PERSPECTIVE : County Bankruptcy Yields a Language All Its Own

As the county bankruptcy approaches the one-year mark, its sweeping effects can be measured in layoffs, budget cuts and shattered political careers.

But the financial crisis also has produced something more subtle: a colorful lexicon of buzzwords, euphemisms and catch phrases that players in the financial crisis use to promote their plans and perspectives.

“Bondspeak” combines the legalese, financial jargon and pure outrage of the bankruptcy into a language that could have been derived only from the community activists, high-priced lawyers, government bureaucrats and Wall Street types who inhabit the Hall of Administration.

The buzzwords began flying soon after the Dec. 6 bankruptcy filing when a citizens’ watchdog group invoked the term “staff infection” to describe county officials who it said were blocking government reforms.

More recently, the county has referred to sharp increases in landfill and park fees as “cost recovery items” because they are intended to fully pay for the services provided.

Some terms sound alike but have sharply different meanings. The county intends to import garbage to local landfills as part of a “cash for trash” plan, while gadflies want to “trash can” some supervisors by recalling them.

In a crisis as complex and long-running as the bankruptcy, participants said the phraseology is an important element in the debate.

“We try to put things in terms that people understand,” said Patrick Quaney, an anti-tax activist and member of United We Stand America. “So we will call it an ‘overlook committee’ instead of an ‘oversight committee’ or ‘lap dog’ instead of ‘watchdog.’ We want to use terms that catch people’s attention.”

Many of the phrases are unique to Orange County, but their use “is part of American [political] tradition,” said Martin Wattenberg, a UC Irvine political science professor.

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These sound bites have become more pervasive over the past 30 years as politicians and others attempt to reduce their rhetoric into distinctive--and often ironic--phrases. “It allows people to make extreme statements that they can’t always defend,” Wattenberg said.

No one has been stabbed more often by the sharp nib of catch-phrase creators than Robert L. Citron, the former treasurer-tax collector whose risky investment practices caused the county’s portfolio to lose $1.7 billion of its value.

Citron, who pleaded guilty to six felony counts of fraud and mishandling public funds, was branded “Vegas Bob” by activists. Municipal bond experts dubbed some of his most arcane securities as “toxic notes” because they proved so difficult to liquidate.

When the county unveiled its first bankruptcy recovery plan this spring, officials referred to the massive losses as “Citron’s Crater.” Former County Chief Executive Officer William J. Popejoy used a graphic of a crater to illustrate the point at public meetings.

But even the most incisive buzzwords cannot always clarify the perplexing array of proposals, trial balloons and alliances that formed over the last 10 months.

There was “Plan B” (a long-awaited and much-feared recovery strategy that did not require a tax increase), “Option B” (which allowed government agencies to sue for the return of money they placed in the investment pool) and the “Killer Bees” (a band of 12 cities and water districts that selected Option B and criticized Plan B).

Another baffling term: “reverse repurchase agreement,” or “reverse-repro” for short. It refers to a borrowing practice in which a government sells a security to a broker under an agreement to repurchase it. The term plays a key role in the county’s lawsuit against Merrill Lynch, but its meaning continues to elude many people.

One of the most frequently used--and debated--phrases was “good as gold.” The county invoked the term this spring in reference to recovery notes given to agencies that invested in the pool. Officials promised that the notes would be cashable by June 5. But as the deadline approached, it became unclear whether the county could actually honor the pledge.

The uncertainty forced some school districts to seek bridge loans to avoid defaulting on bonds. In the end, however, the recovery notes did become cashable. “As time wore on, I began to think that [the notes] were maybe as good as bronze instead of gold,” said Edward H. Decker, a Newport-Mesa Unified School District trustee.

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Perhaps the most curious catch phrase is “family of governments,” which was used to describe the assortment of local agencies involved in the bankruptcy. But to some observers, “dysfunctional family” might be a better description because the county, cities and special districts have been bickering about bankruptcy plans for months. Last week, the Killer Bee cities actually sued the county.

“You know how families love to fight,” said Linda Pierpoint of the Orange County Employees Assn.

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Sound Bites

The county bankruptcy has produced an eclectic assortment of euphemisms, buzzwords and catch phrases meant to simplify complex financial concepts and express the outrage about the crisis. Here are some samples:

Borrow-and-bet: The practice of some cities and school districts of borrowing money and placing it in the county’s ill-fated investment pool.

Casino note: Arcane securities purchased by former Treasurer-Tax Collector Robert L. Citron that the county found difficult to liquidate.

Committees of Curmudgeons: A nickname some people gave to the Committees of Correspondence, a citizens watchdog group that has played a role in the county’s bankruptcy recovery.

The County Family: Term used to describe the county’s work force.

The Pope: Nickname given to former county Chief Executive Officer William J. Popejoy.

Source: Times clips, interviews