museum somewhere.
SEE ALSO: A look inside the museum