Even the barkeep at the Boondoggle sees the light in a changing economy

Slashed Permanent Fund dividends, shrinking budgets, declining credit ratings, incumbent legislators ousted in the primary; that's all bad news to members of the Boondoggle Bar and Grill.

So I've avoided the place for months. I was depressed enough without hanging around with the club where members were sure to be deep in drink counting all their lost state contracts.

Slashed government threatens the very foundations of a private club where members use a back scratch as their version of a secret handshake.

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Then I stumbled into news about the Prosper Alaska Summit and Expo put together by the UAA College of Business and Public Policy.

"Wow! Once they hear about this I'll be as popular as Santa down at the Boondoggle," I said to myself. So I gathered up some fliers and headed for the club house singing a little song I'd made up for myself about how change was in the air.

As I passed beneath the arches over the front door my confidence wavered. The club motto etched in stone seemed to take on a whole new meaning. "You ain't seen nothin' yet," was suddenly anything but optimistic. Maybe things would just get worse and worse and worse. Heck, maybe the mid-'80s would be remembered as the good old days.

But I headed straight to the bar. My old pal the bartender glanced up and stared quizzically at my nearly forgotten face. Then he lit up in a smile.

"Thought you'd bailed forever," he said and started to pour my vodka tonic. "Most of the smart ones have."

I think that was an insult but I pressed on with my mission.

"I bring good news!" I gushed as I waved a flier.

"Seen it," he said, pointing to an enlargement of the Prosper Alaska Summit and Expo logo he had painted on the mirror behind him. "Great idea," he said. "In fact I am taking the day off to go and pitch my latest invention."

As usual, my thinking was way behind the boys at the Boondoggle.

"Invention? You?" I stammered, immediately ashamed of my impoliteness.

"I'll come up with something by Saturday," he said. "In these days of financial stress a fellow can't pass up a chance at free money."

"There's no free money at the expo," I said. "But there will be a chance to interest private investors or get advice on how to start a business."

The bartender's mood turned suddenly dark, even violent.

"No free money!?!" he yelled. "What the hell is Alaska turning into?"

"Knowledge based?" I timidly murmured. "Innovative?"

"It's who you know in this town fella. That's what I know! Innovation is for weaklings."

I pressed on stupidly.

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"We're on the verge of a whole new paradigm," I offered with what I hoped was a hint of apology in my voice.

"Fancy words for a supposed Alaskan who is handing out fliers for some event where they don't give away money," he scowled, pulled my vodka tonic away and dumped it down the drain. "With the state going broke we'll need free money more than ever."

It's tough to argue with that kind of logic but I tried.

"The expo is just trying to bring creative people together. Share the experiences of successful business people. Raise morale. Improve skills. And maybe put some investors together with some entrepreneurs. Is that really such a bad thing?" I asked.

"No free money! It's un-Alaskan!" he stormed.

He turned his back and began wiped the Prosper Alaska logo off the mirror with his bar rag.

I felt like an early Christian preaching to the lions who were about to devour him but I summoned up my last vestige of courage, looked the bartender in the eye and said, "Those days are gone and they won't be back. We've created a state built on government spending we pretended was enterprise. That's withering away and so will the jobs it bought. It's time to learn, grow, invest, and take chances. Some will fail but others might succeed."

The bartender stopped. Then he turned and looked me in the eye.

"Sounds kinda risky," he said.

"Risk makes us better," I offered. "Besides, if we keep doing what we've been doing it's surefire," I said, my tone dripping with consolation. "Surefire failure."

"Will there be counseling after the scary parts?" he asked.

"The College of Business will be there with us," I said, secretly wondering if I was cut out for this new world either. Then I added, "I am proud of you," as much to beef up my courage as his.

He beamed with a pride I had never seen in all his years at the Boondoggle. We agreed to meet at the Alaska Airlines Center on the UAA campus on Saturday at 9 a.m. and spend the day at the Prosper Alaska Summit and Forum.

You can be there too.

In fact, I hope you will be.

And yes, being an Alaska event, it is free. Change needs to come one step at a time.

Rick Goodfellow has lived in Alaska since 1951. He and his wife have operated KLEF Radio as a commercial undertaking for 28 years. The views expressed are his own and not necessarily those of UAA or its College of Business and Public Policy. KLEF is one of the sponsors of the Prosper Alaska Summit and Forum.