Valentine's Day

Okay, so it's a couple days late, but I'd like to point out that I'm guest-blogging again at Amy's blog, alog. The theme this month is Hallmark moments, so my post is especially treacly.

You may remember, by the way, that alog used to be a joint effort between Annie and Amy. Well, then Annie had to go and attempt to acquire nuclear weapons, and Amy had no choice but to impose sanctions. What followed were alternating periods of cold war and saber-rattling, followed by a drawn-out period of disengagement, leading eventually to a denouement of rapprochement.

Or something. Actually, I think they both just liked the idea of having her own blogs and not having to worry about accommodating the other's style.

Jamie's First Document

You have to hand it to Bill Gates - Windows has become more and more user-friendly over the years. Exhibit A - this document, created by my 13-month-old son. He navigated around Internet Explorer, opened Notepad, typed a document, hit CRTL+S, and named the file, all on his own. The only help I provided was clicking "save" (he doesn't know how to use the mouse yet). Now, granted, it's not exactly Shakespeare, but it's a start. Now, given a thousand typewriters and a thousand years ...

Moving Up, Part Seven

In the last installment of Moving Up, Avery began his planning for his street fair, enlisting the aid of Cecilia Chavez, a local baker, Kevin Butler, a former baseball player and owner of a neighborhood barbershop, and Henri Ferdinand, the owner/editor of a local weekly newspaper. He also befriended Jerome Williams, the father of one of his employees and an amateur historian, offering him a chance to present a lecture in the library.

*****

The next few weeks were intense ones at work. One of the student workers who Avery had hired had to quit due to a combination of family issues and school work, which left the department short-handed, at the same time that a large new delivery of books arrived. Sorting, tagging, and shelving those books consumed many man-hours of labor over those weeks, and Avery found himself putting in overtime almost every night. On the one hand, this left him frustrated with work and overly tired in the evenings. But on the other hand, it gave him something to occupy his time, since Kate had gone to Washington D.C. for a long research trip. She was staying with an old family friend. And though she called Avery daily, she was far too busy to talk at length. Avery's heavy workload thus helped to allay his boredom and loneliness.

Despite all of the work at the library, preparations for the festival were proceeding apace. Avery now had four food vendors, a ballfield for the softball game, three musical acts, and two major confirmed sponsors (as well as a handful of smaller ones). What he still didn't have was a permit for the fair. He had visited City Hall one afternoon to discuss a permit with the Commissioner of Parks and Recreation, but the Commissioner was out of town at a meeting. His secretary, trying to be helpful, had provided Avery with the full six-page permit application, as well as the seventeen-page instructions that went with it. The application was filled with questions about the event's impact on traffic, sanitation, crime, and almost every other facet of urban living, and it had to be signed off on by the heads of six different departments. Avery, overwhelmed, had put it to the side, hoping to be able to devote more time to it once things calmed down at work.

The first week of April, Avery was having a particularly rough day at work, and so he stepped out onto the dock to have a cigarette and get some fresh air. The weather that week was typical for Wisconsin in April - fluctuating between the last gasps of winter and the first hints of spring. That particular afternoon tended more towards the latter, as it was sunny and the temperature was inching up towards 60 degrees. As he smoked, Avery tilted his head back and felt the warm rays of sunlight on his face. The calming effects of the pleasant weather allowed Avery to organize his thoughts a bit. He realized that the only way to handle the onslaught at work was simply to slog through it, slow and steady. He decided that he wasn't going to work any more overtime, even if that meant that the work would end up taking a few more weeks to complete.

Having decided that he wasn't going to let work at the library dominate his time, Avery felt better about devoting time again to planning the festival. Finally giving serious though to the fair after all this time, he decided that he needed a strategy for approaching the permit. Up till he actually saw the application, Avery figured that his handful of contacts at City Hall would be sufficient to obtain the permit. But now he knew that he was going to need someone not just with the contacts, but with experience in obtaining the permit. Mulling it over, he suddenly realized that he hadn't ever called Martin Price, one of the organizers from the old festival who Kevin Butler had recommended.

Finishing his cigarette, Avery headed back to his office to search for Price's phone number. When Butler had called about having reserved the ballfield, he had given Avery Price's number. Now Avery just had to remember which little scrap of paper it was written on. After a short search, he found the number, and decided to call Price once he got home.

*****

Arriving at home that night, Avery found Rob in the living room with his girlfriend, Melinda.

"Hi, Avery."

"Hey, Rob."

"Hey, there was something that I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Avery answered, walking into the kitchen. Rob followed.

"Hey, I spend a lot of time over at Melinda's place, and so, um ... Melinda and I decided that it's finally time to take the plunge and officially move in together."

Avery was a little surprised to here this. Not because it didn't make sense, but mostly because he never figured Rob would be decisive enough to actually move in with Melinda. "Oh, I see."

"Yeah, so ... I realize that this could make things hard for you guys, so I just wanted to give you some time to figure things out."

"When were you planning to move?"

"I was thinking I'd move out at the end of May."

Avery thought about it. Between his promotion (and raise) and Kate's grant money, money wasn't near so tight. Losing Rob's $300 a month wouldn't be fun, but it wouldn't be the end of the world, either. "Yeah, Rob, that's fine. I mean, we never had a proper lease anyhow, so two month's notice is more than fair."

"Good, good. I didn't want to make things hard for you and Kate. Anyway, Melinda and I are headed out. I'll see you tomorrow or whatever."

"Okay, see ya," Avery replied, as Rob and Melinda were already halfway out the frontdoor.

Avery started some water boiling for spaghetti. His eating habits had been pretty bad with Kate out of town - frozen pizza and fast food, mostly - so even something as basic as spaghetti seemed like a nice change. As the water boiled, Avery grabbed the cordless phone off the wall, fished Martin Price's number from his pocket, and dialed.

After five rings, Avery was about to hang up when he finally heard an answer.

"Marty Price's office!"

"Oh, hello, Mr. Price. My name is Avery Key."

"How can I help you, Mr. Key? Are you looking to buy or sell a house?" Price asked. Avery had forgotten that Price was a real estate agent.

"Oh, um ... neither, actually."

"Oh ... I see ..."

"Actually, I'm looking for some of your expertise regarding street fairs."

"Street fairs? I'm after that you must have the wrong person."

"Oh, really? I'm sorry." Avery felt slightly silly. "Kevin Butler had told me that you were one of the organizers of the Holton Street Festival and that you might be able to offer me some help."

"Oh ... Holton Street, hey? What makes you bring that up?"

"Well, I'm trying to revive the fair. I've already organized several sponsors and vendors, and recruited some friends to help."

"Really? Wow ..." There was a pause. "Wow, I never thought anyone would try to restart our fair."

"So you are one of the former organizers?"

"Yes, I am. But, boy, I haven't thought about that fair in about - oh, I don't know - eight years or so."

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"So, what did you say you've done so far?"

"Well, I've got a couple big sponsors, a few food vendors, some live music, and a ballfield for the softball game."

"You don't have a permit yet?"

"Uh, no. I only just got the application. That's part of why I called you."

"I see. Well, first of all, you'd better get that application filed ASAP. It can take months to approve one of those things, so you don't want to get struck with you event scheduled and the permit still not approved."

"What about all the impact statements for traffic, crime, etc."

"Well, those look hard, but they're really not bad at all. Really, you just need to make it sound like you've put a little thought into these things and that you have some sort of plan to help. It doesn't even have to be a good plan. Just anything."

"See, but I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Hmm, well ... how did you say you knew of me?"

"Kevin Butler gave me your number."

"Huh." There was a pause. "Is he a good friend of yours?"

"Well ... I mean, I wouldn't say a good friend, but we are working together on this fair."

"Well, okay. Kevin and I go way back. If he's involved, I'd be happy to help you out with the application. Are you free evenings?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Okay, I'll come by your place tomorrow and we'll got over the ins and outs of the form. I know what they're looking for on these things, and I still have some friends at City Hall to smooth over any problems."

"Wow, that would be great."

*****

The next evening, Price came by Avery's house. With Kate still out of town, Avery had asked Price to come over at 7 o'clock so that he'd have a little time to put together a decent dinner. Unfortunately, Avery's cooking skills left much to be desired, so instead, Price found a meal of Iranian take-out when he arrived promptly at 7.

"It's really good of you to come by."

"No problem, really. I'm a real estate broker, so I'm pretty used to working evenings and weekends with my clients. This isn't too different."

"So does that mean you'll be expecting a 6% cut?"

Price laughed, by didn't respond to Avery's joke. "Anyway, let's sit down and go over the details of this application."

Over a dinner of khoresht and lamb kebabs, Avery and Price discussed the precise details of the fair planning as it stood at that stage. Price took copious notes, even of details that Avery had barely remembered to mention. After an hour or so, Price seemed satisfied.

"Okay, it sounds like you've got most of the major issues ironed out. I think we'll be able to get this approved by Park & Rec." Price skimmed over his notes as he spoke. "I'll fill out the application in my office tomorrow and then I'll take it down to City Hall tomorrow afternoon. I have a couple condo showings in the Third Ward at 1pm, so that should work out well."

"Excellent. Thank you so much, Mr. Price."

"No problem. I have to admit that I was pretty skeptical when I first heard about that, but the more I hear, the more excited I get about it."

"Well, I'm glad that I have your blessing ... and your help."

"Sure," Price said, pausing. "Hey, there's one thing that you hadn't mentioned. What are you using as you staging area for the festival?"

"Staging area?"

"Yeah, you know - the place where you have ovens for the food vendors, prep and storage area for the musicians, and various and sundry other things like garbage cans, first aid kits, and the like."

"Oh ... boy, I hadn't really thought about that."

Price had already half gotten out of his chair preparing to leave, but now he sat back down. "Really? Wow ... um, a staging area is very important to a good festival. It's basically your headquarters."

"Yeah, I see ... I don't know how that never occurred to my before."

"Well, good thing that I'm here to help."

"Yeah." Avery was thinking. "Problem is that of the various shopkeepers who are participating, none of them have big enough store to accommodate anything like that. And my house is too far away to serve as a headquarters."

"Hmm." Price seemed deep in thought. He opened up and started flipping through his binder. "Let's see ... oh, here it is! Are you familiar with that large vacant storefront on the east side of Holton, near Center?"

"The one on the same block as The Hot Corner?"

"Yeah, that's the one. That place has been for sale for months now - close to a year, actually. I'm thinking that they might be interested in renting to you for a month or two just to get some income from the property. That place would be a great stage area."

"How much do you think something like that would run?"

"Well, with the place empty and unsold, it's costing them a ton of money. If you were able to put up enough to cover the taxes and utilities for the time you had it, I bet they'd go for it."

"With our sponsorships, I think we could swing that."

"Excellent. I'll give the listing agent a call tomorrow, and have her see if he clients would be interested in a short-term rental."

"Wow, thank you so much, Mr. Price."

"Alright, now I need to be running. Thank you for the dinner. I'll be in touch with you tomorrow afternoon."

*****

Price was good to his word. Avery received a call the following afternoon at ten past four. Price had filled out the permit application and already had the approval of four of the six necessary officials. And he hadn't been able to talk to the final two only because they were at an out-of-town conference. Price assured Avery that he'd have the entire application signed and the final approval granted by the middle of the next week. Avery, frankly, wasn't terribly concerned now that Price was handling this part of the process, and so told him to take his time.

With the permit nearly in-hand, Avery decided to go back to the Riverwest Beat's offices to meet with Henry Ferdinand and discuss the advertising for the festival. They had already picked the last Saturday in August (the weekend before Labor Day) as the date for the festival, because, Milwaukee being the City of Festivals, every other weekend was packed with at least one, and sometimes two, festivals. And though word-of-mouth had already spread the news of the impending return of the Holton Street Festival, Avery and Henry decided that serious advertising in the Beat and participation from local businesses was the only way to ensure a good turnout.
When Avery arrived at the Beat, it was already a quarter past six. All of the lights were out, but Avery noticed a newsboy leaving the building.

"Excuse me! Hold the door!"

"Oh, sure."

"Thank you. I'm here for a meeting with Mr. Ferdinand."

"Sure, no problem. Are you Avery?"

"Yes."

"Sure, he's back in his office, waiting for you."

"Hey, wait! Don't I know you?"

"Uh ... I don't think so."

"Yeah, you look familiar ... do you also work at a place on Holton?"

"Yeah, I work at the stationary station on Holton and Center."

"Right! Right, you're in Flamesnake."

"Oh, no. Not anymore. We broke up weeks ago."

"Oh, sorry to here that."

"Yeah, but we put together a new band with a new singer and drummer."

"What're you called now?"

"Good Behavior."

Avery chuckled. "Trying go more mainstream?"

"It's short for 'time off for good behavior.'"

"Oh, I see. What kind of music do you play now?"

"Y'know, alternative rock or whatever. Indie."

"Huh. Like who do you sound like."

"Oh, I don't know ... like, New Pornographers or whatever - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, the Smiths, R.E.M."

"Are you as good as them?" Avery asked.

"Well, we don't have a record or whatever, but yeah, I think we're pretty good."

"Cool. You still looking for a gig?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Cool. Here, give me a call," Avery said, handing the kid a business card, "and I'll give you more details."

"Awesome, man."

"Hey, what's your name?"

"Carlos de los Santos."

"Okay, Carlos, like I said, give me a call and I'll see about getting your band a chance to play at the street fair. Assuming you're still together at that point."

"Cool, man, thanks."

Avery headed inside and back into Henry's office. Henry was sitting with a cup of tea, reading over copy from several articles destined for the next issue. Other that Henry's office, all of the lights were out and the rest of the staff had left for the night

"Evening, Henry."

"Hello, Avery."

"So, I've got good news. I met Martin Price, and he's been helping with the planning."

"Marty? Hey, how's he doing?"

"Very well. He's a realtor now and appears to be doing pretty well for himself."

"Oh, good. He was really instrumental in organizing the original festival. I would have told you to look him up earlier, but I had heard that he moved to Minneapolis. I guess I heard wrong."

"Yeah, he's been really great was the whole process for getting the permit approved."

"Oh, that's really a bear. I once tried to throw a party for my staff and some of the neighbors - a small thing really, though it would have required closing down the alleyway. But God, City Hall was not having any of it. I spent weeks trying to get the application approved, and they just kept throwing up new roadblocks. I finally just gave up and held the party in the offices here."

"Yeah, I think without Marty's help I would be stuck that way too."

"So has the application actually been approved yet?"

"Not quite. But Marty said the middle of next week at the latest."

"Okay." Henry paused. "Well, if you've got the approval by Wednesday afternoon, I think we'll be able to get the advertisement into next week's issue - it goes to print Thursday morning. But if you don't have the approval, we'll have to bump it - it's illegal to advertise street fairs that don't have permits."

"Okay, then we should probably go over the wording and the layout for the ad."

"One step ahead of you." Henry pulled out several 12" x 14" full-page sheets, with possible wording and graphics. All of the sheets featured a rough sketch of people dancing. "I threw these together this afternoon."

"Did you do this art yourself?"

"Yeah, but these are just rough sketches. The final ones would look a lot better than this."

"Oh, no. Don't sell yourself short. These are really good." Avery examined the sheets carefully. "I especially like this one," he said, gesturing at the third of the four designs.

"What makes you pick that one?"

"I don't know." Avery perused the sheet. "The lettering is bold, but also fun. And the graphics are fun, too. It just says 'party' more than the others."

"Great. Good. Then we'll go with that one. I'll just finish the picture - make it a bit more polished."

"Actually, I don't think we need to change it a bit. I like the rough look of it - I wouldn't want it looking too slick," Avery explained. "Where'd you learn to draw like that?"

"When you're self-publishing a weekly newspaper, you learn to do a bit of everything."

Avery laughed. "Yeah, I guess so, huh?"

On his way out of the office, Avery's cell phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, but the out-of-state area code gave him an idea of who it might be.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Ave. It's me."

"Hey, Kate. How are you tonight?"

"Good, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, the research isn't going quite as well as I had hoped. I'm having problems getting a hold of some of the documents that I need."

"Are they top-secret or something?"

"No, not at all - they should be public record. And I have all of my Freedom of Information Act forms completed. The Defense Department just won't turn them over."

"Hmm."

"Yeah, I just don't know who to talk to. My friend Sara works for Homeland Security, but she doesn't have any contacts at the Pentagon to help out." Kate paused. "Whatever happens, I think I'm going to be in D.C. for a while - longer than I expected. I already canceled my flight back."

"Yeah, I kinda figured," Avery said. He was already halfway home. "But, hey, have you considered our Congressman?"

"What about him?"

"Well, I don't know - I mean, you always hear stuff on the news about people getting their Congressman to solve this problem or that problem."

"What am I supposed to do, just call Gary Hofstra's office and say 'Hey, I'm one of your constituents - please help me out?'"

"Sure, why not?"

"You're so retarded," Kate said, deadpan.

"You are," Avery replied, laughing.

*****

Two weeks later, Avery found himself in the vacant storefront on Holton Street, along with Marty Price, Sheldon Herbert - the building's owner - and Cecilia Chavez - Esmerelda's daughter. Avery had brought Cecilia along because he needed her to verify if the building's kitchen was sufficient for her uses. The other food vendors for the festival were all businesses along Holton Street, and so had easy access to their own kitchens. The festival headquarters, therefore, would have to serve as the kitchen for Esmerelda's baked goods tent.

The building consisted of a large open room in the front and a spacious kitchen in the rear, accessible by two sets of double-doors. There was a bar along one side of the room, and in a corner near the kitchen was a counter that divided off a small area of the room where there were several electrical outlets and phone jacks. The building clearly had been a restaurant of some sort, and the corner area was likely where the cash register had been located. Avery surveyed the room and, doing some quick mental calculations, figured that it would be sufficient for their purposes. Assuming, of course, that the kitchen was up to the task.

"What sort of restaurant did you say this had been, Mr. Herbert?"

"It was an Italian Restaurant - Famiglia Rosselli's - so the ovens in the kitchen are all sufficient for making pizza, bread, lasagna, whatever. The works!"

Avery shot a glance at Cecilia, who was listening to the conversation quietly. He was trying to read from her face if Herbert's claims about the kitchen were even relevant to their needs. "Can we take a look at the kitchen, Mr. Herbert?"

"Sure, I'd be happy to show you."

"Actually, um ... actually, can Cecilia and I look at it alone?"

"Oh," Herbert paused. "Ah, sure, okay. I guess."

Avery nodded at Cecilia and they walked across the room into the kitchen. Immediately, Avery noticed that there was a rather foul smell coming from the sinks.

"Oh, god."

"It smells like there's something rancid down there," Cecilia said, pointing at one sink in particular. "They probably dumped grease down the drains after the restaurant was shut down."

"Is that a problem?" Avery asked.

"Well, yes."

"Well, I mean - big or small?"

"Depends. You ought to have Mr. Herbert get Roto-Rooter in here. It could be bad."

"Hmm." Avery surveyed the room further. "What about the refrigerators?"

"Well, they look pretty old. But otherwise ... well, I see no reason why they wouldn't work. I mean, there's nothing obviously wrong with them."

"Okay, that's good." Avery turned towards the ovens. "What about these? Do they live up to the billing?"

Cecilia examined them carefully. From what Avery could tell, they were fairly new. After a once-over, Cecilia looked back at Avery. "Only one way to find out how well they work." She turned the dial on the first oven to 500 degrees. There was a hiss of gas, and then a whoosh of flame. Opening the door, they could see the burners were all operating correctly. "Looks good."

Cecilia turned off the oven and walked with Avery back into the main room.

"Well, Mr. Key, how do you and your wife like the place?"

"Oh ... um ... she's not my wife."

"Sorry, sorry. Girlfriend, or, uh ... whatever."

"No, no. She's just a, um, business partner." Avery looked at Cecilia. She was blushing, and he felt his own face turning red, though he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was that Cecilia was his friend's daughter, and though he couldn't help but notice that she was quite pretty, there were so many things wrong with the thought of them being together. First and foremost, Avery was married, of course. But Cecilia was also twelve years younger than he was, and he had known her since she was fifteen. "No, I'm married. My wife is out of town."

"Oh, my apologies. Just thought it was a May-December thing." Avery glared back at Herbert. "May-October. May-June." Avery couldn't believe that Herbert was still digging this hole.

"Okay!" Marty Price suddenly interjected. "What sort of terms are we look at on this place?"

Herbert looked relieved. "Terms! Right. Um ... I'm just looking to cover my costs for the time you're here. So, I figured you pick up all the utility bills as well as the tax bill. So, we're looking at roughly $1,000 for the month."

"Okay. Does that sound good to you Avery?"

"Yes, I think that fits our budget just fine."

"About the sink?" Cecilia chimed in.

"Yes?"

"Well, you realize of course that the sink in the kitchen is going to need to be un-clogged. In its current condition, it's very likely to back-up as soon as we try to use it."

"Oh." Herbert was clearly caught off-guard by the question. He was likely not aware of the problem. "Well, we'll have to have that checked out. So, we'll include that in the bill as well."

"Mr. Herbert, you are the landlord, and we have not signed any lease as of yet, so I believe that is your responsibility to take care of," Cecilia said, sternly. Avery was surprised. "Such an obvious defect needs to be remedied before we even think about renting this building."

"Of course, Miss ..."

"Chavez."

"Right. Yes, of course, I'll take care of it."

"Then it's decided," Avery said. He was very glad that he had brought Cecilia along.

"I'll draw up the papers and send them along to Mr. Price here," Herbert said.

There were handshakes all over before Avery, Cecilia, and Marty left, Herbert staying behind to lock-up.

"I'm got a good feeling about this," Avery said. "I've really gotta thank you both for your help. I think this festival is going to be a real good thing for the community," Avery said, staring out at Holton Street and mentally picturing the street teeming with people from the neighborhood, listening to music, dancing, eating, and drinking.

Moving Up, Part Six

When last we saw brave Mr. Key, he was embarking on a most quixotic task - to revive a long-dead street fair in his neighborhood. Will he be crowned with the laurels of success? Or will he be dashed on the rocks of failure? Will I use more overblown metaphors? You can only find out by reading on in Part Six of Moving Up.

*****

The following Monday morning, Avery woke up an hour and a half early, and walked over to Holton to catch the Number 14 bus. As he stood on the corner of Holton and Center, he surveyed the street in both directions. He could see what Henry had been talking about. This part of the neighborhood was far from run-down, and there were several business - a beauty parlor, two bars, a Persian restaurant - within sight. But there was also one large, vacant storefront, and another smaller one that was boarded up. This section of Holton could certainly use a little love.

After a few minutes, the bus arrived and Avery hopped on. It was about a twenty minute ride from Riverwest through Downtown and then down to Mitchell Street, where Avery was planning to pay a visit to his friend Esmerelda. Sebastian's comment the previous day about the pastries at the Holton Street Festival had gotten Avery thinking.

When he arrived at Esmerelda's, it was already mid-morning for Esmé, even though it was barely seven o'clock.

"Avery! Good morning!"

"Morning, Esmé!"

"What brings you here before work?"

"Well, I had to talk to you about something, and I couldn't do it on city time."

"Hmm, I don't remember that ever stopping you before," Esmerelda quipped.

"Yes, well, I've changed. I'm a manager now - I've gotta set a good example."

"Yeah, I heard about that - your name was in the paper and everything. Congratulations, Ave."

"Yeah, it's nice, mostly because I don't have to work for a horrible boss anymore. But the work is more interesting. Plus, more money." Avery smiled. "Oh! Which reminds me - I still owe you three dollars!" Avery reached into his wallet and pulled out a ten dollar bill. "Why don't you give me a dozen of whatever's fresh for my staff."

"Cecilia!" Esmé yelled to her daughter in the kitchen. "Grab a dozen of whatever's freshest for Avery!"

"Sí, mámá!"

Within a few seconds, Cecilia emerged from the back with a baker's dozen of some sort of Mexican pastry that Avery couldn't identify.

"These are a specialty from back home in Juarez," Esmé explained. "You'll like them."

Avery was so excited about the pastries that he nearly forgot the purpose of his visit. He was halfway to the door when something reminded him. "Oh, Jeez. Esmé, I nearly forgot why I came here in the first place."

"You mean my wonderful baking isn't enough?"

"No, your wonderful baking is the exact reason for my visit! Do you remember back when there used to be an annual street fair in Riverwest, on Holton?"

"Vaguely, I guess. Those neighborhood festivals come and go so often."

"Well, I thinking about trying to revive it. The problem is that most of the businesses that used to be involved aren't there anymore."

"Are you looking for me to sponsor this thing? Cause Ave, I don't have that kind of extra money."

"No, no, no. I'll hit up big, rich companies for sponsorships," he said with a smile. "No, what I'm looking for now are vendors. Did you ever hear of Ma Cherie?"

"Heard of it? Ave, that place was only the best bakery in town for years."

"Well, they used to be the vendor for baked goods at the festival - and they were one of the highlights of the fair."

"Are you asking me to replace Ma Cherie? Talk about a hard act to follow!" Avery could tell that Esmé was very skeptical. "Besides, who's going to run a vendor's tent? I've barely got the staff to run this one location as it is."

Avery noticed that Cecilia was listening intently. "Well, Esmé, I really think that it would be worth trying to work something out. I mean, if this thing is a success, you'd probably sell more in a single day at the fair than you'd sell in a typical weekend."

"Mámá, I think you should do it," Cecilia said, her voice barely a whisper.

"And who is going to run the tent, hija?"

"I will, mámá. I can do it, with some help from Carlos and Juan," she said, referring to her younger brothers. Esmé looked unconvinced. "Mámá, I can't work in your bakery forever. You know that I want to run my own bakery one day. This could be a chance to gain some great experience."

Esmerelda shot Avery a look. "Did you two cook-up this conspiracy together?" He wasn't sure if she was kidding or not.

"On my mother's grave, Esmé - no."

"Avery, I've met your mother. She's alive and well." Esmé was smiling now.

"Oh, my mistake."

"So, mámá, does that mean that I can do it?"

"Well ... I guess you're right. It would be a good experience."

"This is all assuming this thing comes together," Avery added, trying not to get Cecilia's hopes up.

"Okay, Cecilia. Okay, Avery. I'll do it."

"You're a wise woman, Esmé."

"We'll see about that."

Pastries in hand, Avery walked a block over to catch the Number 19 bus, which would get him back downtown closer to the library than the Number 14. As he walked in the thirty degree weather, he realized that the once piping hot pastries were rapidly cooling. Figuring it would be a waste to let them cool without know what a fresh one tasted like, Avery pulled one out and took a bite. "Oh my god this is good!" he said far too loudly to no one in particular. He was so enamored of the pastry that he nearly missed his bus.

*****

Later that week, Avery was sitting in his office pouring over some budget numbers (it was things like this that made middle management less bearable) when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Avery Key?"

"It is."

"This is Clay Shaw from Carver, Briggs & Henderson. Your wife gave me your number."

"Oh, okay. You know Kate?"

"Well, no. But I spoke to her this morning. She apparently is acquainted with one of our attorneys, Randall Weber."

Avery was confused. "I'm sorry, what is this about?"

"Your wife didn't tell you?"

"Uh, I guess not."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me explain. I work in the marketing department at Carver Briggs. Randy Weber told me that you were looking to organize a community festival this summer and that you were looking for sponsors."

"Oh, yes. That's correct."

"Well, my firm is always interested in sponsoring events in the community. We're looking for a festival where we could set up a booth, to try to makes some ties in the community, especially local businesses."

"Oh, okay. I think that would certainly be possible."

"Excellent. What other sort of sponsorship do you have at this point?"

Avery wasn't sure if he should try to fib a bit about the planning or not. As it was, he couldn't quite think up a plausible lie, so he decided that it was just best to go with honesty "Well, actually, you're the first." There was a pause at the other end. Avery started getting worried that he had blown a big chance.

"Mr. Key ... how far are you in the planning for this event?"

"Well, honestly ... I've, um ... well, I've talked to a few local businesses about being involved as vendors. And I've got a deal with the Riverwest Beat to publicize the event and to produce signs and flyers. But that's about it so far."

"Do you have permits?" Shaw asked, sounding unsure of how serious Avery was about the festival.

"Um ... no. I actually don't have the cash on hand for that. But I really don't foresee it being a problem - I have connections at City Hall."

"Well, Mr. Key, you'll need more than connections at City Hall to get the Department of Recreation to shut down a major street for a day."

Avery felt chastened, like a schoolteacher was scolding him. "Well, Mr. Shaw, I felt that the appropriate course of action was to first see about rounding up financial backing before committing to a permit. Also, without having vendors lined up, I wouldn't know how large a street closure would be necessary, or even which blocks to request." Avery could swear that he almost hear Shaw start to be convinced through the phone.

"Well, I see. It seems that you're further in your planning than I had realized."

"Yes, I've given this a fair amount of though," Avery said, bluffing a little. "Mr. Shaw, what I'm looking for at this time from your firm isn't a definite commitment of sponsorship, but a provisional one, contingent on my being about to recruit other vendors and sponsors."

The tone in Shaw's very was beginning to change. "Well, that is certainly reasonable. What sort of financial commitment were you looking for?"

Avery paused. He hadn't actually thought about a dollar amount. He tried to do some quick mental math, and arrived at a ballpark figure. "Five thousand dollars."

"Hmm."

Avery wasn't sure what that sound meant. "Mr. Shaw?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just wanted to check your request against our other marketing commitments this summer." There was another pause. "Yes, I think five thousand should be fine."

"Excellent," Avery said, breathing a sigh of relief and trying desperately to not let it be audible through the phone line. "I will get in touch with you within the next few weeks to let you know where the preparations stand."

"Sounds good."

"Thank you, Mr. Shaw. Have a good day."

"Thank you. Good-bye."

Avery hung up and practically jumped out of his seat and danced out into the main room. Sebastian was walking by at just that moment.

"Bastian! I've got great news!"

"What's that?"

"I think I've lined up a sponsor for our revival of the Holton Street Festival."

"Oh, that's wonderful. Do you think it will really happen?"

"I think so."

"That is very good. I have some friends who would like to participate, I think. They have a Afro-Caribbean drum band, and they are always looked for gigs around town."

"That sounds perfect." Avery was really starting to impress himself with how quickly this whole plan was coming together. "I'll need to give Henry Ferdinand a call later to let him know how things are progressing."

"Speaking of Henri, I believe that Dante and I have made a lot of progress in sorting through the back issues of the Beat." Sebastian led Avery over to the sorting area, pointing to the stacks of newspapers.

"Yeah? That's great."

"Henri appears to have been mistaken about the number of back issues that he had. Just from the piles we have sorted so far, we have found almost three-quarters of the issues from the last five years, and about half of the issues from the years before that."

"Great work, Sebastian."

"I even found some old articles that I wrote," Sebastian added, smiling and handing Avery an issue from 2001.
Avery took the paper and glanced over the article. It was a about a local businessman who had run for State Senate. Avery didn't recognize the man's name, so he had probably lost, possible even in the primary. But what struck him was the quality of the article. "Sebastian, you're a really good writer. What made you give this up?"

"Well, believe it or not, mon ami, being a reporter/secretary for a free local newspaper isn't the most lucrative position."

Avery laughed. "I guess not." He continued skimming the article a bit. "Still, this is really good, Bastian. You ought to write for the Journal," Avery said, referring to the major local daily, the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel.

"Maybe in another life," Sebastian said. "For now, I think I'm looking for some more stable."

*****

The evening at closing time, Avery was heading out the backdoor onto the dock, when he noticed a man approaching who he didn't recognize. The man looked a bit lost.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I hope so. I'm looking for my son, Dante Williams."

"Oh, you're Dante's father? I've heard so much about you," Avery said, telling a white lie - truth is, Dante was pretty shy and didn't talk much about his family. "I'm Dante's manager, Avery Key." Avery extended his hand.

"Jerome Williams," Dante's father said, shaking Avery's hand.

"So I haven't seen you here before. Do you normally pick Dante up from work?"

"Most days his brother comes by, but he has an evening class at MATC on Wednesdays."

"Oh, okay."

"So is my son behaving himself?" Jerome asked half in jest.

"Yes, he's doing quite excellent. He's really a very thoughtful and hard-working young man. You and his mother can be quite proud."

"Well, thank you. But, actually, Dante's mother passed away when he was quite young."

"Oh ... I'm terribly sorry." Avery felt his face turning red with embarrassment. "I didn't mean ..."

"Really, it's okay. You didn't know."

There was an awkward silence for a moment. "So, Mr. Williams ... what do you do for a living?"

"Oh, I'm a docent - a griot - at the Black Holocaust Museum, and a pastor at the First Abyssinian Baptist Church."

"Oh, really? Do you have a degree in history?"

"Yes, from Tulane - my focus was on the era of the Underground Railroad and the Fugitive Slave Act."

"That's really a fascinating period."

"Did you study history as well?"

"No, I actually was an English major, but I never finished my degree."

"You should go back and finish - it's never too late. And I always teach my sons that education is the spring from which all of life's blessings flow."

"Certainly." Though he had considered it before and rejected the idea, Avery suddenly found himself pondering the idea of going back to school to finish his degree. "Maybe I will."

"That's one thing I love about working at the Museum - it gives me a chance to educate people from all backgrounds and all levels of education. It's surprising - or perhaps not - that even many very well-educated people know very little about the history of slavery and its legacy in the African-American community."

"I agree. It's really quite a ..." Avery paused, thinking.

"Quite a?" Jerome offered, trying to help Avery regain his train of thought.

"Oh, I sorry. I was just thinking." Avery paused again. "Would you be interested in giving a presentation here at the library?"

"A presentation?"

"Sure. Y'know, maybe a lecture with slides or something, covering the history of slavery, or maybe just the era that you're most comfortable with?"

"Well, that certainly could be worthwhile."

"I just ... well, it seems like there might be a lot of community interest in something like that. And we've got several medium-sized reading rooms upstairs that are available for public use."

"That sounds good. And maybe we could spotlight books in the library that pertain to the topic - to encourage people to read further."

Avery nodded. "Yeah ... I'll run this past my boss. He'd need to sign off on the use of a room, but I can't picture any objections."

At that point, Dante emerged from the backdoor. "Hey, Dad. Hey, Mr. Key."

"Hello, son."

"Hey, Dante," Avery said, before turning back to Jerome. "Well, it was certainly nice to meet you, Mr. Williams. I'll talk to my boss and get back to you." Avery pulled out a business card and handed it to Jerome.

"Thank you, Mr. Key. You can reach me at the Museum most days during the week," Jerome replied, handing Avery a card of his own.

"Well, you have a good evening Mr. Williams, Dante." Avery reached out and shook Jerome's hand before heading back inside to see if he could catch McGee before he left for the evening.

*****

Two Saturdays later, Avery found himself back on Holton, scoping out the location for the fair. There was a three-block section of the street where there were primarily businesses, with only a handful of houses. Avery figured that this was the only section of the street that he was likely to be able to secure a permit for - any others would be too big of an inconvenience for the residents. Avery had learned from back issues of the Riverwest Beat that the former Holton Street Festival had been a much larger affair, encompassing a six-block section of Holton, including several of the side streets.

Surveying his proposed festival grounds, Avery foresaw two main problems - first, securing the participation of the local businesses (or, at the least, their blessing to hold a fair that would undoubtedly disturb normal business patterns), and second, finding a location for the festival's Father-Son softball game. Avery considered himself a big baseball fan, so the softball game was, in his mind, an integral ingredient to the festival. It was, after all, the main participatory event that he had planned, since otherwise mostly the fair would consist of food and drink, music, and some basic games for the kids.

Avery decided to tackle these problems head-on, by approaching the various shop owners and trying to convince them to participate or at least not to protest his permit with City Hall. Walking down the east side of the street, the first two buildings contained a bar, which was not yet open, and a small empty storefront. Next was a small stationary store, but the owner wasn't working that day, and the 16-year-old kid behind the counter had no idea of how she might feel about a street fair. He, however, was willing to offer up his band to perform.

"What's your band called?" Avery asked.

"Flamesnake."

"Um ... what, uh, does that mean?"

"Uh, I dunno. Just sounds cool, I guess."

"Well, okay. Is your music family-friendly?"

"Um, well, like ... we're basically a thrash-metal band."

"So that's a no, hey?"

"Come on, man, you outta hear us play!"

"Well look, I might like your band okay, but I'm betting most of the neighbors might feel a little different."

"I guess. Whatever, man."

Avery suddenly felt very old, lecturing a teenager that his band's music was too loud, and not 'family-friendly,' whatever that meant. Still, he had a feeling that the City was unlikely to approve any street fair featuring Flamesnake, so he left and headed down the street to the next business, a barbershop called The Hot Corner. As he walked in, he noticed immediately a sign advertising haircuts for $7.50 - Avery was usually wary of haircuts this inexpensive, but the fact that all four chairs were filled convinced him that this place was different. The walls of the shop were covered in Brewers memorabilia, including several large signed pictures of several Brewers greats from the 1980s - Robin Yount, Cecil Cooper, Gorman Thomas, Paul Molitor - posing with the same young player. Turning his sights to the oldest of the barbers, a well-built middle-aged man, Avery realized that he was the player in the photo.

"Hey, you're Kevin Butler!" Avery shouted, louder than he had intended. "I used to have your rookie card."

"Sure am. What can I do you for? If you're here for a cut, you'll have to wait your turn."

"Oh, no sir."

"Okay, then you won't mind if I finish this young man's cut before I get to you?"

"Oh, no problem. My apologies." Avery was embarrassed at being so star-struck by a guy who had been a back-up third baseman for the Brewers for a couple seasons in the mid-80s. But that was the team he had grown up following, and for years there he had obsessively poured over the box scores in the paper and collected all of the cards for the players, to the point where he felt like he knew all of the members of those teams. Avery often referred to the Brewers loss in the 1982 World Series as the day his "childhood ended."

After a few minutes, Butler finished the haircut. From what Avery could tell, he was a much better barber than ballplayer. Butler meticulously cleaned the hair clippings from the chair and swept the floor before walking over to where Avery was standing.

"So, what can I do for you?"

"First, I wanted to say that it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Butler. I've been a Brewers fan my whole life, and you're the first player I've ever had the opportunity to meet." Avery reached out and shook Butler's hand. "I just can't believe I've lived in this neighborhood for years now without realizing that you owned this barbershop."

"Well, I try to keep things relatively low-key. I bought this shop years twenty ago with savings from my ballplaying days. Business has had its ups and downs, but its been steady enough that I've got the mortgage paid off now, so I'm happy. Certainly panned out better than my baseball career." Butler smiled.

"I still remember seeing your first career homerun on TV in my parents' basement."

"Only career homerun," Butler clarified. "Yeah, I remember that day, too. It was a home game at old County Stadium. I actually cried when they tore that place down. I had so many memories of that place - not just playing there myself, but watching Hank Aaron play, too. He was my hero growing up. And I only ended up 754 homers short of his record."

Avery and Butler both laughed. Just then, Avery noticed another man step into the shop.

"I'll be right with you, Doug," Butler said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Butler. I don't mean to keep you from your business. Let me get to the point of visit quickly. I'm trying to revive the old Holton Street Festival. I think it would be really good for the neighborhood, both for a sense of community, and for bringing some more business into the area. I wanted to see if you would be willing to support my plan, or possibly even participate."

"Oh, young man, I remember the old festival. That used to be a real good time. Are any of the old crew involved?"

"Well, I'm pretty much starting from scratch."

"Okay, hmm ... you should definitely get in touch with Martin Price. He's a real estate agent now, but he used to be a social worker and community activist. He was one of the organizers of the original festival."

"Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Butler."

"Say, are you planning to restart the old softball game, too?"

"I was, in fact."

"What field were you going to use?"

"Uh, I hadn't figured that out yet."

"Well, there's a ballfield over at St. Matthew's on Pierce. I know the athletic director over there, and I'd be happy to talk to him for you."

"Wow, that would be really great."

"I only have one request." Avery paused, a little worried at what it might be. "Can I manage one of the teams?"

Avery smiled. "Yes, yes, of course." He paused. "But I'm not sure we can let you play. I think you might feast on slow-pitch softball pitching."

Butler laughed. "Hehe, you're probably right. Well, it was good to talk to you, young man, but I've got to get back to work."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Butler," Avery said, handing him a business card.

"Sure. I'll let you know how things pan out with the field. And don't forget to give Martin Price a call."

"Sure thing." They shook hands and Avery headed out and back down the street, very pleased at how this meeting had gone. The next business he set his sights on was the Iranian restaurant on the next block, which he had seen two weeks earlier. The restaurant wasn't yet open for lunch, but by chance, Avery caught the owner as he was arriving to start setting up.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes?"

"Do you work here?" Avery asked, feeling a little foolish, since the man was unlocking the door.

"Yes, I'm the owner."

"Oh, excellent. Hi, my name is Avery Key and I'm trying to organize a revival of the Holton Street Festival this summer. I was planning to ..."

"I'm sorry, I'm very busy. What do you want?"

Avery was a little taken aback by the man's brusque retort. "Oh ... of course. I'm trying to revive the fair, and basically I just wanted to know if you would be willing to participate or if you have an objections."

The man seemed slightly angry. "Yes, yes, I have objections! This fair, what will this do to my business? All of these people around, but none of them coming into my restaurant."

"Well, but what about if you were one of the vendors?"

"Oh, and I suppose that you would then want me to pay you a fee to sell food in the street in front of my own restaurant? What do you want? Twenty percent? Thirty percent? Maybe fifty percent?"

"Oh, no, no, Mr., um ..."

"Rahmanian. My name is Fareed Rahmanian."

"Mr. Rahmanian, I have every intention of making sure that the vendors at this fair make money. I was expecting only ten percent - after costs - to help cover the expenses of organizing the fair."

Rahmanian squinted at Avery, sizing him up. Avery was unsure of what his reaction might be. "You sound like a fair man. I will consider your offer."

"Thank you, Mr. Rahmanian. Please, don't let me keep you any longer." Avery reached out to shake his hand and give him a business card. Strangely, Avery was finding a lot more use for the cards in non-official functions.

Heading down the street, Avery was delighted that his efforts so far had been so successful. At this rate, he was beginning to have hope that he might be able to pull this thing off.