The Man Who Refused To Take His Gorilla Mask Off, Part 9

Steve waits nervously behind a white curtained partition behind a makeshift stage in the center of Dickie Stoolz Park. Local historian Grizzly Jim McKiltner slaps him on the back and begins speaking in between bites of a Ritz cracker topped with cheddar cheese.
"I just think it's great what you did, rescuing those children," McKiltner says to him. "It reminds me of the summer of 1982, when good ol' Charlie Wilkes -- do you know Charlie? He's the gentle retarded man who mows lawns for the elderly -- good ol' Charlie saw the Flavins twins drowning at Lake Chichihawhaw and dove in and rescued them. Gotta love those Flavins boys. Always causing trouble, even then. Anyway, I think that piece of local history is a remarkable parallel to your own story, Steve."
"I'm not retarded," Steve says.
"Of course not," McKiltner says. "But the gorilla mask thing is a mental aberration that can be compared with Charlie's retardation. A lovable mental aberration, of course, but a mental aberration nonetheless."
"What about calling yourself Grizzly Jim and having a stuffed and mounted grizzly bear in your living room?" Steve asks. "That's a mental aberration, if you ask me."
McKiltner's face reddens, and he stares into Steve's gorilla-masked face with chilling intensity.
"Listen, motherfucker," he says. "I'm the local historian here in Fancytown. I own your legacy. You may be well-liked in your lifetime, but I'm the one recording this shit for posterity. I control future generations' perceptions of you, and I can say anything I want. Don't fuck with your local historian, monkey boy."
"You're a small man, Grizzly Jim," Steve says, chuckling quietly. "I have archivist friends who can preserve a little history of their own. And guess what else? How many keys to the city do you have?"
"The question is irrelevant," McKiltner says.
Steve grabs the historian by the throat and leans in close enough that the hair on the mask tickles the man in the face.
"How many keys to the city?" Steve asks. "Answer me."
"None," McKiltner croaks out. Steve lets go.
A young man with a headset and a clipboard appears behind the partition.
"Grizzly Jim," he says. "You're up."
McKiltner runs on to the stage and waves to a cheering capacity crowd. The park is filled with the denizens of Fancytown, Steve notices, from the prominent to the wasted, including the roughnecks he'd shared an uncomfortable Schlitz with a few hours previously. McKiltner takes the microphone and gives a predictably pompous introduction for the mayor. Steve zones out until the mayor's name is called.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud to present our mayor, Rodwyn Q. Brannigan!" McKiltner shouts. A middle-aged, thin, well-dressed man, Mayor Brannigan saunters amiably to the podium, where he shakes McKiltner's hand. He gazes at the crowd and pauses for a considerable length of time.
"Thank you, Grizzly Jim," Brannigan says. "And thank you, citizens of Fancytown, for filling this great park on this great afternoon."
He clears his throat and continues.
"Webster's dictionary defines heroism as heroic conduct especially as exhibited in fulfilling a high purpose or attaining a noble end. Today, we honor a man who, though he has taken his own strange path in life, truly exemplifies this definition. This man, though he chooses to spend his days and nights wearing a gruesome ape-like Halloween mask, is a hero. He is a great American, a great Fancytownian, and most of all, a great human being. On September 11, this great country was attacked by evil terrorists. We were down, but we were far from out. We came together and we are now working on being stronger than we've ever been. Heroes like Steve Smithers will ensure that we reach our optimal strength. I'm not gonna lie, Steve's a little different than you and me, but that didn't stop him from saving two small children from imminent death. He rushed into a burning home to save two kids he didn't even know. Two wonderful little children, and you know I believe children are our future. That was one of my platforms. Now Steve may be a little odd, a little different, but that's what makes Fancytown great, and, by God, that's what makes this country the greatest in the world. It's a true melting pot. Think about it. Where would be we be without the fine cuisine of our Chinese citizens, without the business acumen of the Jews, without the athletic and musical talents of our African American friends --yes, Lisa, I am trying to get into rap music--that's my daughter, everybody. She likes that rap music. And where would these two precious children, God's little wonders, where would they be without their apeman? Ladies and gentlemen, at this moment I would like to present the key to the city to a true hero, Steve Smithers! Come on up here, Steve!"
What a nauseating speech, Steve thinks. He contemplates going home, but a cheer rises up in the crowd and the blood rushes through his body. "Apeman! Apeman!" The roar is deafening. Steve feels as though he's been injected with enthusiasm intravenously and tears onto the stage with what his dead grandfather would have referred to as "gusto."
"This one's for you, big guy," Steve yells as he's given a hilariously oversized key by a neoconservative glad-hander. "This one's for you."

Next week: Steve enjoys his local celebrity and is the guest of honor at a parade. Everyone loves a parade.