©1999 - 2012
Edward D. Reuss
All rights reserved. Including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any form



Following the final afternoon session at the funeral home, which took place the next day, a Friday, the media, with their tangle of television cables, tape recorders and microphones, gathered in the cold at the request of Mary Jane Hatcher.

She walked down the path to a podium that had been set up away from the doors to the funeral home, bit down hard on her grief, and began:

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press,

As you are well aware, a good man has been taken from us.  The loss that we feel is exceedingly deep and almost unbearable. Everett and I were, and are, a team. We believed in each other. We were bound together; willing to surrender our personal beings.  He died for society in general and for every one of us in particular. As I stand here now, law enforcement people are scouring the country for the evil one who committed this act. But even through the grief of our loss I must the question: Who are the ultimate guilty parties? Who create the market for the poison which he valiantly tried to remove from our society?  Look around. 
As Pogo said, 'I have met the enemy and they is us". We, middle-class, suburban users.  We, casual users. We. Dabblers in drugs, keep the market in drugs an ever-increasing one.  Therefore, Everett Emerson Hatcher was killed by all of us nice people who in every other way are above reproach. All of you who hear me now and fit this description, all of you must accept the blame for the loss of this good, gentle man.
Thank you."

She turned her straight back and walked away."


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