Sometime during the lockdown, a junky old green Chevy Blazer appeared in the city parking lot behind the church. In April after we returned to in-person worship, the congregation began to notice it. As it sat there for weeks, people began to get increasingly exercised about it. "Whose is it?" they asked. "Why is it still there?" everybody was wondering. "When will they move it?"
I began to somehow feel responsible, since just about the only window in town with a view of it was right behind my desk. I kept responding to people that it must belong to the police department or the firehouse, since it had sat there for so long.
This, of course, was the case. The fire department had it to practice using their jaws of life. I'd seen them do their work on a practice car before—but that was in midwinter, and within the confines of the firehouse. When I passed it on my way to the bank the other day, I got to see in the full light of day what the Chardon Fire Department could do to a metal vehicle should the need arise. I'm not sure if this reassures me or frightens me.
