Have
you noticed how determined everyone seems to be to leave a mark on the world?
It must be a natural reaction to our mortality. Fame comes in many shapes and
sizes. Some people are destined to be known throughout the ages, immortal
through the annals of history, Achilles for instance. The rest of us have to
accept that our own little glimmer of notoriety will dwindle slightly more
quickly. Sadly, we don't often get to pick how we are remembered, that duty
falls to the ones we encounter on our way.
In
the eighties there was a man called Mr O'Gorman living in my town, he was a
crooked old fella with withered features and a wicked scowl. He was determined
to see the worst in everyone and everything. Nothing seemed to bring joy into
his life. Hardly surprising really, he rattled around in a huge old store all
by himself. What was once a thriving Grain and Feed business now was just a
shell, falling into decay around the old man. Weeds sprouted through a massive
yard, unused in years. The painted sign that stretched the length of the
building had once announced, "O'Gorman and Son," proudly to the world
in gold and black, now it was fading and flaked, a symbol of hope forever lost.
It looked like a building abandoned to the mice and spiders. Mr O'Gorman was
not a verbal man, he let his emotions crawl over his face like storm clouds
racing over a sunny valley. Bumping into this shuffling figure could never be
described as a pleasure, which Billy Nugent found out to his cost.
A
small town is a microcosm, and one that can easily be thrown into uproar. One
sunny Sunday, the morning the mass bell was still pealing when Mr O'Gorman was
swept away from the steps of the church by a vision of evil. That was how the
scene was retold later, at any rate. What had actually happened was Billy
Nugent, recently returned from New York City, came careering down the pavement
on something called a skateboard.
Clickity-clack,
clickity-clack, clickity-clack, went the wheels as they
pumped over cracks in the concrete. Along with the skateboard, Billy had
returned from America with a whole collection of hoodies, an equally deadly
addition to his arsenal of mayhem. The sad truth of the matter was that,
Billy, had no control of the board, and nearly no view of what lay ahead of
him. The first time he saw Mr O'Gorman was when they became a flying ball of
limbs. At first, some of the women thought it was the Grim Reaper, come to take
the grumpy old sod down below. When they eventually untangled the mess, it was
a major disappointment to see a spotty teenager emerge from the cowl.
"You
guttersnipe, you should be arrested," growled Mr O'Gorman as he was helped
to his feet.
"It
wasn't my fault. You jumped right out in front of me," stammered Billy.
"Rubbish,
you moron! This is a footpath, not a whatever-the-hell that is, path,"
roared the old man, waving his blackthorn stick at the upended skateboard.
"I
have as much right to be on here as you, and it’s a skateboard, you old
goat," said Billy, as bold as brass retrieving his board. The name calling
was a step to far for Mr O'Gorman, who lashed out with his knobbly walking
stick. Billy deftly avoided the blows and raced for safety.
"I'll
get the Sargent after you…you PUP!" yelled the old man at the disappearing
teenager.
***
Mr
O'Gorman was nothing if not a man of his word. After several heated telephone
calls to the Garda station, the Sargent finally agreed to call on the Nugent's,
but refused to arrest the teenager for attempted murder, as the old man wanted.
Now, whatever the Sargent was expecting to encounter it wasn’t the
disinterested, disrespectful, irreverent young man he found Billy Nugent to be.
Every attempt he made to explain the gravity of the situation, to the spotty
teenager, was greeted with rebuttal. Most annoyingly, the kid's points were
difficult to refute. In the end the Sargent could take no more, he blew his
top, telling the sheepish parents that, "Billy would end up seeing the inside
of a cell before long," then stormed out of the house.
The
following few days saw several more angry calls from Mr O'Gorman, wanting to
know, "Why that hooligan was still roaming the streets terrorising law
abiding people?" Being told that there was nothing illegal about skateboarding
did nothing to ease the situation.
"What
do you mean nothing illegal? Didn't he nearly clean kill me?"
"I
understand, Mr O'Gorman, but it was only an accident and I've had a stern word
with him, and his parents."
"Feck
all good your words are! Didn't I have to run him out of my yard only yesterday,
with that devil board of his, and he gave me the finger, did you hear? The finger!"
The
Sargent sighed heavily into the phone and said, "I’ll have another
word." You could nearly hear his back creak under the weight of defeat.
"You
do that, Sargent, and I'll start selling chocolate tea pots; they’ll be about
as much use."
"I
have to act within the law," said the Sargent, having nearly enough of
being hectored by this old codger.
"Well,
the law is an ass!" roared the old man.
"Are
you calling me an ass," said the Sargent, not believing what he was
hearing.
"If
the cap fits, wear it," snapped Mr O 'Gorman, slamming down the handset.
***
The
Sargent wasn’t the only one to feel the sharp side of Mr O'Gorman's tongue.
Having given up on the law, he turned his attention on the head of the County
Council, for whom he held little regard anyway. That phone conversation went
even worse, as the Town Planning Officer was a jobsworth, with a lazy streak a
mile wide. After listening disinterestedly to Mr O'Groman's rant, the Planning
Officers reply was, "And what do you want me to do about it?" Mr
O'Gorman's blood pressure went stratospheric.
"What
do I want you to do? I want you to get off that huge, lazy, backside of yours
and make this town a safe place to live. I want to know what you lot do in that
brand new, state of the art, tower block, besides ripping off pensioners like
me."
"We
certainly do not rip off pensioners! I resent you're tone, Mr O'Gorman,"
said the Planning Officer hoitily. "We take no revenue from the retired of
this community I will have you know."
"Why
then, are you charging rates on my home?"
"Technically,
it is a business premises, Mr O'Gorman."
"Technically,
I haven't sold anything ten years, but the rates bill comes regardless."
"That
is a different matter entirely," said the Planner, hastily.
"Different
matter my arse, you mark my words, you little shit, if you don't do something
about these kids, you’ll be sorry," ranted Mr O'Gorman, before driving the
handset into its cradle with a crash. Another dead end but he was a dogged old
man and once he got the bit between his teeth, little would distract him. He
contacted the, National Roads Authority, the local TD, the Parish Priest, as
well as every member of the tidy town committee. It seemed no one could do
anything.
The
Sargent had his own axe to grind with Billy Nugent. He was not used to being
belittled, or ignored, making Billy a marked man. Whenever the opportunity
arose the Sargent gave him a grilling, or a clip around the ear. He even hauled
Billy into the station in the back of the squad car. This only made Billy’s reputation
grow until it reached legendary proportions among the youth of the town. Soon,
the number of hoody-wearing skateboarders began to grow, Billy's rein of
anarchy was gathering an unwitting army to itself.
Billy
was far from a criminal mastermind; he wasn't even a bad kid. He just let his
mouth lead the way long before his brain knew what was happening. He never
intended to knock over the old fella outside the church, or even get the
Sargent so mad. It just seemed to happen. People said he was moody but most of
the time he just had nothing to say. Billy didn’t really fit in anywhere. When
other kids began to copy the way he dressed, and wanted to hang out with him,
he thought it was wired…creepy even. In the end, the lure of company was too
much, and he begrudgingly accepted his new role as the town bad boy.
Mostly,
Billy loved to skateboard. He and his new friends made little ramps and tried
to perfect tricks, using the steps of the church or the school playground when
nobody was around. Once, he even skated in O'Gormans yard, thinking the old man
was out. That had been a mistake. As the number of skaters in town grew, so did
the number of voices raised in protest at their existence. Billy couldn't
understand it, after all, what the hell were they doing that was so wrong? It
wasn't like they were selling drugs or mugging the wrinklies. It just made no
sense. When the council tried to get a bye law passed, banning the use of
skateboards on public pavements, Billy knew something had to be done.
About
then, the rats began appearing. Not real rats, ones even more insipid. Small
graffiti rat's, on public buildings. They seemed to spring up overnight, like
magic. People thought the first one was cute, as it depicted an old rat walking
on its back legs with a little walking stick. The next one had the same little
rat but this time he held a bunch of flowers. When the third one appeared,
holding a severed head, the public outcry began. Guess who was first on the
list for questioning? It was Billy with a bullet.
Of
course, he said he had nothing to do with it. The night after Billy was
questioned a whole family of rats appeared on the county council building with
the slogan, "Freedom for the People," blazoned in bold letters above
them. Billy's feet hardly touched the ground as he was hauled back in for
further questioning. This time, he did see the inside of a cell, a whole night’s
worth. At a minute to five in the morning, he was released, with a boot in the
arse to help him on his way home.
Billy
trudged the sidewalks of town, his trademark hoody pulled low over his head. He’d
told the Sargent a dozen times, he had nothing to do with rats, but he may as
well have been taking to the wall. If the Sargent wanted proof he should just
talk to any of his teachers. They would have been delighted to tell him that Billy
hadn't an artistic bone in his body. He was beginning to wonder if his new
found popularity was worth all the hassle. The town was eerie at this time of
the morning, it was so quiet. He walked along rows of houses, fuming, when he
saw something move in the darkness. He froze. If it was the Sargent, he’d probably
nick him for loitering or something.
In
the distance, he made out a hunched figure near the Water Works Office. Billy
decided to get a better look and tip-toed. He was just about to stop when his
foot landed on a patch of gravel, causing the figure to spin round. You could
have knocked him over with a feather when a smiling Mr O'Gorman regarded him
with twinkling eyes. Where he had been kneeling, there was a still wet
drawing of a rat, shaking the last few coppers from a coin purse into the
begging bowl of huge suited figure, with the slogan, Power Corrupts -
Completely. Billy heard Mr O'Gorman chuckle for the very first time and in
a wink, he was gone.
The
very next day, Billy was back in the clutches of the Sargent. He never
mentioned a word about what he had seen, but continued to protest his
innocence. What would be the point in saying? Nobody was going to believe what
he saw. One or two more rats appeared after that, but no one ever identified
the artist. Billy continued to skateboard up and down the pavements of the town,
and Mr O'Gorman continued to rail against the world.
A
few years after that, Mr O'Gorman passed away. His funeral was attended by only
a handful of elderly towns folk, and distant relatives. It amazed everyone when
Billy Nugent turned up at the graveside and remained for the full service. It
was even more baffling when Mr O'Gormans will was read. Hadn't he donated his
yard to the community, under the stipulation that it be concreted over, and
used only as a free skate park for the young people. He also added that the
council could whistle for the rates owed on the land.
The
day after the newly concreted skate park opened, the mysterious artist struck
again. A giant rat, with a crown on his head, appeared on the largest jump. The
Sargent didn’t come looking for Billy about this one, which was just as well,
because he couldn’t get the paint to budge from under his fingernails.
Billy and his friends
continued to skate there for many a year, under the happy observation of the
smiling rat. In the end, the boy, and the man, neither of whom fitted well with
the world, existed in harmony.
