The day I said no

This is a tale the Tea Party folks will enjoy (I do hope they read my column). I was way ahead of them in standing firm that government shouldn’t interfere with our fine capitalistic way of following the Constitution to the letter of the law.

It was many years ago when I was managing the state’s Travel Promotion Department. It was one of those very dry winters that all of you digging out your drive and walkways today remember.

The phone rang. In those days I answered it, me, alive, a real person. We didn’t resort then to “If you know your party’s number, punch it now” etc., etc., etc. Those etceteras stand for pushing a lot of other keys until you are worn out and hang up. Or worse, you finally get a live voice — somewhere in Hyderabad — and a pleasant Indian on the line says, “Sorry, I can’t help you in that matter. Call your local office!”

So there I was, answering my phone. The caller was a man who had a full-time job but also was one of the army of citizens who hook plows to their pickup trucks and make enough extra money during a snowy winter to buy a boat or take his family to a vacation on the island of Turks and Caicos or maybe cruise on a Cunard liner.

“It’s a dry winter,” complained the caller. “It hasn’t snowed all month and I’m losing a lot of money.”

“Do you also have a full-time job?” I asked.

“Yes, but that has nothing to do with it,” he replied. “And I’m not alone, there must be 50 other guys who are losing money this winter.”

“You are not losing money. You just aren’t making extra money,” I explained.

“We are entitled to the extra money we get from plowing,” he said, his tone now taking on an edge. “I want to know what the state government is going to do about it.”

“Well, first of all, I’m the tourist director. My job is to encourage people to spend their money at Connecticut’s tourist resorts and eat at our wonderful restaurants.”

“But what are you going to do to help me and the other plow drivers?” he argued.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Pay us the amount we ordinarily make plowing.”

“You want the state government to pay you because Mother Nature decided to save her snow for another year?”

“Yes, tell the governor that we deserve that extra money.”

“Have you ever heard of free enterprise?” I asked.

“Yeah, what’s that got to do with it?” he repeated.

“Tell you what,” I replied. “Round up all the men who are losing extra money not plowing this winter. At the meeting, ask each one to submit a verifiable bill showing how much they earn in a typical year, then send me the bills, certified mail, and I will show them to my commissioner and tell him you want him to ask Gov. Grasso to ask the Legislature to pass a special law authorizing the payment and then the House Majority leader will tap the Fiscal Analysis department to see if we have a contingency fund for dry years.”

“You mean,” said the now very irritated man, “That you want ME to round up all these guys?”

“That’s what I mean. It’s been nice talking to you. Take it easy,” I replied. (That was before “Have a nice day” entered the lexicon.) It was the last I heard from that constituent.

I hope he earned enough moola in his regular job to afford a swell vacation the next summer.

It happened some time ago but I think it’s not too late for the Tea Partiers to award me their first Mother Grizzly Award for Keeping the Government Out of Private Business.

Freelance writer Barnett Laschever lives in Goshen.