After 31 years on the force, Lt Frank Bukowski had seen the best and worst that the mean streets of his tough city were capable of. Survival out there needed keen wits, hard fists, a quick .45 and, in Frank’s case, a silver tongue. It didn’t take long for his superiors to realise that Bukowski had a gift for communicating. Within 15 years of his first steps on the beat, Frank had become the city’s chief crisis negotiator – or, as the guys in the locker-room put it, “head whack quack”. A situation in City Hall was not the start to the New Year Frank had hoped for.
The scene was a circus. The boys had cordoned it off good and tight, but the usual pack of newshounds were baying for blood, out-flanked by riled-up rubberneckers. “Talk to me, Lou,” he barked to his deputy.
“The news isn’t good, Frank,” said Lou. “We got someone inside City Hall, seems like they got a political axe to grind. Not sure how they got in there, but it feels like an inside job and it’s not going to be easy to get ’em out. It’s serious, Frank. We’ve lost three good people already.”
Frank inhaled deeply before pulling on his vest. He’d never admit it to her, but his wife’s insistence on them taking yoga classes together had paid off. He felt the familiar heft of his battered bull-horn and hoped that the trigger on the mic would be the only one he’d have to pull that day. His loud-hailer squawked to life.
“Hey, how’s it goin’ in there? I’m hoping we can work something out here. I know that deep down you want what’s best for everybody involved with this thing.” Frank paused and took another deep breath. “It’s still early days – we can resolve this and let everyone move on. Put the expenses checkbook down and step away from the festival.”
The lieutenant cursed his luck. Why did Limerick have to be made National City of Culture the same year he was due to retire?
BLOW HARD
If the collective sighs inspired by the carry-on surrounding the National City of Culture shenanigans could've been bottled and then released in one go, it might have cancelled out Hurricane Christine's gales. Somewhat fanciful, I know, but it may be the best way to make our City of Culture cost-effective and get it involved in some damage limitation.
During a lecture on “Globalisation, The Festival, Culture and The City” in the run-up to Cork’s stint as European Capital of Culture in 2005 (not as much of a makey-uppy designation), a protestor interrupted proceedings to shout about top-down inscriptions of culture, lack of consultation and money wasted on bureaucracy. As a local soccer commentator once said, “It’s like deja vu all over again!”
Limerick’s stint will hopefully be of some benefit to the arts community, the city and even the country, but is there going to be another National City of Culture ? Any chance of giving the next city a heads-up, lads?
When it comes to organising festivals, government and local authorities can often display the acumen of a 20-year-old Cavan lad in his GAA jersey, spending Christmas in Bangkok, his pockets bulging with a three-month bankroll from the mines of Queensland: poor judgment and naivety can turn an attractive and promising situation into a shocking handful of balls. Emotional scars all round.
In fairness to Waterford City Council, they pulled 10,000 people onto the quays during a lull in the storms last weekend to kick off Ireland's oldest city's 1,100th birthday bash.
For unadulterated talent, creativity and lack of bullshit, I'm hitting the Ones to Watch Festival in Whelans this weekend. Entry per day is only €5 to see a gallery of passionate and enthusiastic breaking bands – and you get a free pint. Better buzz for your buck than the Breffni boys'll get in Bangkok.
Safe travels, don’t die.
