Ray St. Louis
4/1/07
BETWEEN THE LINES
A grim fairy tale continued…
When last we visited the little hamlet beside a highway, Charlie (the town pest) was dropping in on Miss Muffet
for an afternoon of frog testing. Halfway through the sack, none of the frogs had turned out to be enchanted
princes.
“I’ve had quite enough of kissing frogs,” Miss Muffet protested. “I believe I am beginning to detest frogs, almost
as much as I detest spiders.”
“You can’t stop now,” Charlie protested. “One of these still untested frogs could be the enchanted prince.”
“I don’t care,” Miss Muffet retorted; “I am through with frog kissing.”
“Very well,” Charlie conceded. And with that, he headed back to town.
By now, everyone in the town had heard about Charlie’s run-ins with Town Hall over the alleged mishandling of
official election beans. Some people saw Charlie as a hero. Others saw him as simply a nuisance.
But at least Charlie had gotten everyone talking about some shady goings-on at Town Hall.
“They’re tampering with official election beans; they’re holding back public records; they’ve banned me from
Town Hall; and Mister Twohats is illegally wearing too many hats!” Charlie protested to whoever was willing to
listen.
“Well, if you don’t like the way things are being run, why don’t you run for election yourself?” people asked.
“Okay, I will,” Charlie responded.
So one day, Charlie went down to Town Hall (currently in temporary quarters due to the fire that destroyed the
original Town Hall) to register as a candidate for the town council along with two others who wished to register.
Upon arriving, Charlie opened the door just wide enough to poke his head through. “Am I allowed to register
here for election even though I’m banned from Town Hall?” Charlie asked.
“Oh, we were just kidding about that. That was only for one day. Sorry about the misunderstanding,” one of the
clerks replied.
“In that case,” Charlie said as he entered the room and swaggered up to the clerk’s desk, “I should like to
register as a candidate for election.” The other two prospective candidates responded likewise.
“No problem,” the town clerk assured; “just fill out these forms.”
The next day, Charlie read in the town newspaper that he and the other two candidates had been disqualified.
Charlie marched right down to Town Hall.
“What do you mean we’re disqualified?” Charlie demanded.
“Technical insufficiencies,” the town clerk replied officiously. “You see here on page four, paragraph two of your
application how you failed to dot an ‘i’. This other applicant failed to cross a ‘t’; and the third used an
unapproved color of ink. These applications are hopelessly flawed. You’re all disqualified. It’s the law.”
Charlie was aghast. So were many other people in the town. “Now they’re canceling elections!” people cried.
“We’ll see if it’s the law,” Charlie threatened; and with that, he directed his lawyer to file suit, causing many to
wonder how a character in a fairy tale with no visible means of support can afford a lawyer.
In fact, Charlie’s lawyer had already filed numerous lawsuits and other legal actions: for wrongful arrest (by
Mister Twohats), for holding back public documents, for illegally banning Charlie from the town, and for Mister
Twohats wearing too many hats.
Lawsuits were flying like winged monkeys around a witch’s castle.
The uproar was growing.
The town mayor, known as the Iron lady for good reason, called an emergency meeting which was open to the
public so long as the public obeyed the rules: no speaking out of turn or for longer than three minutes; no
discussing anything on the Secret Agenda traditionally voted on and approved at the beginning of each meeting
(further information not available); no fidgeting, twitching or squirming; and above all, no outbursts from Charlie.
Halfway through the meeting, Charlie turned to say something to the person sitting behind him.
“You’re creating a disturbance!” The Iron Lady exclaimed.
“I was only responding to the person behind me,” Charlie pleaded.
“Officers, remove this person from the premises,” the Iron Lady instructed.
And with that, Charlie went limp while members of the constabulary placed shackles around his hands and
carried him out.
“These shackles are hurting my wrists!” Charlie cried out.
“He’s resisting arrest. Shock him,” the head of the constabulary directed, causing one of the constables to pull
out a magic wand—a magic wand set on stun.
To his credit, the constable refrained from using a magic wand set on stun against a prone helpless shackled
man.
Once again Charlie was hauled off to jail, although it was only for a while. But the general uproar over the
cancelled election had an effect. Mister Twohats, the Iron Lady and others at Town Hall reluctantly approved the
new candidates’ applications.
And the little hamlet beside the highway got to have its election. The process had worked although it wasn’t
pretty. The town had gotten a lot of bad press, and no one came out looking good.
Moral of the story: Democratic institutions are like enchanted princes—to get results, sometimes you have to kiss
a lot of frogs.