Somebody parked too close to the Iowa Interstate Railroad tracks, just outside our windows here in the old railroad depot, during the St. Patrick’s Day parade.

A freight train came rolling slowly along, and although it must have gone against every little-boy instinct remaining in him, the engineer applied the brakes instead of shoving the SUV out of the way with a dramatic and satisfying sound. You know, like when you smash a balky computer with a framing hammer.

The stopped train blocked at least three streets. This led to frustrated drivers whipping through our parking lot just as parade-goers all decked in green traipsed through with their hard-to-control kids. As if St. Patrick’s Day weren’t dangerous enough already.

Photographs were taken. Some children waved at the engineer, romantic figure that he is.

Somebody called the police, who called a towing service. A flatbed tow truck arrived. It looked as if the plan was to pull the vehicle up onto the truck, but the parties involved lost interest and settled for dragging it away from the tracks.

After what must have been a 45-minute wait, locomotive No. 710 finally could move westward with its string of freight cars, and the excitement dwindled away.

A little while later, somebody came along, climbed into the red SUV and drove off.

All of those ramifications, all of those people inconvenienced, all because of one dunderhead. It made me think of the scene in “Patton” where a mule-drawn cart is blocking a bridge and holding up Gen. George Patton’s column. Patton, memorably portrayed by George C. Scott, shoots the mules and orders them thrown into the river. A very proactive guy, Patton.

Then I began wondering how other renowned leaders would have handled the Great Railroad Crisis of 2011.

Franklin Roosevelt would have created a federal agency to hire unemployed citizens to build a new set of tracks curving around the vehicle. No heavy machinery allowed, just 100 men with shovels, to maximize employment. Come to think of it, governmental interference has made great strides since his time, so make it 250 diverse men and 250 diverse women, all equipped with government-approved teaspoons.

John Kennedy would have flown into town and made a speech there by the tracks, in front of the old, brick, six-story Rumely Building, where he would announce a national goal of developing flying trains by the end of this decade.

He also would say, “Is it just me, or does the Rumely Building look a lot like the Texas School Book Depository?”

Ronald Reagan also would have made a speech on location. Bless his heart, though, Dutch might get a bit confused. “Mr. Gorbachev,” he would say, “tear down this Chevy Suburban.”

However, my favorite of all American leaders, the Sioux warrior Crazy Horse, would have galloped up looking far cooler than any president, whacked the SUV with his hand and rode away. That’s because in olden times the most glorious part of battle among the tribes was touching an enemy, or “counting coup.” Afterward, everybody went home, satisfied with the day’s work and happy to be alive. It took a more advanced civilization to introduce the concept of wholesale slaughter.

You might object that touching the SUV wouldn’t solve the problem, but frankly, Crazy Horse would have preferred to see the locomotive sit there and rust away rather than continue west. Some problems don’t need solving. Try to look at things that way whenever you can.

Another suggestion: Before mounting his attack, Crazy Horse would have painted a lightning bolt from his forehead to his chin. I can’t guarantee that it will help you dominate your next board meeting, but it’s worth a try.

Jim Pollock is the editor of the Des Moines Business Record. He can be reached by e-mail at jimpollock@bpcdm.com