Don't Fence Me In

I admit it; I get a perverse pleasure in reading my local newspaper's weekly Police Blotter (that's the actual so-retro title). The Police Blotter is in the Neighbors section, appropriately enough, replete with its very own color-coded "Weekly crime map" with concentrations of crime dots like so much funfetti on a cupcake depicting those who merely got caught (for some reason, only burglaries and robberies).

To paraphrase Robert Frost, rather brutally and ironically: "Good neighbors make good fences." Of course, "fence" here relates to recipients or disseminators of stolen goods.

I think I am honest in declaring this habit started as an idle curiosity. Then it became more like an avid hobby. Then closer to a weekly obsession.

Before you rush to judgment about my alleged rush to judgment, allow me a modest attempt at self-justification.

Conjure up the concoction of shame, pity, or delight in spying a familiar name in these pages! Several years ago, I spotted the name of a guy who was about to drive his family (and, more important to me, my daughter) up to camp (that's our word for vacation home). He was charged with (when I worked at this same newspaper years ago, we were not allowed to say "arrested for" because of its tilt against innocence, but could say "charged with") aggravated unlawful use of a motor vehicle or driving with a suspended license, something like that. I only let my daughter go when I was assured that the charges did not involve alcohol-related offenses. To this day, I probably should've put the kibosh on letting my daughter get in a vehicle with this defendant. So, reading the Police Blotter yielded very practical results in such a case.

Twice, I have seen the names of people I knew who allegedly intended to purchase certain carnal pleasures that would be legal in certain civilized sovereign nations.

In all these instances, I think I successfully refrained from the smirk. My feelings were more like, "There but for the grace of God go I." You're rolling your eyes or shaking your head. Fair enough.

Naturally, there are other practical benefits to this exercise. I do want to know about my own neighborhood and its environs. Who wouldn't?

I do confess to scouting for the names of the prominent and famous, the high and the mighty. So far not much luck with that. Besides, my prejudice tells me the powerful can keep stuff out of the press, or keep from facing arrest in the first place. However, if they stain the Police Blotter, I'm dying to see how the news coverage would go. In this tabloid age, they're liable to face the other extreme, of disproportionate attention.

Needless to say, there are potentially tragic risks to this endeavor. Obviously, I cannot guarantee myself freedom from seeing the name of a loved one in fine print (a la Al Gore in today's news). Such is the price one pays for this penal voyeurism.

I am reminded of a question Barbara Walters once asked a panel of presidential candidates (1984, if I recall correctly). It was a daring question, one sure to be dodged. It went something like this, "We all know your strengths and assets; you'll tell us that. But what is your greatest weakness?" The only memorable (whether truthful or not) answer came from candidate Jesse Jackson, and it was along these lines: "The person in the wheelchair, we see that person's weakness. But for the rest of us, it's not so apparent. It's hidden, but still there. For me, it's the failure to articulate or communicate properly." (This may have been after his infamous reference to New York City as "Hymietown," so I don't want to gild the response too much.)

Nevertheless, the point is well taken, charged with a crime or not, we all have our faults, dear Brutus, whether in the stars, or not; whether in our genes, or not; whether in our, um, jeans, or somewhere else.

p.s. Speaking of blotters, does anyone even remotely know what an ink blotter is? We had them in elementary school, about 89 years ago. But, being left-handed, I found fountain pens to be troublesome. Maybe it was the start of my ADHD.