A Downtown Christmas Carol

A Cedar Rapids captain of industry was walking into work one December morning when he was met by Mayor Ron Corbett and the City Council.

“Good morning fine sir,” the smiling mayor said. “We're wondering how much we can put you down for?”

“Put me down for what?” the executive asked.

“We're in need of some private generosity to fund several public buildings,” said the mayor, wearing a top hat with a sprig of holly tucked into the band. Odd, but festive. “We need about $6 million for the library and as much as $8 million for the Convention Complex. There's animal control and public works and the new central fire station. The feds and the state chipped in mightily. The city is doing its part. But we also need the private sector to contribute to the city's vitality. After all, the business community will benefit greatly from our recovery.”

“Are there no bonds to sell?” the executive spat. “Are there no CAT grants? Is there no local-option sales tax?”

“We're exploring all options,” the mayor said. “But what will you give?”

“Nothing,” the executive said. “Bah humbug. Oh, and see you at Rotary.”

He marched into his office, had his assistant order a gruel panini from The Blue Strawberry and took a nap. During the day, he was visited by three spirits. They showed him what life would be like without his generosity.

Without a new library, children will seek out back alley book dealers. “Hey, kid. I got ‘Ulysses' for ya. With the good parts underlined. Heh, heh.”

He watched Tiny Tim hear the awful news that the Society of Orthopedic Surgeons picked Fargo over Cedar Rapids for its convention. “If only we could accommodate a sit-down dinner for 3,000,” the boy sobbed.

They showed tumbleweeds blowing downtown. Uncontrolled animals loose in the streets. He was unmoved. Then they got his attention.

On the front of the new convention complex was a large stone. On the stone was a name, lit brightly by spotlights.

“Oh, no. They put his name on it?” the executive screamed, upon seeing the name of a corporate rival. “Why, why ... he's in my golf threesome. That egomaniac will be insufferable now. Oh spirits, can this be changed?”

At this, he awoke, ran to the window and threw it open. He yelled down to a boy. “Say, are the plans for the Convention Complex still hanging in the architect's window?”

“The big one, sir? With the giant faces?” the boy asked. “Yes,” the giddy executive said, tossing the boy his American Express Centurion card. “Tell them to build it. Build it big. And don't misspell my name ...”

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