I live an hour away from the city of London in southern Canada, a place with almost half a million residents. When I was young, there was a colourful and popular AM Radio deejay in that city who hosted a morning call-in show.
One day, or maybe for a few days, bowling enthusiasts began calling in to Bill Brady, the witty broadcaster, with complaints about the state of bowling facilities in London. What had the bowlers upset was not any shortage of bowling alleys in the city but the fact that there were very few opportunities for “open” bowling, the chance for friends to simply drop in to an alley and enjoy a few hours of their favourite sport. The reason for the restriction was that, as the complainers explained it, all the bowling times were taken up by league bowling. If you were not part of an official team in an official league, you were out of luck.
The deejay listened to call after call with great sympathy until finally he received a call from a man who lived in a small hamlet located 10 miles or so outside the city. The very old community, called Birr, is home to fewer than 50 people.
“Ya, Bill,” said the caller. “We’re having a heck of a time out here in Birr.”
“What’s the problem?” asked Bill Brady.
“Well,” said the caller. “A brand new, 40-lane bowling alley opened up here recently and the noise from that place is driving everyone nuts.”
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Brady.
“Well, not only is this place huge, it’s open 24 hours a day and it is all open bowling. No league bowling at all. The noise from the bowling and from all the cars coming and going and the bowlers talking and laughing in the parking lot is keeping us all awake every night.”
“That sounds pretty disturbing,” said Brady.
“It’s just awful,” agreed the Birr man. “Do you have any ideas what we can do about this?”
Bill Brady promised he would look into the matter with authorities to see if any local bylaws could be enforced to bring more peace and quiet to the citizens of Birr.
The next few days saw bumper-to-bumper traffic leaving London and heading for the phantom bowling alley in Birr.
That infamous call was made about 50 years ago. Bill Brady is long gone and maybe, perhaps, is the annoyed caller from Birr. On the other hand, I was driving through the crossroads community yesterday on my way to London when I noticed a sign on a small house close to the highway signalling the “Mayor of Birr” had his office on the premises. Birr, of course, is too small to have a mayor. Or a bowling alley. But maybe the village’s most famous prankster is still up to his tricks after all this time.
©2019 Jim Hagarty
