Swan Song

I first wondered at the swans of Lithia Park in 1972, sitting on a bench at the lower duck pond with my Mother, who, understandably, thought that my decision to move to a spec of nothing from my former position in L.A. as a buyer of Men's Sportswear for 22 department stores was, well, just short of absolute insanity.

Occasionally, I reach back and lash myself for having dropped so much money in the move, but, more often than not, rejoice in my decision to park elsewhere.

For those of you who are droopy-eyed or otherwise predisposed, the icons for our fair city, two idyllic swans, are no more.

Over the years they proved to be cranky and, well, not versed in the gentle sensibilities of pleasing our visitors. They would honk, flap, lurch and lunge, this until they were either rendered by an unleashed dog or one of our City dump trucks in reverse.

They became a pain and were clearly the blame.

Now that our attempts to keep the Upper and Lower Duck Ponds free from fecund scum have so abundantly failed, we frame our City Icons in the past tense. The trumpet of a swan no longer signals the triumph in the pond.

With an annual budget of more than 90 million dollars, we can't figure out a way to allow two swans, mated for life, the dignity to swim, frolic and waddle in an increasingly artificial aquatic stage. Maybe they need more City underwriting.

If swans could vote your goose would be cooked.