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PrintLetters from the Edges
Illustration by Birgitta Sif Jonsdottir
Heather Heidi Walsowski-Smith came charging into the library where I was measuring letters to the editor with a tape measure I got free from public radio. Instead of launching into complaints about the weather, which is how Heather Heidi usually opens conversations, she said, “Give me your cell phone.”
“This is the library. You can’t phone chat here.”
“I’m in the midst of an emergency. A matter of life and death.”
I held onto my phone. Heather Heidi considers an empty toilet paper dispenser an emergency. She once called 911 over a bee in her car. “What’s wrong with your phone?”
“Crime Stoppers has blocked my number. Whenever a car runs a crosswalk while I’m in it, I call Crime Stoppers, and the last time the woman there was rude. She threatened to withdraw my right to police protection.”
“I’ve never heard of Crime Stoppers blocking a number. How often do you call them?”
“Every time I almost get killed crossing the street. It happened just now, with a truck from Idaho. The spud-for-brains sped up when he saw me step off the curb.”
“Idaho truck drivers think crosswalks are cattle guards.”
“Clyde says my dying words will be, ‘I had the right of way, you jerk.’ Why are you measuring the newspaper?”
“I’m counting inches of letters to the editor for my master’s thesis. Jackson Hole has the highest per capita rate of writers of letters to the editor in the nation. We’re over twelve times the average, as established by a blogger from Pennsylvania who tracks these things.”
“I’ve written three on crosswalk sanctity myself. And one against downhill skiers on cell phones.”
“Half the valley has written letters to the editor about skiers on cell phones. There’s a group in favor of shooting the phones right off the skier’s earmuff.”
“Those hands-free talkers are the ones who scare me. It’s so bad now, I can’t tell the psychotics from the yuppie scum.”
Heather Heidi grabbed my paper. She made me lose my measuring spot. I would have to start over.
“Let’s check out this week’s hot topics,” she said. Her finger ran down the columns of letters. “Here’s a fella has invented a car that runs on elk pellets. Says it will solve America’s energy crisis.”
“There’s another one that demands we stop feeding elk. They clash.”
Heather Heidi ignored me, as usual. “A woman from Malibu wants radiant heat under the pavement on Teton Pass. And here’s a kid says you shouldn’t use bear repellant the same way as mosquito repellant. He wants a warning on the cans.”
“I wonder how he figured it out?”
“The world’s angriest man is outraged by the lack of ATMs in the backcountry. This clown claims proof of Tralfamadorians living in Mount Moran. It’s Adopt-A-Chiseler Month. Two against global warming and one in favor. This character wants to rename the Jackson Hole Airport after Dick Cheney.”
“That would solve the overcrowding problem.”
“Carve Hannah Montana’s head on Jackson Peak. Bring the Winter Olympics to Wilson. Dynamite the Snake River bridges. A law against tunnels leading to condominiums.”
“There’s even one advocating a moratorium on letters to the editor.”
“What the newspaper needs is a flake filter.”
“Heck, yes, everyone agrees on that,” I said, “but no one can agree on who should get the job. I wouldn’t let right-wing born again vegans publish their opinions; you would cut off men who drive SUVs. Clyde thinks the government should confiscate e-mail accounts from any woman who doesn’t shave her legs weekly.”
“One man’s flake is another man’s granola.”
“That’s a fairly stupid yet true way to word it.”
Heather Heidi continued to read letters. Counting long letters called Guest Shots, they made up 83 percent of the front section. “So, what’s the thesis of your master’s thesis? You must have a theory since you are nothing if not a damn font of crackpot ideas.”
“As a matter of fact, I do have a theory.”
“I knew it.”
“Residents of Duncan, Oklahoma, or Panama City, Florida, feel no empowerment when it comes to local environment. They are powerless.”
“Remember when the town changed the Christmas lights in the Square from colored to white? The mayor got death threats.”
“That wouldn’t happen in Oklahoma.”
“And you’re bound to explain why.”
“It’s because people in the crowded time zones have no sense of control over their lives. They’re stuck, whereas folks here tend to be black sheep, from stable families, gone to the wilderness to carve out purposeful lives. We’ve also had ourselves a veritable influx of filthy rich folks lately. Filthy rich folks think they deserve a say in what goes on. Take, for example, the diapers on stagecoach horses controversy.”
“I thought we’d break into class warfare.”
“People who live with actual gangs, aggressive crack heads, strip malls, and professional politicians feel no control, so they keep their mouths shut and do whatever it takes to make the next mortgage payment. It’s the difference between riding a horse and taking the subway.”
“They both smell like old pee?”
“They’re both transportation, but the choices of destination vary considerably.”
“Here’s a letter that might cure America’s malaise,” Heather Heidi said. “It’s from Loretta O’Talley.”
“Loretta writes letters every week. She needs her own private spam filter.”
“Listen.” Heather Heidi cleared her throat.
“Dear Editor: What’s all this fuss about Affordable Hosing? Don’t we get enough snow directly from God Hisownself? Last winter the snow on both sides of my driveway was Oklahanolooshi (an Arapaho word meaning ‘armpit high to a tall Shoshone’). The last thing we need is to manufacture more snow so kids can snowboard in September. Kids should be in school in September. And, let me make this clear, snow from hoses is never affordable. What with the Canadian Cartel, it can go over a dollar a winejet. (A fluctuating measure of weight based on the number of aluminum cans you have to collect and sell at recycling to buy a bottle of Blue Nun. The rise and fall of this number is watched as closely as the stock market by certain ski bums.) We simply cannot afford hosing in Teton County. People who want hosing should move to Southern California—or, better yet, Greece. My niece says hosing in Greece is cheap.”
Heather Heidi looked up at me. “I have no idea what that means.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Maybe Loretta O’Talley is lonely and frustrated.”
“My research has found many compulsive writers of letters to the editor have no one who will listen to them.”
“The town council should buy Loretta a cat.”
Tim Sandlin is the author of several novels, including his most recent, Rowdy in Paris.
