Mary Fights City Hall

Mary Williams, second wife of L.C. Williams, Jim’s grandfather, lived many years by herself in Pasadena (N. Chester) after L.C. died. Mary was not considered a close member of the family, but she did attend holiday dinners for many years and that’s how I came to know her. She was taller than my dad with upright posture, a strong frame and a stronger voice. A happy person, her laughter came from deep down inside. She used to walk all over Pasadena on her errands, taking huge strides like an athlete. If the family conversation ever got close to the subject of fairness, Mary would launch into her story about the city charging her for trash collection and how she won.

Mary Fights City Hall

One morning the mailman came walking along,

Delivering letters and whistling a song.

A letter for Mary, it’s only a bill

From Municipal Services, over the hill.

But something is wrong. She can’t take the hint.

Something’s not fair, down in the small print.

On with her coat, and up with her purse,

She’s off to the City feeling quite terse.

Just a few miles to walk across town,

Not far for an eighty-year-old with a frown.

Waiting for hours, all the while vexed,

When finally the clerk looks up and says,“Next!”

She stands herself up to her six feet plus,

A moment of silence and then starts to fuss:

“I burn all the paper and bury the trash

so why should I give the garbage man cash?

“Food I buy fresh, never in cans,

Nothing from tin goes into my pans.

“Everything’s used, nothing’s disposed,

So why would the city be so opposed?

“I won’t pay for trash cans that never I fill,

So kindly deduct that amount from my bill.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,

I owe what I owe and nothing else, then!”

“I’ll pay for the light and rightfully so,

For the few times I use it to read and to sew.

“I’ll pay for the gas quite willingly now,

For the heat I adore when the wind starts to blow.

“I’ll pay for the water that runs in my sink,

And makes it so easy to go get a drink.

“But I won’t pay for trash cans that never I fill,

So kindly deduct that amount from my bill.

The argument slowly dies down to a roar,

She leaves the poor clerk who shouts out the door,

“The city is firm, with standards and laws.

No exceptions are made. Why? Just because!”

Each time that bill came she’d stop all her work,

And make the trip over to chat with that clerk.

Then walking back home, “His hair’s turning gray,

I’ll bet he’d be happy if I stayed away!”

Twelve times a year, for twelve years and more,

She knocked and she knocked on that clerk’s door.

In summer and winter her coat made the trip,

Along with her shoes, her purse and her lip.

One morning the mailman came walking along,

Delivering letters and whistling a song.

The bill was delivered, the balance was due,

But something was missing. Could it be true?

The total was different, unlike the past:

Collection of trash - deducted at last!

She walked right on over to clear up all doubt.

The unhappy clerk called the manager out.

“Mary, you win! But keep quiet, I say!

We can’t make exceptions like this every day!”

A smile came upon her and lit up her face,

Like a glow of awareness, like winning a race.

Whenever she’s able she tells without fail

And makes it a point, “Let fairness prevail!”

“I burn all the paper and bury the trash

so why should I give the garbage man cash?”