The Great Typo Hunt Part 11

The National Park Service was not grateful for the correction that we'd made to the sign in the South Rim watchtower at the Grand Canyon. Their response was, in fact, the opposite of grat.i.tude. The pages, which were hasty copies of the first couple of pages of some longer, absent doc.u.ment, described how we had first conspired to vandalize and then vandalized a precious national historic treasure. The federal government very much desired that we travel back to Arizona in the near future for a chat with a man in a long robe. Benjamin and I had both been summoned to court, unwilling partic.i.p.ants in a case called United States of America v. Jeff Deck and Benjamin Herson United States of America v. Jeff Deck and Benjamin Herson. Now there there was a phrase to make you soil your breeches. If the t.i.tle of the case wasn't enough to communicate the gravity of our plight, the consequences of an unfavorable verdict certainly were. Six months of federal imprisonment was one possible outcome. was a phrase to make you soil your breeches. If the t.i.tle of the case wasn't enough to communicate the gravity of our plight, the consequences of an unfavorable verdict certainly were. Six months of federal imprisonment was one possible outcome.

Suddenly the saga of the Typo Eradication Advancement League had taken a bleak twist. We frantically tried to figure out what to do next. Our first conclusion was that when faced with court summons, one ought to seek out some sort of representation. This went double when the plaintiff was a disgruntled federal agency. Jane promised to follow up on some meager legal connections for us. Meanwhile, I stripped the Grand Canyon entry out of the archives. Not long after that, after speaking with a couple different attorneys, I realized that I'd have to bring down the rest of the website, to avoid further self-incrimination. The shutters went dark on TEAL. Whatever plans we might have concocted for furthering our cause would have to wait-perhaps for a long time. Perhaps forever. One bad correction had the power to negate hundreds of good ones.

Benjamin returned to Silver Spring, where he obtained a copy of the entire complaint doc.u.ment and forwarded it my way. It described how "law-enforcement personnel were notified of a website ... which described the vandalism of a historical sign inside the Desert View Watch Tower." The doc.u.ment insisted on calling me "Jeff Michael Deck" throughout, presidential-a.s.sa.s.sin style. They must have pulled my middle name from my driver's license (though they forgot to import the rey rey for for Jeffrey) Jeffrey). I tried to read through the sober text, so that I could more fully understand the grave charges arrayed against us. However, I couldn't quite concentrate on the actual content. The customary scanning of my editor's eye had uncovered much to abhor. No matter that this was a legal doc.u.ment, with every word presumably holding jurisprudential significance; typos had still crept in at every turn. Early in the doc.u.ment, Benjamin and I were said to have violated certain "criminal statues," rather than statutes statutes. I shuddered to visualize what violating statues would entail. Then, in a less kitschy context than explaining gnome magic, its/it's its/it's confusion popped up: "The website describes the mission of it's group ..." Also, "this a 28 year old Benjamin Douglas Herson," lacked some small but crucial word, plus he was from "Silver Springs, Maryland," rather than Silver Spring. Surely the personified confusion popped up: "The website describes the mission of it's group ..." Also, "this a 28 year old Benjamin Douglas Herson," lacked some small but crucial word, plus he was from "Silver Springs, Maryland," rather than Silver Spring. Surely the personified United-States of America United-States of America, as complainant, knew the spelling of the city that was home to such important federal agencies as NOAA and the FDA.

Attachment B *

In the face of catastrophe, some turn to drink, others to G.o.d or denial. I, apparently, fell back on proofreading.

The last page of the doc.u.ment was a picture labeled "Attachment B". It was me standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon, cowboy hat on, Typo Correction Kit at my side. Someone had helpfully drawn a thick arrow across the picture, pointing at the Kit and labeling it "Package containing markers". The smoking gun! I laughed at this picture until my sides ached.

When I could finally manage to reread the doc.u.ment for meaning, it only became more perplexing. The Park Service apparently thought we'd been specifically targeting government-owned signs on our trip, and even that we'd attacked the watchtower sign specifically for its historic status. The architect of the tower, Mary Colter, had written the sign herself seventy-odd years ago. Benjamin and I had not known that, though. During the trip, we never intentionally corrected anything of historical and/or artistic value. Back at Kitty Hawk, we'd noted but never considered correcting a mistake in the picture of the newspaper edited by the Wright Brothers. In Santa Fe, I pointed out the problem of "St. Frances of a.s.sissi" to the tour guide instead of acting on my own. In Ohio, my father had produced a clipping from his glory days of high school baseball, in which he'd pitched a no-hitter, the prize coveted by all who stand atop the mound. A mistyping had left a reference to a "hti," but I'd held my father's bit of history as sacrosanct. Though my eyes be keen, they can't compare to those of an art historian, and both Benjamin and I deeply regretted our failure to recognize that the sign had belonged to that domain. The thought had just never occurred to us as we stumbled onto, in our view, an ugly little sign up the stairs from a gift shop, a sign that explained the purpose of the watchtower it occupied, but had no accompanying plaque or other indicator of its own age and value.*

Neither Benjamin nor I had any pals in Flagstaff, Arizona, never mind pals of a legal persuasion, so I scrambled blindly to find a barrister who could represent us in the town's federal court. One lawyer gave me a promising initial evaluation-and then disappeared without warning on vacation. Our appointed time in court was looming. I went back to my random Internet searches. I would have asked for a.s.sistance on the blog, but hey, the blog wasn't there anymore. Finally, with the appointment of our ruin dawning on the horizon, I found a lawyer willing and able to represent us. She scored us a continuance, or postponement, of the court date, and was familiar with the prosecutor. I felt reasonably confident in her ability to represent us well. That is, until I received the contract in the mail that I had to sign for her services.

The contract listed my name as "Jeffrey Deek".

Up to this point, I had refused to entertain the notion that Benjamin and I might not return from Flagstaff. Now my only thoughts were whether the federal pen out there had air-conditioning.

TYPO T TRIP T TALLY.

Total found: 437 Total corrected: 236 TYPO T TRIAL T TALLY.

Total found: 2 Total corrected: 0 * We We had had misjudged one other thing about the sign: we'd thought "emense" was a misspelling of misjudged one other thing about the sign: we'd thought "emense" was a misspelling of immense immense, though we didn't correct it. Benjamin would discover that the Oxford English Dictionary Oxford English Dictionary considers "emense" to be an acceptable alternative rendering. A critic, Ammon Shea, who had consumed the entire considers "emense" to be an acceptable alternative rendering. A critic, Ammon Shea, who had consumed the entire OED OED and evidently got indigestion for his trouble, also pointed out that Renaissance printer William Caxton, as well as Lewis and Clark, used that rendering of the word. Perhaps Mary Colter habitually used archaic spelling, for yuks. So at least we'd only corrected the mistakes that were in fact mistakes. I'd never unfixed an item during the TEAL trip. and evidently got indigestion for his trouble, also pointed out that Renaissance printer William Caxton, as well as Lewis and Clark, used that rendering of the word. Perhaps Mary Colter habitually used archaic spelling, for yuks. So at least we'd only corrected the mistakes that were in fact mistakes. I'd never unfixed an item during the TEAL trip.

18 Court of Opinion

August 1012, 2008, and the days that followed (DallasFort Worth, TX; Phoenix and Flagstaff, AZ)How far our Heroes have fallen. They are brought before an unsympathetic judge to answer for their Crimes against America. The punishment, like a banged gavel, will have a resounding Impact, and the future of TEAL hangs in the balance. The media join the a.s.sault and twist TEAL into a forced punchline. A year of misery begins ...

Benjamin sat at the gate among other Phoenix-bound travelers, reading a book but looking miserable. Not for the first time, I felt a touch of guilt at what I'd gotten him into. The plane tickets had not been cheap. Our lawyer had been expensive, and I had yet to understand why. In total, one typo correction would cost us ten thousand dollars. As a bonus, though, we'd receive a crash course in the justice system, a civics cla.s.s with armed bailiffs.

"And don't call me s.h.i.+rley," I said, coming up behind him. We'd each taken a flight here to DallasFort Worth and would be sharing the connecting flight to Arizona.

He set down Kim Stanley Robinson's Red Mars Red Mars, to my surprise; I was reading Red Mars Red Mars, too. When I pulled my copy out to prove it, he shook his head. "Surely you can't be serious," he replied. "I don't know, man, I'm not feeling good about this."

Benjamin had called for a free consultation from another lawyer, who'd laughed, "You know the saying 'Don't make a federal case of it'? Well, the Park Service did." The lawyer suggested that the outcome was set. The court had the blog's admission of our deeds, so they had nothing to prove or disprove, no doubt of our guilt.

Benjamin said, "I mean, there's no way we can even ask for an arbitration. We can't go in there and say, 'Gee, we had no freaking idea this thing mattered to anyone. It didn't look look like it would'-" like it would'-"

"I don't think we want to say that to them," I pointed out. I didn't mention that since it was a criminal case, arbitration wasn't an option anyway.

"-and we'd be happy to pay for repairs. Hey, we'll sc.r.a.pe off the Wite-Out ourselves. And Jeff here's proven he can do things that blend in well. He could repaint the apostrophe in the wrong spot if you really want it there. We should be able to sit down down with someone and with someone and talk talk about it, right? Honest communication, cooperative problem-solving ... about it, right? Honest communication, cooperative problem-solving ... some something."

"They've already decided that we are the problem." I didn't point out that our our lack of communication-not asking permission-had led us here. lack of communication-not asking permission-had led us here.

"This whole stupid scenario is making it difficult for me to feel much remorse."

That scared me. Our lawyer had taken us on at a single price with the understanding that Benjamin and I would be doing everything in full agreement. We'd accept the same plea agreement-which we still still hadn't seen, despite repeated requests-and say "Guilty" in tandem. We'd be good little citizens and respectful of the court. Now I wondered what actions Benjamin was considering as he worked himself into a slow broiling rage. hadn't seen, despite repeated requests-and say "Guilty" in tandem. We'd be good little citizens and respectful of the court. Now I wondered what actions Benjamin was considering as he worked himself into a slow broiling rage.

We read Red Mars Red Mars in adjacent seats on the flight, rather wis.h.i.+ng that we were headed to that rust-dusted planet instead of Phoenix. Before we landed, the people behind us started talking about the election with their seatmates. They were all set on John McCain. One of them mentioned the "very informative" book on Obama by Jerome Corsi, the same guy who'd started the Swift Boat slander against Kerry. As we touched down in Arizona, McCain's home state, Benjamin whispered, "Enemy territory, dude. I have a in adjacent seats on the flight, rather wis.h.i.+ng that we were headed to that rust-dusted planet instead of Phoenix. Before we landed, the people behind us started talking about the election with their seatmates. They were all set on John McCain. One of them mentioned the "very informative" book on Obama by Jerome Corsi, the same guy who'd started the Swift Boat slander against Kerry. As we touched down in Arizona, McCain's home state, Benjamin whispered, "Enemy territory, dude. I have a bad bad feeling about how this is gonna go down." feeling about how this is gonna go down."

The drive north to Flagstaff had a different temper from our original westward approach. Storm clouds closed in on both sides, as if preparing to slam together and make our compact car more so. Especially in the east the darkness neared, exhaling twisting winds that sent the dust up in swirls, suggesting tornadoes would burst forth at any moment. Still, I couldn't help but be fascinated by the dark majesty of the whole landscape, and a rainbow wedged itself between gray cloud and barren hills. We checked into a shabby hotel upon arrival. At least this time in Flagstaff, Benjamin wouldn't have to sleep on the floor. We unpacked our suits, then collapsed. Even with the time change and the exhausting trip, sleep eluded me. Were they seriously going to brand me a criminal tomorrow? Was this all TEAL would be remembered by?

In the morning we had breakfast at the diner where we'd corrected a set of typos. They had asked us if we charged for our services. We were glad to see the sign still in the window, all its spellings correct. Benjamin left a 30-percent tip. Whatever happened next, I was proud of what the League had done in that window. We returned to the hotel room, got into our suits, and went to court, where our lawyer had asked us to meet her an hour before the proceedings. We waited for half an hour in the lobby before she appeared. I'd thought we would go over the details of the plea agreement, but she informed us that the prosecuting attorney would be bringing the copies. In the meantime, she told us what a great job she had done on our behalf. For one thing, she'd persuaded them not to seek jail time as part of the punishment. Yes, a federal misdemeanor can earn someone up to six months in the clink. Our lawyer had also ensured we'd be charged "only" rest.i.tution. Benjamin shot me a glance. The prosecutor hadn't mentioned either jail time or fines beyond rest.i.tution when we'd first spoken with her on the phone.

The prosecutor arrived and handed over the finalized plea agreement. I restrained myself from pointing out the typos-"resitution" for rest.i.tution rest.i.tution and "vandlaizing" for and "vandlaizing" for vandalizing vandalizing-not out of discretion but because the doc.u.ment offered plenty more to upset us. Its aim was to ensure that we not vandalize National Park property, but they'd used broad strokes. In effect, it asked us to refrain from correcting typos, writing descriptions of correcting typos, or even encouraging others to correct typos. The contest I'd run to inspire others to take up the cause had gained the ire of our prosecutor, and she specifically referenced typo contests as a no-no. "This is way worse than we thought," I whispered to Benjamin as we sat on a back bench in the diminutive courtroom.

Our lawyer limped over. When we pointed out the offending pa.s.sages, those barring us from typo correction and running the website, she took a better look, as if she hadn't quite known what was in our plea agreement. The two of us conferenced without her. "There's nothing we can do at this point," Benjamin said angrily. "I mean we could could reject this, but then they'll run us through completely. It's too late to try to get it changed. We're trapped; we have to accept this." reject this, but then they'll run us through completely. It's too late to try to get it changed. We're trapped; we have to accept this."

To demonstrate how well justice was served in this courtroom, the real-live criminals, who'd have to return immediately to jail, went first. They were wearing correctional outfits and shackles. We watched a lawyer argue pa.s.sionately for a one-month postponement on the judge's preferred trial date. It was the most valiant and energetic lawyering we saw all day, in defense of the attorney's own vacation plans.

Now the judge summoned us forward. Everything that follows is taken directly from the trial transcript. Immediately after we'd been sworn in, the judge's first question was, "All right. Who's Mr. Herson?" Against alphabetical logic, he would ask Benjamin to answer first every single time. This was helpful in one regard: it gave me a chance to temper my friend's replies. While I can't claim I wore my happy face, Benjamin had cast off his congenial nature, and I worried that his ability to show respect for the court wasn't far behind.

First, the judge reviewed the plea agreement we'd signed and asked us if we understood it. Benjamin said yes, and then I did the same, saying "Yes, Your Honor," rather than dropping a curt yes-bomb like my colleague. In case we didn't have as firm a handle on the plea agreement as we thought (and we didn't), the judge went over it anyway. He surprised me when he clarified what being forbidden from correcting "public signs" meant: "I interpret that to be not limited to national park signs, but any governmental sign anywhere. Am I correct on that?" Both the prosecuting attorney and our lawyer confirmed that he was. To me public public signs had meant any signs out in public. While he'd made sure to check that it signs had meant any signs out in public. While he'd made sure to check that it extended extended to all government signs, to me he'd kindly limited its scope. to all government signs, to me he'd kindly limited its scope.

"You would also be required to remove from any of your websites any information urging others to engage in such behavior. And that you're not to partic.i.p.ate in public forums advocating this type of behavior." He paused, deliberately. "Now, let me ask the parties, obviously this is, from the Statement of Probable Cause appendix to the Complaint, aimed at their what could be deemed to be First Amendment rights." We had to agree to forfeit our freedom of speech, but for how long? Forever? At that point the judge began to utter what might have been the most important clarifying question for the future of the League: "Is there any objection on a First Amendment grounds to-"

The judge possibly wouldn't have concluded with "this condition of the year's probation" of the year's probation" or any other explanation of how far this agreement would reach, yet his whole intent here was clarification. As adversarial as he came off, the man was careful, cautious, and precise about the details. He knew his stuff. How I wish I'd heard the end of that sentence. I wish I'd thought to speak up, but it was our lawyer's responsibility to speak for us, and speak she did. She cut the judge off, practically leaping forward to fling aside any concerns about the forfeiture of our rights. "No, Your Honor." or any other explanation of how far this agreement would reach, yet his whole intent here was clarification. As adversarial as he came off, the man was careful, cautious, and precise about the details. He knew his stuff. How I wish I'd heard the end of that sentence. I wish I'd thought to speak up, but it was our lawyer's responsibility to speak for us, and speak she did. She cut the judge off, practically leaping forward to fling aside any concerns about the forfeiture of our rights. "No, Your Honor."

"All right," the judge replied.

No, not all right! But they'd moved on.

When the court asked how quickly we could post a required notice on our website warning our readers of the dangers of vandalism and disrespecting the public parks, the prosecuting attorney stood up. She happily volunteered some kind words about us, saying how articulate and creative we were, and how therefore we could easily be expected to write said notice within thirty days.

The judge checked again that we understood everything. I considered clarifying the First Amendment thing, but Benjamin hurled another live "yes" at the judge, and I echoed it. The judge let us know that we didn't have to do this, of course. "You have an absolute right to go to trial on the charges in the Complaint." Sure, we did. Maybe if I had a trust fund. This whole thing was pre-decided. We were guilty by our own blogged admission. What we had done was wrong was wrong. We couldn't justify our actions or claim innocence, but these proceedings seemed disproportionate to our action. We'd have received the same treatment for an intentional decision to ruin the artwork on the tower walls, and they offered no way for us to even suggest that someone consider the differences and act accordingly. We corked our bitter laughter before it could leave our mouths and deface the court record.

After the court had made sure we weren't under the influence of any drugs and hadn't been coerced into our pleas by any outside parties, we were given the opportunity to officially answer that yes, we agreed to the terms of the plea agreement. From there, we moved to a confession, of sorts, by going over the events enumerated by the complaint. "Now, Mr. Herson, tell me what your partic.i.p.ation was."

Benjamin answered, his voice calm and professional, but chilly. "We were driving across the border from New Mexico into Arizona. We were on a cross-country road trip to correct typos and educate people about typo awareness. And we also decided we would like to visit the Grand Canyon while we were coming through." I wondered if the judge had caught on to the fact that he'd explicitly separated the two intentions. The phrase "And we'd also decided" pulled the typo correction and the Grand Canyon visits apart. Even as Benjamin obliged them with a confession, he was disputing the fine point that we'd gone to the Grand Canyon to commit vandalism. "Though initially we had thought we would take a day off of correcting typos, which is remarked in the blog, we happened upon this sign, saw that it was missing one comma and had an apostrophe that we would like to move, and decided to go ahead and make those corrections."

"Who actually made the corrections?"

"I believe it was a combination of both of us," Benjamin replied. "I believe I used the marker to mark out the apostrophe that was in the incorrect place. Jeff used the Wite-Out to add the comma and the apostrophe."

"All right. Mr. Deck, tell me what you did."

While I appreciated what Benjamin had done on our behalf, I worried that he was aggravating the judge. He'd stated our actions in a detached manner: Mr. Spock saying, "I am attempting to correct a typo, Captain; it is only logical." There had been no hint of remorse in his statement.

"Well, I think," I said, decided think think wasn't strong enough, and started over. "I mean, I agree with everything that Benjamin has stated. We thought-we thought that we were doing something positive by fixing typos around the country. I mean, I realize now that we were misguided, particularly in this instance, by correcting the sign without getting anyone's permission." I paused to take a breath; I didn't like how the words were spilling out of my mouth so fast. "We saw this particular sign and saw that there were two punctuation issues, and we corrected them." wasn't strong enough, and started over. "I mean, I agree with everything that Benjamin has stated. We thought-we thought that we were doing something positive by fixing typos around the country. I mean, I realize now that we were misguided, particularly in this instance, by correcting the sign without getting anyone's permission." I paused to take a breath; I didn't like how the words were spilling out of my mouth so fast. "We saw this particular sign and saw that there were two punctuation issues, and we corrected them."

"Sometimes historic artifacts have an importance all of their own," the judge intoned.

"Yes," I agreed.

But Benjamin wouldn't shut up. In his most respectful tone yet, and yet still with coldness, he added another little detail to the court record: "I'm afraid we hadn't realized the significance of the sign."

"Yeah," I added, trying to ma.s.sage the tone, "we had no idea. I mean, that's no excuse, but we had no idea that it was historic."

"All right." Translation: enough of that. "Mr. Herson, how do you plead to the charge in Count 1, the conspiracy charge, guilty or not guilty?"

Benjamin paused long enough to set everyone on edge before replying, "Guilty."

"And Mr. Deck, how do you plead, guilty or not guilty?"

"Guilty."

The judge accepted our plea, and at last our lawyer acted on our behalf, restating ground that we'd already covered. "My clients, as they've indicated, did not have any idea it was a historic sign, and they thought they were doing good by what they were trying to accomplish. And they are very remorseful for their actions."

We were given three months, at Benjamin's request, to pay off rest.i.tution. Benjamin even said, "Thank you," while I went with a "Thank you very much, Your Honor."

The prosecutor rose again to say her piece. "Your Honor, this was an-I believe it's set out in the Affidavit. But this was-this all took place at the Desert Lodge Tower, which as the Court is aware was designed by Mary Colter, who is a unique and special individual to those of us who live in the Southwest.

"This sign was a 1932 hand-painted Mary Colter sign. Although the $3,000 will attempt to repair it, according to sources at the Park Service, the sign will never be back in the condition obviously that it was in. So they have inflicted damage on something that will ultimately never be fully repaired.

"I should also note the Park Service has a very small number of such signs that were obviously the caliber of somebody like Mary Colter. And so they are feeling this damage I guess in a very powerful way. So they're pleased to hear that the defendants were accepting responsibility and pleading guilty, and certainly hope that the defendants can understand the distinction between education and vandalism.

"And they clearly have the ability to educate and garner attention. But to direct people, which it appears they have done, to actually vandalize public signs is crossing the line into the criminal arena, and hopefully they will not go down that route again."

The judge accepted the sentence and dismissed the second count against us, the actual vandalism charge. We'd have to meet with a probation officer. It was unsupervised probation, so we wouldn't be getting visits from any officers; we just had to meet with one who'd go over everything with us. Then the judge had his say. "The Grand Canyon, in fact, most of our national parks are very special places. They have a tremendous influx of people, tourists year to year, and it is very difficult, simply because the number of feet on the ground, to protect them. But when individuals take it upon themselves to unilaterally affect what goes on simply because they think that-it's rather egotistical on your part, simply because you think you know the English language better than others, to go around and force people to conform to what you think is appropriate."

Benjamin glared back at him, perhaps causing him to lose his next words. I just wanted it to be over. No, that didn't characterize us correctly at all, but I didn't want to argue. "We recognize that, Your Honor," I said.

"It's kind of a crusade on your part, I can understand that. But now you see what's happened as a result of your crusade."

"Yes, sir," I replied.

Benjamin offered no vocal response.

"That was a course of conduct that you decided to engage in," concluded the judge before moving on to the final details of collecting our social security numbers and the rest. By the time we'd gotten to that guilty plea, I'd thought that had already been covered when we accepted the terms of the plea agreement: Paying $3,035 in rest.i.tution and a year of probation, during which we were banned from typo correcting and all National Parks. My head spun as we wandered out. The bailiff arranged for our meeting with the probation officer at 2:00 p.m. It was the earliest possible meeting, but it'd leave us barely enough time to get the rental car back to Phoenix without incurring charges for an extra day. I'd hoped to be screaming southward within minutes of leaving the courtroom and checking out of the hotel. No such luck.

I thanked our lawyer and shook hands with her. Her hand drifted toward Benjamin, but then dropped. He pointedly had not thanked her. He did not shake her hand. Once she'd walked away, he said, "Where's a customer feedback card when you need one? I want my money back."

We stepped out into the bright glare of a day nearing noon, the August heat attempting to get its licks in ahead of a line of fast-approaching clouds. We went back to the hotel and changed into civilian clothing, and then we stuffed our faces with roast beef sandwiches and curly fries at Arby's. As much as I protest the national landscape's saturation with the same handful of restaurants and stores, sometimes you need the comfort of knowing exactly what you're going to get.

We examined and reexamined the papers we'd been given. The site would have to stay down, for safety's sake. At every point when they'd mentioned us not correcting typos, both in the doc.u.mentation and when the judge was speaking, they'd said directly or indirectly or indirectly. They'd been targeting the website with that one. That's what they'd meant when aiming at our First Amendment rights, but how far did it extend? Plus, even though the judge had specified "public signs" as government property, Benjamin and I considered the safest route was to avoid fine lines and lie low altogether. No more typo correcting, and no more website, at least not for a year. "There's a clarity issue here," Benjamin said, "and I'm not talking about the 'resitution' in the plea agreement. How far does all of this extend?" Was the First Amendment ban only for the probationary period? That wasn't as spelled out as I'd like. We hoped the probation officer would be able to clarify some things for us. I was more concerned about the question of the National Park ban. It wasn't as if they'd hang wanted posters in every ranger cabin. Really, they included that so that if we did something on their territory again, they'd be able to hit us double-hard. But I wanted to stick to the letter of the law. Before we'd arrived here, I'd asked both my own lawyer and the prosecuting attorney if either could supply me with a list of territories designated as the jurisdiction of the National Park Service. Parts of the Freedom Trail, which runs through downtown Boston, could have been included, so I'd have to tread carefully. Likewise, Benjamin could still go to the Smithsonian museums, but he couldn't walk across the National Mall. No one ever obliged us with a clarification.

At two o'clock we arrived at the probation office, upstairs in the same building as the courtroom, and began a long wait. As we sat there, Benjamin sank further into dejection. "Ahh well," he said finally, "it's not like I could have afforded the AT now anyway, thanks to the lawyer fees." He'd put the Appalachian Trail off for a year for TEAL, but our ban from the parks extended into next August, way too late in the year to start. It had now been put off for two years, which is to say indefinitely. "That's the worst part about this thing, man. I'm one of their people. No one goes outside anymore, and their budget is continually under attack. I want to be with them in this fight, but here they are wasting money on a federal court case against us instead of keeping the concealed weapons out."*

Our probation officer, Julie, finished with the previous perp and summoned us in. We'd filled out some paperwork in the waiting room, and she now wanted to make sure we'd seen the part about what drugs and alcohol we'd used in the previous year or so. We'd left mostly blank s.p.a.ce there. That brought us the first laugh we'd had all day. Benjamin added, "If you knew us better, you'd understand. This whole situation ... isn't very us." She recognized that she wasn't dealing with hardened criminals and sailed us through the rest of the operation quickly and painlessly. Though she also didn't have a list of what counted as National Park territory, we both felt better that we'd be coordinating rest.i.tution (sorry, resitution) resitution) through Julie's office. Once we'd returned to the rental car, Benjamin held up her business card and declared that whenever possible, if he needed to check on anything, he'd definitely check with her first. Indeed, during our interactions with her over the next year, she remained as intelligent, professional, and helpful as ever. In our dismal experience with the court system, she was the s.h.i.+ning exception, for which we very much thank her. through Julie's office. Once we'd returned to the rental car, Benjamin held up her business card and declared that whenever possible, if he needed to check on anything, he'd definitely check with her first. Indeed, during our interactions with her over the next year, she remained as intelligent, professional, and helpful as ever. In our dismal experience with the court system, she was the s.h.i.+ning exception, for which we very much thank her.

We sped down to Phoenix, checked in the car, barred ourselves in a hotel room, and ordered a pizza. In the morning, Benjamin's eye looked misshapen in a familiar way.

"I cannot believe this," he said as he grabbed a washcloth to put over his eye. "Now I've got a sty. I've never had a sty before. I'd never even heard of them until we got to Georgia!" Benjamin kept the washcloth as we left the hotel for the airport, adding theft to his rap sheet. The swelling had gone down by the time we touched down in DallasFort Worth.

We rode an escalator to the airport's inter-concourse monorail. Benjamin, an inveterate train buff, was disappointed that he wouldn't be riding it himself, as his next flight was a few gates away. He ensured the washcloth was in his left hand as he stretched out his right. "Well, have a good flight."

"Yeah, you too." I'd already vaguely apologized, which he had brushed off, claiming I couldn't have known this would happen and that he took responsibility for his own actions, along with other predictable rejoinders. Still, TEAL had been my mission, and my friend being punished too seemed to be the worst part of my own punishment. "We'll figure something out."

"Yeah, we'll be in touch, man. Lucky thing the bookstore took me back so I can pay my half off fast."

"Right. How are things back at the bookstore?" Toward the end of the TEAL trip, Jenny had called to say that the district manager he'd so disliked had quit, so Benjamin had wound up back at the same place.

He shrugged. "I'd never been a training supervisor before, but I kinda like it." My shuttle arrived. "It's good to be surrounded by the books again, to know what's out and what's coming and what's readable. Anyway." He nodded to the opening doors.

"Yeah. Have a nice flight."

"You too," he said, already turning toward the escalator.

That should have been the end of things for a while, but our punishment apparently was not complete. Knowing full well that our own First Amendment rights had been inhibited, the federal prosecutor's office issued a press release, which led to a story in the Arizona Republic Arizona Republic on August 22, 2008. The press release claimed we were "self-described 'grammar vigilantes,'" so the on August 22, 2008. The press release claimed we were "self-described 'grammar vigilantes,'" so the Republic Republic repeated the a.s.sertion with only minor alteration: "Two self-anointed 'grammar vigilantes' ..." We had in fact never described (nor anointed) ourselves as "vigilantes." But hey, the prosecutors knew they had a muzzle on us, so why repeated the a.s.sertion with only minor alteration: "Two self-anointed 'grammar vigilantes' ..." We had in fact never described (nor anointed) ourselves as "vigilantes." But hey, the prosecutors knew they had a muzzle on us, so why not not exaggerate the facts to make us into worthy villains? Accompanying the exaggerate the facts to make us into worthy villains? Accompanying the Republic Republic article was the black-and-white photo of me from the complaint doc.u.ment; underneath the picture was Benjamin's name. "According to court records, Deck and Herson toured the United States from March to May, wiping out errors on government and private signs." Interesting, and here I thought we'd focused on public signs. Had we hit any other government signs? Had that Galveston security guard ratted us out for photographing the sign in front of the courthouse? article was the black-and-white photo of me from the complaint doc.u.ment; underneath the picture was Benjamin's name. "According to court records, Deck and Herson toured the United States from March to May, wiping out errors on government and private signs." Interesting, and here I thought we'd focused on public signs. Had we hit any other government signs? Had that Galveston security guard ratted us out for photographing the sign in front of the courthouse?

All in all, they got the gist of the story, though. Who could fault them for fudging the details, especially when their source material was suspect? Commenters on the newspaper's website suggested we be hired to help edit the paper itself. At least it was only a statewide rag. It's not as if this story was disseminating nationally.

Naturally, the a.s.sociated Press picked it up later that day.

As news has increasingly twisted toward entertainment, there's been a growing desire to open funny and close with a punchline at any cost. The AP story begins, "When it comes to marking up historic signs, good grammar is a bad defense." The addition of the joke was about all they took the time to change from the Republic Republic's intro. The next line begins, "Two self-styled vigilantes ..." They knew not to claim that we'd called ourselves "grammar vigilantes," but they went ahead and charged us with full-on vigilantism. (Meanwhile USA Today USA Today, owned by the same conglomerate that owns the Republic Republic, dutifully repeated the "grammar vigilante" meme.) But the AP did repeat the "government and private signs" bit. Their biggest addition, other than the description of the correction, was a new last line.

While I'd waited for the prosecutor's approval of the statement of contrition she'd forced us to write for the website, I had posted a quick announcement: "Statement on the signage of our National Parks and public lands to come". The AP concluded its article by noting that our website contained only that message ..."without a period." Get it? The grammar guys forgot to punctuate their own sentence, hyuk hyuk hyuk hyuk. What baffles me is that someone at the AP apparently can't differentiate a sentence from a nonsentence. My announcement followed the same conventions as news headlines, which do not take periods (e.g., an AP headline from that very day, "Seinfeld to be pitchman for Microsoft"). More specifically, you'd think that the AP would be familiar with the common journalistic placeholder "to come". It even gets its own abbreviation in newspaper page galleys, marking places where text or photos will be filled in later: TK (no periods required for the acronym). When did reportage became synonymous with the cracks made by the cla.s.s clown from the back row?

Still, the AP had nothing on the professional loudmouths from cable news; Keith Olbermann ranked us as two of the worst people in the world. Olbermann was the master of ending on a punch line, favoring style over substance in a way that would make Hortense from Miracle on Main Street proud. A former producer for Walter Cronkite said once that Olbermann was "not a newsman. He's not a reporter. I've never seen anything that he's done that was original, in terms of the information. It's all derivative."* Which explains how, as a picture of us appeared, he said, "The silver [medal goes] to Jeff Michael Deck and Benjamin Douglas Herson, two self-proclaimed, twenty-eight-year-old grammar vigilantes-and you'd never guess it by looking at them." There it was again, "self-proclaimed grammar vigilantes"-he'd yanked that misstatement right from the Which explains how, as a picture of us appeared, he said, "The silver [medal goes] to Jeff Michael Deck and Benjamin Douglas Herson, two self-proclaimed, twenty-eight-year-old grammar vigilantes-and you'd never guess it by looking at them." There it was again, "self-proclaimed grammar vigilantes"-he'd yanked that misstatement right from the Republic Republic piece. Having finished his rip 'n' read, Olbermann concluded in his own riotous way, "Our sources say the judge was also going to order them to get a life, but apparently it's too late for that." piece. Having finished his rip 'n' read, Olbermann concluded in his own riotous way, "Our sources say the judge was also going to order them to get a life, but apparently it's too late for that."

"Get a life? That O'Reilly wannabe needs to get a fact-checker," Benjamin said.

To be fair, the media couldn't exactly ask Benjamin and me for clarification, never mind our side of the story. Our court-issued muzzles were firmly in place. Of the many stories about the case, however, not one bothered to include "before" and "after" pictures of the watchtower sign. A side-by-side comparison would have shown how tiny our correction had been.

After temping around for a couple months, I found myself a new job in mid-September. Benjamin and his girlfriend decided to try life on the West Coast and began saving up. We paid our resitution resitution with weeks to spare. As the weather turned cold, we settled into semi-hibernation. The country slid deeper into recession. For the first time, the guy we voted for won the presidency. We could do nothing but wait for the year to pa.s.s, but I knew I'd been onto something. On Inauguration Day I silently vowed that the president wouldn't be alone in bringing change, even if I had to come late to the fight. with weeks to spare. As the weather turned cold, we settled into semi-hibernation. The country slid deeper into recession. For the first time, the guy we voted for won the presidency. We could do nothing but wait for the year to pa.s.s, but I knew I'd been onto something. On Inauguration Day I silently vowed that the president wouldn't be alone in bringing change, even if I had to come late to the fight.

TYPO T TRIAL T TALLY.

Total found: 3 Total corrected:-1 * Concealed weapons are now allowed inside National Parks. Any panther that tries to sneak up on your granny in a dark gully is in for a surprise. Concealed weapons are now allowed inside National Parks. Any panther that tries to sneak up on your granny in a dark gully is in for a surprise.* The rest of the quote (this is from a The rest of the quote (this is from a New Yorker piece New Yorker piece): "I like him, I agree with his perspective, and I think he's very, very good on television. But he's not a newsman. Ten years ago, if he had done at CBS what he does every day on the air at MSNBC, he would have been fired by the end of the day."

19 A Place for Starting Things

September 1315, 2009 (Divers locations in and offsh.o.r.e from the Boston, MA, area)Our Heroes, post-probates that they are, return to the Quest once reunited. Out to sea and back to school, they race to wherever Adventure calls them as they begin the bold task of charting a Course for TEAL's future exploits.

Remarkably, neither of our girlfriends abandoned us for returning from Arizona as debt-saddled criminals. Then again, every girl loves a bad boy. More than a year after our courtroom debacle, when Benjamin and I finally received notice in the mail that our probation had ended and all our civil rights had been restored, Benjamin came to Somerville for a proper celebration. The visit wasn't all champagne and cupcakes, for typo eradication is serious business, and we intended to pick up where we'd left off in May of 2008. We'd resurrect the website, and we would hold eloquent and furious discourse on the future of the League. First, though, we had one immediate thirst to quench. We decided, naturally, to visit the nearest National Park.

Living in the Boston area had posed special perils for complying with the National Park ban, which encompa.s.sed historic as well as natural sites. Walk down any given street and you'll inevitably blunder into a building that, 250 years ago, housed some fervid future hero with a blunderbuss and a dream. Did the Freedom Trail count as a national historical property? It's literally a line painted through downtown Boston, snaking through the brick and cobblestone streets for more than two miles. Each time I came upon it, which was often, I found it necessary to vault over the line rather than touch it, just in case just in case.

But Queen Liberty had at long last planted her embrace upon our froggy mouths, restoring our sovereignty as whole citizens, who could tread whatever soil they pleased without fear of swift and b.l.o.o.d.y legal retribution. The Freedom Trail, Faneuil Hall, the Old State House, and various other historic and possibly nationally historic sites around Boston opened their arms out wide to me once more, but Benjamin and I desired to set foot in a true National Park Park, a natural setting rather than the constructions of ancient foremen. We decided on the Harbor Islands, thirty-odd patches of earth between here and Hull that had been collectively designated as National Park territory. Jane, an incorrigible outdoorswoman, happily joined our expedition. At noon on a fine September day, Jane and I bought our tickets at Long Wharf to travel to Spectacle and Georges, two islands in the collection that offered more to see than seagulls p.o.o.ping on each other. Benjamin went to the window to claim his own, but as Jane and I walked toward the ferry, we heard a ticket agent proclaim that the ferry was now sold out. Had Benjamin made it? He sauntered over with a wry smile and an eyebrow waggle, holding up the last ticket. "You didn't think they'd leave a gent like me behind, did you?" We boarded a packed ferry and squashed ourselves up against the railing.