I Bought a Little City, buckaroo Donald Barthelme’s six-pager that’s a meditation on two key ingredients constituting much of American identity: 1) an individual's possessions (“the stuff I own”) and 2) an individual's power ("as owner, I make the rules and call the shots"). Make that three ingredients - lampooning the trend back in the 1970s respecting all the cockeyed schemes involving city planning (a personal zinger here since Donald Barthelme’s father was a university professor within an Architecture Department). So, with this in mind, we can put on our cowboy hats and spurs and ride on down to Texas. Giddy up little horsey!

This short postmodern sparkler begins thusly: “So I bought a little city (it was Galveston, Texas) and told everybody that nobody had to move, we were going to do it just gradually, very relaxed, no big changes overnight.”

Hey, that’s great – you ponied up the gold and now the city is all yours, you own every little bit fair and square. Whoa! I hear a voice crying out: Hey, what's the new owner's name? Buckaroo Barthelme doesn’t give the narrator a name but, sure as shooting, the boy needs a name. Let’s call him Bo.

Although Bo tells us he wants to move “softly, softly” as he goes about changing things, Bo doesn’t mess around – he starts right off by asking all those living in an entire city block, “some folks” as he puts it, to vacate so he can tear down their houses.

Oh, my, sounds like Bo is an insensitive bully but Bo wouldn’t want us to see it that way; not at all, since his homespun, friendly words mask his actions (even to himself) and take the edge off his brutality and vicious manipulation.

“Asking” folks to move. What a joke! Since he is sole owner, those folks have absolutely no choice. Very common American trick – people in power using language as a tool to put a positive spin on their self-serving cruelty and inhumanity.

Bo gave folks something new – a park. But, damn it to hell, Bo hears something he loathes – the sound of bongo drums. A black man is “playing his goddamn bongo drums” but Bo decides he shouldn’t tell him to stop since it is part of the “misery of democracy.” Ha! Thanks for voting for democracy, Bo, since you’ve taken on the role of dictator.

Curiously, Americans face this level of dictatorship all the time – not so much by someone buying the city they live in but someone buying the company they work for. Not a lot of democracy in a company taken over by a new owner. Not at all. That new owner calls all the shots, makes all the decisions, because, by golly, they're the owner. Very typically, using Bo-like verbiage, the new owner will slam down their iron fist, things like “asking” employees to move, as per: “To better position our future and provide everyone with more opportunity, we will be relocating our offices from Nashville to Phoenix.” And then when all those employees uproot their families and do what is demanded, six months later, huge layoffs. American capitalism in action.

Bo talks to one Galvestonian, Bill Caulfield, about the new, soon-to-be implemented layout of houses and yards. A bit of Donald Barthelme-style absurdity is at play here – turns out, Galveston, Texas will be reconstituted as a massive jigsaw puzzle. Once completed, one solid citizen, A.G. Bartie, doesn’t like this newness at all. “I feel like I’m living in this gigantic jiveass jigsaw puzzle.” Bo reflects: “He was right. Seen from the air, he was living in the middle of a titanic reproduction of the Mona Lisa.”

Buckaroo Barthelme seems to be saying how, in the domain of city planning, Bo’s caprice and eccentricity could almost be the point - after all, Bo can do absolutely anything he wants, no matter how illogical, simply to shove himself and his plan in the faces of those mere Galveston mortals; let them know how, in their city (actually, his city), he can play god.

At this point, new owner Bo has to ask himself a question. Is his question: Am I creating the greatest good for the greatest number of citizens? No. How about: Is my new city serving as an ideal model for other cities? Nope. Not even close. Here’s the pressing question Bo must ask: Am I enjoying myself enough?

The answer is an obvious “no,” so he goes right out and shots six thousand dogs. “This gave me great satisfaction and you have no idea how wonderfully it improved the city for the better.” Than Bo decides to mosey down to the headquarters of the leading city newspaper and, inspired by an Orson Wells movie, places an editorial denouncing himself as “the vilest creature the good God had ever placed on the earth.” A bit of irony and black humor in this piece of pubic media manipulation, since, by anybody’s standards, our new owner is a ruthless butcher.

There’s some heartfelt drama when Bo receives a visit from a former dog-owner. “You shot Butch,” the man says. Then further on, “Butch was all Nancy and me had. We never had any children.” And again, “I feel like busting your head.” The man shows Bo a mean-looking piece of pipe he brought along for the purpose. There’s much more to this exchange - Bo telling the man how he owns everything in the city, including the jail, judge, police and how, in truth, he, the owner of the dog, is the one at fault for his dog being shot.

There are a string of further developments but you will have to read the story for yourself to discover what happens to Galveston, Texas and the city’s new owner. Marvelous insights into American culture and society, not to mention spotlighting the level of immaturity and callousness of a vast number of owners.

DISCLAIMER: I did not think of Donald Trump even once while reading this story or writing my review.

I Bought a Little City is available on-line via a Google search. The story is also part of Donald Barthelme's collection, Sixty Stories. Listen to the author read I Bought a Little City:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qitfndf_ImM
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