THE JOY OF BEING MAYOR

Poking into Politics
Copyright 1966 The Institute of Applied Art Ltd.
192 pages

I thanked the lady for calling but explained to her disappointment that I was already up and ready for breakfast and, next time, she should call me earlier.

To every call, the Mayor was expected to listen dutifully, the way a servant would listen to his master. Most calls started about the same way: ''I'm John Doe. I'm a taxpayer and I voted for you but I'm not sure I'd do it again. I've got a complaint...."

The majority of citizens were understanding and patient but every city has a few chronic telephone callers who must share their grievances and their wisdom about how the city should be administered with the Mayor-and nobody else. And, as though the telephone under ordinary circumstances was not bad enough, pressure groups sometimes found it effective to call in organized relays, thereby holding the Mayor continuously on the telephone.

A few of the telephone callers, expecting the Mayor to listen dutifully, refused to disclose their names and felt mistreated when the man at City Hall indicated reluctance to listen until the calling party had identified himself. Some callers assumed fictitious names. A certain feminine voice became familiar but the name given was always different. One day her hostile question was: "What you going to do about keeping taxes down?" A few days later, the same voice carrying a different name, asked: "What you going to do for residents who have water seeping into basements." And after another few days, the question would be:

"What are you doing to control the mosquitoes in this one-horse town?"

Clearly, many of the telephone calls to the Mayor were from bewildered people who did not know where to look for the help they needed. A late evening caller pleaded: "Will you tell the Electric Light Department to fix the lines out here in Bridgeland so I can get rid of the static on my radio."

With no knowledge of either electricity or radio, I offered an opinion: "The Light Department has nothing to do with your radio troubles," then adding, "How about having your radio repaired?" The hesitant reply was: "O.K. Will the city pay for the repair?"

To many calls reaching the Mayor, there was the humorous side. A caller on Good Friday morning asked: "Are you the Mayor?" When I replied that I was the person for whom he was looking, he asked: "Is it right that you carry all the keys for the city?"

"No, that is not literally correct," I said. "Where did you get that idea?"

"A fellow here at the bus station told me to call you and get you to come right down here and help me. I'm having troubles. I gotta get the next bus to Gleichen," he said, convinced he had found relief, "and all my stuff is locked in one of those parcel boxes and my friend David has the key and I can't find him. I gotta get my stuff out fast or I'll miss the bus. Will you come down fast and open that box?"

"Sorry," I said, "but I have nothing to do with the bus depot."

"I thought you were the Mayor."

"I am," I confessed but before I could say more, he interrupted:
"Well, all I want is for you to come and open that damned box so I can get my stuff. But hurry or I'll miss my bus."

As with interviewers, many of those phoning the Mayor wanted jobs. Some, as residents, saw themselves as shareholders for whom jobs should be provided as a matter of right. But some of the techniques were clumsy, as in the case of a certain lady caller.

"Is that the Mayor?" she began. "Well, Mr. MacKay, I should tell you first of all that you're doing fine in running this city. I hope you're not feeling tired and Mrs. MacKay and the children are well. You know I voted for you at the last election and now I need your help. My husband is out of work and I know you would want to find a job for him. Of course, Mayor MacKay, my husband isn't able to do heavy work but if you would get him something sort of soft that pays well, we'd appreciate it."

"Madam," I interjected with difficulty. "I'm not Mayor MacKay. He was here some years ago-at least six years ago. My name is MacEwan."

"Oh, MacEwan. Well, Mayor MacEwan, I made a mistake but you won't mind because even if I didn't vote for you before, I'll be voting for you next time for sure-if my husband gets the right job."

Not all callers wanted answers. Some wanted only the satisfaction of a listener. A man who called late in the evening to offer information he believed the Mayor should have, said: "There's going to be a bloody murder tonight. I'm just notifying you."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"My name doesn't matter. You'll read about it in the morning paper after I get through with that scoundrel who won't stay away from my wife. Now you know what's happening. Good night."

Incidentally, there was no newspaper account of a murder as promised and the caller kept the secret of his identification.

Many people held to the mistaken view that the Mayor had the responsibilities of a policeman and they would rather report an infraction to him than formally to a law officer. They chose to suppose the police got their day-to-day orders directly from the Mayor. Moreover, in case of conflict with a police officer, it was cheaper to confer with the elected representative than with a lawyer.

"I'm mad as Hell," a feminine voice reported. "Your police had better smarten up. I called them and told them to arrest a man who slapped my face and they didn't do it."

"Why did the man slap your face," I asked in the hope of being helpful.

"None of your business," she replied. "But I want him arrested. "

"Where does this man live?" was my next question and the reply was: "In the country."