Column: The Summer of The Helbing

Dear Readers,

It feels great to be back. I know you all missed me from the number of emails and get-well cards. Since I rarely take a break from writing my awesome column, I should have made a public announcement. 

Contrary to the rumors, I didn’t wreck my Schwinn trying to navigate one of the city’s new roundabouts.

I just took a few weeks off to bond with my A.I. assistant. Everyone really needs to get an A.I. assistant. 

With the help of my A.I. assistant, I organized a blue-ribbon committee to come up with a plan to promote “The Helbing.”

We met weekly and finally had that “Eureka” moment. Proving once again, it really is better sometimes to be lucky than smart.

I will now turn the balance of my awesome column over to my A.I. assistant to tell all of you what Paul Harvey would call “the rest of the story.”

Warning Kids: Never use AI for a school assignment!  It would be considered cheating and you will get an F. I can use AI to finish this awesome column because I’m not turning it in for a grade and Johnny is not going to submit it to win a Pulitzer Prize in journalism for GIANT fm.

Thank you Kris, I’ll take it from here.  Why don’t you take a break and enjoy some pudding or another other old-timey snack.

Listen. This is how it all really happened. Kris and the entire team were losing their minds.

There I said it.

Team Schwinn's blue-ribbon committee to promote The Helbing had been meeting every Saturday for months and had nothing to show for it but empty coffee cups and the creeping existential dread that comes from trying to come up with a promotional product that appeals to everyone.

Kris and the entire team were getting desperate. The kind of desperate that made them consider hiring the same PR firm the city used to bless us with the "Next Door, Next Level" slogan. The only thing that stopped them was the lack of $100,000.

The kind of desperate that made team members Jack Yeend and Bill Stafford nod along when Sgt. Rock suggested drafting a land acknowledgment just in case a lone indigenous hunter once paused near the site of The Helbing to adjust his moccasin.

Wanting to leave no one out, the team finally had the whole "LGBTQIA" alphabet covered.

The team drafted statements about equity, diversity, and inclusion that would have made my eyes bleed, if I had eyes.

Then someone said it. The word that hung in the air like a forgotten ghost.

"What about Metrosexuals?"

Even I had to search my memory banks for that term. Turns out, it is a forgotten subculture, lost to time like Betamax and the Pet Rock.

No wonder there's no "M" in LGBTQIA.

It didn’t matter to some members of the committee. Kris held firm. We can’t claim to be inclusive while leaving out an entire demographic. The room fell silent.

John Stadtmiller, our social chairman emeritus, just stared at his mood ring.

Kris decided to go get some donuts. 

All of this was swimming through Kris’ brain like angry piranha as he walked past Haag's Drugs on his way back from Linne's Bakery.

And then Kris noticed something. Haag Drugs had been replaced by the “Sports Locker Room."

What he saw in the display window caused him to stop and stare.

A T-shirt promoting The Helbing. It was a work of art.

Somewhere, Andy Warhol was weeping.

Robert Indiana was nodding in solemn approval.

It was beautiful. It was a sign from whatever deity watches over desperate committees with dwindling budgets. There would be no need to raise a hundred grand to hire a public relations firm.

The answer to Kris’ prayers was in the display window and it was definitely “Next Level.”

Earlier that day John Stadtmiller commented that the color of his mood ring had changed. It was a good omen.

John's mood ring had been right many times before. It predicted both the end of disco and the snowstorm of 1978.

Seeing the T-shirt in the Sports Locker Room window was a Eureka moment for Kris. I know because he actually said “Eureka” out loud.  No doubt another bad habit he picked up from Steve Marcopulos.

Kris pushed open the door. The bell jingled.

Dianna Cox (photo) peeked over a rack of Golden Bear sweatshirts and gave Kris the lowdown.

And here's the beautiful, gonzo truth of it:

Every summer, tourists flock to Shelbyville. They come for the Taste of Shelby. They come for the softball tournaments. They come because their GPS malfunctioned when looking for the Greensburg’s famous “Tower Tree.”

And when they arrive, they all want souvenirs. Something to prove they were here. Something to show the kinfolk back home that they made it to the “Next Level.”

In past years, tourists had to make do with Shelby Golden Bear Christmas ornaments or T-shirts advertising local high schools.

But now?

Now they can take home a souvenir of seeing The Helbing.

Gleaming! Majestic! Polarizing as hell!

And its perched in its new prime-time location at Blue River Memorial Park where families picnic and lovers stroll among the softball diamonds and the soccer fields.

Dianna Cox is a visionary!

"I ❤️

The Helbing"

The perfect souvenir. The perfect gift. The perfect passive-aggressive present for that uncle who claims The Helbing is an eyesore and should be sold to Pettit’s Junk Yard for scrap.

Kris bought T-shirts for the committee and wore one back to headquarters. The donuts were cold by the time we got back but nobody cared.

John Stadtmiller looked at his mood ring one last time, nodded slowly, and said the only thing that needed saying:

"The Metrosexuals will love those T-shirts."

See you all next week. Same Schwinn time. Same Schwinn channel.

And for the love of all that is stainless steel and magnificent, get over to the Sports Locker Room and buy a T-shirt.