For the developers, contractors, lawyers, bankers, real estate agents and everybody else who's been hoping to see Cary regain its title as the Numero Uno Tar Heel Boom Town, it matters little that last week's election failed to settle the issue of who will be mayor for the next four years.

What matters to them is that -- whew! -- the mayor won't be Glen Lang. When Lang erupted onto the Cary political scene in 1997, he brought a whole new dimension to the word "brash."

He was a multimillionaire well before hitting 40, thanks to the buyout of a software firm he had founded. He was voluble, smart and impossible to intimidate. He was convinced that Cary was letting itself be exploited by developers, to the detriment of residents who had to endure and foot the bills for ever-increasing traffic and crowded schools. And he was willing to spend as much of his own money as it took to wage an effective campaign for a seat on the Town Council.

Cary, of course, had gone through an explosive, 25-year growth spurt on the strength of its prime location between Raleigh and the Research Triangle Park and its more-the-merrier philosophy. Successive councils had taken care to set high appearance and design standards for new development projects, which contributed to the town's prosperous, squared-away ambience and made it a magnet for Triangle newcomers.

But by the late 1990s, with Cary's population closing in on 100,000, there were signs that the place was buckling under the strain. Lang argued that not only was the town failing to make the investments needed to keep up with all that growth, but that coziness between sitting council members and development types made it unlikely a proper balance would be struck.

Oh, what a shocker it was when Lang won his at-large council race. His foes never quite seemed to realize what had hit them. He was the total antithesis of a Chamber of Commerce schmoozer -- a combative populist who used high-tech communication skills and went right over the heads of the country club set to capture the fancy of regular Caryites. His big push: reining in development while facilities such as roads, schools, and water systems were given a chance to catch up.

Two years later Lang set out to capture the mayor's office. The developers and their allies were mortified. But even though they plowed a small fortune into an opponent's campaign, Lang's message by then was getting such traction that he couldn't be stopped.

So there was Cary, the railroad-junction village gone to suburban seed, a place where blandness was said by jealous outsiders to be a way of life, handing leadership to the gutsiest, most revolutionary politician anywhere on the Triangle radar scope. Maybe the town's appearance czars had a little trouble thinking outside the box. Its voters surely didn't.

With the support of council colleagues whom he helped sweep into office, Lang grabbed old policies and shook them vigorously by the ears. Developers found themselves paying a premium for building in Cary, in the form of highest-in-the-region impact fees meant to relieve taxpayers of some of the costs of growth.

Under Lang's stewardship Cary's growth curve flattened out. This was just what many of the people who had voted for him hoped would happen. Yet at the same time, the economic downturn that began in mid-2000 was beginning to bite. The business community's heartburn soon became intense.

This year's election shaped up as a golden opportunity for Lang's rivals and antagonists to turn the tables. And they made the most of it. At-large council member Julie Aberg Robison drew attention with the pitch that impact fees maybe didn't need to be quite so high. And Ernest McAlister, retired from banking at 46, was backed heavily by the Chamber of Commerce crowd (he's a former Chamber president).

It was McAlister who rolled up an impressive victory margin at the polls, although not enough to foreclose a runoff with Robison. Lang -- vowing to spend no more than a ten-spot on his campaign -- brought up the rear.

You could see it coming. Glen Lang never would have become mayor if he hadn't projected such utter self-confidence that he was the smartest bear in the woods. That kind of attitude, justified or not, can rub people the wrong way.

And it can signal the pride that goes before a fall, as when the council zinged him for business dealings with a developer who had a local project in the works.

Lang from the outset viewed himself as a change agent, not someone who would become a piece of Town Hall furniture, and that's exactly what he proved to be.

He's been an inspiration for other political boat-rockers and a fountain of innovative ideas about how local governments can best serve their constituents. Now, at the ripe age of 46, he's heading back into the private sector.

Glen, we know you're not shy. Make sure to let us hear from you.

Get $150+ in coupons in every Sunday N&O. Click here for convenient home delivery.