Greek chorus just beyond the reach of the 100-watt bulbs cried out in wicked unison: ‘
‘Go-get-’em-Lard Ass!’
There were muffled shrieks of laughter, running footsteps, a few shadows that
no one could (or would) identify, some nervous laughter, some judicial frowns (the
largest from Hizzoner Charbonneau, the most visible figure of authority). Lard Ass
himself appeared to not even notice. The small smile greasing his thick lips and
creasing his thick chops did not change as the Mayor, still frowning largely, tied his bib around his neck and told him not to pay any attention to fools in the audience (as if the Mayor had even the faintest inkling of what monstrous fools Lard Ass Hogan
had suffered and would continue to suffer as he rumbled through life like a Nazi Tiger Tank). The Mayor’s breath was warm and smelled of beer.
The last contestant to mount the bunting-decorated stage drew the loudest and
most sustained applause; this was the legendary Bill Travis, six feet five inches tall, gangling, voracious. Travis was a mechanic at the local Amoco station down by the
railyard, a likeable fellow if there ever was one.; It was common knowledge around
town that there was more involved in the Great Gretna Pie-Eat than a mere five
dollars–at least, for Bill Travis there was. There were two reasons for this. First,
people always came by the station to congratulate Bill after he won the contest, and
most everyone who came to congratulate stayed to get his gas-tank filled. And the two
garage-bays were sometimes booked up for a solid month after the contest. Folks
would come in to get a muffler replaced or their wheel-bearings greased, and would
sit in the theatre chairs ranged along one wall (Jerry Mating, who owned the Amoco,
had salvaged them from the old Gem Theatre when it was torn down in 1957),
drinking Cokes and Moxies from out of the machine and gassing with Bill about the
contest as he changed sparkplugs or rolled around on a crawlie-wheelie under
someone’s International Harvester pickup, looking for holes in the exhaust system.
Bill always seemed willing to talk, which was one of the reasons he was so well-liked
in Gretna. There was some dispute around town as to whether Jerry Maling gave Bill
a flat bonus for the extra business his yearly feat (or yearly eat, if you prefer) brought
in, or if he got an out-and-out raise. Whatever way it was, there could be no doubt that Travis did much better than most small-town wrench jockeys. He had a nice-looking
two-storey ranch out on the Sabbatus Road, and certain snide people referred to it as
‘the house that pies built’. That was probably an exaggeration, but Bill had it coming another way… which brings us to the second reason there was more in it for Travis
than just five dollars. The pie-eat was a hot wagering event in Gretna. Perhaps most
people only came to laugh, but a goodly minority also came to lay their money down.
Contestants were observed and discussed by these betters as ardently as
thoroughbreds are observed and discussed by racing touts. The wagerers accosted
contestants’ friends, relatives, even mere acquaintances. They pried out any and all
details concerning the contestants’ eating habits. There was always a lot of discussion about that year’s official pie–apple was considered a ‘heavy’ pie, apricot a ‘light’ one (although a contestant had to resign himself to a day or two of the trots after downing three or four apricot pies). That year’s official pie, blueberry, was considered a happy medium. Betters, of course, were particularly interested in their man’s stomach for
blueberry dishes. How did he do on blueberry buckle? Did he favour blueberry jam
over strawberry preserve? Had he been known to sprinkle blueberries on his breakfast
cereal, or was he strictly a bananas-and-cream sort of fellow?
There were other questions of some moment. Was he a fast eater who slowed
down or a slow eater who started to speed up as things got serious or just a good
steady all-around trencher-man? How many hot dogs could he put away while
watching a Babe Ruth League game down at the St Dom’s baseball field? Was he