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Previous Neighborhood Stories
Nick was an engineer for the city full time. Part time he was something of a philosopher. One of his philosophies was that everybody had it in him (or her, for that matter) to have one real tornado of an Idea, capital-I. Nick said a lot of people never had their Idea because they were too busy pretending to have ideas, or trying to have somebody else's ideas, or staying away from any ideas at all. Nick said, “When your Idea comes for you your ticket is written, but you'd better be Ready 'cause you're not gonna get any rain check.” Nick meant to be Ready.
Nick's Idea finally came to him one day when he was down under the streets inspecting water mains.
He realized, naturally, there was a chance the Idea had come for one of the other guys with him. After all, they knew as much as he did about how all kinds of pipe went all over the city. But then maybe the Idea came for him because he was Ready and the other guys were busy wondering whether the nets on their hardhats would really keep off the three-inch roaches down there.
The Idea that hit Nick at about Mason and Water just before lunch one Friday morning was that you could have a central beer works just like the water works and run mains from it through the same tunnels as the water mains and run laterals from the mains into the houses. You could have the same kind of pump stations to keep the beer at about 40 psi, and with the supply pipes running
through basements it would always be cellar temperature so when people turned on the taps they wouldn't have their kitchen sinks filling up with foam. You could have meters just like water meters in the basements—one per unit in apartment houses. City workers could read the meters every month and then people would get their beer bills just like their water bills. In about three minutes everything fell into place in Nick's mind, and that's how the Central Municipal Beer Authority was born.
Nick was up pretty late that night working things out on paper but by nine the next morning he was dialing Booger's number. Booger was an old pal from grade school right through MSOE. His real name was Irwin. Lately he had decided that his junior high school nickname was beneath the dignity of a middle-aged man, so when his wife, Aggie, answered the phone Nick just asked for Boogie. Aggie snickered the way she always did, but she said, “Yeah, he's right here.”
“Booger, we're still blood brothers, aren't we?” Nick said.
“We are?” said Booger.
“You gotta remember,” said Nick. “We each cut a finger, and….”
“Oh, yeah,” said Booger. “I remember. I got the stitches at St Joe's.”
“And I said I was sorry about eighty-seven times,” Nick said.
“Okay, apology accepted,” Booger said. “What's up?”
“I need an ear,” Nick said, “but not over the phone. Can you meet me at Half-a-Mime about seven-thirty tonight?”
“Why not the Fall Inn,” said Booger. “The Mime is dead since they dropped the foosball and put in that apricot beer. Sheesh, that stuff is perverted.”
“I want a dead place,” Nick said. “I don't want to be overheard.”
“Oh, God,” said Booger, “you must've had your Idea.”
“Could be,” said Nick.
That evening Nick spread out his drawings in a back booth and went over the Idea in general terms. Booger stared at his beer glass and cogitated. Nick sweated a little. After about three minutes Booger said, ”I should have never ordered this stuff.” He went over to the bar and came back with a clean glass and a bottle of High Life. “Is that all?” said Nick.
“No,” said Booger. He ducked getting back into the booth. “This place could use just a few more ferns,” he said.
“Sheesh,” said Nick, “what about my Idea? “
“Yeah,” said Booger, “mind if I ask a few questions? I mean, you want to kick it around a little, right?”
“Ask away,” said Nick. Booger took a big swallow of his beer.
“Okay, number one,” he said, “have you considered how much this Idea would appeal to teenagers?”
Nick was ready for that one. He unrolled another drawing. “See this?” he said. “It's my own invention.”
“It looks just like a water tap,” said Booger. “Except for the—oh, I get it. The lock.”
“Right,” said Nick. “Comes with the standard home system once that's all worked out. Solves the problem of minors, baby-sitters, long-staying relatives, and mooching in-laws. Now, look at this.” He had another drawing out in a flash.
“That a lock for the main?” said Booger.
“Right,” said Nick. “Manual lock. For teetotalers and people going on vacation. Now, see this smaller box? That's for the B-chip. The city's computer could cut off non-payers.” Booger nodded.
“Of course,” Nick said, “even so there'd probably have to be an ordinance against beer taps on campus.”
“Good thinking,” said Booger. “Let the kids roll kegs like we did.” Then he said, “What if a beer main breaks?”
“Deal with it the same as a water emergency,” Nick said.
“No, not just like,” Booger said. “Already you got those low-domed pigeons crossing streets on foot. Can you imagine 'em staggering across? To say nothing of the squirrels.”
“Not a problem,” said Nick. “If the pigeons were that slowed down, you could hire some people to take 'em out with baseball bats.” Nick emptied his glass. “Some of these guys who've been laid off lately would have a mean swing,” he said.
“You should watch out for that apricot beer,” Booger said. “It gets to your head sometimes.”
“It would mean a lot of new jobs,” Nick said. He ticked them off on his fingers. “Laying pipe, laying laterals. Digging up front lawns for the laterals. Re-sodding. Building the beer works, for chrissake. Signing people up.”
“Lots of that,” said Booger.
“Right,” said Nick. He made a "same again" wave at the bartender and then waited while his glass arrived. “Also billing,” he said. “And answering phone calls about people cut off and low pressure on Packer weekends. And brewing day and night. Dark, amber, and low-calorie.” Booger winced at that last one. He rolled his beer bottle between his hands.
“What about the brewing lobby?” he said.” I can see the demonstrators coming down the Avenue right now.”
“Make 'em bid for building the works,” Nick said.
“It might overwork the sewage treatment plants sometimes,” Booger said.
“The city would make so much money they could pay for that and still cut property taxes.”
“Right,” Booger said. “A tax cut in this town. I really would watch that apricot beer.”
Nick emptied his glass again and then wiped his forehead with the mauve paper napkin. “Hell,” he said, “what I just drank is proof we need public dialogue on the beer issue.”
“So, when are you calling your alderman?” said Booger.
“First thing Monday morning,” Nick said. “But don't you say anything to anybody, not even Aggie.”
“Don't worry,” Booger said. “I never even told her how I got the scar on my left hand.”
Well, Nick tried Monday morning, but the alderman's secretary wouldn't put him through.
“You'll have to tell me first what this is in regard to,” she said.
Nick wasn't about to go into detail. Be just my luck, he thought, if my Idea got talked all over and somebody stole it. It would look great for this town, too, if Chicago or Minneapolis did the whole thing first. Or St. Louis.
“A plan for the total rebirth of this city,” he said.
“Oh, another one,” said the secretary. “Well, give me your name and number.”
Nick waited a week and when the alderman called back all he would say was, “Hmmm,” over and over while Nick talked. Then he said he would be in touch.
Nick waited a week and then started calling again. He figured after a few days that the alderman's secretary must wonder who she was working for, because in all that time, according to her, the alderman was in a committee meeting or visiting breweries or locked up with his telephone or in the mayor’s office or in court for a solid eight or ten hours a day, and the didn’t count the time the City Council was in session.
Nick reminded her that he had a plan to put this town on the map and she just said, “This town is on the map. You from New York or something?”
On the last call Nick made the secretary said she was sick and tired of telling people she didn't know anything more about it than Nick would know himself if he'd only read the newspaper, and then she hung up fast and hard. So Nick read the paper. And then he called Booger.
“And what did he say about your idea?” Booger asked.
“He likes it,” Nick said. “A lot. He's campaigning on it.”
Booger was quiet for a minute. “Not mentioning your name, I guess,” he said.
“You guessed right,” said Nick.
“Maybe this wasn't your Idea,” said Booger.
“I hope not,” said Nick. “So, I'm trying to figure what I could do with Fish-Fry-on-a-Stick. You see, the problem is the cole slaw. And the tartar sauce. I'm thinking maybe I could mix in a little lemon Jell-O, and….”
“You let me know when you've got that down,” said Booger.