THE TRAFFIC LIGHT

         I’m Mort Watson, the mayor here in Paisley. I usually go over to Geordie’s Café and Gas Station for a cup of coffee about this time every morning. A couple of months ago I went in one morning as usual. Carol, the cashier and waitress, waved as Geordie came out of the kitchen. I sat down at the coffee drinker’s table. Geordie serves the country food that small towns are famous for, and he enjoys eating it. As a result, Geordie has put on a few pounds around the middle. His cook’s apron was drawn tightly around him.

         “How’s business?” I asked.

         “Not too good, I guess. The coffee drinkers aren’t even here.” That was odd, but Paisley is quiet most times. “It may be because Luke died last night.”

         “Luke Thompson? I hadn’t heard. He was one of your all-time great coffee drinkers. A show of respect, maybe.” Luke was an old timer in Paisley. He was a farmer and carpenter. Since he quit farming, he mowed and painted for the city.

         I scanned an article about the population migration back to the country in the business section of the paper while I waited for Geordie to get my coffee. There was another customer at a table against the window. He was small man dressed in a white shirt and tie. I guessed he belonged to the car parked outside with the Department of Transportation emblem on the door.

         “Have we got visiting dignitaries I didn’t know about?” I asked as Geordie sat down with our coffee cups. Geordie had been a butcher 20 years ago. He considered the café and gas station a retirement. He could do as he pleased since he owned the business.

         “I don’t know. He’s been sitting there studying a map for 30 minutes. He ordered breakfast and stared out the window. Maybe they’re gonna build us a loop.”

         “Yeah, sure. The Interstate already missed us. I’m not sure the DOT knows we’re here.” I wondered if I should try to find out who he was. I’m not always real good at the “meeting and greeting” part of being a mayor, but when the stranger went to pay his bill, I met him at the register.

         “I’m Mort Watson, the mayor here in Paisley. I see you are with the Department of Transportation. Do you have any plans for the highway we should know about?”

         “Why, yes.” The man looked at me through thick lenses as he pushed the glasses up on his sharp nose. “It looks like we may be able to take out the traffic light. Not much traffic through here. Traffic would flow better without it.”

         “Oh, do you think so? What’s your name sir?” I was caught off guard. We needed all the help we could get to make Paisley noticeable.

         “My name’s Cecil Chancellor. I’m the new manager in this region. We need to upgrade these roads. I think this will help you folks out.” He spoke with a sharp, high-pitched voice that strained to be authoritative.

         “Sometimes we really need it. School times, people going to work, you know. Sometimes we have a lot of traffic.” I was getting desperate.

         “I’ve ordered a traffic study. I’ll put a counter on it about Wednesday. Nice to meet you, Mayor,” he said extending his hand. I shook it, but I really wanted to lock him in Geordie’s walk-in cooler till I could come up with a plan. I liked our traffic light.

         “Do you get much business because of the light?” I asked Geordie after Mr. Chancellor left.

         “Yeah, a few cars stop when they see the light. The new adventure is searching for antiques and ancestors in the country. People come in for directions to the old boot factory or Tanner Lake. A couple of spots on the historical map claim attention. I kinda like it blinking out there.” Geordie started setting up for lunch.

         I watched traffic for a while. It seemed Paisley was melting before my eyes and I couldn’t stop it. Paisley used to be prosperous, but then things started going downhill. We had a couple of lazy mayors, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Everybody moved off when the boot factory closed; cities became the big draw. The last mayor quit when some hostile citizens confronted him. They asked me to take over. I don’t know anything about being mayor. It seems like I’m presiding over the demise of a nice little town.

         “Maybe I’m just being stubborn, Geordie. If you, or the feed store or anybody else in town benefits, then I think we need it.” I watched as a red suburban slowed for the light, then, pulled into the parking lot. Two women with four or five kids got out. The noisy group came in.

         “Boy, I’m glad I had to slow down for the light. I wouldn’t have noticed the sign. We needed to get the kids something to eat,” the driver said.

         “Food smells good. I hope the sign is wrong. Do you have a restroom?” the other woman asked Geordie as he led them to a table.

         As I left, I noticed the sign. I knew Geordie should have hired somebody beside Ray Fields to fix it. Big red letters proclaimed: “Eat here! Get Gas!"

         The sign reminded me that when you get used to things, you quit looking at them. I don’t look at Paisley anymore. I just know it. Before I got too wound up about the State taking down the traffic light, I should look at the situation.

         The intersection held the four businesses that formed the center of town. Swanson’s Funeral Home, on the northwest corner, had a wide parking lot and sat pristinely in the middle of it. Fred Hinton’s Feed and Seed Store, on the southwest corner, was diagonally opposite Geordie’s Café. Fred also had gas pumps and diesel. Martin’s Grocery Store was directly across the highway from Geordie’s. City Hall was on the FM road next to Geordie’s. The rest of the town’s business district was scattered. George Holder’s Welding and Mabel & Jessie’s Beauty Shop were on the west side of the intersection. On the east side, Margie Lawler’s Flower Boutique and Myron Jones’ Tire Shop balanced the downtown area. Other shops and stores came and went. My wife’s beauty shop was on the FM, but it was too far up the road to be considered a part of the “downtown area.” Other home-based businesses were scattered around, but the light wouldn’t affect them.

         The school was a major concern for the traffic light. A lot of homes were north of the highway and the school was south. Even though we had fallen in numbers, much effort supported the school. All small towns know when you lose the school, you lose a major part of your community.

         The religious segment of Paisley was large. Almost everybody claimed a connection to one of the four churches. The Baptist Church was west of the intersection on the highway; the Methodist was north on the FM, the Assembly of God was on the FM south past the school, and the Church of Christ was east on the highway. It was kind of inspiring on Sunday morning to see all the traffic streaming to their respective places of worship. The traffic light was a major part of that parade.

         I thought on these things as I walked back toward City Hall. The Thompson family turned into the parking lot at the funeral home. Should I go and offer my condolences, or should I wait until the official viewing and greet the family? Then a sudden inspiration came to me. I headed straight for the car as Eva Thompson stepped out.

         “Mrs. Thompson, I was so sorry to hear about Luke. I do hope you know how important he was to the town.” She was dignified in her grief. Eva’s appearance harkened back to earlier times. She wore a black dress and a small black hat and gloves.

         “Why, thank you Mayor,” she said. “Luke was proud to know you.” She was a frail, thin woman of indeterminate age.

         “Well, we certainly want to offer you the full range of the city’s services.” I offered my arm, and she took it somewhat timidly. Her son and daughter-in-law went in the building when they saw we were following.

         “I did hope you would have plenty of time to plan a nice memorial for him,” I said. “I want to offer all the City’s services. You will call me after you talk to Harlan, won’t you? What day were you expecting to hold the services?” I hoped she didn’t ask me what services the City offered. I hadn’t figured that out yet.

         “Day after tomorrow, I think. We don’t want to drag it out, you know.” She appeared confused by my interest.

         “Do you think that will give you time for everyone to get here, you know, the out of town folks?” I searched my mind for the names of Luke’s relatives and kids that lived away.

         “Well, Martin lives in California,” she said. “I know he might not be able to come. It’s so expensive to fly. But there’s not many others--my brother and Luke’s younger sister and their families.” She paused as we entered the dim light of the lobby. I felt very protective as I took her to a plush couch.

         “Just sit here and rest a minute. I’ll see if I can find Harlan.” The secretary came to the front when we entered. She directed me to Harlan’s office.

         “Eva Thompson is here to make the arrangements for Luke’s funeral, Harlan. I walked in with her. Can I ask you something? Can you stall the funeral until next week?”

         Harlan stared at me with that solemn expression funeral directors seem to adopt in the face of tragedy.

         “I suppose so. We can do it whenever it’s necessary.” Harlan rose from his desk chair to his full 5’7” height. I never thought before how hard it is for short people to look dignified. “Why, Mort? What’s the problem?”

         “Well, for family coming from a distance, can you make it next week sometime, maybe about Wednesday?” I wasn’t sure that would be right, but it was my best guess.

         “I can do that. We would have to do a few things different that usual, but it could be done. Why does she want to wait? On the phone she said day after tomorrow.”

         “I know, but would you object to suggesting a little longer? Just assure her it doesn’t have to be too soon, you know, have time for family to travel. I don’t want to do anything that would make it more expensive, just put it off,” I said. “She has a son in California.”

         “It doesn’t matter to me when the service is. Would the son in California be able to get here by Wednesday?”

         “I hope so. Call me over at City Hall when she has finished with the arrangements.” I turned back to meet Eva Thompson. She looked lost sitting on the couch, her slight frame swallowed by massive pillows.

         “I’ll be at City Hall, Miss Eva. Harlan will call me when you are through with your selections.” She nodded hesitantly.

         Harlan greeted the bereaved family as I made a quick exit. I hoped my suggestions would bear weight with Eva.

         At City Hall, Mabel was finishing her lunch. She wiped her mouth primly when I walked in. Mabel was a gem for a small town secretary. She was efficient and calm, even in the face of irate citizens. She dressed conservatively, but she always had her brown hair coiffed in the most fashionable style. She was fiftyish, but staunchly denying it.

         “Mabel, the school has lists of the high school graduates from past years. Get the names of the class that Luke Thompson graduated with. See if any of them still live close.” My idea was growing.

         “Me? What do I need Luke Thompson’s graduating class for?

         “We need to make sure they know about Luke’s funeral.” I briefed Mabel on the situation with the traffic light as I picked up the phone book and began flipping through the pages. I wrote down the numbers of all the churches in town. Eva Thompson was a stalwart member of the First Baptist Church. Luke was associated by marriage only, but he did go on Easter and Christmas. I tried to think of associations he might have had with the other churches. Did he ever paint for them, or do any repair work? My mind went blank.

         Since I retired, I became sort of the unofficial ambassador of Paisley. I made the morning rounds, visited at several of the businesses, drank coffee at Geordie’s and talked to all the citizens. Maybe that’s why they asked me to take over as mayor, but I really didn’t want things to be as official as the office made it. I just wanted to enjoy the town and go fishing at Tanner Lake about three times a week. Now I had this responsibility to save the traffic light.

         I made several calls with the message about Luke dying. I suggested some ways the various groups might honor this long time citizen of the community. Luke’s cousin May Belle was the pianist at the Assembly of God Church. May Belle was a large woman, but she could romp and stomp on a piano with the best of them.

         “Why, I’d be more than happy to play for the service if Eva asked me. You know, I wouldn’t want to push my services.” May Belle was not as retiring as she presented herself, but she would have to be asked. I figured she could get the choir to sing, too, if asked. Of course, the pianist at the Baptist could play, but for funerals, it was customary for the family to arrange for the music. Beyond that, I figured the more people from other churches were involved, the more members of those congregations would attend.

         Virginia Stapleton was the head of the Church Hostess Committee at the Methodist Church. She had been Eva’s closest neighbor and best friend for 30 years. She said she could arrange for lunch to be served at the Methodist Fellowship Hall.

         Of course, the Baptist preacher would deliver the message. Luke had been a Lodge member with several other men. They would make good pallbearers. I didn’t know of anyone he was close to in the Church of Christ or the school. Maybe the band would play “Amazing Grace” at the cemetery and the flag corps would do a tribute. Maybe.

         Mabel was on the phone when “call waiting” beeped.

         “Eva would be honored to accept the City’s offer of help. And she said she didn’t see any reason we couldn’t have the funeral on Wednesday,” Harlan assured me when I got on the line. I hastily noted all the requests she made.

         I thought I should take my wife out for supper since she had been at the Outlet Mall all day. In addition to being a renowned hair dresser, Sue is a dedicated shopper. We usually go over to the county seat for a nice buffet. Sue is a good cook, but cooking for two is no fun, she says.

         We had a week to get it all done. On Sunday, all the church announcements focused on the funeral. Geordie draped Luke’s chair at the coffee drinkers’ table with a sign that said “In memory of Luke Thompson.”

         Eva’s son and daughter-in-law from California arrived on Monday. When I found out they were Church of Christ members, I called the Church of Christ minister. They might appreciate consolation from him. He and several members of the church visited the house within an hour of my call. Luke’s funeral was shaping up to be the biggest thing to happen in Paisley since the boot factory opened.

         The official visitation was scheduled for Tuesday evening; however, Luke had been available for viewing for two days. Harlan got lots of visits from townspeople coming in. He actually made a few sales to people who wanted to preplan. I think he considered this a new way to look at funerals. Sue had doubled her usual Tuesday business. The visitation lasted from 4:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m., which was two hours longer than any visitation Harlan had ever had, but the flow was steady the whole time. The family members took shifts supported by church members and friends. I was there throughout to make coffee and help with parking.

         Now, if we can just get everything to go right, I thought. I had been so involved in getting the details of the funeral worked out, I sort of forgot about Cecil Chancellor’s traffic counter.

         I got up early on Wednesday: It was going to be a big day! I got to Geordie’s by 7:00 a.m.to eat breakfast and get a head start on the event. Sue still had hair appointments coming in so she grabbed a breakfast bar and cup of coffee and went to work. Geordie’s was buzzing with the usual breakfast crowd. The coffee drinker’s table was set up with the newspaper obituary and a nice bouquet in honor of Luke. The funeral home was still deserted, but the churches were preparing. The funeral was scheduled for 11:00.

         “Hello, Mayor,” a voice behind me said. I turned to see Cecil Chancellor.

         “Why, Mr. Chancellor. How nice to see you,” I said. That answered one question: We picked the right day. “Won’t you sit down with me and have a cup of coffee?”

         “Yes, I will. I ordered breakfast already. I like to get the counters placed early. As you pointed out the other day, the traffic need is greatest during the early morning and last afternoon.” He indicated a need to wash his hands and I sat down. By the time he got back, Geordie came with the plates.

         “So you’ve already placed the counter?” I said. I was sorry I hadn’t researched traffic counters, their accuracy, and their impact.
“Yes. I put one just the other side of City Hall and another by the school. That should give us a good estimate of the cross traffic.”

         Suddenly, I realized what I should have understood in the beginning. The traffic from the funeral will not affect either of the counters. Only those going to the dinner at the Methodist Church will cross one of them. Mr. Chancellor looked at me quizzically as I bolted down the remainder of my breakfast. I had to figure out new plan. Back at City Hall, I called George Holder at the welding shop.

         “George, this is Mort.”

         “Hello, Mayor. Do you need a welding job? I’m going to the funeral so I’ll only be here till about ten.”

         “George, I heard you say last week you were planning to cut down that dead tree on the front of your lot. Did you mean it?”

         “Well, sure Mort. Why?”

         “It’s a long story. Would you mind if it was today?”

         “No, I guess not, but I want to go to the funeral.” George sounded confused. At least he thought I was confused.

         "It's to help the city, George. You’ll pay the going rate if they do it today?” I pressed again.

         “Yes, Mort. Whatever.” George said.

         I called my nephew over in Webley and made a deal with him to bring his tree trimming crew and equipment and start work by 11:30. Then I called the police station and asked Chief Andrews to reroute traffic for the tree crew from 11:30 to 2:00 or whenever the crew finished. I already had his promise of an escort for the funeral procession.

         “Mort, with just two cars, I’m not going to have enough help to direct traffic and put up signs and have anybody left in the office.” Chief Andrews took his job in Paisley very seriously.

         “You’ll manage,” I reassured him. “Use your car. It looks better anyway.”

         “Let me get this straight. You want the funeral procession to leave the church at 12:00 noon and go up the FM to the old Thompson home place and circle the old driveway, then back to the intersection and down to the street at the school, then loop back to the highway and on to the cemetery. When they come back, they’ll retrace the route. Is that right?” I could hear Chief Andrews’ paper rustle as he made notes. The whole procession would cross the counters six times.

         “Yes sir, that’s exactly right. Of course, on the return, they will go to the Methodist Church for lunch. Your officers are invited, too.” That ought to sweeten the deal for him. Everybody knew the Methodist ladies were the best cooks in town.

         I closed the office for the funeral and went home to put on my suit. I got back to the funeral home about 10:00. Harlan and his associates had already taken Luke to the church for viewing by people who had not had a chance to see him earlier. The church filled rapidly. The fellowship hall and Sunday school rooms had been set up with closed circuit TV to accommodate the overflow from the sanctuary. Several volunteers from the community helped organize the parking. The service was wonderful and everybody cried. Banners featuring pictures of angels waved gently from poles at the home place, all the churches, the school and City Hall. Every woman in town made her best dish and the Methodist ladies served it in style. Paisley gave Luke Thompson a grand good-bye.

         We saved the traffic light from Cecil Chancellor’s efficiency purge. Unofficially it became “Luke Thompson Memorial Traffic Light.”
But there were side effects. Luke’s son from California worked for a consortium that builds developments. When he saw the community spirit in Paisley, he recommended it as the site of a new venture for his company. One of Luke’s high school buddies had money he wanted to invest in a resort. He thought the old boot factory would make a wonderful site for it. A professional fisherman, who had to take the detour because of the tree crew, got lost and went all the way to Tanner Lake. Now he wants to build a marina there and hold fishing tournaments. My wife wants to expand her beauty shop into a day spa.

         Several people are insisting it’s my responsibility to run for mayor now that I have caused the city’s growth spurt. And to top it all off, Harlan Swanson wants to pay me a commission on all the funerals I organize.

         All I ever wanted was to enjoy Paisley and fish at the lake.

The End