Breakfast of Champions: Chapter 20 Summary & Analysis

“While my life is being renewed by the words of Rabo Karabekian,” Vonnegut writes, Kilgore is standing in the interstate looking at the Holiday Inn. A small patch of Sugar Creek sits between the highway and the Holiday Inn, and Kilgore must cross it to get to the Festival. He takes off his socks and shoes and places one foot in the creek. Kilgore’s foot is “coated at once with a clear plastic substance from the surface of the creek.” He pulls his foot from the water and it instantly hardens, “sheathing his foot in a thin, skin-tight bootie resembling mother-of-pearl.”

The plastic substance is industrial waste from Barrytron, Ltd., which manufactures “anti-personnel bombs for the Air Force.” The new bomb scatters plastic, not metal, because “plastic is cheaper,” but also because the plastic cannot be detected by x-ray. Of course, Barrytron doesn’t know that they are polluting Sugar Creek; they had hired the Maritimo Brothers Construction Company to dump their waste. The company, which is “gangster-controlled,” thought that disposing of Barrytron’s waste sounded “complicated and busy,” so they built a confusing system that “concealed a straight run of stolen sewer pipe running directly from Barrytron to Sugar Creek.” 

When Barrytron learns that they are polluting the creek, they are “absolutely sick” about it. They had no intention on polluting the town. After all, Barrytron has always “attempted to be a perfect model of corporate good citizenship, no matter what it cost.”

Kilgore’s “situation,” Vonnegut says, is that he is a “machine,” but this is “complex” and “tragic.” There is a part of Kilgore, a “sacred part,” that “remains an unwavering band of light.” Vonnegut explains that he himself is a “meat machine” who is writing a book, but “at the core of the writing meat machine is something sacred, which is an unwavering band of light.” Everyone who reads this book likewise has a “band of unwavering light.” Vonnegut’s New York City doorbell rings. He doesn’t know who is there, but when he opens the door, he is sure to find “an unwavering band of light” behind it. “God bless Rabo Karabekian!” Vonnegut writes.

As Kilgore arrives at the Holiday Inn, he hopes that his plastic-coated feet will leave marks on the carpet. Unfortunately, the plastic is completely hard, and his footprints leave only small, disappearing dents. He walks across the lobby, “an inkless printing press,” and looks around. There are leaks everywhere; hanging on the walls, on the cigarette and candy machines, and one whole wall, which separates the lobby from the lounge, is one giant mirror.

Milo Maritimo, a “beautiful young desk clerk,” greets Kilgore happily. “Mr. Trout,” Milo says in “rapture.” He would know Kilgore anywhere, he says. “Welcome to Midland City. We need you so!” Kilgore is confused. How does this stranger know him? Milo hopes that Midland City will go down in history as the first town to “acknowledge the greatness of Kilgore Trout.” He has read all of Kilgore’s books—those in Eliot Rosewater’s personal library at least—and he stares at Kilgore with admiration. “We are so ready for a Renaissance, Mr. Trout!” Milo says. “You will be our Leonardo!”

Milo shows Kilgore to his room so that he can change into his high school tuxedo and the new shirt he purchased in New York City. His room is a suite, which is two identical rooms joined by a door, and it is full of flowers and welcome cards from local businesses. “The town certainly seems to be getting behind the arts in a great way,” Kilgore says.

“Oh, Mr. Trout,” Milo says, “teach us to sing and dance and laugh and cry.” Kilgore is stunned. “Open your eyes!” he yells at Milo. “Do I look like a dancer, a singer, a man of joy? […] Would a man nourished by beauty look like this? You have nothing but desolation and desperation here, you say? I bring you more of the same!”