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Show Teim O'CiocEi WlbSsQIe by David Flelsher . I was watching the Pittsburgh PiratesPhiladelphia Phillies baseball game Monday night when the telephone rang. When I answered the phone, the first thing I heard was, "My television went out! And I don't know what to do about it!" The woman, I'll call her Dolores, was upset because she wanted to watch "Masterpiece Theatre" but was unable to do so because her T. V. went on the blink. "The damn thing went off right in the middle of the 5 o'clock news," she exclaimed. . Dolores called me because she knew of no one else in town to call who could help her. She was somewhat upset, not so much because her' television stopped working, but because Park City does not have an emergency number. "There's no one in this town to call," she said. "What would happen if there was a real emergency?" The next day I spoke to several other people who had T.V. problems. And they were a little upset, too. I think 1 figured out the problem. Dolores lives in a Park Avenue Condo across from the Holiday Inn, and I live on Main Street. Lightening must have struck her television transmitter, causing her T.V. , to go goo gooo. But my television was obviously working fine since I was in the middle of watching the ball game when Dolores called. But what is at issue here is not a broken television. It is the fact that Park City lacks a "Hot line." Of course, you can always call the police, but when you call the police at night in Park City, somebody in Coalville answers and says, "Dispatch." There's nobody in the police station here after 6:00pm. ' ' What if somebody is about to leap from his window in a fit of despair, and then has second thoughts and would like to talk to someone about his problems? If he calls the police after 6pm, the first thing he hears is "Dispatch." He'll probably figure he was better off doing what he wanted to do in the first place -- leap from the window and scream, "Dispatch!" I had an emergency last year which I mentioned in this column several months ago. I was given a turkey for Christmas, forgot to eat it and the turkey spoiled over a period of time. Not knowing what to do with the turkey, I decided to bury it under three feet of snow. I worried all winter what would happen when spring arrived. I needed a "Hot Line" to call and find out what I should do with this turkey. It was an embarrassing problem, so I wasn't about to call the police and get laughed at or to hear, "Dispatch." And I couldn't call the County Drug Rehabilitation Center here because this wasn't a drug problem; it was a turkey problem. After living in Park City for three years, I have come to the conclusion that the only place to call at night for emergencies is the Alamo Saloon on Main Street. This is where the action is. Because the Alamo is usually crowded with people at night, you're bound to find someone who knows how to handle emergencies ranging from broken television sets to more serious domestic problems. When someone answers the phone, the only thing you hear is "Alamo" which has kind of a soothing affect; Much better than ' Dispatch. ' ' Still Park City needs a legitimate "Hot Line." Whatever you do, don't call the Mayor or City Manager at night. They get enough phone calls as it is, and the last thing they need is for someone to call at midnight complaining about mice in the basement. And don't call me. Idon't know any more, about emergencies than you do, except for how to get rid of spoiled turkeys. Dolores, I sympathize, with. you. Until Park. City has a genuine "Hot Line," I suggest calling the Alamo. As I walk up Main Street, I hear the Ten O'Clock Whistle. |