He's not bombastic, and he lacks the media charms of your typical grandstanding politician, portraying himself as just a novice driven by the cold conviction that Davie government is rife with incompetence, waste, and corruption.
Caletka won election last March after a campaign that promised to engineer the ouster of Town Attorney Monroe Kiar, whose name had come to be associated with a corruption scandal. Last week, it was Caletka's motion that delivered the coup de grâce.
For this March's election, he hopes to check another name off his hit list: Town Council member Susan Starkey. "I decided she really would not be a good leader for the town," Caletka says matter-of-factly.
It's a brash statement, considering that Caletka is just 29 years old and that he's speaking of an official who was elected five years before he was. But this is Caletka's style: quiet, methodical, and relentlessly confrontational. He recently launched a political action committee, blandly called "For a Better Davie" but touting the bold mission of "opposing incumbents," a move that didn't exactly endear him to his more tenured colleagues on the council. That's a lot of chutzpah for an official who's yet to reach his one-year anniversary.
With its horse corrals and the Lincoln-log, ranch-style façades lining the main thoroughfares, Davie with a population of almost 90,000 keeps up Old West pretensions. But the arrival of a real Westerner Caletka comes from Texas has been a major shock to the town's political status quo.
Starkey, a beaming, immaculately coifed blond who came to the mid-December council meeting in a red Christmas sweater with white frills and dancing reindeer, makes an unlikely adversary. When asked how she became Caletka's enemy, Starkey says, "I truly don't know why other than it being political. He wants to be in control, I guess."
Starkey remembers a pre-Caletka council that acted "like we're one big Davie family." Council members didn't always agree, but they were tactful about expressing disagreements. "It's kind of unheard of to act this way," Starkey says of Caletka, adding, "This man will leave no bridge unburned."
Certainly, there's a ruthless quality to Caletka's pragmatism. It seems he had his political idealism shattered at an early age 18, when, as a high school senior, he ran for City Council in Plano, Texas, a suburb of Dallas. Caletka, who learned his party affiliation (Republican) by asking his father, then tried to campaign with nothing but his own $500. He was throttled.
Caletka would soon find himself swayed by the Democratic Party platform, especially after leaving Texas for graduate school in Rochester, New York. But though he switched his affiliation, Caletka says he had no ambition to run for office until he'd settled in Davie.
The catalyst was crime. It started in 2004 with the first of two home burglaries. Then thieves broke into Caletka's car to steal his airbags twice. After Caletka bought alarms for his car and home, someone put a bullet through his home's back window. "Crime was out of hand," he says. "I was angry at the District 1 council member for allowing that state of affairs."
That council member was Lisa Hubert. Caletka attended a Town Council meeting, to size up Hubert and the rest of Davie's leadership. "I just wasn't really impressed," he says.
Having resolved to challenge Hubert, Caletka this time bought a book, The Newcomer's Guide to Winning a Local Election, which gave him ideas for fundraising. His campaign set an aggressive tone: The first knocks were on the doors of Hubert's neighbors. As he campaigned through the rest of the district, Caletka says, residents complained about Hubert's paying disproportionate attention to her low-income, mobile-home-dwelling constituents. (Hubert pleads guilty to that charge. "Lower-income people, they needed the help more," she says.)
Caletka says that Hubert "has a big heart" but that he doesn't think she pushed hard enough for more police patrols, a point that Caletka has made a recurring feature in his council meeting remarks.
At the same time, December 2005, a tempest was swirling over the indictment of Town Administrator Chris Kovanes on charges he stole $460,000 from the town's coffers. Hubert was the only official who voted against placing Kovanes on paid administrative leave, pending the town's own investigation. "In this country, you're innocent until proven guilty," Hubert says of her reasoning.
The town attorney, Monroe Kiar, a former mayor of the town, got pulled into the scandal too, for failing to disclose his having done private legal work for Kovanes. Under questioning, Kiar claimed to have little memory of what kind of work he did for Kovanes and how much he was paid. Kiar did not return calls from New Times for comment.