Nothing mad about Hatter's rate-hike gambit

Column

Few genuinely eerie episodes pass without some sage remarking "there are no coincidences." All those variations on 3:16, the part of the Gospel of John that's a favorite of Christians, emerging from Denver's dramatic playoff win Sunday, earned on the left arm of Tim Tebow — another favorite of Christians — stands out.

Coincidences? True believers think not.

But there are coincidences — or not-coincidences — and there is deft planning. The latter describes the recent activities of Larry DeLucenay, the snowy headed, bearlike boss of Mad Hatter Utilities who — as his company announced it would seek a whopping rate increase with the Public Service Commission — was far from home.

About that name, Mad Hatter. DeLucenay chose it, he says, "because you have to be insane to get into this business." Who's pouring the wacky tea now? Let us count the ways.

DeLucenay's trip — to Idaho, to visit an ailing, 88-year-old aunt who's also his longtime hunting partner — was fixed a week ago. In his absence, his staff issued a well-prepared news release about the utility's future. The declaration also nips the heels of negotiations, apparently logjammed, to sell Mad Hatter to a government agency. And, finally, it's an election year.

This last is particularly delicious, as though Mad Hatter's Land O' Lakes customers, about 3,000 households in five communities, weren't sufficiently riled. Now they're facing increases of 233 percent for water and 42 percent for wastewater that would push monthly outlays from about the lowest in Pasco County into the top one-third, trailing only Aqua's west-county clients. The average 6,000-gallon household would see its bill soar to $104, from $51.

"It sounds to me like that could be a negotiating tactic," says Michele Baker, assistant county administrator. "But if the sale doesn't go through, they'll need a backup plan. … They need to be prepared to continue operating the system."

Mad Hatter's Plan B commanded the attention of Pasco County Commissioner Pat Mulieri, whose district includes Hatter subdivisions Linda Lakes, Foxwood, Carpenters Run, Twin Lakes and Turtle Lakes. "Wow," she said. "I don't think anyone should get a 200 percent increase."

Mulieri lacks the press of a campaign weighing on her response to the Mad Hatter gambit. Her term — her fifth — is up in 2014. But the terms of three others — Ted Schrader, Jack Mariano and Ann Hildebrand (who isn't seeking reelection) expire this year. They have to know central Pasco voters will be predisposed to candidates vowing to muzzle a monthly $50 bite out of their wallets.

Political roiling, when you get to it, is precisely what DeLucenay wants. Possibly drawing to fill an inside straight, DeLucenay is going all in because — this is no secret — after more than 33 years as Mad Hatter's all-hours, hands-on emergency management team, he and his wife, Janice, want out.

"It should be noted historically Mad Hatter has operated with a minimal staff and equipment," writes Elfers project engineer Larry Housel, adding, exquisitely: "A substantial, productive effort is expended by the owners who, as with the utility systems, are aging ."

At 63, says Larry DeLucenay, "We just can't continue the way we did when we were younger."

They've been hoping to sell for more than two years, "fussing" — Hildebrand's word — with the Florida Governmental Utility Authority over facilitating a county takeover similar to the rescue of Seven Springs and Trinity from Aloha late in 2008.

"We thought," says Robert Brannan, Mad Hatter's Tallahassee-based attorney, "we'd have closed (the sale) by the end of 2011." Hildebrand describes DeLucenay as "frustrated."

The problem is Mad Hatter hasn't been a problem. Unlike Aloha and current troublemaker Aqua, Mad Hatter lacks urgency. Nobody comes to public hearings sloshing mayonnaise jars full of gray water they squeezed from taps fed by Mad Hatter, triple-dog daring officials to sip the same foul brew customers apply — at withering cost — to cooking, bathing or laundering.

DeLucenay, Hildebrand says, "runs a good system." And he runs it cheap. So it's all good. Or was, anyway. In a through-the-looking-glass twist, Mad Hatter suddenly is the squeaky wheel, and there is nothing curiouser and curiouser about it.

OrOr! county commissioners could lean on their FGUA partners to get the deal done. Either way, Janice and Larry DeLucenay get to turn back some of the craziness in their lives. Coincidence? Ha! There are no coincidences.