It’S Always A Time For Really Good Whine

It can start with a simple statement. “The left lane is for passing only,” she said as we barreled down the left lane of the nearly deserted highway.

“So what,” I replied. “We’re the only ones on the road!”

“The sign said, `LEFT LANE FOR PASSING ONLY’! It’s the law,” she insisted.

“Law shmaw.

If we were making a left turn we wouldn’t be passing anybody!”

“We’re not making a left turn.”

“We’re doing the maximum speed, anyone trying to pass us is breaking the law. So there!”

“It’s still the law.”

“OK. What if we were in the right lane and we pulled left to pass because everyone else was going 5 mph under the limit, but when we did, they all sped up to the limit and closed ranks so we couldn’t get back in the right lane, ever?”

“It’s still the law,” she smugly informed.

“The law is a ass!” I blurted in exasperated pique, quoting the fractured syntax of Oliver Twist’s Mr. Bumble.

So, what’s this all about? Law? Civil disobedience? The cheap thrill of defiance on a lonely road to nowhere, so I can enjoy a gloating reverie about cheating The Man in a world gone mad with thought police?

Nah, it’s about complaining.

Complaining is one of the least appealing forms of social comment, but is as necessary to humankind’s development as pinball or the pocket fisherman.

Depending upon the circumstances, a whining transmission is as useful as the signing of a non-aggression pact in predicting a future breakdown.

A well-timed complaint can often change the course of history, as evidenced by the Boston Tea Party, or that little tiff aboard the HMS Bounty.

If someone hadn’t cursed the darkness, we wouldn’t have matches.

Important as complaining is to a healthy human psyche, it is often hard on the ears, so to make the following complaints about some Valley conditions more palatable, I am presenting them as great achievements to be accompanied with an award.

The award is named after H.L. Mencken, a famous old newspaperman who may well be America’s most quoted whiner. Old Henry L. used to go around saying things like: “It is a sin to believe evil of others, but it is seldom a mistake.”

The statuette of the “Hank,” as I call it, does not exist. But if it did I like to think it would be a figure of a cantankerous old man in a rumpled suit, waving his cane in a threatening gesture. It would be made of tofu or haggis, or some other medium suitable for throwing.

The following Hanks are awarded in no particular order; they are presented in the order they occurred to me while the candle flickered low.

The first award goes to whoever is responsible for lovingly scraping off that ugly old pine forest to the north of Millwood.

The folks living in the area must certainly be glad to be rid of those annoying birds and deer that used to hide there.

How much lovelier is the sight of all that dirt and rock and gaily colored plastic boxes.

I wonder why the developers stopped before reaching bedrock? Don’t they know some of that stuff could grow back in as little as 40 years?

The second Hank goes to that monument of human compassion, Charles Hurwitz, who in a fit of magnanimity, locked out all those pesky union people at Kaiser Aluminum, and single-handedly lowered the standard of living for a large number of Valley folk. So popular is the gentleman, that he holds citizenship in both the United States and sunny Israel.

A number of the Chuckster’s locked-out employees have wished him citizenship in a place even hotter yet.

Hank No. 3 goes to the engineer who designed the most death-defying thrill ride in the Valley. In a bold move to prove the fallacy of gravity, the eastbound Broadway on-ramp to eastbound Interstate 90 was graced with a curve banked outward so as to fling car and driver into open air.

Fun, but not for the squeamish. It can be identified by numerous black tire marks angling up the side of the left barrier wall.

No. 4 goes to the person who builds one more structure around Liberty Lake, thereby hiding it forever from prying eyes.

Finally, the Hank Hall of Fame Award goes to Edmund Germer, whose invention, the mercury vapor lamp, made the Milky Way disappear from Valley eyes.

Congratulations to all the winners.

Oh, yeah, and what if I make a left turn onto a four- lane highway and the right lane is full, and…

A Valley view A new column makes its debut in today’s Valley Voice. “Tracking the Gravel” by correspondent Patrick Haight will appear in this space on alternating Saturdays. Haight moved to the Valley as a boy and has lived here ever since, minus a sail in the Navy and a short stay in Seattle back in the 1960s. He recalls when Veradale, Greenacres, Otis Orchards and Opportunity were separate entities that sublimated a vague rivalry. He’s watched as the Valley has grown and changed and is interested in how it continues to evolve. The new column’s name plays off the Valley’s gravelly soil and reflects the author’s love of place and sense of being deeply rooted here. He promises to remininsce occasionally about the past, offer honest commentary on the present and dream about the Valley’s future - all with good humor.