A Fable of Fame Overflowing to the Feeble
ÒWeÕre like this with Sr. Helen P. man!Ó I said, as I crossed my middle finger over my index and shoved them in the face of my suspicious brother. On the table was my current copy of the New York Review of Books. It was Open to an article called ÒDeath in TexasÓ, which was written by the almost famous nun. I hadnÕt actually read the article, nor did I especially intend to. It was often that way for me with The New York Review of Books. The articles are packed with fascinating information, but they are too long to read in one bathroom sitting, flow poorly and are unfocused. They bear the hallmarks of writings that are pumped out on a deadline, and not for love of any virtue. Because of this I usually start with the titles most interesting, reading a few pieces, but leave others. The amount I get read is truncated by the arrival of the next issue.

We were sitting at our once weekly Mandatory Coffee meeting, at LunaÕs, our local coffee shop. I was expressing the fact that due to my wifeÕs work, we see Sr. Helen Prejean from time to time. For most people this means nothing. One needs to further explain that this is the nun that was depicted in the award-winning movie Dead Man Walking. After that fact is known I am free to explain with glee how I am connected to the woman who plays Susan Sarandon in real life. Apart from the movie, this woman of the cloth is not particularly known outside the anti-death penalty community. But, within that community she is a great champion and is known throughout the land. Lawyers from across the country, working on such cases, jockey for position in order to meet with her, or gain her endorsement. At a recent ÒHoliday SeasonÓ party my wifeÕs boss was boasting of her advanced copy of Sr. HelenÕs new book. I was so tempted to say, ÒWhoÕs Sr. Helen?Ó Knowing the puffing winds of pride making tight her sails would quickly be withdrawn. But she was my wifeÕs boss after all, and in a rare show of social tact, I kept my mouth shut.

My wife and I had just been to a book signing of that very book, The Death of Innocents. It was a point of contention between her and I as to whether or not we had to actually buy the book considering this was a duel work/social function. It was her contention that this was a social function and therefore we needed to buy the book in order to, Òsupport the causeÓ and fully participate in the event. It was my belief that this was a work function, and she supported the cause by her involvement in the anti-death penalty Law Firm, and there was no need to spend an extra $30 toward the cause on a book that I was not really interested in reading . . . She won the debate.

We got the book and went to have it signed. As we were waiting in line my significant otherÕs work mates were coming back after having their copies John Hancocked. They would open their books displaying deeply personal messages about particular cases, or the work they do. I was quite pleased to see this. So often if you got to get a book signed you get a two or three word, Ònice to meet you whoever you are,Ó type of comment with the signature underneath. At least the money we spent on the book was going for something personal for the one I care for. In that case it was worth it. Besides I had been to enough work functions to start actually believing that the average Joe might know who this woman was apart from the movie. Now I could get my hands on written proof that I myself was connected to this religious of great fame. I was not the only one.

I knew a nun who taught me second grade who once told me before my first communion, ÒTake your time. YouÕre up there with The Lord and this is one time when you should not rush.Ó Apparently similar advice is given freely, for the wait to see Sr. Helen was arduous. Each person indeed took more time than they most likely would in the communion line to connect with the woman who playÕs Susan Sarandon in real life. Each person had their anecdote to share, Òyou know my brother worked on that film,Ó or ÒYou know Joe Smith out of Bent-armpit Wyoming, heÕs a Lawyer on this caseÓ. Each one desperately tries to become a part of the fame present in the guest of honor either for her connection to the smaller community of anti-death penalty activism, or the wider Hollywood reality.

We got to the front of the line and greeted the crusading nun. She is not Susan Sarandon. She looks much older, and a bit rounder if I may take the liberty. She talks with a deep country accent that is not the charming kind. It is the kind that, if possessed by the person in front of you in the grocery store line, would make you shudder knowing that the inefficiency of the impending transaction is about to add 15 minutes to your wait. As we said our brief hellos my wife reminded her where she works. Sr. Helen praised her for her efforts in the cause. Then she leaned over and signed the book. We got it back and after a very short conversation we walked away. This allowed the next person to repeat the process, informing her of their own small connection and trying to get on the inside.

I opened the cover of the book and read the inscription, it had our names and said, Òseek justiceÓ, followed by the signature. My name was misspelled. I was not overly pleased with the stock response we got and inquired my wife about it. ÒI only met her a few times,Ó she said, and I hung my head. My brother was right to be suspicious of my connections to ÒSister P.Ó I wondered on the road home as the book sat on my lap, whether or not famous people, ever have a chance to deeply connect to others, or do they only encounter those who would leech their fame, parasitically using it in conversations to bolster their own standing. I wonder if anyone ever really wants to know them, or if they one desire to have met them.

Phillip G.

Literature