THE MCHALE REPORT CLOSES

 I walked into The McHale Report offices on Washington St. in historic downtown. Managing Editor, Scott Steinbeck, was holding down the fort as usual. He pulled out his bottle of whiskey from his bottom drawer. He poured two glasses as I took a seat across from him.

"Did you get my resignation letter?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"I hope you're not going to try and convince me to stay. I'm moving permanently to Cuba. I have friends in the government and I won't have any problems accessing my money. I'll never write like Hemingway, but that doesn't mean I can't live like Hemingway."

"On the contrary," I replied. "I'm here to congratulate you on your decision. I'm jealous. But jealousy isn't a bad thing, particularly when it results in positive change."

"I don't follow you."

"I'm shutting down The McHale Report as we know it. I'm closing the office. I will be 70 at the end of December and it's time to move in a new direction while I can still move. I need to be as light as possible. I am writing the ultimate Brownsville story in my memoir The Coronavirus Chronicles and I have neither the time nor the desire to record the daily Brownsville soap opera into the future. It's a bottomless pit."

"There will be no McHale Report?"

"I am keeping the name on the blog and I'm posting on Facebook, but as I mentioned in an earlier column, I'm more intrigued by the literary rather than the newsworthy. On the blog I'm going to published more photos that I will retrieve from the blog's archives and Facebook. In the past I have had as many hits when I had run photos as when I've posted several stories. I can choose ten or fifteen photos, write cutlines in the form of headlines and I'm done in 30 minutes. Many of the photos will have edgy headlines, so I won't risk them on Facebook. Let me give you an example that I could place on both. I find a photo of Erasmo Castro and write: STIJA POLL: HUMAN--18%!!! BEAST--82%!!! I could pen an infinite number of these that would amuse my public. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I'll add six or seven more in the headline."

"That's it?"

"No. I'll publish most my literary pieces: poems, anecdotes, short stories and maybe create several more fictional genres. But I have had it with the daily grind. I have had it with the latest controversies at the city, the county, the school district, the college, the port and on and on. It's all white noise. It's all endless chattering. I'm bored. I don't want to waste any more time on these subjects. My photos will fill the void. I'm done maintaining a blog. I'm launching myself off a cliff in a swan dive and plunging into the bracing waters. I need to clear my head and Brownsville is a constant and annoying buzz in my brain. I desire a peaceful mind and these tempests in teapots turn my head into a boiling cauldron. I don't need it anymore. No más!"

Scott nodded his head. He took a sip of whiskey and savored it.

"Besides my far-fetched inspiration, what forced you to bring the moment to its crisis?"

"For starters, turning 70 is turning my head. I don't have time for any bullshit and this Brownsville blog has become bullshit. It has become meaningless to me. We both agree that Rush Limbaugh, though we may disagree with his conservative politics, is a voice that reaches millions. He is the master of the moment. I could make a small argument that on occasions I have been the master of the moment locally. But Rush is dying. When he passes, his voice will be a fading echo until it disappears into silence. There is a cheap thrill participating in the next showdown against the hated opposition, but when the dust settles, you can't help but recognize that you will soon be turning to dust and all you've been doing is chasing your tail telling tall tales that has had the benefit of producing your best prose, but you recognize that your writing is an empty exercise in erudite entertainment."

"If your futile endeavor produces phrases like erudite entertainment, it hasn't all been in vain."

"The story of Beowulf is about a man who believes that eternity rested in the following generations remembering his great deeds. There was no thought of an afterlife. I am not going to embarrass myself and declaim that I am capable of great deeds, but I will never achieve anything remarkable if I continue on my present path. I am proud of my Brownsville résumé as an educator, a coach and a writer among other accomplishments over the last 45 years on the border, but I need a peaceful state in order to explore creatively via the written word. Feeding the blog every day is worse than Sisyphus' punishment. I see myself in an old Westerns where a workman is constantly shoveling coal into the train's engine to keep it rolling down the tracks. I can't do it anymore."

"Have you informed the staff?"

"Some of them have informed me unofficially. Estanislao has been talking about living in Mexico City and now that he has found his D.F. darling, he will be departing soon. Jack wants to rent an apartment in downtown Seattle. He says the rain inspires him. Max is retiring to the Hill County. Marshall says his biggest mistake was stopping in Brownsville on his return from Mexico when his original destination was Miami. He shares my sentiments. It's now or never. Mort has decided that he will never discover his roots if he doesn't put down roots in Israel and Annie, as adventurous as ever, is heading to Paris.

"Heading to Paris? Isn't she afraid of COVID?"

"For a gal who takes pride in bragging that she has fucked approximately 100 guys without protection because a cat cumming in her cunt is her ultimate pleasure, COVID is hardly a threat to her intrepid nature."

"And the rest of the gang?"

"They have their lives here. Dr. Pangloss can't find enough hours caring for his patients and working shifts in the emergency room. Father Jesus has his flock in Cameron Park. The Baker Boys investigate for every major lawyer and Maclovio would be lost if he wasn't playing his role in the Brownsville drama. We're fortunate that we can all part with our health and an abiding respect for each other. We have fought the good fight, bro, and we haven't brought shame to ourselves."

"When are we riding off into the sunset?"

"We'll finish the elections and call it a wrap."

We had emptied the bottle, but sometimes men feel the need to get good and drunk. It's spiritual. Closure whets one's craving for an altered perspective. They walked down the street to The Library and ordered doubles. They wouldn't be behind the wheel tonight.

"urselves be lost if he wasn't