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Grudge City

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With a deep, made-for-radio voice, Schipper seems to have found his niche as antagonizer. "I kinda like stirring the pot," he says as he emerges, satisfied, from KFAV's tiny studio. The radio show is not the only post-denouement soapbox around. Ofallonwatchdog.org, a Web site where the content closely parallels Fischer and Schipper's pet issues, went up on October 5, 2006. Fischer and Schipper both deny running the site. "They can think all they want," Schipper says. "I don't take care of that site. I don't send stuff to the mayor."

Schipper doesn't limit himself to heckling. He and Steve Blechle, who hangs the "Don't Tread on Me" Gadsden flag in his office, are the founders of a new Republican club. Schipper says the club has about twenty members who hope to back candidates who won't bend to developers' interests. "Most Republicans in St. Charles County are shills," Schipper says. "You've really got to pay attention to who's running your city and what their ideas are, or who's manipulating them."

Rick Fischer grew so obsessed with uncovering the secrets of the Renaud administration that he left his law practice in Clayton to set up shop in O'Fallon. I lived and died this stuff for quite some period of time, he says. It started getting to the point, if somebody had a problem in Wentzville, they'd call me. It was crazy.

On September 22, 2005, Fischer went before the board of aldermen to discuss what he had unearthed about the Renaud administration since his appointment as special counsel. Fischer, a general-practice lawyer who usually plays to juries, told the board, "My investigation has gone into further areas, and let me say, what I find is absolutely disturbing. This city, under the prior regime, failed to follow ordinances. People were given favors. Money was provided without going through the board of aldermen. I put a list together, and when I got to 35, I stopped."

Though Fischer suggested the board bring Renaud and his former staff back for questioning, it never happened. When prosecutors failed to pick up the thread, Lowery, Morrow and the local press dismissed Fischer as a conspiracy theorist. Fischer resigned in February 2006. "All I ever wanted was simple," he says. "Nobody's ever asked these guys the questions. If you ask the questions, you become the guy they attack."

One question that still gnaws at Fischer is why O'Fallon helped MasterCard International, which opened its Global Technology and Operations headquarters there in 2001, get a tax break in 2003 — two years after the company opened its doors. MasterCard's decision to move about 2,000 employees to O'Fallon was a tightly orchestrated project. State agencies and local government cooperated to provide a state income tax credit worth more than $8 million, plus local property tax abatement up to $6.6 million.

A quasi-public agency called the Missouri Development Finance Board issued $154 million in bonds for the construction and holds title to the property, which it leases back to MasterCard. MasterCard pays off the debt, but under this arrangement it is eligible for the state tax credit. With O'Fallon and the Wentzville School District party to the agreement, MasterCard also gets the property tax break.

Later, MasterCard decided it should have been eligible for a sales tax break on construction materials, worth a reported $3.9 million. O'Fallon, through an entity called the O'Fallon Public Facilities Authority, gave MasterCard the certificate it needed to submit to the Department of Revenue for a rebate.

Fischer questioned the deal in his September 2005 presentation. In response, MasterCard sent representatives to reassure the new city officials that the sales tax break was valid.

Fischer is not convinced. In July 2002, Mike Downing, an official with the Missouri Department of Economic Development, e-mailed O'Fallon's economic development director, Jim Grabenhorst.

"As you probably know," Downing wrote, "MC is wanting to get a sales tax exemption on the bond purchases, and it was not part of the original deal. Have you heard any more about this lately, or any other info on MC?"

O'Fallon indeed heard from MasterCard in March 2003. According to e-mails that city officials exchanged at the time, some administrators and the city's attorney, Mark Piontek, didn't think the deal was on the up and up — at least, not at first. "We all share the same concerns in regard to our authority to issue the exemption certificate," assistant city administrator Todd Galbierz wrote to city administrator Patrick Banger and Mayor Paul Renaud.

Says Fischer: "I don't think I'll ever let it go."

The post-Renaud meltdown resulted in broken friendships. When Schipper, Hudson and Fischer began to doubt the integrity of the new city administrator Bob Lowery, it didn't sit well with their buddy at the banquet center.

Tom Wilkerson, who was a St. Louis County policeman about twenty years ago, says an incident back then proved Lowery to be a "good, good friend." While Wilkerson credits Fischer with saving his business in North St. Louis County, the two haven't spoken since the split with Lowery.

Morrow, meanwhile, says she feels caught in the middle of a "pissing match," though she says she's hesitant to use such language. "When does it ever end?" she says. "I feel like I'm living down in Tennessee, with the Hatfields and McCoys."

Schipper criticizes Morrow for playing "victim," but concedes he has few complaints about her job performance.

In 2004 Blechle and Hudson were looking around for candidates to run for Renaud's seat. They noticed the gutsy blonde who was pushing O'Fallon to pass a law that would keep high-pressure fuel pipelines away from homes. Morrow had seen a pipeline moved to within 35 feet of her home in WingHaven so a builder could squeeze in one more house. She was standing up to developer interests and, Blechle says, she had a flair for drama.

Making her case about the danger of pipelines to the board of aldermen, she nonchalantly started shaking a can of Coke. In her other hand she held a pin, which she drew closer to the can, to symbolize the potential disaster. Two security guards apparently took the threat of an exploding Coke can seriously, Blechle says, chuckling, because they started moving in on Morrow.

After witnessing that performance, Blechle and Hudson asked her to run for mayor. Proudly campaigning as "the pipeline lady," she won the five-way race.

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