Tuesday, October 27, 1964
Then it happened.
I had been feeling reasonably satisfied about our efforts to tamp down "Bernie talk," the more so because my Much Ado About Nothing project was working so well. Juniors liked the idea of rewriting Shakespeare into modern dialogue. I had selected bits that played up the gossip angle; each group worked up dialogue that was both funny and, in some cases, pointed right at themselves. I shouldn't have been so blase.
After lunch, Hank took me into his office and showed me a letter. Well, not exactly a letter. It was more like a ransom note, cobbled together with assorted letters from magazines and newspapers. It said:
FOXES ARE PREDATORS.
GET RID OF YOURS
BEFORE SOMEONE DOES IT FOR YOU.
I read it and searched for something to say. "Mmm, okay," I said finally. "This is not good. Have you shown it to Bernie yet?"
"No, but I will. And the provincial."