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Show Ten O'GIcck Whistle by David Fleisher Editor's Note: David Fleisher is on vacation. The following uTen O'Clock Whistle" column, first published in the February 22, 1979 issue of The Park Record, is being reprinted here; after reading it, you may be thankful that Park City doesn't have as much snow now as it did last year. A true story... Wednesday of last week I was returning from Heber to Park City after laying out the paper, along with Managing Editor Max Jarman. It was snowing and the streets were icy and very slick. There were many tourists in town on that particular night, making driving even more cumbersome. As we passed the 7-11 store on Park Avenue, Max said he wanted to be dropped off at the bottom of Main Street. When we approached Main Street, I saw a line of cars trying desperately to drive up the street, but their wheels rebelled, spinning and zinging, as if to say, "Hell no, I'm not going any further until you put chains on me." Max got out "of trie car and I immediately thought to. myself, "Do I really want to try to make it up Main Street? Maybe I should make a U-turn and go up Swede Alley." I decided against Swede Alley and proceeded up Main Street, thinking it couldn't be all that bad. I had my foot on the floor, the accelerator all ihe way down, and I was making a little progress. I have been told never to floor the accelerator, but to go gradually and smoothly. But gradually and smoothly didn't work at all. Only full speed ahead would work. I began to sweat profusely as I passed the Post Office. My language was something less than courteous. I shouted profanities at people I didn't even know (luckily my window was closed, so they didn't hear me). I turned the radio on for comfort. People stared at me and my car. which by this time must have sounded like World War III. The tires were zinging and zinging as I crept up Main Street; all the while I was thinking I needed a stiff drink. I got as far as Mileti's, and then the car simply refused to go any farther. I was stuck and cussing and sweating and listening to the radio and making rude faces at people. And there was a line of cars in front of me. ..all stuck. Finally, the man in front of me got out of his car and screamed in my window at close range. "Listen, we're not going anywhere. I think we should try to back down the street. It's the only way." I told this man. whom I assumed was a tourist, to get back in his car and get out of my way (I can't remember if I was polite or not: but I doubt if I was being a nice person). "You don't back down Main Street," I told him firmly. "You'll end up rumbling through the Car 19 Restaurant." The man stared at me for a moment, then got back in his car. I somehow managed to get by his car, took a left turn into Swede Allev. then went down Swede Allev behind Mileti's looking for a parking space. There were no parking spaces. My glasses began to fog up and the windshield was iced-over. 1 was still sweating and using profane language at an alarming rate. "My God. Am 1 really going through all this?" 1 thought aloud to myself. I envied Max for being on foot: at least he wasn't driving around Park City like a lunatic, screaming at tourists. I decided not to try driving up Main Street again; so, I ended up circling around the parking area in Swede Alley. This was not particularly fun considering I was on the verge of getting stuck in the snow and ice at every turn. I thought maybe praying would help... it didn't. Finally, as 1 was about to turn into a complete basket case, I found a parking space. Maybe the prayer did help: so. 1 thanked God, got out of the can raced to the nearest private club, and drank a bourbon (straight). It was about this time that I heard the Ten O'Clock Whistle. As a matter of fact, I think I heard several "whistles" that night. |