PAVE THE PIT

Every so often, the cranky old guy’s ‘hood, like probably most ‘hoods at one time or another, goes berserk. Currently, the berserkness concerns a location referred to as “The Pit.” The Pit is actually a small public park, maybe 30 by 50 yards (or 27.42 by 45.70 meters: we’re supposed to be adopting the metric system, folks). Some time back, the city, known lovingly as The People’s Republic of Alexandria, stocked it with toys, small play houses, and tricycles of various sorts. Users of the park added their own playthings to the wonderland.

Now the city, concerned about liability, is threatening to remove most of the items. This has aroused those who have come to view the use of the free stuff as the natural order of things.

The cranky old guy sympathizes with both sides in the matter, but he has concluded that some opponents of the removal have become a little overwrought. Much of the debate is taking place on a neighborhood chat site on that marvelous invention, the Internet. (Hey, this is on the Internet too, isn’t it?)

One commenter with an impressive signature block indicating an important-sounding position with an important-sounding company wondered how she was going to explain the absence of toys to her five-year old. Another complained about nannies having to wrestle both children and tricycles to the Pit. When someone suggested bringing the media in on the matter, a commenter said he felt violated by having the contents of the chat site exposed to wide-spread scrutiny. The word “whining” made a number of appearances.

The media did indeed enter the fracas. The Washington Post had a large article. The media attention touched on another issue in the chat site. The upscale neighborhood has been experiencing something of a crime wave, mostly burglaries and vandalism. A debate had been underway about whether media attention should be sought for the crime wave, with some fearing a negative impact on property values. (The cranky old guy’s attitude is that anything bringing inflated property values, and outrageous real estate taxes, down can’t be all bad.) Now the subjects of media attention, petty crime, and toys in the Pit have become hopelessly intertwined.

The cranky old guy thinks that the Pit is perhaps more of a problem than it is worth. Some years back, the issue at the Pit was basketball. There were basketball nets, and a decidedly riff raffian group had taken to gathering there on weekends. Beer and strange types of cigarettes were in abundance. After a lengthy debate within the neighborhood, the city took down the basketball facilities.

Now there are the toys. And the most divisive issue regarding the Pit is lurking just over the horizon. Every Christmas season, the Pit has a manger scene and a neighborhood caroling session. It can’t be too long before some perceptive zealot grabs this First Amendment situation. In other words, the Pit is just one ACLU-hiccup away from a Constitutional crisis.

So the cranky old guy says, Pave the Pit. The place has room for a plethora of townhouses. Surely some kind-hearted developer can be found who will take the property off the city’s hands. And just maybe, more taxpayers will result in slower growth of real estate taxes. (Okay, the cranky old guy admits that‘s a long shot.)

CRANKY'S SCHOLARSHIP

The world keeps coming up with new ways to tell the Cranky Old Guy that he is coming down the stretch. Such things as AARP membership applications, iPods, and ever slower running times are just a few of the ways one message is being pounded home: “Your time is running out, buddy.”

Now another set of voices has begun to enhance the chorus. The old alma maters are sending communications about such things as “estate gifts” and “legacy bequests.” A recent communication from one alma mater ask the Cranky Old Guy if he wanted information about: gifts of real estate; charitable remainder trusts; gift annuities; gifts through wills and living trusts; gifts of life insurance; and gifts of retirement plans. Gifts, gifts, gifts.

The communication said a Cornerstone Society of donors who have made planned gifts to the school had been set up. Seems like Gravestone Society would be a more appropriate term.

Such entreaties for the Cranky Old Guy’s money are premised on a falsehood: that the Cranky Old Guy has money. Some of his contemporaries went on to fame and fortune. Cranky went on to a modest pension that local real estate taxes are devouring.

Still, Cranky is moved by the need to buttress the endowment of his rapacious alma mater, who incidentally can’t seem to produce any sort of sports winner that Cranky can identify with. And Cranky likes the thought of leaving something behind with his name on it.

So Cranky is contemplating “Cranky’s Scholarship.” Ideally, the scholarship should go to an individual similar to the young Cranky. In other words, the individual should have a fondness for lower intensity alcohol—that is, beer—an aversion to strenuous academic challenges, an intense but largely unrequited interest in the opposite sex (okay, to be politically correct, in any sex), and a deep, profound disrespect for any type of authority.

The problem with Cranky’s Scholarship is that it won’t be very lucrative. About the only spare wealth Cranky has is around $600 in aging U.S. Government bonds that he was “encouraged” to buy backed when he worked for the bureaucracy (“Our office has to have 100 percent participation; you don’t want to be the lone holdout, do you?”). But the alma mater says every little bit helps, so how do you guys want it: a charitable remainder trust, an annuity, outright? And Cranky does get a tax break, right?

DSH