The Radar is at the heart of Clinton. Everyone in town and area knows that Clinton is the home of the radar.
The official story is that during World War II, the radar was tested off the cliffs of a neighbouring town and the signal received at the air base just outside of Clinton, and since Clinton played such a role in these events, the radar monument was erected here. As I said that was the official story.
As an outsider of this town, (I've only lived here ten years) I can be objective about this, but I always thought it was strange that almost anyone I knew was related to each other in some way. No one seemed to move away. People may leave for a short time to go to higher education or to an urban centre but they always come back. The reason for this? In two words: The Radar.
Although personally I have never felt the pull to draw me back, I have interviewed a person who was willing to speak to me about it. I will only use his first and last name so that neighbours will not know who he is. It was very difficult to convince this person to talk as no one speaks of The Radar in this fashion. However, here is his say as recorded by me.
"My friends and I would always joke about The Radar. All of our parents sat us down at a young age and told us that very likely we would live here for the rest of our lives. They never really told us why, but we knew of people who lived elsewhere so we weren't worried.
I had a relatively happy childhood. Then I wanted to leave Clinton. My best friend "Jessie" had already left but returned for undisclosed reasons. He tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn't listen.
So, off I went. I had already rented an apartment in London with no problem at all. I didn't stay in my apartment very long though. I had this strange feeling...
it's indescribable. My neighbour in #181 said it was probably a ghost since the lady who lived there last jumped off the balcony after a very violent bout of depression. That might have explained why I felt so drawn to go on the balcony. I moved out fast and with a friend of mine from college. We were having a good time and everything, but I was still restless. It wasn't the roaches or mice or the drive-by shootings, but something else was bothering me. I decided to head out on the road.
I never stayed anywhere very long. It wasn't the drug lords in Toronto or the Asian gangs in Vancouver, or the Mob in New York. Something was following me. Everywhere I went there was this unseen demon stalking my every move. I was so freaked man.
It came at me at night, in the day, anytime I couldn't escape. I would think I was safe, but I wouldn't be.
I finally broke down and returned to London where I contacted Shirley Daires, one of the few to get out of Clinton for a long period of time. She was a specialist in Clintonian Return Syndrome (CRS) and was trying to make it public for she suspected other towns suffered from a similar problem.
She said that there were three things needed to conquer CRS; willpower, willpower and willpower. She tried to install this in me by forcing me to think of Clinton; that boredom, hours upon hours of absolutely nothing to do, and the people; so dull, so boring and incredibly repulsive.
No matter how disgusted I would become, I still wanted it. I needed that stupid stinkpot of a town. I couldn't resist.
The Radar had control of me. Orange beams of light pulled me to it like a tractor beam off Star Trek. It pulled me in closer and closer and closer. It was a slow and agonizing journey. I saw London and my freedom disappear from my sight as the pull became stronger and stronger. I thought I had it figured out. I was wrong. Only the strong escape and I was unworthy.
It took 3 days for The Radar's beams to finally bring me past the Clinton limits on the Bayfield River bridge. Then I was dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Immediately, I headed for The Radar, to face the patriarch of the community, the Big Brother of Clinton, 1994.
As I stared at the huge mass of twisted black metal, I sensed satisfaction in it's eyes (or receptors). It knows the power it holds. A few escape, but the dictatorship of the Radar reigns supreme.
Remember only the strong survive, but I've found how to sneak behind it's back and I'll tell you so you can tell everyone else. I order to escape you must.................. ............................................................ ..........................................................."
At this point in the narration, Peter (because that's his name), was rocked with convulsions and died instantly. I still believe that somehow the Radar engineered his death. Perhaps it discovered my plan from a supposed friend. I can't trust anyone now. They could all be render total delineation of the Radar. It can't touch me because my family has not been here for five generations like many Clintonians, but it will strike at the ones I am close to.
Immediately on finishing this document, I am leaving the area in order to protect my friends and family that still live here.
May the Autocracy of the Radar fall soon!
I don't want to read the next one Robin, back to the first page!