ON THE AVENUES: It happened at Bicentennial Park.

ON THE AVENUES: It happened at Bicentennial Park.

A weekly web column by Roger A. Baylor.

Councilman CeeSaw adjusted his finest beige diamonds ‘n’ pearls necktie and stepped across the conservative portal of his venerable pastry business, right out onto the looming sidewalk, where the poor people without cars always want to walk. The muggy summer air reminded him that if not for the intrinsically enduring fashion flair of traditional business wear, we’d all be trapped by the oppressive tyranny of the leisure suit.

The perfumed shopkeeper regarded himself as a Democrat, in the same way that a vegetarian is a carnivore, which is to say, not much at all.

“I love the smell of one-way traffic in the morning,” CeeSaw gleamed to the first available human passing by, but Shirtless Marvin only grinned shyly and offered his hand.

“How about some Coke for papa,” Marvin asked.

CeeSaw drew away in horror, red-faced and bristling. “How dare you solicit me for drugs!”

“In a bottle, if you have some.”

“That’s absurd. It is I – Tiberius Severus Octavian Elagabalus Septimius Augustus Claudius Hadrian CeeSaw, the Protector of Pearl, Deliverer of all Downtown Datedness, Master of the Mercantile, and Guardian of the Gates. I have embarked on a valiant campaign against the invading uppity hordes of liberal Democrats, hipsters, Barack Hussein Obama and Complete Street Commies.”

Shirtless Marvin shrugged dully, gazing past CeeSaw’s trembling hands to the inviting metal tables outside La Rosita’s, and as the old man made for his usual perch, CeeSaw stared approvingly at his own stern visage, reflected by the pristine plate glass window of his shop.

“Someone has to keep a check on those people, or else they’ll start riding bicycles.”

---

“I think you’ll agree with me that a Bicentennial celebration offers New Albany a fine opportunity to tell the world about our city, and how in spite of all those newfangled theories coming from the book readers, we can remain forever rooted to the discredited ways of our long irrelevant past.”

There was polite applause from the half-dozen AARP members in attendance, and as CeeSaw passed the plate, one of them raised his hand.

“I’m sick and tired of my Medicare being used to finance Bicentennial parks. It happens every time we have one of those gol-durned things. Can’t we just have a parade?

Pondering, CeeSaw answered, “The problem with parades is they always want to run them past my business for three hours each year. Three hours! Six hours, and I’d have to take a pay cut. I assure you we can keep costs down on our once-in-a-lifetime Bicentennial Park, which I’ll be able to see from my front door, but that’s not why I’m for it, and so I’m prepared to donate each and every one of our unsold Crutchfields for use as paving stones.”

“What’s a Crutchfield? Is it recycled?”

---

CeeSaw caressed the cool metal of the deadbolt, finding it difficult to relinquish his grip. Locks, he thought; not only are they erotic, but they keep people out, and that’s what it’s all about. Didn’t Lawrence Welk play a polka about locks? He should have. Those were the days, when girls were girls and men were men.

Mister, we could use a man like Jack Kemp again.

Suddenly, CeeSaw heard faint rustling behind a nearby privacy fence. He wheeled and stared, but saw nothing except a battered dumpster. There was another sound. He walked cautiously toward it, and lifted the scarred lid.

(SCREAMS)

“But … but … what on earth are you two doing in the dumpster?”

“Shhh,” whispered KanyeZ. “Redevelopment might hear us.”

CeeSaw covered his nose with a diamonds ‘n’ pearls hankie.

“And, and … you … Councilwoman Armageddi! How dare you cohabit this dumpster with a Republican who has the gall to actually call himself a Republican. You and I – we’re supposed to be the original council power couple! I am soooo hurt.”

“Sshhh, CeeSaw,” replied Armageddi, “KanyeZ is right! We’re hiding from Redevelopment.”

“But you’re ON Redevelopment, aren’t you?”

“Of course we’re ON redevelopment; we’re just not WITHIN redevelopment, at least not today. This isn’t about politics, you know. It’s about accountability to the taxpayer.”

KanyeZ interrupted. “Really? I thought it was because we didn’t want to hear any more about that Sterling housing development for those old people who’re too lazy to have money.”

The Master of the Mercantile trembled.

“What? Sterling? You mean those foreigners have come back again, with all that new age claptrap about using our abandoned buildings to help people? Not on my watch, let me tell you.”

He pulled a dark, heavy book from his briefcase, and a cloud passed overheard, darkening the faces of the dumpster divers as CeeSaw intoned.

“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of charity and goodwill shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee. ”

The book was “IRS Tax Code for Dummies,” and as CeeSaw waved it, Shirtless Marvin belched.