URBANA — The Man on the Monument — Champaign County’s beloved and heavily photographed bronze sentinel in the center of Monument Square — has, according to multiple independent witnesses who were “definitely not just yelling at a statue after Teabaggers,” formally demanded two weeks of paid vacation and a county-issued lawn chair.

If the demand is not met by sundown Friday, the figure has allegedly threatened to rotate on his base until he faces Dayton, a maneuver locals described as “nuclear,” “petty,” and “honestly overdue.”

“He’s been standing there since forever with no break, no benefits, and no dental,” said Brenda Kauffman, 54, of Mechanicsburg, who claimed she overheard the ultimatum while waiting for a light near Scioto Street. “Meanwhile half the county takes three days off when the humidity hits 60 percent.”

County officials stressed that the statue does not speak, cannot rotate under its own power, and is not eligible for PERS. That clarification did not slow the story.

The grievance

Witnesses said the Monument’s complaint package — delivered, somehow, as a laminated sheet taped to a parking sign and later photocopied at a church office in St. Paris — included:

  • Two consecutive weeks off each summer, “preferably during fair week so he doesn’t have to watch people eat funnel cake without him.”
  • A shaded canopy “like the ones they put over judges at the fair when the pigs get dramatic.”
  • Recognition that standing still while Urbana Hillclimbers traffic, Second Saturday crowds, and out-of-towners mispronounce “Scioto” counts as hazardous duty.
  • One (1) official county lanyard, even if decorative.

Todd Henson, 41, of Goshen Township, said he supports the paid time off in principle but drew a hard line at the Dayton threat.

“If he faces Dayton, property values get weird,” Henson said. “People will start asking whether we’re still west-central or just spiritually suburban. I won’t have it.”

Diplomacy fails immediately

A hastily assembled “Monument Relations Task Force” met for 47 minutes in a room that smelled like old coffee and ambition. Members included a township trustee from Salem, a volunteer from the Champaign Aviation Museum who kept bringing up the B-17, and a man from Woodstock who insisted this was “basically Congress.”

No formal vote was recorded. Several informal votes were taken about whether the lawn chair should be green or “a respectful bronze-adjacent beige.”

“We tabled the canopy,” said task force note-taker Marcia Runkle. “Tabling is how you love something in this county.”

Local reaction

At Crabill’s, patrons debated whether a statue could accrue sick days. Consensus: no. Minority report: only if the sick day involved pigeons.

On SR-54 near Cable, a driver reportedly slowed to inform a passenger that “if the Man faces Dayton, Crybaby Bridge is next,” a statement that made no sense and still received three solemn nods.

Graham Falcons wrestling parents, reached between dual-meet silence rituals, said any figure that stands that long without complaining about participation trophies “deserves at least a weekend at Kiser Lake.”

Triad Cardinals boosters said the real issue was color theory and declined further comment.

Historical context nobody asked for

Local history buffs reminded everyone that the Man on the Monument has survived wars, road construction, fair traffic, engagement photo shoots in the roundabout, and at least one child asking whether he “ever gets to sit down.”

“Simon Kenton never got PTO either,” muttered a tour guide near Oak Dale Cemetery, unhelpfully.

Official position

A county spokesperson issued a statement reading, in full:

“The Man on the Monument remains a cherished symbol of Champaign County. He is not an employee. He will not be facing Dayton. Please stop leaving lawn chairs at the base. Someone already took the good one.”

As of press time, the statue remained facing its usual direction. A single empty folding chair sat nearby anyway, weighted with a brick and a handwritten sign: HE EARNED IT.

Residents are advised that if the Man does appear to turn, it is almost certainly a trick of the light, a conspiracy theory, or someone from Clark County with a ratchet strap and a dream.