The Rooster and the Congressman

Let there be no doubt, finding funding for new park buildings is difficult, in recessionary times especially. So it was time for glee when the city of Tacoma voted in a bond issue that allowed Ft. Nisqually, a living history site, to build a replica of a warehouse and a laborer’s dwelling.  The replica of the warehouse would be modern inside and used as a meeting place, artifact storage, research library and offices.  The laborer’s dwelling would also be modern inside and used as a reception area with displays, the gift shop, an office and storage.  It took a long time to build as the outside of the buildings had to have a historically accurate look to them.

For months and months the muddy mess progressed through all kinds of weather.  The specially cut beams had a hand hewn look to them.  The museum staff could not wait to move into their new offices.  No one cried about getting rid of the ugly trailer parked out front that had served for years as a teensy gift shop.

Grand opening day came.  There would be ribbon cutting, dignitaries, tours and refreshments.  The reenactors came bedecked in top hats, swishing skirts, Hudson’s Bay Co workman garb, or as an occasional mountain man. A congressman was slated to give a speech.  He was a longtime friend of the fort.

When speech time came, a few of the mountain men moved toward the refreshment table and received an arched eyebrow from Mrs. Dr. Tolmie.  With schoolboy sheepishness they moved back to the polite audience.

The children tried to get at the cookies and were taken away to their toys at the back.

No one could correct the corseted ladies when they felt they needed to sit in the shade and fan themselves, pulling out knitting and other amusements. 

The top hatted gents rocked back and forth from heel to toe, heel to toe, cleared their throat and looked at their watches.

The congressman went on.  It wasn’t a bad speech, as I recall, but speeches are speeches.

The site’s reenacting rooster, of a proud historic breed called Speckled Sussex, fancied himself a better orator, and decided at that moment to enter politics.  He crowed.  Loudly.  The crowd laughed, and he did it again.  Every time laughter died and the congressman re-started, the rooster let out a bellowing squawk. 

“What is this, Meet the Press?” asked the congressman.

Guffaws from the crowd.  The cook looked murderous, the mountain men fingered their muzzleloaders, and would-be rooster wranglers tried to grab the offender’s luxuriously feathered neck.

“Your constituents are about to vote you out of office,” quipped the congressman.

The rooster flew to the top of the hutch and crowed some more.

There was more chest puffing from each party, but finally the congressman raised his hands and surrendered.

Both strutted off, the rooster to his hens and the congressman to the refreshments.  When the votes were tallied, we knew who won.

But the congressman gave a gracious concession speech. “Can’t say much for his content, and his tone was a little harsh, but he was, after all, much prettier.”

If roosters could talk, I'm sure he'd say, "At least we agree on one thing."