Tiny Town, USA – Admit it. You know who you ARE. YOU are the person who parked a red car in Space No. 15 on Lake Street and just don't lie to us any more about it.
It was Sunday. We know what you you were trying to do. It was the last day of the festival and there was music in the park. Stewart Park in fact. Yet, despite the signs, despite the warnings, you put all of us in grave jeopardy. You parked in Space No. 15, dood!
The shame. The shame.
We can understand the store clerk who refused to sell any more beer on Saturday. He was sick and tired of selling beer. The cops came by, said "hey, it's festival weekend, you gotta do your part."
And the man got back to his business at Chucks Mobil. He sold beer, scratcher cards -- and even gasoline! Like we were running out of the stuff. That's good police work. That's good citizenship.
That's Tiny Town Teamwork by heaven.
But what do we say then about the bonfire on Giles Street that did not exist. Someone called it in. Yet when police arrived they reported nary a firefly. Nor were there any campers under the bridge as reported.
Nor, in fact, were the traffic lights that were said to be malfunctioning downtown, out of order in any way~! We understand they can behave erratically betimes and these calls must be taken seriously.
For the longest time and even, dare we say, In Our Own Tiny Time, streetlights will, willy-nilly, disilluminate the moment you walk under one. This is no urban legend. This is a fact. Even if Roger Segelken to this hour refuses to believe it.
More Tiny Blue News: Two bicycles lost their jousts with moving vehicles over the weekend. This was a sideshow and not part of any main event planned by the city.
Things almost invariably go poorly for bicycles in such frays. We hope all injured parties are recovering and did not miss much of the wacky fun this town had. Imagine! You could get a cheese steak sandwich right on the street. Why, it was almost like being in, say ... Utica ... for a whole day -- without having to drive there or drink its beer.
A called complained on Friday of noise coming from a trumpet. Criminy! When will all the madness end? The police responded. They brought a digital tuner and set it to A-440 and requested the performer to play as close to that pitch as possible. Some back story here: This hornsmith shows up here once in a while to give Johnny Russo a run for his money. But Johnny never answers the call. It is beneath. This other player is in his middle years and scruffy. Looks very much the street busker. There is but one thing missing from his routine: He lacks all musical skill!
But the muses were with him on Friday and he nailed that A-440. No tickets were issued and, like it or not, he was allowed to continue performing J.S. Bach's Tomato and Fugue from When the Saints Come Marching In ...
Oh sure there was some rough stuff. Kids screaming at each other. Fights. Knives are popular again and some were allegedly wielded over the weekend. Someone tried to kick a door in, there was a domestic dispute. A drunk man fell down, managed to get up and fell down again. Once more he rallied and left the area or so it must have been for when the police arrived, he not there.
It rained. A darned good thing because it was the festival theme and umbrellas were the haute coutrereo.
Sheriff Peter Meskill threw candy at children and was not charged. The big black maria of a SWAT van rolled down Cayuga Street in the parade and everyone was scared.
By and large or large and bi, people were cooperative with authorities. A subject who refused to leave some premises or another, left when the police asked him to leave. A wallet was turned in. Sure, all cash and credit cards were gone, but the thing itself made it back to its owner.
Police checked on the welfare of a stoner laying in the grass on Prospect and Aurora. All was cool. All was light; all was full of wonder.
– C. Penbroke Handy
Police Log
