The Three Scrooges

     My blog consists of  65 upcoming short stories I've written about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. I am reposting the earlier ones which had no images.
     This story is about helping those who are less fortunate--and doing so without thought of personal gain or recognition. I invite everyone to comment on this story.

The Three Scrooges

A blast of arctic air blew snow into the bar when the priest stepped inside. The town was feeling the leading edge of a polar vortex. He brushed the snowflakes off his overcoat and hung it on the coat rack.

     “Looks like we might have a white Christmas, Father,” Oscar the bartender said.

     “We may indeed, Oscar, the town needs a little of the Christmas spirit. Since the plant closed everybody’s feeling down and out.” The priest sat down at the bar.

      Mayor Burns was also at the bar. “Yeah, and I’m getting blamed for the plant closure...like I’m the Chamber of Commerce or something. Oh, well, there goes my reelection.” He frowned and shrugged his shoulders.

      “Speaking of the Christmas spirit, what’ll it be, Father, the usual red wine?” Oscar asked.

      “Maybe you ought to spike it tonight; I’m feeling a little depressed myself.”

      Oscar knew the priest had recently been defrocked for financial and sexual improprieties. He poured a shot of vodka into the wine. “Any word from the church on being reinstated?”

       “I haven’t asked.” The priest took a sip and grimaced. He wasn’t used to the stronger alcohol taste, but it felt good going down.

      “Everybody in this town’s got problems, Father; don’t feel like you’re the only one,” the mayor advised.

      “What about you, Oscar, care to lean on my shoulder? Confession is good for the soul, and it’ll be strictly confidential.”

      Skid Row Joe, the only other patron in the bar, raised his head from the table. “No, it ain’t. I can hear every word you three are saying.”

      Oscar Krum, Mayor Burns, and Father O’Conner ignored Joe. They believed he wouldn’t remember anything they said.

      “Business has been awfully slow for this time of year, Father. Between the plant closure and the recession, nobody’s got any money, and they ain’t drinkin’ enough...except Joe, of course.”

      “At least Skid Row Joe stays in good spirits all year long.” Mayor Burns laughed at his lame joke.

      “I got problems too,” Joe said. “It’s a problem for me when my homeless friends are hurtin’, ‘specially at Christmas and in this merciless weather.”

      “What have you done for them besides share booze with them?” the mayor asked.

      “Okay, what has our fine mayor done?” Joe bellowed from the table, before laying his head back down.

      “I advise them to see Father O’Connor for a handout,” Mayor Burns replied.

      “And what have you done for the homeless, Father?” Joe asked Father O’Connor.

      “I bless them and send them to Oscar for a donation,” he replied.

      “And you, Oscar, what do you do?”

      “I tell them to see the mayor.”

      “Doesn’t sound like anybody’s being helped.”

      The three men looked at each other. Joe’s remark stung like a hornet.

      Oscar spoke up. “They ain’t my responsibility; besides, my taxes pay for food stamps and welfare to help those folks.”

      “It ain’t enough,” Joe said, “and you can’t buy toys with food stamps.”

      Father O’Connor spoke up next. “There’s nothing the church can do. The Christmas fund is empty this year because most of the townsfolk are unemployed.”

      “And it’s not my responsibility, either,” the mayor said. “The shelters are full, and the food donations dried up.”

       Joe didn’t accept their answers. “There must be something you three scrooges can do besides make excuses.” He slammed his bottle on the table in disgust.

      Mayor Burns, being a political animal first and foremost, thought of a solution to everyone’s problems. “Old Joe’s right, all three of us should do a little something for those hapless folks. Me and Oscar can have our wives slap together some cheap peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And you, Father, can probably collect a few broken toys from church members. Then I’ll get a TV reporter to video us giving something to those homeless families.

      Think of the advantages to us: As mayor, I’ll get the free publicity needed to get reelected; you, Father O’Connor, may get reinstated at your church; and you, Oscar, will be rewarded with lots of customers who come in your bar to thank you for your generosity.”

      Skid Row Joe listened to their scheme without comment.

_______________

On Christmas Eve, Skid Row Joe led the three scrooges and a TV crew to a homeless camp on the outskirts of town. The mayor and Oscar brought two measly bags of sandwiches and Father O’Connor brought a batch of discarded toys for the kids.

       Entire families were living in tents made from cardboard and plastic tarps. Used milk cartons filled with frozen water were stacked outside, and laundry on clotheslines was too iced over to flit in the wind. Everyone was trying to stay warm by gathering around a rusty 55-gallon drum burning scrap wood and tree limbs. Snow flurries blew across the huddled men, women and children. It looked like a Mideast refugee camp.

       The three scrooges waited until the camera was rolling. “All right, listen up everybody. I’m Mayor Burns and with me is Father O’Connor and Oscar Krum, the town’s bartender. We’ve come to bring you gifts of food and toys for the kids because we care about you folks.” Mayor Burns turned to put on his best smile for the TV camera, while the cold, hungry families waited for his speech to end.

       “And I want you folks to know we’ll be back next Christmas Eve with more food and gifts,” the mayor promised. At that moment, a 4-year old girl with dirt smudges on her cheeks began tugging at the mayor’s pants leg. He tried to ignore her, but she kept tugging until the cameraman focused on the little blonde girl.

       “What about the rest of the year?” she asked, holding a doll with one arm missing.

       “Well...uh...” The mayor stammered so badly the TV reporter spoke up.

       “What about it, mayor? What are you going to do for them the other 364 days?”

       “I...or rather, we...Father O’Connor and Oscar, that is, hope to...ah...well, you see, the townsfolk are unemployed and…”

       “You mean nothing, don’t you, mayor? Will the kids have to wait until next Christmas to get more broken toys?”

       He was trapped and the entire charade became national news. The desperate pleas of the 4-year-old girl were placed on YouTube and went viral. A sympathetic billionaire bought the closed plant and started a sports shoe factory that hired most of the citizens.

      New people flooded into the now-famous town, opening shops and restaurants for tourists, and building homes for the homeless. Oscar sold his bar and fled the town in disgrace, along with the priest and the mayor. The 4-year-old girl was named honorary mayor. The bar remained open with a new owner, and Skid Row Joe sat in a back-table with his bottle. He smiled.

      He smiled to himself. No one would ever know who told the 4-year-old girl what to say. It would be their little secret.

The End
Copyright © 2018 by Ken Pealock