MISSOURI WATCH: CIVILITY: LOOK UNDER LOST AND FOUND

The brief e-mail message was waiting for me when I arrived at the office one recent morning. It was a succinct, yet compelling communication that simply read: "Mr. Tru Civility is alive and well, and if you would like to communicate with him, he's hiding in the majestic mountains near the rocks and rills on the fruited plains. Don't tell him I sent you." It was signed simply, "Uncle Sam."

I guess my uncle knew I had been looking for Tru Civility for, lo, these many years, and I could only conclude that Sam figured I needed some help if I was ever going to locate Civility in my lifetime. I wrote a quick note to thank him and then set out for the majestic mountains overlooking the fruited plains. The journey took longer than I had anticipated.

Lacking a road map, I was forced to stop from time to time and inquire of anyone I happened to meet. "Could you direct me to the fruited plains?" I asked of several persons, all of whom immediately turned their backs and trotted away. I knocked on the doors of several homes, but the only response was a vicious dog barking from inside. I tried to flag down several cars, but the drivers only speeded by, acknowledging my presence with a digital signal I took to indicate rejection. Or perhaps it was just their way of wishing me a safe journey.

Getting to the majestic mountains turned out to be much more difficult than I imagined. I tried to keep up with motorists, but they were traveling at such high speeds that I concluded it would be safer to follow the speeds suggested by the state, although numerous motorists blew their horns urging me to increase my pace. I waved to show my appreciation for their concern but they only continued the digital signals.

After a long and discouraging trip, I finally reached the rocks and rills, which it turns out were adjacent to the babbling brook, reflecting the sky's purple majesty. It was a thrilling sight, dimmed only by several overturned barrels of trash, a few piles of empty beer cans and a half dozen or so Styrofoam cups. It was while I was trying to pickup after previous visitors that a pleasant voice said, "By golly, it's real nice of you to police this place. Sometimes I get weary of being the only person around who cares about how we leave this world for the next generation!"

I looked around but was still unable to see who was speaking. "Where are you?" I inquired of the invisible voice. "I'm here," the voice said, "I've been hiding here since the Johnson administration. He's not still president, is he?" "No," I replied, "he didn't run for re-election in 1968." "Is that right?" the voice said in surprised tone, then after a pause mused, "Maybe I was a little hasty in leaving, but things seemed so bad I just couldn't take it anymore."

"I know what you mean," I responded. "I thought about it myself after the 1968 convention in Chicago. I was tear-gassed, my best suit was ripped by a razor blade and someone sprayed paint on my shoes." "Heavens!" the voice said in shocked tones, "that's awful."

"Well, it depends," I said slowly. "Having someone spray paint on you is pretty tame stuff today. There are places where you're lucky to get out alive, like your own neighborhood."

"That's obscene," the voice exclaimed. "If you want obscene today, all you have to do is turn on the TV in your living room and you can witness all the poor taste known to mankind in just 30 minutes," I responded.

"Oh, I had such great hopes for that medium. At least you still have radio." "Where they suggest the president's daughter is a dog?" I asked. "Are they still talking about poor Amy Carter? Well, I'm sure they still exercise some restraint in movies," the voice said hopefully. "You wouldn't believe..." I answered, letting my voice drop.

"The reason I left all that was because we were so divided about the war in Vietnam," the voice said in a confessional tone. "That was bad," I said, "but we're still arguing, although we finally brought our troops home. Today we're arguing about other matters, and if you thought the arguments over Vietnam were bad, you ought to hear what we're saying about the right and the left, the religious and the nonbelievers, the white and the black, the rich and the poor, Democrats and Republicans, and it gets worse...."

"Stop!" the voice cried. "You're giving me a headache. I don't want to hear anymore about it!"

"You're Tru Civility, aren't you?" I asked. "Yes, but don't tell anybody. I briefly returned one time but nobody noticed me. And I don't intend going back again until whoever called Richard Nixon a crook apologizes."

~Jack Stapleton of Kennett is the editor of the Missouri News and Editorial Service.