The archangel Michael and Brigitte Bardot

By MEL ROTHENBURGER/ The Armchair Mayor

“What can I do for you?” I asked the gentleman in our front lobby.

“I am the archangel Michael,” he said by way of introduction. “I need you to help me spread the word.”

Other than the fact he was dressed all in white, you might have mistaken him for just another regular guy. No wings, no halo.

I thought about his request for a moment, then suggested, “How about writing a letter to the editor?”

I think he was hoping for more, but he accepted the invitation, handed me a sheet of paper with some things he’d copied from the Bible, and bid adieu.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to the archangel Michael, for I haven’t seen him since, and never got a letter to the editor from him.

Pretty much on a daily basis, people step in off Seymour Street looking for help or answers, or offering solutions. One never knows what one will find when summoned to the front counter, and this summer has been busy.

A tenant of Henry Leland House came in recently to complain about being banned from his room, and hoping I’d write about it.

The reason, it turned out, was that he was seriously inebriated and wasn’t allowed back in his room till he sobered up. Now, as he pointed out, he was “on the street” for the afternoon.

We can’t always solve such problems, or provide people what they want. By email, phone or visits, we hear about them. Sometimes, the issue centres on items in the paper.

A reader who had this to say:

“Your astrology column was completely wrong and even though you claim this is entertainment my day was ruined by the report in your paper and I believe you are financially responsible. I am making a claim in B.C. court for one million dollars.”

He provided 30 days’ notice, which have now passed, and I apologize for likely adding to his stress by not getting the cheque in the mail in a timely manner. We’re all busy.

Sometimes we’re able to do good things with the stories we write, and it’s those times that make a reporter’s day. Like the pooch who was reunited with her owner in Montreal — the SPCA and a kind-hearted stranger deserve the credit for that one but we were pleased to be a part of it.

And the cherished sign that was returned to a family after the story of the theft appeared in these pages.

Once in awhile, people stop in just because. One morning this summer, a call from the switchboard came to me at my desk: “There’s a gentleman from Turkey who would like to talk to you.”

It’s not every day someone from Turkey drops in. Especially someone who is a good friend of Brigitte Bardot.

A charming gentleman named Prof. Orhan Kural introduced himself and explained he was president of the Turkish Travel Club. Since Syd and I spent time in Istanbul some 20 years ago, we enjoyed talking about this fabulous city, though Prof. Kural said with a hint of sadness, “it’s much different now.”

We also found common ground in our dislike of so-called “sport hunting,” and by the time he left I had an invitation to come stay at his house next time I’m in Istanbul. Maybe I will.

He really does know Brigitte Bardot, by the way.