At the annual town meeting, the chairperson’s seat stood empty. Everyone had an opinion about the park’s new benches, but nobody wanted to run the meeting that would decide where they went.
Arthur had attended every meeting for thirty years. He knew the microphone squealed, the clock was five minutes slow, and Mrs. Finch would ask about parking even if the topic was rainwater. He quietly moved the chair out of the way and suggested they begin.
“We need a chair,” said the clerk.
“We have forty,” Arthur said, pointing at the audience.
“A chairperson.”
Arthur immediately looked at the floor. The clerk nominated him. The room applauded with the speed of people avoiding an assignment.
Arthur accepted on one condition: every speaker had two minutes. Mrs. Finch objected that she could barely introduce her parking concern in two minutes. Arthur gave her three, because he knew she would use ten either way.
The first proposal placed the benches beside the fountain. A gardener said the fountain hadn’t worked since 1998. The second put them near the rose beds. A dog walker explained why sitting downwind of the dog bins was a poor plan. By the fourth proposal Arthur had filled a page with objections but still had no place to put a bench.
He called a break. The audience streamed into the corridor, where several older residents sat on the windowsill. There were no seats by the entrance. Arthur asked whether they were tired.
“No,” said Mrs. Finch. “We’re waiting for everyone else to stop talking.”
When the meeting resumed, Arthur proposed putting two benches outside the hall. People agreed immediately. The gardener liked the shade. The dog walker liked the distance from the bins. Mrs. Finch liked that she could watch cars arrive and finally have evidence for her parking complaint.
Then the clerk announced that the vote couldn’t proceed. The application specified park benches, and the hall was technically across the street from the park. Arthur asked if they could move the park boundary. The clerk said that required another public meeting.
A man at the back suggested putting the benches on the park side of the road. Mrs. Finch said nobody would sit there because the bus stop was on this side. Someone proposed moving the bus stop. The clerk began listing the forms that would require.
Arthur stared at the windowsill. He asked the clerk to read the grant terms aloud. They covered seating “serving the park and its immediate approaches.” The pavement outside the hall was an immediate approach. The clerk checked the map, checked it again, and admitted Arthur was right.
The room voted unanimously. Arthur thanked everyone and tried to resign as chairperson before anybody suggested a third bench. The clerk reminded him the annual appointment lasted until next year.
Mrs. Finch approached to congratulate him. “You handled us very well,” she said. “How did you know where the benches belonged?”
During the break, the clerk caught Arthur beside the kettle and asked whether he had enjoyed his first hour in charge. Arthur said he had learned why previous chairpersons retired so quickly. Two residents had already handed him sketches of benches with different numbers of legs, and a third wanted an engraved plaque naming everyone who’d objected. The clerk pointed out that a plaque that size would need its own planning application. Arthur poured more tea and decided the benches had better be comfortable enough to sit through the next meeting.
“I listened to where everybody sat when they finally stopped arguing.”
“Will you chair the next meeting?”
Arthur looked at the new agenda: a debate about where to put a sign explaining the benches. He slid his nameplate toward Mrs. Finch.
“You have a better view of the parking,” he said.
She accepted it. Arthur finally got a seat.