Unsigned historical satire, June 1984. Fairchild, The Shoestring and the named comic characters are not presented as verified people or places.
It’s the small town life for me. I’m from a little place called Fairchild, population around 3000, I guess.
We haven’t got much in the way of commerce going on in Fairchild; in fact, you have to go to neighboring towns like Laidlaw or Raffish to do any serious shopping, clear to Fisheye if you want an upscale label.
But we’ve got most of what we really need.
There are plenty of churches for the sinful, and there’s a college nearby for the ignorant and a town council for the contentious.
At the east end of town there used to be a bright-light district for the hungry, the intemperate, and the licentious, but it fell on hard times.
The railroad still runs through Fairchild, but nobody rides it any more. It’s a pretty place with big trees, old houses, and mostly wholesome pursuits.
We even have a couple of micro league ball teams.
We can’t seem to get cable here, but the faithful believe (and the licentious hope) that we’ll get hooked up soon. Fairchild attracts all types of people; it’s not a homogenized place. That’s because the citizen of Fairchild is a chronic doer. There’s usually plenty that needs doing, and when things get slack, folks always dream up something new to slave over.
There are several who can’t leave a nice patch of weeds alone.
One otherwise normal woman, Flora Bunda, has vowed to blanket not only Fairchild but the whole county with flowers and bushes and grass in between.
As a result of the doer malady, Fairchild is the year-round center of aesthetic and recreational life.
In the fall running season opens.
On its heels comes the Real Estate season.
The hunt for the Midwestern Domicile reaches its peak in September.
The Druidical Conclave brings the unconventional spirits together in late October.
During the winter we host the Regional Invitational Ice Dancing Competition. Deep into January the Gourmet Dinner and Wine Sip Roundelay is held to fend off sloth and cabin fever.
The spring is welcomed by a small and sedate group of Irish descent, ushering in our most frenetic months of productivity.
The local chapter of the Collectors, Hoarders, and Squirrellers of North America holds its annual Swap Meet in June and the International Jazz Flute Competition is held in the town square soon after.
The gala regatta follows the July 4 festivities at the beach.
The summer drives all but the hypothermic and the Democrats indoors for the rest of the summer, but one August the Medical Society chose Fairchild in which to present several papers on Swimmer’s Ear and the Cattle Tank Pool.
A few years ago a couple of very serious cases of chronic doism, Shirley Sanguine and Alice Ardent founded Fairchild’s notdaily-but-surprisingly-regular newspaper, “The Shoestring,” named for its management strategy. Set up as a not-for-profit enterprise, it has steadfastly remained so, paying no workers and occasionally no creditors.
It has survived for fourteen years because Fairchild recognizes the indispensable service it provides, or because nobody objects if a few people want to work their energies off putting it together. Fairchild, like any town, is a state of mind as well as a place to live.
Our little paper helps us remember who we are, learn what we’re up to, and tell the world we’re special.
It keeps us honest, too, if not humble. It’s hard to spread a rumor when the facts are delivered to everybody’s door.
We all expect our paper to stay in local hands, but some guy named Cluck has been asking a lot of questions about its profit and loss picture.
There are a few things our town could prosper without but I don’t think “The Shoestring” is one of them.
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, June 1984.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1984_06.pdf, printed page(s) 4; PDF page(s) 4.
