“Boomer” Winfrey

Varmint County Correspondent

IT’S been awhile since I reported much on political happenings here in Varmint County, for the most part because there hasn’t been a lot going on among the county’s politicians.    

Oh, there has been the usual rash of feuds and silliness among various officials and a new justice center that may or may not be completed before the current crop of inmates serves out their sentences. In the latest setback, the big city architects hired to oversee the project discovered why it pays to drill a few holes here and there before planning a site for a two-story building in a region known for underground caverns – you might just build on top of one.

The architects and contractors completed the ground floor of cellblock A on a Friday afternoon and returned to work on Monday, just to discover that the building now has a basement, but no ground floor.

“Just leave it like it is,” Sheriff Hiram Potts deadpanned. “I always wanted a dungeon with a torture chamber.”

But something finally happened at the courthouse a couple of months back that’s worth a good tale or two, namely the retirement of the county commission’s longest-serving, and most notorious member.

The county commission, or the county court as it’s still known around these here parts, is made up of a dozen squires representing the county’s various civil districts. Two represent Haig Hollow and are, predictably, both Haigs –

Curley and clan elder Elijah’s youngest son Roscoe. Two represent the town of Pleasant View on Mud Lake, both nicknamed “Buck,” while two others represent the region over around Stinking Creek, McCracken’s Neck and the lands dominated by the Hockmeyer clan.

The other four squires represent the county seat and most populous town, Lower Primroy. In addition to Hiram “Little Hair” Pennywell, former school superintendent Will U. Reade and Belinda Bandit, Lower Primroy is also represented by the senior citizen of the commission, Melvin Botts.

Melvin has been known for years as “Doctor No,” named after a villain in one of the old James Bond movies from the 1960s. Melvin earned the nickname because he served on the county court for sixteen years without once voting “yes” on any motion that involved spending money.

Actually, my old boss, Varmint County War Whoop & Exterminator publisher H. Harley Hamm, gave Melvin the nickname after one particular “no” vote. Archie Aslinger, who was at the time the courthouse’s head janitor, told the squires that his junior assistant had broken the county’s last push broom and there was no money left in the maintenance budget to replace it. Archie asked the squires for a modest appropriation of $40 to buy a couple of new push brooms to tide them over until the next budget was passed.

“I have to vote no,” Melvin complained. “Archie, there ain’t no danged reason why you need to spend 40 bucks on brooms when you can buy one at Smiley’s Tobacco Mercantile for three dollars.”

The specter of Archie trying to sweep the massive courthouse floors with a simple household broom was too much for H. Harley, so he started calling Melvin “Doctor No.” He figured the nickname would shame Melvin into changing his penny-pinching ways but he was mistaken.

Melvin liked the name so much that he actually spent extra money to change the license plate on his car to DR NO, and spent more money to get a plate for his wife’s car that read MRS NO.

Then last November, after serving a total of 27 years as a squire, Melvin Botts announced that his hearing has grown so bad that he can no longer “serve with integrity,” meaning he is afraid he might accidentally vote “yes” on a spending motion because he can’t hear the details.

He resigned effective immediately, which set off a round of maneuvering by various political wannabes to be appointed as Doctor No’s replacement. Toe Aslinger, who finished as the runner-up in the past election, lobbied the squires to appoint him to the seat since he received the most votes without being elected.

County Mayor Clyde Filstrup Junior’s nephew on his wife’s side, Condy Pinetar, was also pushed as a possible candidate, along with Sally Mae Snodgrass, wife of Coach B. O. Snodgrass.

The problem is, unlike the secret ballots cast by voters at the polls, the squires must cast their vote in public, making more enemies than friends.

“I move that we accept all nominations and vote on them one by one. Commissioners can vote for as many or as few of the candidates as they wish, and the top two vote getters will move to a second round,” Commissioner

Little Hair Pennywell announced.

“But what if we all vote for every candidate?” Curley Haig asked.

“Why, we’ll call it a tie and let the Mayor cast the deciding vote,” Little Hair replied.

“Oh, no you won’t. You’re not sticking me with doing your job for you,” Clyde Junior protested.

“Why don’t we just leave the seat open until the next election and let the voters decide?” Barney “Buck” Holsapple asked.

“Uh, state law requires that the county commission fill the seat within 120 days. That’s the only way to meet the constitutional requirement for equal representation,” Lawyer Philbert McSwine pointed out.

Predictably, the squires postponed action on replacing Doctor No until January, but again ran into a rock wall, that is until Wilbur “Buck” Snort from Pleasant View suggested a way out.

“I move that we leave Melvin’s seat open until the next election,” Buck proclaimed, “But in order to guarantee every citizen receives equal representation, I move we assign a vote of “no” from that seat on every motion until it is filled by voters. That way voters will get the same representation they’ve always had.”

“Actually, if we assign a “no” vote on every motion, people might not even notice that Melvin has retired,” Belinda Bandit observed. “I second the motion.”

And so, dear readers, the county court avoided a constitutional crisis. The motion to leave Melvin Botts’ seat vacant until the next election passed by a vote of 11-1, with Melvin’s empty chair voting “no.”