"Killa T" wrote in message news:cWV2ZXJ5.bd2cfb48538bd29e4aa1e1f6ff75acf7@10 59561688.cotse.net...
http://www.heraldtribune.com/apps/pb...=2003307280506

Article published Jul 28, 2003
A HAUNTING ACT
Let's talk sedition

Dear Mr. Ashcroft,
I feel it is my duty to pass along the following information:

One recent evening, I was stretched out on my couch reading a book -- a
novel by Tom Robbins, if you must know -- when an old lady with her hair in
a bun appeared suddenly before my eyes.

This being Florida, I can't say I was startled, exactly. But I was puzzled.
I was reasonably certain I'd locked the doors.

"Get your feet off that chair!" she snapped. "And sit up straight!"

I grumbled mildly but followed her instructions. "Yes, ma'm," I said.
"You don't have any idea who I am, do you?" she asked testily.

"No, ma'm. I don't believe so," I replied with as much obsequiousness as I
could muster under the circumstances. "Do you live around here? Can I give
you a ride home?"

"'Can I give you a ride home?' he says! You always were a little slow on the
uptake, buster. Take a closer look."

I did as I was told. The bun, which served as a nest for a No. 2 pencil, was
vaguely familiar. The scowl I'd seen somewhere before. And the arched
brow -- well, a fellow in my business gets a lot of those.
I ventured a guess. "Sunday school?" "No! God spared me that test! Try
again."

I blinked. School bus driver? No, that's not it. Cafeteria lady? No. DMV?
Nope.

Suddenly it came to me. "The librarian!"

"Miss Crabapple, to you," she said, folding her arms and smiling with
satisfaction. "From beyond the grave."

"L-L-Look," I sputtered. "I can't possibly have any overdue books. And even
if I do, there must be a statute of limitations. I've been out of fifth
grade for, what, 29 years now?"

"Shhh! I'm not here about overdue books. I'm here to talk to you about
sedition."

There was a long pause. "Uh-huh," I said. I scanned the room for some means
to defend myself. There were the pillows on the sofa. And my book. Not much
else.

"Presently there is a bill in Congress called the Freedom to Read Protection
Act," she said. "Have you heard of it?"

"Well, uh, yeah. It's a proposed amendment to the Patriot Act of 2001. It
would repeal a provision of the anti-terrorism law that enables the
government to secretly inspect the records of libraries and bookstores."

"Continue."

"Under the Patriot Act, the FBI can monitor the reading materials of any
individual without any indication that a crime has been committed. In fact,
librarians and bookstore owners can be charged with a crime -- a felony --
if they reveal such an investigation."

"Very good. You still split infinitives, but you're not quite as stupid as I
remember. You must have married above yourself."

"Yes, ma'm," I said. "I did."

"Don't be so proud of yourself. The odds were decidedly in favor of your
doing so."

I had a feeling I'd just been insulted, but I pressed on. I wanted to get
this haunting over with. "What do you want from me, lady?"

"I want you to speak out against this abomination! I want people to climb
onto the tabletops at their local libraries and shout, 'Just because I read
a murder mystery doesn't make me a murderer! Just because I read a book
about communism doesn't make me a communist!"

"And just because I read about civil liberties doesn't make me a libertine!"
I yelled.

She glowered.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. "I got swept up by the moment."

"I want you to write to your elected officials and urge them to pass this
amendment."

"Gee, I dunno," I replied. "My congresswoman is Katherine Harris. I might
end up not being able to vote next time."

"OK, then, smart aleck. Write to your senators. Write to the president.
Write to John Ashcroft, the man behind this mess! Tell him that no real
patriot will tolerate this outrage, this affront to democracy, this assault
on civilization!"

So there you have it, Mr. Ashcroft.

Miss Crabapple always said she does not suffer fools gladly. As one to
another, I felt it was my duty to write to you and give you fair warning:

She's pulled your file, dude.

In your humble service, I am .

Daryl Lease is an editorial writer for the Herald-Tribune. E-mail:
.


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Nah, let's talk killfile.