2009-03-21 / Editorials & Letters

Mooney gives critic both barrels

Editor:

The message of 3/7/09 purportedly written by a wandering minstrel by the name of Hubbard and hailing from Tennessee, is the finest example of grinding southern redneck ignorance ever to appear in the Beacon. The writer is hate-filled, disconnected, and incoherent. Traveling from his so-called home base in the Tennessee "banjo" boondocks, to the "fair town" of Baltimore, this troubled man appears to have left needed medication in Tennessee. In this tortured rant this pilgrim can't decide whether he wants to zero-in on me as "punk," "whiner," or "insane" or try to defend "the twisted little guy from Texas."

He mentions "dueling banjos." The movie "Deliverance" portrays this brand of southern garbage as inbreds and Mongoloids. This land is your land, Hubbard, and you'll have to live with it. And you've got the brass balls to call me insane?

The sound of "dueling banjos" seems to reverberate in your head. You hear it morning, noon and night. People in central Ohio are not much plagued by the sound of banjos. This sound largely torments people in your zone - and sometimes drives them "insane."

You say you were passing through the "fair little town that day and came upon the letter of Mr. Dave Mooney." I will dispense with niceties and say, up-front and in-face, you are a liar, a phony and a hypocrite. No one in their right mind would believe that a traveling hot-air merchant from the burg of Morris Chapel TN, (no post office, no census figure available) would have any interest in the Village of Baltimore while just motoring through the town.

In all likelihood you really do have relatives or roots in lower Tennessee, but it's equally true that you either squat in the area of Baltimore of have some other mean-spirited ally that has convinced you that you have the ability to write letters.

Your scheme remarkably resembles the recent hoax perpetrated by a person who representated herself as "Diane Snoke" and supposedly written from an address of "Mesa Arizona." As it turns out, the real writer was writing from her work site on West Fair Ave. in Lancaster who made a fool out of herself in an attempt to defend her near-illiterate (couldn't pass a simple qualifying test in six tries) cohort, Dennis Rose, a recently discharged employee of Baltimore Village.

You then find further time to dwell on your "Captain Morgan" rum bottle mistakenly left in Tennessee; UFO's and JFK's; something you refer to as "trilateral Commission nuts;" and, of course, your favorite "the twisted little guy from Texas." You are clearly a tragic and disillusioned political bigot with no real grip on reality.

I hope that I not be called upon to respond to you again, but if so, I won't be so nice the second time.

By the way, there's almost sure to be a dealer in your area who has just laid in a nice new load of white sheets. They're probably bidding right now. Hurry. Just thought you might want to know.

The letter from Hubbard reminds us all that there are still crackpots out there who are hate-filled, dangerous and make dark alleys seem even the more dark. In the case of Hubbard, however, his views are so warped and out of step with reality that he is more to be pitied than censured.

In the meantime: "Ma, would you hand me that thar plate of grits?"

Dave Mooney Baltimore

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