Harry Hope's Saloon

This blog takes it's name from the setting for O'Neill's The Iceman Cometh -- a lousy gin-mill; a smoked-out, greasy dive where the habitues have all landed, it seems, permanently. Their lives, in each case, are paralyzed by fear and laziness. Like my own.

Monday, November 15, 2004

Sacred Cash Cows

Over on Lullabyes and Alarums, my pal Jeremy Goard has a nice little meditation about Audrey Seiler and the Wisconsin kidnapping hoax, and the quick redirection of ire and spite by a disappointed public that had been primed for manhunts and trials.

"Heightened by the impending national outrage, and subsequent purging from collective memory," writes Jeremy, "my feeling for this face, name, and story left a lasting mark. I believe it continues to teach me essential lessons about myself, about "human nature", and, indeed, about Christianity."

Now, in the aftermath of the Scott Peterson double murder trial, comes a fresh disappointment. It seems the Chamber of Commerce muckety mucks hosting the trial in Redwood City are feeling rather let down because the case brought a smaller boom in tourism than they had hoped when they began lobbying for the honor.

Why were there fewer pilgrimages than anticipated to the site of sensational history in the making? I don't know. Maybe the case was too old and shriveled, the hype too weak. Ah, but probably not. I don't know, I wasn't watching. In any event, this dearth of ghastly tourists should probably just be taken as a minor exception to the rule. I think in most ways there still must be good capital to be made in peddling judgment and outrage - still a good ghoulish trade in pitchforks and torches.

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