Each Our Own Font

“Who’s the new guy?” asks Frank Weathers.

Don’t you know him? He was in the place a few columns back.

“Didn’t recognize him without his costume and hat. Claimed he was a pope.”

He was.

“What’s he doing here?”

He wants to be part of the column.

“He must have nothing going on.”

I don’t think he has.

I heard that.

“Does that mean I won’t be in the columns as much?”

I don’t know. I got you in this one.

“You could leave out Joe T. or McNulty.”

If it weren’t for me and my ambitions, Rome would not have gone through extensive reconstruction and, in time, become the spot all Christians and non-Christians must visit. One of the first tourist destinations. My greatest legacy, the Sistine Chapel, would not have built without creative financing – nor would my nephew’s hiring of Michelangelo to paint the ceiling been possible – and given the tourists something to marvel over.

“Who’s he talking to?” asks Frank. “Why isn’t he talking like the rest of us? Within quotation marks.”

You can’t have it both ways, that is, get rid of me and have one of the greatest creations of human culture. Harry Lime said it best in The Third Man: ‘Like the fella says, in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love – they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.’

Logged-In Public: Harry who?

[Harry Houdini?] says the man from down punder.

Another fictional character who said something worth remembering.

[Thanks, Sard.]

I meant Harry Lime, not you.

That’s what you have now. Cuckoo clock and I-phone culture.

God-Fearing Public: Finally, we have a God-fearing Christian in this column.

I think God feared him when Sixtus was pope.

I shouldn’t be so touchy. I’m not complaining. Nor do I want to justify myself. I was a bit of a schnook, but I was a good schnook. I cared about Mother Church. I had many responsibilities. Getting power can get you killed. You’re nervy when you’re at the top of the heap. Everyone thinks you’re a hypocrite and a cheat and a monster. So be it. When you go to Rome and visit the Vatican, stop by my crypt. Tell the people you know who’s interred there. Not an evil man. Not a monster. Just one bad-ass pope.

G-F P: Not exactly a modest fellow.

Who’s that pathetic bunch?

No one you’d be interested in.

“They’re the God-Fearing Public,” Frank interjects.

Who are you?

“Frank Weathers. Insurance adjuster. If your chapel gets water damage, I can get you three times what any repair costs.”

Frank. I forgot.

L-I P: And a failed Dairy Queen proprietor.

“Bad location.”

I’m not exactly in an ownership position.

G-F-P: Frank has a point. Why does he get his own type?

“It’s like he’s taking over,” Frank says.

He wants to be distinguishable from everyone else here. And he’s not taking over.

Pope Sixtus chuckles.

Sardine-Fearing Public: I think he’s not giving the Sardine much respect.

“Why don’t you give us different types or fonts?” Frank asks harshly.

Every person wants their own font. Why did I return to this?

How about Wingdings, Frank?

“Not what I had in mind?”

Or Webdings?

“That would be taking this too far.”.

[Looks like Frank might get dinged.]

If the Sardine-Fearing Public shows up again, I may Webding them.

L-I P: Maybe Pope Sixtus has his own Public.

G-F P: We could fill that void.

I think the Sardine would be punishing me if he did that.

You wanted to be here.