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If fifty million people [believe] a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing. --Anatole France
Several years ago, while attending a panel discussion on the American cinema, I witnessed something I doubt I will ever forget:
On the panel, among others, was a writer of fantasy, and a writer who, well, is known for being controversial.
I suspect the organizers of the event knew this when they invited these two writers. I also suspect they knew what would probably result when these two writing talents collided.
Long story short: What the organizers of the panel discussion thought might happen happened: The writer of fantasy and the controversial writer quickly got into what amounted to a bare-knuckle, knock-down, drag-out, brawl.
It could go without saying: Things panel-wise quickly spiraled out of control.
To get matters in hand once more the mediator of the panel decided a break was in order: Fifteen minutes, he decreed.
Of course a lot of people attending did not want to take a break. They smelled blood rising in the recent verbal exchange and they wanted to see a fist fight. Literally.
Others, though, including myself, decided a break was needed.
I stepped from the room and walked toward the main restroom.
It was occupied. Quite occupied, in fact. There were lines for each stall and urinal.
No problem. I knew the building well enough to know there was another restroom nearby. I went to that one, and was halfway through the doorway when again I stopped: Seated on a bench inside the restroom was the controversial writer.
As I started to turn to leave he waved me in.
I'm just thinking, he said, as way of explanation. Please, come in.
I hesitated, then stepped in.
So, he said, as I started using the facilities. Getting wild out there.
It is, I replied.
He did not say anything while I finished.
A lot of people, he said, finally. They think I'm wrong.
Do they? I replied.
Yeah, he said.
I did not say anything as response. His body language suggested defeat.
Finally, I decided I had to say something. But just as I did, though, a scribbling on the side of the towel dispenser caught my attention. I read the scribbling and had to smile in response.
What? the controversial writer asked, seeing my grin.
Read this, I said.
He did, and had to smile as well.
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