It certainly caused a stir. The CC-177 Globemaster III aircraft thundered down the bay towards downtown Babel, a bare three metres over the whitecaps. Narrowly missing the towering condominiums at the west end of the bay, the pilot boosted power to raise the monster aircraft over the southern hills of Babel. The roar over the city was deafening. The mayor had returned.
Instead of simply having the huge Canadian Forces plane land and leave him at Base Borden, the mayor donned a rubberized suit and a parachute. Checking winds and ground information, the pilot started a slower and higher run down the bay. He lowered the back loading ramp to further slow the plane until it was nearing a stall.
The city clerk was hard pressed to quickly assemble enough Babel police in dress uniforms for an honour guard, round up the city’s cadet marching band and collect representatives of the fire department with their rescue boats. The mayor had to be welcomed home in style and, just maybe, saved from drowning.
Regrettably, everything went well. The mayor just about had heart failure when he realized that the pilot had signalled him to walk off the ramp directly above one of the older condominiums at the west end of the bay. In panic, he pulled at the rip cord of his chute. As the chute billowed out and the breeze caught him, he realized the wind was taking him back out over the Centennial fountain. And if he had not lifted his rump at the last second, he would have been seated rather painfully atop the Christmas tree that topped the fountain for the winter months.
“That stupid tree is coming down earlier next year,” the mayor told himself as he splashed down about 30 metres past the fountain. He was quickly picked up by the police marine rescue unit and whisked to the government dock where the wise men and other city officials were in attendance.
Looking quite dapper and dry in his Glengarry plaid suit, the mayor jumped lightly to shore. “I have returned,” he announced quite unnecessarily.
The band struck up a rather discordant version of Hail to the Chief and the mayor proceeded to inspect the honour guard of the five Babel police officers who have dress uniforms. It would have gone well if the mayor, indulging in a bit of Babel humour, had not told the third officer in line, “Harry, yer fly is open.”
The city clerk did a curtsy and the wise men bowed or curtsied as they wished. The mayor frowned at the city clerk and then turned his attention to the wise men.
“I wus enjoyin’ a great feast of Polish sausages and Polish beer and next thing I know that plane was rerouted from a mercy flight to pick me up at the Warsaw airport. Our Member of Parliament sent a note saying I better get back home ‘cus youse guys is saying nasty things about me,” he said.
“And, you in particular,” he said eying the wise man who had been acting mayor. “Here I give you a chance to be noticed by the voters and all you did was crab about my not telling you I was going out of town. I told the clerk and she told you when you needed to know. You know that this town is run on a ‘need to know’ basis. And I determine who needs to know and what they need to know.”
With details out of the way, the wise men gathered around the mayor to reassure him of their continued loyalty—for at least the rest of his term—and to sing: For he’s a jolly good fellow. Once again, there is peace in Babel.
– 30 –
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