The two-and-a-half-day water shut-off caused by toxins released by Lake Erie algae blooms left our community with a need to work together but the impulse to point a few fingers.

Many of those accusatory fingers are aimed in the direction of Ed Moore, director of Toledo’s Department of Public Utilities (DPU). But while a closer examination of Moore’s role should result in a retraction of most of those prodding index fingers, Toledoans invested in accountable government should reserve an extended middle finger for his boss, Toledo Mayor D. Michael Collins.

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Moore has worked for the City of Toledo for about 22 years; his survival across changing administrations demonstrates an inclination to place the public over politics. Under Mayor Mike Bell, Moore served as the director of public service; when Collins took office, Moore became the commissioner of engineering services. When Robin Whitney left the city’s employ to work for ProMedica, Moore agreed to what he undoubtedly knew was the thankless job of DPU director.

Public Utilities is a difficult division. It encompasses all services related to water — sewer, treatment, distribution, repairs, billing and engineering services.  Many believe, and probably rightfully so, that this division should be split, as its operation is time-consuming and leaves little room for error.

Despite the challenges, Moore has accomplished something previous directors have not been able to do: He began to build a relationship with the Ohio Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). Before you point a finger, be clear that the recent media attention on the Ohio EPA’s possible takeover of the Collins Park Water Treatment Plant was not based on communications making such threats to the city; it was based on internal memos by staff that had issues with Toledo. The upper levels of administration at the Ohio EPA were reportedly working with Moore and insiders maintain  progress was — and is — being made.

Moore has said he believes there is overstaffing in some areas of DPU and has cut positions. He has also worked on combining Call City Hall call takers with Public Service customer service reps, which is efficient and the first step toward a 311 call center system. Moore has not been afraid to stand up to the unions or to hold firm under a barrage of unwelcome attention from Toledo City Council members who have personal issues with him because he will terminate people who don’t do their jobs — even, it is rumored, relatives of Council members.

During the water crisis, several insiders say Moore did not lose his cool under pressure, as some notable elected leaders did.

None of this is to suggest Moore is perfect. There are clearly ongoing issues at the DPU and specifically with the water treatment plant. Moore is captain of that ship, and any algae bloom icebergs it hits are his responsibility. How the next few months unfold will determine whether Moore’s good intentions will repair and stabilize a crucial situation, or whether he will need to be replaced by someone who can calm the waters — literally and figuratively.

So for now, retract the fingers of blame pointed at Moore and use that energy to return the one-finger salute Collins is showing you through his calculated diminishment of transparency at the water treatment plant and the favoritism he is showing The Blade.

Every television station and many other media outlets — including Toledo Free Press — are banging on the door to get cameras and reporters inside the water treatment plant. But through false starts and broken appointments, the Collins administration has locked everyone out — except The Blade, which has been the sole media outlet granted access to the plant since the water crisis.

This isn’t a Toledo Free Press issue or even just a media issue; it’s an alarming lack of true transparency for the nearly 500,000 people who depend on the city’s drinking water (“rate payers,” as Collins so coldly labeled you during the initial hours of the crisis).

For Collins to deny Toledo Free Press and every Toledo television station access to the water treatment plant while bending over backward to accommodate his pals on Superior Street is a blatant extended middle finger to the area’s “rate payers” — you. Do you trust a politician under fire who makes such an exclusive arrangement concerning such a public issue? Do you trust one media’s reporting, uncorroborated by any other source?

Remember this pre-election story?: After a particularly grueling afternoon of cleaning horse stables, young Mick Collins, the future mayor of Toledo, was greeted by his father, Michael. The older man, an Irish immigrant who braved the Atlantic Ocean to bring his family to America, praised the boy’s work and handed him a pop. Father and son sat down, the elder Irishman nursing a beer. Following a brief silence, the man turned to his son and offered him some blunt advice.

“Life is like a card game,” Michael told his son. “And you have one consistent card to play your whole life — the F*** You Card. Your successes in life are defined by when you don’t play that card.”

Mayor Finkbeiner — sorry, I mean Collins — is playing that card now, dropping it on all but his favorite media and, most importantly, you.

Demand transparency. Demand access.

Moore is not off the hook, but he stands in the shadow of a mayor’s extended middle finger, a bird that blocks access, transparency, accountability and fairness.

Algae blooms aren’t the only toxins infecting Toledo, and there’s not enough water in the Great Lakes to wash this bad taste out of rate payers’ mouths.

Michael S. Miller is editor in chief of Toledo Free Press. Contact him at [email protected].

The City of Toledo is having a year to remember — a year that started with its worst winter in history and included the on-duty deaths of two of its firefighters, a pothole epidemic, a media-created blight issue and now a full-fledged water crisis that left over 400,000 residents without safe drinking water.

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This has been one hell of a year.

As the news broke of Toledo issuing a “Do not drink” advisory early Saturday morning on Facebook, local stores’ shelves were being emptied by people buying as many cases of water as they could.

The area’s bottled water supply was gone before I even woke up at 8:30 a.m. I did not panic; I thought it was somehow being overhyped. An hour later, after hearing reports of fist-fighting over cases of water and elevating hysteria, I decided to see firsthand what was happening on the very streets where I was raised.

There was an energy in every place I walked into; the atmosphere was comparable to the moment stores open on Black Friday. There was a feeling of desperation. Stores such as Kroger, Walmart and Target were already completely empty — no agua to be found. I watched people hurrying in and out of the businesses on a mission; the walk back to the car empty-handed was becoming a full-on sprint.

Outdated rumors were flying about which places had water, which did not and which were expecting a shipment. The most credible information I heard came from a videographer from 13abc, who said The Andersons was expecting a shipment within the hour, so I ventured there.

There is some science that says the act of yawning is contagious; I think seeing someone jog into a store might equally be.

As I parked the car, I saw person after person leaving The Andersons store pushing a cart loaded with four cases of water. I think the very sight made people start to jog from their cars inside.

I entered the south entrance of the store and found my way to the unloading dock where hard workers in blue shirts were busy placing cases of water in customers’ shopping carts. As I followed the line of those waiting to be next, I was amazed to see it extended past the food department — the entire span of the store.

There were in excess of 150 customers with shopping carts waiting for their opportunity to simply buy a case of water. One could not help but do the math and notice that what was in the loading dock would fall way short of the people waiting in line. Supply versus demand was not in the consumers’ favor at that hour. I knew we were moments away from an announcement informing customers the water was gone.

I thought I was seconds away from chaos, an unruly mob, angry, desperate customers, all quenching a need to buy water for their survival; I have never been so wrong in my life.

As the announcement was made informing those waiting in line, I watched in anticipation of people hearing the bad news. I felt like the Grinch on Christmas morning, watching a town, expecting the worst. And just like the green villain before me, I was surprised by what took place. There was no outrage, no outcry, no complaints, no acts of desperation. The Toledoans who heard the bad news were smiling, understanding, joking and planning where to go next. Dr. Seuss himself would have been proud of their reaction.

This is when I was reminded of the character of the place I choose to call home and the people who reside here.

As more news spread about the water shortage and people’s hunt to find some, there was a new trend that was emerging — kindness. People from unaffected areas were driving to the parts that were affected, some with a trunk full of water, others just wanting to help. Northwest Ohioans started organizing volunteer groups and mobilizing; we started to remind others to check on their neighbors, the elderly, pregnant women and families with small children. We started handing bottles of water to strangers who were thirsty.

Toledo’s heart knew what to do before its elected officials did.

As stories of water being donated multiplied, we also started hearing reports and whispers of price-gouging. Social media started to shame those looking to exploit this crisis for personal financial gains. Toledo was now fighting and throwing punches.

But for every report of gouging, there were 20 stories of random kindness. Eventually the good deeds stomped out the evil ones, as they always seem to do here.

It seems something is trying to kill the Glass City; there is a force trying to finish us off. Toledoans are being tested in ways we never dreamed of before, to see how tough we actually are.

How this city has acted and reacted to each challenge it’s been thrown is beyond inspiring. Not only are we surviving, but our compassion and love for each other and this town is shining its very brightest.

God just sent the Incredible Hulk to smash our water supply and we are hugging this green beast to death with love.

The City of Toledo is said to be many things. Some say we are “ugly,” others claim we are “miserable,” some even go as far to state we are “dead,” but I strongly disagree. Toledo is the very definition of the word “community”; we put each other’s needs first. We are loving, charitable and possess a strong sense of faith; we are very much alive, healthy and well. Our brightest moments come from our darkest times.

The easiest way to describe this place is in two words: Toledo Tough. We do get knocked down occasionally, but every time we stand up together.

Toledo Tough is something that is in our DNA, an attribute we inherited from generations before.

To quote Khalil Gibran, “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”

Find me a Toledoan without a scar and I’ll show you a person not from Toledo. The world watched this city for 48 hours and I have never been so proud as to say I am Toledo Tough.

Thank you, Toledo.

Jeremy Baumhower can be reached at [email protected] or on Twitter @jeremytheproduc.