Mr. Swiss Goes to City Hall: Fiction

Growing up Appenzell Innerhoden, the smallest canton in Switzerland, Juergen Zurbriggen dreamt of Chicago.

He dreamt of Michael Jordan taking flight from the free throw line with his tongue out while vanquishing lesser American Dominique Wilkins in the 1988 All-Star Slam Dunk Contest. He dreamt of the Monsters of the Midway, the ivy on the walls of Wrigley, and Disco Demolition Night at Comiskey. He dreamt of Mrs. O’Leary’s cow, Al Capone, Elliot Ness, dead as Dillinger, “Hizzoner” Mayor Dick Daly, Mike Royko’s columns, and David Mamet’s staccato fucks. He dreamt of the riding the L, walking along Lake Michigan, and throwing pennies off the top of the Sears Tower. If he closed his eyes, he could almost taste the deep-dish pizza, the Italian beef sandwiches and the polish sausages.

As a boy, Juergen Zurbriggen rode his bicycle into town, wearing his bright red nylon Bulls Starter jacket, and extorted local bakeries and chocolatiers by offering a protection fee against broken show windows and petty theft. The local shopkeepers paid Juergen in the form of Swiss rolls and hot chocolate, dazzled as they were by the young man’s racketeering scheme.

After his graduation from the University of Zurich, he returned home to rig the Landsgemeinde, the local election to the General Assembly, by arranging half the cemetery vote for him and his newly formed Billy Goat Party. The introduction of Chicago machine-style politics to the virgin snow of the Appenzell Innerhoden local government proved to be an uneasy marriage, and he was tossed out of the General Assembly a mere two weeks into his term for his decision to over salt the roads and sidewalks, melting the snow, and angering the influential cross-country skier’s union.

Chastised but undeterred, Juergen Zurbriggen bought a one-way plane ticket to O’Hare, packed his bags with all the Toblerone chocolate he could pass through customs, and flew to the Chicago of his dreams.

He soon used his bland Swiss charm to secure a government position as an assistant in the Landmark’s Division of the Chicago Department Planning in Development, which staffed for the Commission on Chicago Landmarks. It was in his tiny, cramped office on 33 N. LaSalle Street that his Chicago dream finally came true when two thick-neck Polish toughs walked in holding  suitcases choked with bribe money.

He had lived in Chicago for over a year, but today Juergen Zurbriggen finally felt that he had arrived.