Powerless Old Men

The old man, Ernest, craned and stared at a chessboard. Minutes passed. A soft breeze blew through the park. The bird above them heralded the development. 

Rook move? Or the pawn? Like looking through googles underwater, the board, the best move, felt fuzzy. Decisions once felt clear, decisive, he recalls. But that was long ago. 

"Move something, damn it." Patrick, perched across, was growing crankier by the day. "Hard to believe you ran a power outfit. Your electrons must have been the slowest in the industry."

Electricity. Those were proud times, thought Ernest. When people could afford to use it freely.

"They literally gave it out, Pat. At coffee shops. At airports. At hotels. Never ever charged for it. Like it was water. Like it was air. Remember that?"

Pat is now even more ornery. "Ernie, everybody had the juice. Poor families too. Remember that? Poor families too. Small stores, every single one. Now?" He spat the question, disgusted.

Ernest considered the failure, felt it personally, wondered whether the summation of all he did in his career, life, was ... 

"People used what they needed. All they needed. All they wanted. There was energy in the culture. It saved lives." Ernest could cry. 

No, he couldn't as his bitterness broke. "People are darker these days, less free. For the well-off, no problem. For the rest, they're powerless."

Ernest held onto the thought. Then looked right through Pat. Then spoke the irony. "They're powerless. Get it? Power, less." 

Dusk was coming on hard. The chess game goes to tomorrow, another countless day. The old men each look around the park, separate and together. In some of the homes, the lights come on. In others, they don't. 

For 87 years and counting, Public Utilities Fortnightly has been the magazine for you the stewards of our culture's electricity and natural gas systems and for the next generation for whom we pass on the legacy.

Steve Mitnick, Editor-in-Chief, Public Utilities Fortnightly

E-mail me: mitnick@fortnightly.com