When it comes to taxes, think of the jackpot

It occurred to Buster, sitting at the long table with its gleaming Formica at the Brew & Burp Club, that the prospect of paying more county sales tax ought to be, in some way, beneficial to the county's biggest city, which has no dusty gravel roads to speak of and considers its police force to be one of the finest around.

"Don't you think," Buster bellowed, "that more taxes ought to make some sort of jingle in our pockets too?"

The coffee sippers were munching fresh-from-the-oven cranberry-banana-nut muffins -- a specialty of Rose Mary, the proprietor-waitress of the Brew & Burp -- and were accustomed to the daily blasts from Buster, lawyer-turned-auctioneer.

Several of the Brew & Burp regulars were momentarily sidetracked when they noticed Rose Mary had decorated the tops of their muffins with slices of mandarin oranges, but their attention was soon riveted on Buster, as usual.

It seems Buster, who thinks paved roads and good law enforcement are signs of a well-developed civilization, was having difficulty figuring out what would make city folks vote for a tax increase to pay for the paving of county roads along with the hiring of more deputies and higher salaries at the county sheriff's department.

Bud, whose hearing aids were on the fritz again, had missed most of Buster's tirade. But Bud had a distinct advantage in this particular discussion, because he was the only member of the Brew & Burp charter membership who lived outside the city limits. He drove on dusty gravel roads every time he needed caffeine and a good dose of what's-wrong-with-everybody-else conversation.

"I noticed," Bud offered cautiously during a lull in Buster's rampage, "that the cart paths at the Louis J. Lorimier Memorial World-Famous Downtown Golf Course aren't paved yet."

Bud was one of the lucky golfers who participated in the inaugural tournament last month. He had commented several times since the tournament that he and other allergy-prone players had been bothered a mite by the dusty cart paths. Not to mention the city's world-class pollen.

"There you go!" Buster shouted, adopting Bud's reference to a need for paving cart paths -- in the city -- by pounding his fists on the table. Coffee sloshed out of several cups up and down the row.

Before Bud could offer anything more, Buster had already leaped to a logical -- at least in his own mind -- conclusion: "And the downtown golf course commissioners would be pleased as punch to endorse the proposed county sales-tax increase in return for the handsome sum of $25,000."

There were few things that could bring the sipping and chewing of the Brew & Burp crew to a complete halt, but one of them was any reference to money. And $25,000 was a lot of cash even to Buster, who was heavily invested in proposed ethanol plants.

Bud broke the silence. "I'm trying to remember. Does the downtown golf course have commissioners?"

"Of course it does!" thundered Buster, "if there's a pot of gold in the offing. What more could you ask for?"

After a slight hesitation, Bud decided to let it all out. "Well, the downtown golf course carts are lawsuits waiting to happen." His thinking out loud, as usual, was offered timidly. "Maybe we could get the county transit authority to take them over?"

It was going to be a long morning at the Brew & Burp Club. Rose Mary's lunch special was kettle beef, and the smell of simmering meat was filling the room. The day would not be wasted after all.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.