Grantville Gazette 35 gg-35

by Paula Goodlett (Ed)

  "Shoot, Joe, you gonna charge for air?" a bemused Rey asked.

  "I would if I could figure out how to do it. We will charge more for front row seats though."

  "How much?"

  "One hundred for the front row, fifty for the second and twenty for the third."

  Rey gagged and sputtered, Doris smiled and Sondra Mae laughed out loud.

  Joseph also smiled. "So then, now we've got the finances out of the way, let's talk about making this thing fun."

  ****

  Renato Onofrio turned up out at the Daoud farm so early he must of gotten up at the crack of dawn.

  "Renato. You're up early."

  "Yeah, well, I wanted to make sure I caught you before you headed to town or something."

  "What's up?"

  Renato took out a check. "For starters, I want three front row seats. Then I wanted to ask if you needed any help, since you're organizing the debate."

  "Sure. How would you like to be the timekeeper? You can do that from the front row and it will put you smack in the middle." Joseph paused, faintly embarrassed. "Listen, we don't have the tickets printed up yet."

  "That's okay. Just write me a receipt and I'll pick the tickets up later, when you've got them."

  ****

  "Hey, Debbie, how's it going?" Joseph Daoud asked as he walked into her office.

  Debbie Mora's face bloomed with a smile. The business and advertising manager of the Grantville Times said, "Great and getting better."

  ****

  Her boss, Lyle Kindred, was annoyed when he found out she had committed the paper to run what should be a series of ads as news. When he found out she had promised front page coverage, he blew a fuse.

  Then she told him she agreed to split the income from selling ad space for prospective questions. He wanted to fire her on the spot. Instead, like the well-married man that he was, he stomped out of the office in high dudgeon. He went home so he could unload on his wife and cool off. He wanted to be calm when he came back and fired her.

  When he got home and unloaded on his wife, to his utter shock, Mary Jo laughed so much she seemed almost ready to roll on the floor.

  When he came back he called Debbie into his office. "My wife agrees with you. She says it is news, and she says we can afford to split the fee for running the proposed question. She says every question which comes in is five dollars we weren't getting before. She says the circulation will go up because people will want to see who asked what. She says-" With each repetition of the words "she says" Lyle got a shade redder in the face. "-it's going to be the best thing to ever happen to the paper.

  "You had better hope she's right. Because if she isn't-well-let me put it this way, your job is riding on this one. If this proves to be something we've got to live down, you won't be here to see it. If we lose money on this, you're out of here one minute after I hear from the accountant."

  ****

  "My boss is eating crow and enjoying every minute of it. I don't mind telling you I'm enjoying it even more than he is. He's already apologized three times." Somehow, Debbie's broad smile got even bigger. "Circulation is up, and I mean way up. Advertising is up, and I don't mean the questions either. People want their ads in our paper because they're getting seen. Ad space on the pages with the questions is at a premium. It's the highest paying space we've ever sold.

  "Joseph, you have got to figure out how to get a rematch. I'm telling you, this is a bonanza for both of us."

  ****

  On the way to the church to handle last-minute setup, Joseph's wife, Nina, said, "Joseph, I just noticed something. Almost everyone who volunteered who isn't a Lion is anti-Jimmy Dick. The rest are pro-Walt the barber.

  "You noticed? Yeah, you're right. Everyone Jimmy Dick ever crossed, which is half of the serious drinkers in town, is coming out of the woodwork to buy a ticket. Seems like anyone Jimmy ever humiliated, which is half the people he crossed, is wanting to volunteer."

  "Why?" Joseph's wife asked.

  "Because they're hoping Jimmy will get knocked down a peg or two and they're wanting to feel like they helped make it happen."

  ****

  There were no empty seats in the open seating section. Reserved seating did not lag far behind. The standing-room-only area overflowed and people were being turned away at the door.

  A modestly dressed young woman-they were in a church after all-walked across the stage holding up a large sign reading "10 Min. to Bell." Five minutes later, a second lass walked on stage. Her sign read "5 min. to bell." The first one followed with a sign reading, "Any empty seats are now open." There were only a few empty seats, so only a few standees were able to sit down.

  Reyburn Berry sought out Joseph Daoud. The man grinned from ear to ear. "Joe, I've got the gate count. At six hundred sold tickets they started turning people away. I have never been so happy to be so wrong in my life. At ten dollars a head, plus the premium tickets, we've already broke ten thousand dollars, not to mention the programs are sold out and early people who went down stairs to the bathrooms have already bought coffee and ice cream. Go ahead. Tell me 'I told you so.' I deserve to hear it."

  "What did you say?" Joseph asked.

  Reyburn repeated the admission, "I said, go ahead and tell me 'I told you so.'"

  Joseph smiled. "Nope. It's been said twice already. I don't need to repeat it a third time. But there is one thing I would like to mention."

  "What's that?" Reyburn asked.

  With a completely straight face, Joseph said, "Well, this is a church, even if they are heretics. So I would like to say, 'Oh ye of little faith, did I not tell thee we would see at least te . . .'"

  Reyburn tried to swallow a laugh and it came out as a snort.

  ****

  Promptly at seven o'clock the bell, borrowed from a gas station, rang a fast series of sharp peals. Benjamin Franklin Leek, having bought the privilege of doing so by paying to print the tickets and the programs, walked on stage before the ringing stopped. A young woman preceded him carrying a sign with his name on it. In the drawn-out voice expected of a ringside announcer, he spoke without a mike, the acoustics in the building being what they were. "Ladies and gentlemen, this verbal duel will be a ten round match, to determine possession of the title, 'Grantville's Greatest Philosopher.'

  "As published in the Grantville Times, who are graciously one of tonight's sponsors- for a complete listing of sponsors I refer you to the back cover of the program-this verbal duel will be decided round-by-round with the winner of the most rounds taking the title. If, perchance, it is an even tie, at the end of ten rounds there will be a sudden-death round to break the tie. Each round will be decided by popular vote. Two paper buckets, well, cones really, will be passed. Red for the challenger Walter 'Walt the Barber' Jenkins, and blue for the reigning champion James Richard 'Jimmy Dick' Shaver. You will cast your ballot for whomever you think the round should go to when the cones are passed. The ballot shall consist of paper money or personal checks only. Change will not be counted-and remember, be generous in your voting because all proceeds will go directly, and completely, to provide eyeglasses to needy children."

  Benjamin stopped and waited. Nothing happened. Finally he said, "People, my script says I am to wait until the applause dies down."

  A scattering of nervous laughter preceded a round of applause. This would have been completely inappropriate in a solemn Methodist church, but not out of place in a rowdy one. It set the tone for the evening by telling people that, for the balance of the night, the rules of conduct were somewhat relaxed.

  When the clapping died down, Benjamin pointed stage left and, again in the ringside voice, said, "In this corner, wearing a three-piece suit from Huss amp; Zitzmann Fine Tailors and Haberdashery, weighing in with years of contemplation and study, Walter 'Walt the Barber' Jenkins." Then he faced the crowd squarely and with a hand signal encouraged them to clap, while at the same time one of the cute young lasses walked on stage with a sign reading "applause."
>
  Followed by his son, Walter walked out on stage wearing something rather like the dressing gown a boxer wore into the ring hanging off his shoulders over a sharp three-piece double-breasted suit. The senior Jenkins lifted his hand over his head in a Rocky-style brag of triumph. Evan caught the robe as it fell off his father's shoulders and then the younger barber exited stage left.

  "And in this corner," Benjamin theatrically pointed stage right, "wearing pretty much what you will see him in any day of the week, weighing in with his famous sarcastic wit, is James Richard 'Jimmy Dick the Dickhead' Shaver." The young girl turned the sign over. It now read "Boo" and "Hiss." Again nervous laughter chirped away and a fair number of people did what the sign told them to do. Jimmy had not been prepped to expect the totally uneven treatment. If it flustered him in the least he didn't show it. Indeed, his reaction was a stifled yawn. This brought yet another set boos along with some giggles from the floor.

  "Gentlemen, yes, I mean you Jimmy . . ." Again, there was a twittering in the crowd. ". . . please remember, even though this is a no-holds-barred, bare-knuckles, last-man-standing event, we are in a church and certain proprieties will be observed. The first offending party will be thrown out." He stared pointedly at Jimmy Dick. The audience laughed. "Then his opponent will be declared the winner. Will the bouncers stand up please?" In the front row were two large, husky men with a reputation of being pugnacious and a history of not particularly liking Jimmy Dick.

  Benjamin addressed the debaters, "Gentlemen, to your corners please."

  At these words, each debater took a seat as they had been instructed. Walt's seat was a comfortable upholstered chair. Jimmy's was a wooden kitchen chair. The snickers from the audience made it clear that the uneven treatment of the contestants did not go unnoticed. A sense of resentment at the lack of fair play arose among the small minority of uncommitted people in the crowd. The supporters of Jimmy Dick were mad as hell and Walt's fans thought it to be funny as all get out, which is what it was supposed to be.

  "It is my great pleasure," Benjamin said in the ringside voice, "to introduce tonight's interlocutor. He will introduce the winners of the questions contest. He will also ask the first question since it was asked much more frequently than anything else. It was also the only completely anonymous question to be asked. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Artie Matewski. Let's give our interlocutor a big hand, shall we?" Enough applause to be polite answered the referee's request, but not a lot extra.

  "Thank you, Benjamin. As our referee for this evening already said, the first question tonight was asked, with some variation, thirty-eight times. Over all, they boiled down to the same thing. And, for obvious reasons, it was always anonymous or pseudonymous or placed in someone else's name. There were several variations on the question, but in the aggregate all thirty-eight of them boiled down to the same thing. To wit; 'Why is Jimmy Dick such a jerk and an idiot and what is a jerk like Jimmy Dick doing with the title anyway?'"

  "Thank you, Mister Interlocutor," the referee, turning to the participants said. "By previous agreement, according to the coin toss, the first response goes to the challenger." There was no prior agreement and there was no coin toss. The statement was completely bogus. "Mister Interlocutor, if you please?"

  "Mister Jenkins, why is Jimmy Dick such a jerk?" Artie Matewiski asked.

  "Mister Jenkins, you have five minutes," Benjamin said.

  Walt rose from his seat, stepped to his podium and said, "Well Artie, those are not my words. I would never dream of calling Mister Shaver a jerk. I will concede he does have the reputation for being one. It comes from his sharp tongue, his acid wit, and his total lack of anything resembling tact." Having finished he set back down. There was a soft rumbling on the floor and a lot of heads nodded in agreement.

  The referee rose from his seat in the middle of the stage and said, "Mister Interlocutor, if you please?"

  Artie smiled a smile which could best be described as a shit-eating grin and said, "Jimmy, why are you such a jerk?"

  James Richard Shaver rose from his chair, and without stepping to the podium said, "It is difficult to have a name of one who soars with the eagles when you dwell in the midst of anonymous turkeys." As he sat back down the sanctuary roared with applause.

  When he could be heard the referee asked, "Mister Jenkins? Do you have a rebuttal? Jimmy, do you have a riposte? Mister Interlocutor, who is our first questioner?"

  "Mister Referee, our first questioner is Mary Jean Slater."

  Mary stepped up to the mike. "My question is something I have heard argued my whole long life. Is the eternal security of the believer conditional or unconditional?"

  Benjamin said "Mister Jenkins? You have five minutes."

  Walt rose to the podium. Seeking to avoid giving an answer, he said, "This is a theological question, not a philosophical one." And he sat down.

  "Mister Shaver, you have five minutes."

  "Philosophy is secular theology, man seeking to understand the meaning of the universe, which is co-extensive with God. So, likewise, theology is religious philosophy; the two cannot be separated. I would appreciate it if my esteemed opponent would answer the question."

  Without waiting for the formal niceties, Walt rose and said, "As a Catholic I am instructed to leave the answering of religious questions to the church. The church teaches, anyone who is not baptized is doomed to hell. Of those who are baptized, sin must be repented and penitence must be completed in this life or in purgatory. So eternal security is conditional upon repentance and penitence. I have nothing else to say on the question."

  Again the crowed rumbled with approval. The Catholics in the audience, the majority of the down-timers and a good slice of the up-timers present, understood and agreed completely.

  The referee cut in before Jimmy could speak, "Mister Shaver, you have two and a half minutes for a rebuttal." While Benjamin spoke, a sign girl hung a large tile on a board behind the three men on stage. The first of eleven spots for cards in a Wheel of Fortune-like display announced to the world the outcome of the first round. Jimmy Dick drew first blood.

  Between the applause and the cat calls, over a full minute passed before Jimmy could begin to speak. Still, the timekeeper let the clock run from when the referee said, "You have two and a half minutes."

  "Mary, the answer must be both at the same time, because both are scriptural so both must be true." Jimmy quoted several passages to support both sides. When he was saddled with the title, he undertook to study the field. This included reading the Bible again, after a long absence, and works on religious thought. "Now, how can this be? It is a mater of perspective. You see it's like a brick thrown off a roof. To those on the roof, it is falling away; to those on the ground it is falling toward. Which is it doing? Is it falling away or-"

  The ringing of the bell cut him off.

  A call came from the floor in the midst of boos and cat calls, "You bastard, it is not fair, you are being," in the fluent, but accented, English of a Welshman.

  Benjamin stood up and held up both hands for silence. "It is my job to referee this duel. I remind you of what I told the duelist about this still being a church. If we can identify who just said what I heard, the ushers will escort the party from the building." He sought eye contact with the head usher. "Did you see who said that?"

  The man shook his head.

  "Well, it came from somewhere over in that area," the referee pointed. "Watch it and if it happens again I want the impious fellow thrown out on his-" Benjamin paused. "-Backside." A response of approval, disapproval and laughter created a rumble in the audience.

  This was the capstone over the relaxed atmosphere which pretty much finished establishing the tone of the evening festivities.

  Benjamin spoke over the noise. "Mister Interlocutor? Who is our next questioner?"

  "Mister Referee, our next questioner is Brian Early."

  Brian, having won the right to ask his question, found his way to Grantville from Magdeburg fo
r the weekend. "Aristotle and Descartes seem to be in agreement on many things. But . . ."

  ****

  The second and third rounds went to Walt.

  At the end of the tenth round a pause ensued while the take-which is to say the votes-were counted. To fill the time Benjamin read a note he had been handed.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, I have been informed that as of this time Walt the Barber is ahead on points by a significant margin. Still, this contest is not decided by popular vote, but rather by the number of rounds. If Walt wins this round the title is his by six rounds to four. If it does not fall to him, then there is a five-to-five tie and we will move onto the sudden-death tiebreaker."

  The lass who hung the placards handed Benjamin a note which he read while she hung the card showing the round going to Jimmy Dick.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, by a three vote lead, this round went to Jimmy the Dickhead Shaver. So now we move on to one last round. Let me remind you, you are voting on the merits of the debate and not solely on your personal prejudices."

  There came a shout from the standing room only section, "Yeah, right! In your dreams, Benny boy! In your dreams!"

  If ever there was a roar of angry laughter it was heard that night at that hour.

  The evening went to Jimmy when he took the eleventh round by four votes.

  ****

  The arguments started long before people got as far as the coffee line in the basement.

  "Who gives a damn about the point spread? Jimmy won fair and square!"

  "Hey, man, all I said was-"

  "I heard you, shithead. Walt won on the point spread. It don't matter a damn at all. Shit, do I have to point it out to you? In the Civil war the South won the point spread. Now you tell me who won the war. The point spread don't matter one bit. Jimmy keeps the title."

  "Yeah, for now. But, what about the rematch."

  "What rematch? It's settled."

  "The one Walt has every right to demand."

  "Yeah, if he's a bad loser! The South shall rise again."

  "You want to go outside and repeat that?"

  Fortunately someone called the police station in the tenth round when they correctly gauged the mood of the crowd. In spite of a police presence that night, the troubles were not over, merely postponed.