Editorial Response

by Charles Richard Laing

Gavin Snider was finishing up his breakfast when the doorbell rang. He drained his second cup of coffee while he glanced over at the microwave oven. The clock read seven minutes before seven. A little early for company, he thought.

He got up and went to the front door. When he opened it he saw a pair of very large men dressed in identical serge suits. To Gavin they looked like a pair NFL linebackers on their way to an awards banquet.

One of the men held a clipboard in his meaty fist. From where he was standing, Gavin couldn’t see what was written on it, but the contents seemed important to the gentleman holding it. He silently read every word before he addressed Gavin. His lips moved as he read:

“Good morning, sir. We’re sorry to disturb you this early in the morning, but we were hoping to catch you before you went to work. Forgive the inconvenience. Are you Mister Gavin Snider?”

“I am,” Gavin acknowledged.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Snider,” the man with the clipboard said, though his tone implied otherwise. My name is Mister White. This is my associate Mister Black. We are employed by the Mayor’s office. Mister Black?”

Cued, Mister Black opened his briefcase and pulled out a copy of the Sunday edition of the Lakewood Journal. He opened it and riffled through the pages until he found what he was looking for. Gavin couldn’t help but notice that it was the editorial page. He was familiar with editorial page of the Lakewood Journal. In fact, he had had several letters published there.

“You are the Gavin Snider who wrote this letter to the editor?” Mister White asked. Gavin could only nod, wondering where the conversation was going.

“In your letter, you expressed extreme opposition to the Mayor’s plan to build a new incinerator.”

“I’m vehemently opposed to the Mayor’s plan,” Gavin admitted. “I’m not only opposed to the idea of building an incinerator, I’m also opposed to the proposed site. Do you know that he plans to build it right across the street from the grammar school? That’s downwind...”

Mister White held up his hand. “I’m not here to argue with you, Mister Snider. That isn’t my job. Besides, the Mayor thinks we’re well beyond that stage. I’m only here to change your mind.”

“I just don’t see how that’s possible, Mister White,” Gavin said. Mister White just smiled coldly as Mister Black pulled the syringe out of his case. Gavin tried to retreat, but Mister White took a firm grip on his arm.

“Oh, it’s possible, Mister Snider,” Mister White said.

* * *

He got up to answer the door. His head was pounding again. He rubbed the lump on the side of his cranium. Sometimes it helped. Today it didn’t. He opened the door and was immediately greeted by the stench from the Mayor’s wonderful incinerator.

The wind was blowing from the east again.

Two well-dressed men were standing on his porch. Gavin Snider was thrilled to see them.