I Don't Understand

I Don’t Understand

Our newly elected mayor (I did not vote for him or would ever do so) has proposed that the old town music hall be torn down and replaced by condos (the growth and greed industry of the 2020s). I don’t understand why he would want to do this. The music hall has for a long time been a place where a number of generations have enjoyed the music that has been played there. For me, I got to play the drums there several times when I was in a teenage band known as the Exciting Eccentrics. It is where I met my future wife Ellen. In between sets she came up to me and socked me in the shoulder and said “Great beat buddy”, to which I replied, “You’ve got a mean beat yourself, young lady.”

When the gig was over we walked out together and went to a nearby bar, the Toby Jug. The rest, as they say, is history. We got married two years later, and we go to as many of the concerts at the music hall as we can, particularly those that feature old-fashioned rock and roll. We have taken the kids, so they will know what good music sounds like. They get a laugh out of my bringing my drum sticks to the shows and drumming on my knees to the music.

I decided to talk to the mayor about this nasty plan of his. Not to brag too much (just a little bit), I am a successful lawyer and I have had a long series of contracts with the town government. The people in that building know who I am. But the mayor refused to meet with me – not a big surprise on this matter. I had written a letter to the editor of our local newspaper about this matter, and it ended up on the front page.

Going to the Bar

Ellen and I went to celebrate our anniversary at the Toby Jug (where else?).We drank and talked about how we met, and about the significance in our life of our place to hear good music. There was a sadness in that, as it looked like the town music town hall would soon be destroyed. We spoke of it ever more loudly as we drank our beer. Heads were turned in our direction, but we did not care.

Then someone walked over to our table. At first I thought that it might be someone complaining about the noise that we were making. But it wasn’t. It was Greg, a friend who worked for the town government,. He would often complain about his boss, the mayor. He sat down between us so we both could hear what he had to say.

At first he told me how much he had liked my letter to the editor. Then he said, “I have something to tell you that I hope you will put into another such letter. The mayor has a great financial interest in the condos. His brother owns a condo construction business, and the two of them stand to earn a great pile of money with the building of the condos. It has nothing to do with ‘improving the downtown area’ as he so loudly claims. It is just for personal profit”

“Now I understand.”

When he was finished talking, I stood up and bought him a beer. Then we paid our bill and left. I had some writing to do, and I needed to do it as soon as possible. Tomorrow was the last day to submit a story to be published in the next edition of the newspaper.

I didn’t sleep until my piece was written. My training and work as a lawyer enabled me to say what I needed to say without worrying about lawsuits.

Effects of the Letter

The editor of the paper said that she “loved the piece”. I figured she would, as she was a part-time musician, whose band played occasionally at the music hall – good rock and roll. The results of the article were immediate. On the following Saturday, a crowd of people, easily over one hundred, young and old, protested outside the building where the mayor’s office was. He had often declared that he worked every Saturday. There were loud chants of “music over money, music over money.” And “culture over cash”, “culture over cash.”

The mayor must have called the police, as they arrived rather quickly. I know that as we were there, my wife and I. I brought a drum and a pair of my heaviest drumsticks. I started the chants to the beat of the drum, guiding the crowd to be on time, which they soon were.

A police officer friend, Fred, was there. We knew each other well. We had been to high school together, both of us trouble makers, and were in the same band for a while. He had played the bass guitar in my band. More recently I had defended him in a trial in which the mayor’s eldest son had sued him for unnecessary violence. The young man had been driving well over the speed limit in his expensive car, honking his horn repeatedly at those cars that he passed on the highway. Fred pulled him over, and had taken him out of the car after he had been sworn at by the driver. We won the case.

He was currently in the police band that had played twice in the music hall. I had gone to hear them both times.

When Fred saw me, he smiled and said, “I suspected that the drummer was you. You still don’t miss a beat. By the way, I really liked your most recent letter in the newspaper.”

Then I hear a man’s voice broadcast through a loudspeaker. It was the mayor. He asked a question that surprised me. “Do you want to keep the town music hall?” There was no surprise when the crowd (including me) replied suddenly and loudly with different ways of saying ‘yes’, some rude, some polite.

Then the mayor declared, much to me surprise, “Well, then, I will change my policy, and not tear the town music hall down”. There were seconds of silence followed by cheers.”

I expressed my surprise to my wife. “I don’t understand it. I cannot imagine that he would change his mind when money was at stake. She looked at me and replied with, “My dear, you have forgotten. There is an election next month, and more than anything else, he wants to be re-elected.”

I understood.