Full-Time Problem, Part-Time Solution

How Ossipee found a loophole roomy enough for one man to keep the gavel, the inspection file, and a hand on the money map

In New Hampshire, the law says a full-time town employee cannot also be a selectman. That part is simple. Clean. Almost refreshing, really. Then comes the part where small-town government squints at the wording, slides a finger under the sentence, and starts looking for daylight. Because RSA 669:7 bars full-time town employees from serving as selectmen, but not expressly part-time ones, and New Hampshire Municipal Association materials warn that even if something slips past the statute, it can still be a problem when the roles are subordinate to each other, create inconsistent loyalties, or weaken internal controls.

And in Ossipee, that little gap looks less like a footnote and more like a municipal loading dock.

The town’s own website lists Jonathan Smith as Chairman of the Board of Selectmen. Another official town page lists him as Building Inspector and Zoning Enforcement Officer.

And the town’s published organizational chart has labeled him “PT Zoning Enforcement Officer.” So yes, the public is looking at the same man on the town’s own pages and asking the obvious question: if the law says full-time is out, did the town just solve that little inconvenience with two magic letters — P.T.?

That is why this does not feel like a harmless technicality. It feels like a workaround with office hours.

Because “part-time” on paper is not the same thing as part-time in power. A man does not become half as influential just because the payroll label got trimmed. If the same official is helping run the board, touching enforcement, and sitting near decisions that shape land use, permits, and town process, people are not crazy for noticing. In local politics, sometimes the smallest abbreviation in town hall is also the biggest magic trick.

And this setup did not exactly drift in on a spring breeze carrying maple syrup and trust. In June 2023, after a 45-minute nonpublic session, two selectmen voted to appoint Smith back to the board to fill the seat of former Selectman R. Christopher Templeton after Templeton’s resignation. So when residents say the current arrangement did not arrive in a shining beam of transparent public confidence, they are not just being salty. They are reading the same headlines everybody else did.

Then voters got a chance to close the loophole themselves.

In 2026, Article 29 proposed a local ordinance barring selectmen from also working for the town. The town’s official results show the article failed. Conway Daily Sun reported the secret-ballot tally was 80 yes to 78 no. So the door did not close. It stayed open just wide enough for the same arrangement to keep slipping through in work boots.

And this is where the story stops being a civics-class debate and becomes a money story.

Ossipee’s 2026 town results show Selectmen’s Salary at $32,200, an operating total of $8,392,111, and passage of $20,000 for the Technology ETF and $60,000 for the Revaluation ETF, along with $600,000 for street paving and $80,000 to pave the police station.

Meanwhile, Ossipee’s own 2023 annual report says the town was dealing with an ongoing BTLA case regarding past assessing practices, had made “many improvements” to the process, oversaw a court-ordered revaluation of all real estate, and engaged Avitar Associates on a 5-year contract as its new assessor. That is a lot of money, a lot of paperwork, and a lot of “trust the process” for a town still admitting the process needed fixing.

So yes, taxpayers are going to stare a little harder when the same general ecosystem touching assessments, revaluation, enforcement, and town spending keeps asking for patience, confidence, and another slice of the wallet.

Then comes the county angle, where this stops being “just an Ossipee thing” and starts looking more like a multi-counter service desk for overlapping power.

Carroll County’s official website says the County Delegation is made up of the county’s elected state representatives, and that body can raise county taxes, appropriate funds, approve major building expenditures, issue bonds, and set compensation for top county offices. The county delegation page lists Jonathan Smith as the member for District 5, Ossipee.

And in the March 21, 2025 delegation minutes, Smith is listed as present and making or seconding motions tied to $17 million in TAN borrowing, $100,000 added to the non-capital reserve, the $22,580,116 general fund budget, $5 million of fund balance, and $22,171,616 to be raised through taxation. That is not a ceremonial title. That is another hand on another money valve.

Those same county minutes also show public discussion of an investigative committee and outside counsel while the budget machinery kept moving. Which is exactly the kind of detail that makes regular people stop nodding politely and start giving the whole thing the New England side-eye over coffee.

And that is the part that really sticks.

Because this is no longer just a question of whether one man can point to one word in one statute and say, “See? Full-time is barred, part-time is not.” The bigger question is whether the whole structure now looks built to preserve overlap: board chair, enforcement role, county tax leverage through the state-rep seat, and continued influence over systems already under scrutiny for assessments and revaluation.

That may be legally survivable.

It may even be politically survivable.

But to a whole lot of people paying the bills, it looks less like the system was cleaned up for the public and more like it was tuned up for the operator.

Like an old pickup with mismatched doors, a patched exhaust, and a sticker that says “runs great,” it may still move down the road.

But everybody can hear it.

Around here, they call that local control.

Everybody else might call it a very expensive municipal mullet.