Editor’s Letter
January 2010 - Editor
by Sue Duffy
In the final hour of 1981, I penned the following account of something I had just witnessed:
It was New Year’s Eve in Miami, and the glittering spectacle of the Orange Bowl Parade was about to begin. Throngs of anxious spectators lined the downtown streets and still more came.
It seemed an interminable wait, and the crowd grew restless. Then suddenly, someone shouted, “Hey, look at that guy!” I squinted against the glare of street lights to see a young man in a coarse-grained robe shouldering a crude, wooden cross, supporting its bulk with one hand while clutching a large book in the other.
He walked alone in the street, crossing from side to side. I saw him lift the book high above his head. I heard him speak to the crowd, and I knew he wasn’t welcome. Though I couldn’t distinguish his words, the sporadic laughter and whistles of the crowd were very clear.
As he drew closer, the taunting spread to those in the bleachers around me. He crossed the street to us in silence, and I could see it was a Bible he held aloft. “That guy’s crazy,” sneered a woman behind me. Ought to be put away.”
