A happy place for lawyers: Parma is looking to surpass once-formidable Cleveland as the most litigious city on the North Coast.
In recent action, Councilwoman Michelle Stys sued Parma Community General Hospital to get access to the facility's books. She's also enlisted a small army of attorneys to fight a proposed senior center at 7300 State Road. Though the latter war is being conducted as if by a private citizen, fellow councilmembers say they'll leave their chairs in protest if Stys doesn't recuse herself from future debate over the center. That has Stys's attorney recommending that -- you guessed it -- she sue the council for violating her civil rights.
At least another lawsuit was narrowly averted when Councilwoman Deborah Lime declined to sue colleague Susan Straub, who admitted to assuming Lime's identity during a road-rage incident. But Straub may enter the wonderful world of litigation on her own. After a recent subcommittee meeting, in which Straub called police to subdue hecklers, she concluded the episode by reciting Parma's official slogan: "I'll be contacting my lawyer."
Pressing government matters: It took an act of Congress, but the Cuyahoga Valley National Recreation Area changed its name last month to Cuyahoga Valley National Park.
This bold action came at the yearning of patrons, who constantly referred to the late CVNRA as a park. With speed only the federal government can provide, the park says it will take a mere 18 months to distill two words down to one and thus complete the "name-change transition."
For relatives of the Cleveland nun murdered in El Salvador in 1980 ["Unforgiven," July 13], last month offered a look into the faces of evil.
The Kazel family was in Florida for the civil trial of two retired Salvadoran generals. The family wants to hold the generals responsible for Sister Dorothy Kazel's murder by national guardsmen. On the trial's first day, one general held a door open for the slain nun's sister-in-law. She turned to thank him, saw who it was, and ran away. "They may come across as gentle, retired old men, but it's obvious what they did," says Jamie Kazel, Sister Dorothy's nephew. "I can see it in their eyes."