Santa Clarita Votes Itself the City Without a Slogan

Santa Clarita does not have an official motto, but perhaps it should be “The City That Can’t Make Up Its Mind.”

The 4-year-old city near Six Flags Magic Mountain held a contest last month to select a motto and received 212 entries, ranging from the unintentionally amusing to the serious to the snide.

The City Council was to have chosen Tuesday night from such slogans as “The Better Life City,” “The City That Future Generations Will Love,” “Democracy’s Playground” and “Land of the Golden Dweeb.”

But the council voted 4 to 1 in favor of one of five options presented by city staff: “Forget the Whole Thing.”

“The entries just weren’t quirky enough,” Councilwoman Jan Heidt said sarcastically after rejecting all of them. “The only one I really like is “Santa Clarita Delivers,” which she submitted.

“Sounds like a pizza joint,” quipped Councilman Carl Boyer, who cast the lone vote in favor of selecting a motto from the list.

The competition, held to encourage public participation and boost civic pride, attracted national attention and bolstered Santa Clarita’s reputation for innovative approaches to government. The city of about 114,000 residents had earlier earned a reputation for quirkiness partly by painting its buses pink and candy-apple red, and by recruiting hairdressers to advise the council on local issues.

But some council members used well-worn bureaucratic phrases Tuesday to explain their reluctance to choose a motto from the list or print the entries in the newspaper so residents could do so.

“It’s a little premature,” Councilwoman Jo Anne Darcy said.

“Let’s table it,” Councilman George Pederson said.

Boyer did suggest Tuesday that the city recognize the author of the slogan “Land of the Golden Dweeb,” a twist on the phrase “Land of the Golden Dream,” which derives from the discovery of gold locally in 1842, seven years before the 1849 rush in the Sierra Nevada. “Let’s offer them the booby prize,” Boyer said.

“I would be more than happy to accept,” said the author, Cassie Armstrong, 40, a substitute teacher who lives in Canyon Country. “But only if it means the city can laugh at itself.”