Taxpayer Dollars for a Gala? The Power Play Behind Titusville’s Mayor’s Ball

TITUSVILLE, FL - In Titusville, a councilmember must ask permission to spend $45 on a day-long planning class. Yet the mayor can quietly funnel nearly $400 of city resources into glossy invitations for a black-tie gala no one else knew about. That jarring contrast, penny-pinching on one hand, unchecked spending on the other, set the stage for a controversy now known simply as the Mayor’s Ball.

At the September 9, 2025, council meeting, Councilmember Megan Moscoso received routine approval to attend that modest $45 conference. Minutes later, Mayor Andrew Connors admitted he had already tapped city printers, paper, and staff time to produce promotional materials for the Mayor’s Ball. Sponsors had been solicited under the banner of “The Office of the Mayor of Titusville,” with City Hall listed as the return address.

Councilmember Megan Moscoso was blunt: “Is it okay if it’s a good cause to be unethical?” she asked. “What if I wanted to host ‘Megan’s Ball’ and used city branding, staff, and paper? Would that be acceptable? It wouldn’t be.”

The council chamber fell quiet, but Vice Mayor Herman Cole broke the silence with a line that would define the evening: “We all do unethical things.”

The $400 Question

The first cracks appeared on September 9, when Mayor Andrew Connors admitted he had already spent nearly $400 worth of city paper, printing, and staff time to promote the Mayor’s Ball, without council approval. Invitations carried the city’s address, creating the impression that Titusville itself was hosting what was, in reality, a private fundraiser for the Valiant Air Command Museum.

Connors defended the decision, insisting the expense was “nominal” and would be reimbursed by the nonprofit. Most of the work, he said, had been handled by an unpaid intern. But to critics, the problem wasn’t the dollar amount; it was the precedent of public resources being quietly deployed for a private gala.

Councilmember Megan Moscoso pressed the point: “Is it okay if it’s a good cause to be unethical? … What if I started using the logo and city paper, and staff time for my own project? Would that be acceptable? It wouldn’t be.”

Councilmember Jo Lynn Nelson echoed the concern, pointing to the optics: “It looks like it’s sponsored by the city of Titusville. I didn’t know we were putting on a ball until another elected official (not on this board) showed me a text.”

Even those inclined to support the event conceded the ethical line had been crossed. Vice Mayor Herman Cole put it bluntly: “We all do unethical things.” The comment, meant to diffuse tension, instead underscored how routine such boundary-blurring had become inside City Hall.

Florida’s Commission on Ethics has long ruled that use of staff time, city facilities, or materials for non-city purposes constitutes misuse of office under Statute 112.313(6). By those standards, the Mayor’s Ball controversy wasn’t just a political squabble—it was a textbook example of public resources being diverted for private ends.

Normalizing the Unethical

The atmosphere inside Titusville’s council chamber carried an odd mix of pride and defensiveness. Some members framed the Mayor’s Ball as a natural step toward civic prestige. Councilmember Sarah Stoeckel, who has served on the council for eight years and is poised to continue another four, defended the gala by dismissing concerns as little more than “nitpicking.” To longtime observers, her tone was familiar. After years in office, Stoeckel had grown adept at justifying or minimizing questionable practices, treating them as the ordinary cost of doing business in Titusville politics.

She wasn’t alone in that posture. Pointing to the coastal cities to the south, Stoeckel remarked: “Palm Bay does a ball, Cocoa Beach does a ball. It’s great we’re finally getting representation on the north end.” Vice Mayor Herman Cole chimed in, portraying the event as an investment in image rather than an ethical breach.

But residents weren’t convinced. One speaker at the microphone cut through the official framing: “This is not nitpicking. She has to ask permission for $45. He spends $400. That is accountability.” The comment landed like a gavel strike, highlighting the double standard. Others questioned why one nonprofit was singled out for the mayor’s backing when dozens of organizations across Titusville quietly struggle for survival.

In that room, the dynamic was clear: council veterans downplaying and defending, residents calling it what it was. The ball might have been pitched as harmless tradition-building, but to many, it looked like the latest in a long pattern of ethical shortcuts being normalized at City Hall.

Two Weeks Later: $150 Tickets

Two weeks later, on September 23, the controversy returned in sharper form. This time, the question wasn’t about paper or printing; it was about tickets. Should taxpayers cover $150 per person so councilmembers could attend the very gala already promoted with public funds?

The proposal was pitched as a compromise: no city-sponsored table, just individual tickets for any member who wished to attend. Still, the cost was plain, up to $750 in public money if all five took part. To critics, it was the same misuse of resources, just more visible: elected officials voting themselves a night out.

One resident spoke for many when he stepped to the microphone: “I want to know why I, as a taxpayer, am going to pay for you to go to a $150-a-ticket ball that I don’t particularly want to go to. … You want to go to this ball that the mayor is putting on, pay for your ticket yourself. … Let the mayor buy you a ticket, not me, the taxpayer.”

The council voted anyway. The motion passed 4–1, with Megan Moscoso standing alone in dissent. A separate measure to set up a nonprofit foundation for future galas sailed through without opposition. For Mayor Andrew Connors, the vote was validation. He told the chamber his “goal was simply this: to help a local nonprofit and not cost the city any money.” But the words did little to erase the record. The glossy invitations had already been printed, the city’s resources already used, long before the council ever gave its consent.

Supporters stressed that the Mayor’s Ball was raising money for the Valiant Air Command Museum, a nonprofit with deep local ties. But critics pointed to the larger picture: nearly $750 in taxpayer money would now subsidize councilmembers’ attendance at a black-tie fundraiser where SpaceX, defense contractors, and other million-dollar players were expected to fill the room. To residents, the issue was not the museum’s worthiness but the priorities on display. public dollars buying officials a chance to mingle with power brokers while neighborhoods still face crumbling sidewalks, underfunded parks, and families struggling to pay rising utility bills. The cause may have been noble, but the optics were clear: access for the few, financed by the many.

Permission After the Fact

The council’s approval gave the mayor political cover, but not closure. What lingered was the uneasy sense that Connors had already crossed the boundaries of his ceremonial role, leaving both his colleagues and the public scrambling to legitimize decisions made after the fact.

In a council–manager system like Titusville’s, authority is designed to be collective. Yet one officeholder had unilaterally invoked the city’s name and resources for a private fundraiser, shifting the balance of power in subtle but unmistakable ways.

Vice Mayor Herman Cole’s candid aside—“We all do unethical things”—hung over the chamber like a warning. If small breaches could be brushed off as trivial, what larger lines might eventually be crossed under the same logic?

The tuxedos and gowns will soon glitter at the gala, but back inside City Hall, the sheen is harder to apply. The unresolved question remains: was this a gesture of civic leadership, or the first move in a quiet power grab?