Mark Malkoff, a Hershey-born comedy writer and filmmaker, has spent the last month driving around the country hitting up mayors for keys to their cities.

He is six shy of his 100-key goal.

Malkoff received one of his first keys here in Lancaster from Mayor Rick Gray. But he didn't get the key free.

"I do community service in most cities," he explains. "In Lancaster, I cleaned up after the police horses."

Cleaned up horse manure?

"It was unpleasant, but funny," Malkoff says. "It wasn't difficult. I just had to psyche myself up to do it."

Malkoff shoveled road apples in Penn Square. He had his picture taken with the mayor. Then he moved on to the next town.

Why keys?

"I come up with ideas that make me ask: 'Can I pull this off?"' Malkoff explains. "Dignitaries and actors get keys to cities. I wanted to see if a regular guy can get a key."

Why horse poop?

"I'm not sure who came up with shoveling horse manure," says Gray. "We figured it was there, somebody's got to pick it up."

"What a sense of humor your mayor has," remarks Malkoff.

Malkoff, who is known for similar goofy stunts — he once visited every one of Starbucks' 171 Manhattan locations and consumed something in each within 24 hours — says city keys come in all sizes and shapes.

Some are made of chocolate, which makes Malkoff wonder, "Do I eat the key or keep the key?"

The Lancaster key, which Gray says he gives away sparingly to visiting dignitaries and manure shovelers, is a traditional large metal key. It says "City of Lancaster" and depicts a covered wagon.

He has only one left.

"We've been talking with Thaddeus Stevens (College of Technology) about a new key, Gray says. "We'd like it to look more modern."


Shiniest shoes in the hospital


Retired city police detective Jim McMullin read Monday's "Flashback Lancaster" item about a shootout at Park City Center 25 years ago.

Three men were wounded and one later died.

McMullin recalls that city police decided to post guards outside the severely wounded man's room in what was then called St. Joseph Hospital.

"The police department was afraid someone might come in and finish him off," recalls McMullin. "Some of us detectives took guns in the room right across the hall with the door ajar."

The detectives wore white hospital lab jackets to disguise themselves.

But a nurse came in and sat beside McMullin.

"Everyone in the hospital knows you're not a doctor," she told him.

"Why's that?" McMullin asked.

"Your shoes are shined," she said.

McMullin, who retired many years ago, says he hasn't shined his shoes in a long time.

But 25 years ago he shined them every day.


Time to go lightly on 'icons'


OK, let's start taxing the word "icon" whenever it's applied to individuals. That should pay off the federal debt in short order.

Within the last few days, this newspaper has described the late comedian Soupy Sales as a "social icon" and state Rep. Katie True as "an icon of conservative values in Lancaster County."

Within the last few weeks, local obituaries have lauded a "pro wrestling icon" and a "trucking icon."

Within the past couple of months, references have been made to a Lancaster racer as a "running icon," Princess Di as a "fashion icon" and Bill Cosby as a "comedy icon."

And there have been others.

Iconic references are so overdone they don't mean anything anymore.

Most people — even the most exceptional people — don't really represent much more than themselves.

And that should be sufficient.

Contact The Scribbler: jbrubaker@lnpnews.com or 291-8781.