A VIEW FROM THE CHEAP SEATS
By Rich Trzupek
Out of the Way Kid - That's Mine!
Special Olympics is a great cause, a favorite charity of people across the country. The organization provides people with disabilities with a chance to compete, have fun, build self-confidence and, when it comes to RiverFest in St. Charles, the charity also serves as convenient cover for something that smells a lot like extortion.
It�s heartwarming actually, bringing back tender memories of your humble correspondent�s South Side Chicago roots, where making sure everyone got their cut was a vital part of doing public business. Of course even Fast Eddie Vrydolyak might have stopped short of demanding a kick-back from disabled kids.
But then St. Charles does pride itself on leadership. The privately-run not-for-profit organization that runs Riverfest saw an opportunity to get a few more �contributions� and they took it.
There�s money to be made from those charitable donations. Having established the precedent, it won�t be long until people are gleefully snatching Kiwanis� collection cans on Peanut Day, taking and reselling the �red ones� in Lion�s candy rolls and placing a copyright on the phrase �Poppy Day,� so those vets don�t get all the cash.
We begin this somewhat surreal story with the question of how to best manage alcohol sales during RiverFest. Like many towns, St. Charles decided the solution was to issue wristbands.
Doing so helps curb underage liquor sales enormously. Instead of every server taking responsibility to check IDs during every sale, a smaller group of volunteers is solely responsible to make sure that those who buy booze are of age and, if they are, providing them with a wristband.
Who better to check IDs than off-duty cops and assistant state�s attorneys and other law enforcement professionals? When RiverFest Executive Director Joy Meierhans said that she would have a hard time finding volunteers to distribute wristbands, the cops stepped up. They would find the people to do it.
Now, as hard-bitten as your average cop may be, they are, for the most part, softies inside. Softies with firearms and ticket books to be sure, but this reporter has yet to meet a cop who won�t bend over backwards for a worthy charity, which is good, considering all of the tickets they issued yours truly during my college years. (Traffic court was a mailing address, for a while there).
In order to attract volunteers, the police came up with a hook they knew would work. Charge a buck for each wristband, with the cash going to Special Olympics. That would, they figured, attract a host of tender-hearted volunteers in blue, and their associates. It was a neat solution to the problem.
Understad that wrist bands are provide free by beer distributors and most towns don�t charge residents for them at all. But the cops figured that people wouldn�t mind kicking in a buck for charity before they had they enjoyed their brews.
Ms. Meierhans thought it was great too, we are told. So great, in fact, that she figured that RiverFest should get a piece of the action.
It�s easy to see why she might come to this conclusion. For many residents, RiverFest has devolved into an event that is best described by two words: �BOR-RING.� Other summer festivals change and improve with the times. RiverFest remains frozen, with less interest every year, as though the fact that it is held in St. Charles (by God!) should be enough, no matter what kind of drivel is presented.
In that context, everything is about revenue. Rather than improving the product to attract more cash, Meierhans saw an opportunity to grab more cash, to prop up an increasingly unpopular product. At least that�s how it looks from the Cheap Seats.
She initially demanded 50 percent of the take we�re told, eventually settling for 25 percent. With something over 3,000 wristbands sold, that�s about $800 bucks that disabled kids unknowingly contributed to RiverFest.
Kind of ridiculous you think? Yes indeed. The cops gnashed their teeth, figuring that three-quarters of something is better than nothing, but quite able to recognize a con-artist when they see one.
Now $800 isn�t going to make or break the Special Olympics. Thanks to the generosity of people everywhere, the program thrives, no matter what St. Charles adds to it.
Yet, it�s a disturbing sum to pay for one�s conscience. In a city as rich in tradition, public service and resources as St. Charles, you�d think that the souls of those in need would be worth a little more.