The borough is having a committee of the whole about heli-skiing on Tuesday. By the time you read this it will be over. My lil’ mole down there tells me what’s gonna happen: The ranch manager starts out wearin’ a white hat. “Fellas, y’all got caught where ya shouldn’t. I’m gonna have to levy a little, I say little, fine. And you’re all gonna have to use the same gizmo on your helicopter as them other outfits.” They’ll mumble and groan. Then the manager dons the black hat. “Course, if we’ve got y’all fenced in too tight, we could expand, heh, heh, your operatin’ territory a lil’ bit. . . like when you used more skier days than you should and we just handed you a few more…”
Now I could be wrong. Some assembly member might sit up tall in the saddle and say, “Hold it right there. We need to protect the interests of the common folk and wild critturs, too. We can’t be handing out more territory when we should be takin’ it back. For a couple grand they’ll get the whole ranch.” But that ain’t gonna happen. Ya see, pardner, gummint loves bidness more than they love you or me.
Eric Holle