The Bell Curve:

I wrote the column that follows before I learned of John Klein’s resignation as Newport Beach’s police chief. It still seems appropriate.

The anger and confusion that brought about Klein’s resignation were not his fault. They were the fault of the people responsible for his appointment who either knowingly violated a city ordinance or didn’t know it existed.

Either way, I’m waiting for them to stand up and say so and take some of the heat off the chief. Since that hasn’t happened as I write this, the following is what I wrote Tuesday evening.

I’ve followed the hassle going on in and around the Newport Beach Police Department in an unusual state of mind for me — without bias.

In everything I’ve read, the only rational resolution has always seemed quite clear. The rules governing the selection of a chief are spelled out, they were not followed by the people in charge, therefore everything they did was illegal.

So we must go back to square one and start over, this time following the rules.

That means choosing the top candidates in an open recruitment process, which can include the present chief if he so desires, making an appointment from among this group and then getting on with the department’s work, which includes getting on with the business of fair, equitable and professional promotions.

To do less makes no sense in a department where almost three-fourths of the working staff of both unions involved are urging change and morale is understandably low, which isn’t comforting to those of us who want the police focused on their jobs rather than their working conditions.

That’s what I was going to write, but until the chief resigned, I decided it would be overkill considering all the space already given over to this dispute.

So I turned instead to a more arcane thesis: how we common folk spent the first weekend in June in this year of economic unease.

And as a social service, I’ll offer up myself as a typical example.

The weekend started for me the evening of June 4 with our regular once-a-month neighborhood dinner, this time at Costa Mesa’s Beach Pit BBQ.

The women came an hour early for what I think is called a baby shower, celebrating the imminent arrival of Kelly in the Ron and Beth Darling family.

They’ll be flying off to China in a few weeks to claim Kelly and introduce her to a culture light years from the rural China into which she was born.

The evening didn’t segue into the usual neighborhood dinner mix because the women were still high on a collective shower and the men isolated themselves in wine and self protection. Presumably, the next neighborhood dinner will be free of diversions from the regular menu.

On Friday evening came South Coast Repertory‘s “Collected Stories,” in which two quite remarkable women held the stage alone for a two-hour exploration of age and mentoring and creative ethics, topics of special interest to me these days. The first act dealt with the painful duty of a teacher — held in awe by a student writer — to offer tough criticism to a student whose work shows real promise.

The second act, several years later, describes the disintegration of a mentoring relationship and the internal debate between writers about using in their own work, without permission, highly personal and identifiable information about friends and family — offered in assumed confidence.

And, finally, “Collected Stories” dealt with the mixed feelings of pride and envy in the success of a mentored student at a time when the mentor — old and ailing — is meeting rejection. Powerful work from playwright Donald Margulies and actors Kandis Chappell and Melanie Lora.

On Saturday, I accompanied a friend who lives in Costa Mesa to a picnic sponsored by the East Side Costa Mesa Neighbors Group. Here neighbors were getting acquainted in an effort to back up the officers of this new organization with determined numbers.

The motivating force here seemed to be that the Westside is getting all the attention, and it is high time that the Eastsiders make themselves heard loud and clear, starting with an organization to carry its banner. I shook hands and listened and wished them well and ate a very good ham-and-cheese sandwich.

Finally, on Sunday came the jazz event I’ve been pushing for several years, apparently with little impact because there were lots of empty seats at Saint Michael & All Angels Episcopal Church in Corona del Mar at 5 p.m. Your loss.

The Rev. Norm Freeman was there with his combo of old pros, Ted Saunders on piano, Putter Smith on bass, Kendall Kay on drums and the leader on magical vibes. Their combined musical résumés would include virtually every major jazz musician of the last century.

My high point was their rousing rendition of Duke Ellington’s “Don’t get around much any more,” made special when we learned that Putter Smith knew and played for Ellington many years ago.

And as the closing echoes of the jazz benediction filled the church, so ended a weekend mix of culture and family life, of neighborliness and music, typical of what can be found in our own back yards every weekend in this fortunate place in which we live.

JOSEPH N. BELL lives in Newport Beach. His column runs Thursdays.