OXFORD, Miss. Here I am in the middle of a criminal act in the middle of the night, aided by the cover of darkness. Never mind there's a street light beaming directly overhead.
I'm in the process of what some people police included might call defacing public property. That's why I have an eye peeled for the cops, even as I'm trying to peel off a piece of tape from my newly purchased label-maker.
Righting a wrong, I'm writing a footnote to a historical marker a few blocks off the square.
Anytime I'm in the neighborhood of Mississippi, I make it a point to make my way cross country to spend the night in this lovely village of Oxford, home of Ole Miss and Mr. William Faulkner.
I never stop here without stopping by his grave to pay homage to the Nobel Prize winner of Literature. It's easy to find the cemetery. There's a historical marker directing the attention of tourists to it.
That's where I have a bone to pick with Oxford over the historical bones the town is so proud of. I quote:
Here are buried L.Q.C. Lamar, statesman; A.B. Longstreet, author, educator; William Delay, veteran of three wars; Sarah McG. Isom, first Southern university faculty woman; and ...
Saving the best for last:
... I.D. Isom, first white settler in county.
Nary a mention of William Faulkner.
Last visit here, just last year, I made it a point to phone the chamber of commerce to complain about this sin of omission. A nice lady, who no doubt is paid to be nice, noted that Mr. Faulkner has his very own marker near his gravesite.
But wouldn't you think, I asked her, that along with the first Southern university faculty woman and the first white settler in county, you'd also want to list the winner of the Nobel Prize?
That's a good suggestion, she said, nicely. We never really thought about it before.
Obviously, they hadn't thought about it since. The sign remains the same.
So it is that I'm taking it upon myself.
Took myself down to Wal-Mart, I did, and bought a label-maker, stamped out what I wanted to say and set about to affix the proper suffix to the metal sign.
When I take on a job, I stick to it. That's more than I can say about the adhesive backing of the label.
It wouldn't stay. Still I stayed at it.
I tried tape borrowed from the corner motel office. No luck.
I bought super glue at the superette that was open down the street. No luck.
Actually, with the super glue, there was luck bad luck.
I did managed to super glue my hands together. Cops wouldn't have even needed the handcuffs.
They didn't catch me in the deed, nor was the deed accomplished. I finally gave up and went to bed. I only hope William Faulkner rests easier than I did. All night long I dreamed the cops had me surrounded.
Come on out! the police chief demanded over the bullhorn. We got you cornered, Sticky Fingers!
But there'll be a next time. Next time I'm bringing a welding rig.
For the record, here's the P.S. I had tried to add to the historical marker, right under ol' I.D. Isom:
And not to mention William Faulkner, first white settler in county to win the Nobel Prize for Literature.
(Joe Murray is senior writer for Cox Newspapers.)
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