As initially reported, it sounded as though the boys had gotten themselves into another fine mess, and it is understandable how a Vulcan firetruck could be confused with the firetruck that features the actual Vulcans.
Yes, there was an episode Saturday night when a Vulcan firetruck apparently, take your pick, nicked a car, a fence, an ice bank or a retaining wall near the Eagle Street Grille. Witnesses hailed the driver, allegedly to no avail, and when one of the restaurant keepers came outside and made inquiries, the truck merrily chugged away to its next destination.
Which was Alary’s Bar on East Seventh Street, or the alley behind Alary’s, where the coppers, responding to the events at the Eagle Street Grille, had acted on high alert. They found the truck but no driver or passengers, and the way it was initially reported made you stop and scratch your head because it was reported like this: “Officers attempted to locate the driver and his passengers Saturday night but were unsuccessful.”
Well, one of them, the True King, has a sword, and all of them wear magnificent red costumes with plumed helmets, and their faces are usually smeared in eye black. Not find them? That’s like saying you couldn’t find eight basketball players at a convention of Munchkins.
In any event, it was becoming clearer all along. The firetruck at the Eagle Street Grille and then at Alary’s was not Old No. 1, “Luverne,” a 1932 relic that the boys treat as a ninth member of the lodge. No, the truck at issue Saturday night is registered to J. Apfelbacher, Count Embrious in 2006, and although he cooperated with the police, when they got to him Monday, the entire matter has been handed over to the city attorney for formal review, out of which I am sure she will find nothing even remotely close to criminal intent. Poor driving, maybe, but the fellows have survived far heavier storms.
In the meantime, where were the Vulcans, to whom we so quickly attach disaster? I call a secret phone number on these occasions, and after reciting the second stanza of “The Fire and Brimstone Song” … “they are always on the level, always fair and square,” I am allowed to speak to Tom Barrett, Vulcanus Rex LXVII.
Oh, it is a tale of such error and misfortune that sometimes the boys seem trapped in their own Buster Keaton movie. Luverne made it through the Grande Day Parade but shortly thereafter threw a rod. She was pulled lamely to the side of the road, and a tow truck was summoned. The 2007 Krewe has a truck, and it was called for.
“But we had to get the insurance questions squared away,” Barrett said, sighing.
Which meant that our brave lads, our conquerors of ice and snow, our freestylers on that open hook and ladder, rode around to their appointed charitable intrusions in the enclosed cab of Joe Bennett’s restaurant shuttle bus. Bennett, a Vulcan last year, made the bus available, and it served the gang through Saturday night, their debut evening, their coming out, even though their coming out now had them with their noses pressed to the windows of what looked like a Metro Mobility van, too unbelievably symbolic for a good gang already stripped of its gun, its anonymity and much of its old-style mischievousness.
The 2007 truck, believed to be a 1948 International, is now in use. And Vulcan mechanics are working feverishly to get Old No. 1 back on its feet in time for the Torchlight Parade, if not sooner.
“I am having dark doubts,” I told Barrett.
“Well, don’t,” he said.
“What if you lose?” I said.
At that the phone went dead. I imagined Barrett staring glumly out his window, wondering what in the world might next go wrong if even a true believer could see the chance, however improbable, of a Boreas victory. Look at the weather map. I know, it’s blasphemy, but if ever there was a year …
Joe Soucheray can be reached at jsoucheray@pioneerpress.com or 651-228-5474.
Copyright 2011 Pioneer Press.