A Christmas Miracle

In what can only be described as a Christmas miracle, my neighbor dismantled his homemade scaffolding today. (More accurately, he finished the job today.) It's not the type of thing that will draw the attention of Maureen Dowd, or the local news even, but it's cause celebre in my neighborhood.

The whole matter would make an interesting sociology study.


It began 2 1/2 years ago when, in the process of remodeling my kitchen, I left the old, apartment-size dishwasher outside of my garage. I soon received a letter from the city notifying me that I was a threat to the public's health, even though I had gone to the trouble of removing the door so no small child would suffer an early death.

Said dishwasher would have been properly disposed had I not missed the city's trash amnesty deadline by a day or two, but that now seems beside the point. I quickly replied to the mayor and city council, back when we operated under the antiquaited commission form of government, that if they were concerned about the public's health and safety, they might visit my neighbor.

Captain Kirk, so named because of the "Starship Invasion" van he piloted when we first arrived, is an ideal neighbor in most ways. He's quiet and keeps to himself, but is friendly enough when encountered in the light of day. He even lent me his ice chipper when he and I were mutually cited for not clearing our sidewalks. My wife is quite fond of him.

But home maintenance is not Kirk's forte. Among my many objections to the city, I cited his poorly tuckpointed chimney, which was apparently the only thing local government could weigh in on. Shortly after I received a direct response from the mayor, progress began -- and I was immediately concerned.

Instead of hiring the work to be done, or renting a temporary scaffolding, Kirk constructed the finest 2x4 scaffolding system that's ever been. It was a mechanical marvel, the eighth wonder of the world == yet, apparently, not the sort of thing that requires a building permit. After all, it's a temporary structure.

So I thought, two summers ago.

I got another nuisance warning from the city recently, this time for the trash pile that had evolved in the area I used to try to garden. Once again, I responded quickly to the city's demands, but not without asking why they were not so interested in the neighborhood's biggest nuisance.

The enforcement officer I spoke with, who I know from a prior life, promised a phone call, but little hope, in the matter. I had resigned myself to the fact that a scaffolding would be the backdrop whenever I watched a movie or football on my 50-inch HDTV.

Kirk told the city guy that there would be progress by Thanksgiving, or at least that's what he told me. I didn't hold my breath and Thanksgiving came and went with no signs of progress.

Credit global warming with a warmer-than-normal December and Kirk has been a busy man. Not only did he tuckpoint the chimney -- which was kind of the point of the whole thing -- but he dismantled the scaffolding within the past two days.

While sundown happens about 4 p.m. these days, Kirk must be a vampire. We were watching the Division III football championship before heading out to dinner with friends at about 6 p.m. when we heard noises coming from Kirk's house. There he was, in the dark of winter night, tearing down the dreaded scaffolding.

I shed a tear, and contemplated my next public nuisance.