by Nat Hentoff
“What could there be in a Charles Dickens novel that would offend anyone?” Barney asked.
Karen Salters smiled thinly. “There are people who are offended that everyone, in or out of books, is not exactly like them. But, to be specific, the parent who had complained about Our Mutual Friend objected, he said, to the violence in the book. There is murder, and attempted murder besides, although all the evildoers are ultimately punished. Quite dreadfully punished.
“The parent also complained,” she went on, “that there is lust in the book. And so there is; but the person who lusted after a marvelously brave young woman never fulfilled his intentions. And as a consequence of his lust, he died a terrible death. The parent had one more complaint. There is anti-Semitism in the book, he charged. True. A despicable character is anti-Semitic, and one of the ways Dickens makes him so despicable is by showing this character’s vicious bigotry. Oh, I can’t go on defending a book that needs no defense.”
Karen Salters left her place by the wall and seated herself opposite Barney. “Well, I told Mr. Moore—who, of course, had not read Our Mutual Friend but would have acted the same way if he had—I told him the very same things I have just told you. He would not be moved. A parent had complained, and Our Mutual Friend had to be put away. I brooded and brooded. I should have just quit, but, well, as I told you, I did so like being the librarian where I had gone to school. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a Coca-Cola?”
Barney was sure.
“I sent Mr. Moore a letter,” she continued. “I told him I had discovered an extremely troubling section in a book in the library, and I wanted his advice as to whether we should remove that book from the shelves before there were complaints. Because surely there would be a great fuss once a parent found out about those passages.
“The story”—Karen Salters looked as if she were still shocked by the memory of it—“was about a man, a family man, who also lived with a concubine. Do you know what that is?”
“A woman who stays with a man but she’s not married to him,” Barney answered.
“Quite right. How did they ever let you learn that? Anyway, in a fit of anger, this concubine left the man she had been living with and went back to her father’s house many miles away. The man she had left went after her. He persuaded his concubine to return with him; and on the way back, as the sun was setting, they needed a place to stay for the night in a town that turned out to be unfriendly. But one person did take them in. While they were all having dinner, some awful, awful men in the neighborhood tried to break into the house because they wanted to have sex with the man who was traveling with his concubine.”
Barney frowned. “With the man?”
“With the man,” Karen Salters said firmly. “They wanted to rape the man. Well, he didn’t want to be raped. So he took his concubine and offered her to these men. They took her and sexually abused her all through the night. At dawn they let her go, and when the man came out of the house the next morning to continue his journey home, he found his concubine on the threshold. She was dead. He put her body across his donkey, and when he got home, he took a knife and cut her into twelve pieces.”
Barney looked decidedly uncomfortable. “What a sick story.”
“He then sent those pieces of her body,” Karen Salters continued calmly, “to the heads of the towns and cities in the land in which he lived. He asked them for help in taking vengeance against the men who had abused her and killed her. And she was avenged.”
“Wow,” Barney said, “that is a disgusting story. What awful kind of book is it in?”
Karen Salters smiled. “The book containing that story, young man, is the Bible. To be specific, it’s in Chapter Nineteen of the Book of Judges.”
“But”—Barney was puzzled—“why did you call Mr. Moore’s attention to it then? You can’t throw the Bible out of the library.”
“Precisely my point,” she said triumphantly. “Here was my old, dear friend, Charles Dickens, being punished for something so much milder, so much less shocking, than this story from the Bible. I told Mr. Moore that if he went ahead and locked up Our Mutual Friend, I would write to the newspapers and to the television stations and I would compare the passages from Mr. Dickens that the parent complained about with the story I just told you. And I would point out that Mr. Dickens was being treated very unfairly.
“Mr. Moore came to see me as soon as he received my letter, and, I must say, he was extremely angry. How dare I try to embarrass him? If I were to go public on this matter, he would fire me, he said. But I told him that if he fired me, I would reveal all the books he had sneakily censored, in one way or another, during the past couple of years—without going through the school’s review procedures. Why shouldn’t I tell? What would I have to lose if I were fired?”
Karen Salters stopped and listened. But there were no sounds outside.
“Well,” she went on, “Mr. Moore huffed and puffed for quite a while. Firing me had suddenly lost its attractiveness, but he also wanted to soothe the parent complaining about Mr. Dickens. Would you believe that at one point he was thinking about keeping both Our Mutual Friend and the Bible in a locked cabinet? That idea lasted about two seconds. Of course, he couldn’t lock up the Bible. But then he decided that he could remove the nineteenth chapter of Judges from all the Bibles in the library. Nobody ever read in that part of the Bible, so nobody would notice the difference.”
“He was going to tear pages out of the Bible?” Barney was incredulous.
“He did. He did vandalize one copy of the Bible. And it wasn’t the first time he’d torn pages out of a book,” Karen Salters said dryly. “I could name you several poetry anthologies in the library that are no longer quite whole. Anyway, I told Mr. Moore that even if he went on to tear those pages out of every Bible we had, he couldn’t stop there. ‘Read,’ I said, ‘the thirteenth chapter in the second Book of Samuel.’ ”
“What’s in there?” Barney asked.
“One of King David’s sons rapes his sister.”
“Oh, my God.”
“I said to Mr. Moore that it just wouldn’t do. If he decided to rip out section after section of the Bible, he would be a laughingstock. Not only here but all over the country. I mean, you’re a journalist, young man. Is there a newspaper that wouldn’t love to get the story of a high school principal making the Bible fit for his students to read by stripping it of its lewd passages?”
“I guess not,” Barney said. “Gee, I had no idea that sort of stuff was in the Bible.”
“Your friend Mr. Twain did.” Karen Salters walked over to a small desk in the living room, picked up a slip of paper, and said to Barney, “Knowing you were coming, and knowing what I was going to tell you, I did a little homework and found this. When Huckleberry Finn was first published, some libraries would not let it in because they said it was coarse. So Mr. Twain said this in response.” Mrs. Salters read from the slip of paper:
“ ‘The truth is that when a library expels a book of mine and leaves an unexpurgated Bible around where unprotected youth … can get hold of it, the deep unconscious irony of it delights me….’
“Here.” She handed Barney the slip of paper. “It might fit into your story.”
“So what happened?” Barney asked. “Did you save Mr. Dickens?”
“Finally,” she said, “Mr. Moore and I came to an agreement. Mr. Dickens would stay on the open shelves, the Bible would stay on the open shelves, and I would stay as librarian. And neither of us would say a word about what had happened. So long as I kept silent, I could keep my job. But then Mr. Moore had his revenge. From that moment on, he told me, he would personally scrutinize every single book and magazine I ordered. And he would interrogate me about anything ‘questionable’ in any of them. He has the ultimate responsibility, he reminded me, for everything that comes into the school.”
“You’d have to be on guard all the time,” Barney said sympathetically.
“Indeed. I would have hundreds and
hundreds of mean little conferences with him to look forward to. By forcing me to justify every piece of material I ordered, he’d make every day a torture for me. And as if that weren’t punishment enough for my defying him, as he put it, Mr. Moore swore he would keep book on me.”
“I don’t understand,” Barney said.
“That means,” Karen Salters answered, “that he would keep a record of every time I was late, even by a couple of minutes; every form I made out that wasn’t filled in exactly according to the rules; every complaint by a teacher that certain books had not yet arrived in the library even though I had ordered them in plenty of time, so it wasn’t my fault. And on and on. I was to be constantly under suspicion. And he thought he could play this sadistic game as long as he liked because I wanted to stay in the job so much.”
Karen Salters looked out the window and said softly, “I would have killed him if I’d stayed. One morning, sooner rather than later, I would have taken a butcher’s knife, hid it under my coat, gone straight to his office as soon as I got to school, and cut out his tin heart. So although it did hurt terribly to leave my school, my library, I began to plan my departure. After all, I had restored the honor of Mr. Dickens, and that had been my main concern. I worked out a second agreement with Mr. Moore. I would leave voluntarily, and he would give me excellent recommendations—which I deserved—for any librarian’s position I tried to obtain. In turn, I would continue to say nothing of how Mr. Moore had been persuaded to keep Mr. Dickens on the open shelves. Nor would I say anything of his having defaced a Bible, or anything about his little hidden censorship deals in the past—in which I, to my shame, had been a collaborator.”
“But now”—Barney looked at her—“you’re—”
“I am breaking the agreement. Obviously. Young man, I will not see my library, or what used to be my library, desecrated any longer. I was wrong. Even to save Mr. Dickens, I was wrong to keep silent. And I was inexcusably wrong to keep silent in order to save myself. Now it’s Huckleberry Finn. Who knows what book it will be next week or next month? If this keeps on, in time there will be more closed than open shelves in our library. That’s why I want people to know my story while there is still time.”
“What’s going to happen to you?” Barney frowned at his notebook.
“Oh,” Karen Salters said, “Mr. Moore is now free, of course, to break his part of the agreement with me. He can contact my new employer, take back his letter of recommendation, and write a new one. A letter of un-recommendation. And that could lose me my new job before I ever start it. It’s a risk I’ll have to take.”
“Yeah”—Barney suddenly looked cheerful—“but after your story comes out, I mean, if it’s picked up by the regular papers, you’ll be a kind of hero. Or heroine.”
“I wouldn’t want to take a vote on that, either,” she said. “One thing is sure, I’ll be controversial. And if you have figured in a controversy, even if you come out of it a heroine to some people, many employers look at you as if you have the bubonic plague. However, I have no choice in this matter. I am a librarian. So write it strong, young man, and write it accurate.”
XIV
Mr. Moore waved Barney and Maggie Crowley to chairs across from his desk. The principal remained standing.
“You cannot print this interview with Karen Salters.” Moore threw a manuscript on the desk.
“Is it untrue?” Barney asked.
“It would cause this high school to be held up to ridicule.” Moore glared at the boy.
Barney looked at Maggie Crowley, who looked straight ahead as the principal continued. “Whatever the private and privileged communications were between me and my former librarian, what counts is that our disagreement—or, rather, misunderstanding—was resolved. Neither of the books in question was taken off the open shelves. Therefore, there is no story.”
“Isn’t it up to the editor,” Barney said, “to decide what is newsworthy and what isn’t?”
“Within certain guidelines set by this school.” The principal’s voice seemed to be coming from his teeth.
“Well, let’s see,” said Barney. “According to the guidelines, we can’t print anything obscene. Is the story obscene?”
“Not in a technical sense,” Moore said coldly.
“Okay.” Barney’s voice was a lot calmer than Barney was. “We also can’t print anything libelous. Is this story libelous, Mr. Moore?”
“I just told you,” Moore said. “It holds the school up to ridicule, and it holds me up to ridicule.”
“But even if a story holds someone up to ridicule,” Barney said, “it’s libelous only if it’s not true. You haven’t answered my question about that, sir. Are you saying this story is untrue?”
“I am saying”—Mr. Moore rose and stood in front of the wall of photographs—“that it will harm the school.”
“But this is a public school newspaper, sir,” Barney said, “and we can’t be censored for printing something controversial—unless it’s obscene or libelous.”
“If I want a legal opinion,” Mr. Moore snapped, “I’ll go to a lawyer, not a schoolboy.”
Barney, who had been taking notes of what the principal was saying—to the clear displeasure of Mr. Moore—looked down at a sheet of paper on his lap. “There is one other justification for you to stop an article, according to the guidelines.” He picked up the sheet and read: “ ‘Nothing may be published that would materially disrupt the classwork in this school or would otherwise create disorder or infringe upon the rights of others.’ Do you believe that publishing this story would do any of those things?”
“It certainly infringes upon my rights, young man.” Moore waved a finger at Barney.
“Would you tell me just how it does that, sir?” Barney said smoothly.
“Enough!” Moore roared. “This story is not to appear. Is that absolutely clear, Miss Crowley?”
Maggie Crowley, who had been listening to the exchange between Barney and the principal with the faintest of smiles, now looked solemnly at Mr. Moore. “Barney had a perfect right to ask those questions. According to the guidelines for the Standard—which, as you know, reflect the current state of the law on these matters—school authorities have no control over what is printed in a school paper except when the specific restrictions Barney asked you about are violated. And in this story, not a single one of them has been violated.”
“Miss Crowley—” Moore started to growl warningly.
“The case of Huckleberry Finn” she continued, “has bitterly divided this community. Not only the school community but the town as well. The story Barney wrote is something everybody should know about before the final decision is made. It provides some valuable history that will help people get a clearer perspective on the issue.”
“Miss Crowley—” The principal was growling again.
“Mr. Moore,” she sailed on, “there comes a time when nothing is more important than self-respect. Nothing. I will not, I cannot, be any part of killing this story.”
“Your resignation as faculty adviser is accepted,” the principal said icily. “The story is dead.”
Maggie Crowley got up from her chair. “No, it is not. I have a friend on the Daily Tribune.”
“I AM NOT GOING TO BE BLACKMAILED TWICE!” Moore shouted. “FIRST BY THAT SALTERS WOMAN AND NOW BY THE TWO OF YOU.”
“I do not consider it blackmail to use my First Amendment rights to help disseminate the news.” Maggie Crowley’s hands were shaking slightly. “And I suggest to you, sir, that you consider whether you want two stories circulating about your activities as a censor. Karen Salters’s story, and then your attempt right now to kill her story.”
Moore rubbed his chin. And rubbed it again.
“Of course, you can have space to reply to Mrs. Salters, sir,” Barney said.
“You’re a very smart lad,” the principal said sourly. “Too smart for your own good.” He turned to Maggie Crowley. “I’m going to have to think about this.”
The principal turned his back to them, and they left his office.
“What do you think?” Barney asked outside.
“I dunno.” Maggie Crowley pushed her eyeglasses onto her hair. “If nothing else, he’s got a lot of cunning. I think I got to him about how he’d look censoring a story about him being a censor. Of course, he could panic and come on like King Kong, but that’s not his style. The one thing I do know for sure is that you and I have made a true enemy. But then, Barney, that’s the best way to know the kind of person you are—by how rotten your enemies are.”
Two days later, Barney’s interview with Karen Salters appeared in the George Mason Standard. From the start of the school day, the principal’s secretary, Rena Dwyer, told all inquirers that Mr. Moore was in conference. And she had no idea when he would be available for comment.
“Who’s he in conference with?” Barney asked Maggie Crowley in her office early that afternoon.
“With himself,” she said. “That’s what Rena told me. He even had his lunch sent up from the cafeteria. I suppose he’s still trying to figure out what to say.”
Barney could hardly keep his eyes off the page of the Standard with the interview and the photograph of the school’s former librarian. “I still don’t understand,” he said, “why we didn’t hear from Mr. Moore again. He just let us go ahead and print without saying anything.”
“What could he do, Barney?” Maggie Crowley leaned back in her chair. “He knew the story was going to get out anyway. I couldn’t have been more clear about that. So what would he have gained by openly censoring something that was going to be out in the open anyway?”
“Well”—Barney sounded as if he were clearing his throat—“I guess the only thing he can do now is get back at us.”
Maggie Crowley, looking at the window, sat up straight. “He won’t have time to even think about that for a while. Here they come!”
Barney rushed over to the window and saw two television crews coming out of the parking lot with handheld cameras and sound equipment. He made out the call letters of the two most popular channels in town, and leaning farther out the window, whooped in recognition of a reporter he had often seen on his set at home.