Still, new Councilman Luke Garrott is carving out a spot as odd man out, taking a chair in the corner normally reserved for Councilman Soren Simonsen.

His was the lone "nay" in the final vote to grant the LDS Church a sky bridge over Main Street last week. And he didn't help his social prospects this week by questioning other council members' map for an airport TRAX route through his district. Garrott apparently hasn't been around long enough to be worn down and molded into shape by his colleagues.

Not so Councilman J.T. Martin, who was more than ready to rubber-stamp the old council's preferred route and reneged on a campaign promise to oppose the City Creek Center's midair glass enclosure. "It's one of those things that you have to admit you didn't understand the issue," he explained afterward.

With little explanation, Simonsen brushed off months of his own criticism of the thing.

But Garrott stayed true.

Now he's in trouble.

A newbie in a group of politicians who seems more concerned about unity than individuality, interoffice politics instead of democracy, Garrott probably should get used to being lonely.

The peer pressure will be subtle - friendly phone calls and private meetings at first, followed by the cold shoulder. If Garrott doesn't go along to get along, he won't get along.

Council Chairwoman Jill Remington Love says that's not how things work on the council. "The sky bridge was an evolution, a painful process of questioning and compromising. And we got a better product as a result. When there is a significant, life-changing issue in our city, it's good to have consensus. I hope that nobody felt pressured."

Simonsen has not publicly explained his apparent change of heart on the sky bridge. But after he was the only council member who voted against amending the downtown master plan to allow the bridge, he acknowledged his fellow council members were pressing him.

"I've had a couple members of the council approach me suggesting that I'm way out of line, and that I'm 'certainly not making any friends'," Simonsen wrote in an e-mail.

Former councilwoman Joanne Milner was similarly ostracized by peers fed up with her questioning and votes with a 4-3 minority. When Milner criticized the council director, her colleagues responded by chastising her with a resolution honoring the staffer. Milner, also a former legislator, says many Utah politicians discount the importance of debate.

"In order to make good public policy and for a balance of ideas, it's essential you have that discussion and, sometimes, disagreement," Milner says. "There need to be different views and ideas expressed so that every perspective is heard."

Despite isolating Milner and others, that 1990s council was raucous and rowdy: They investigated a former mayor, sold a block of Main Street and passed, and then repealed, the first anti-discrimination ordinance in the state to mention sexual orientation. Recent councils have been a pale shadow in comparison, in part, because they quietly discourage dissent.

Former council Chairman Dave Buhler insists there is no organized campaign to limit debate or enforce conformity among council members. He says this quieter, more harmonious council is the result of a changing cast of characters. But, he acknowledges, "There's comfort in numbers. If it's controversial, it's nice to have more than four votes."

There's something a little icky, a lot like "groupthink," about a nearly unanimous city council.

Personally, I don't mind if my councilman [Simonsen] isn't making friends. If he needs company, now he has Garrott.

walsh@sltrib.com