PERSPECTIVErnThe Lesson of the Roaring Parrotrnby Thomas FlemingrnThere is an old cliche that no man is a hero to his valet.rnSome have been tempted to reply that it depends on thernman, but I think it depends, rather, on the valet. To an observantrneye, the world is peopled by ordinary men making strenuous,rneven heroic efforts to get through the day without cheatingrntheir customers or betraying their wives. Even everydayrnobjects may interest a poet, if his imagination is strong enough,rnbecause there is nothing so banal that, if held up to inspection,rnit cannot illuminate the world. We cannot always be mooningrnover skylarks and Chinese emperors. For a really strong imaginationrna louse will do as well as a nightingale.rnA man might write a great novel about life here in Rockford,rnso long as he is really willing to live his life fully in such a place.rnIn the case of Rockford, perhaps an editorial will suffice, butrneven here the most ordinary object is worth a moment of reflection.rnA telephone book, for example, is a strange thmg, ifrnyou will take the time to think about it. In very small towns,rnsuch things are hardly necessary, since everybody knows everyonernelse, and if a stranger comes to a Wisconsin hamletrnlooking for an Anderson, he may find out that everyone in townrnwho is not a Larson is an Anderson. Even small town YellowrnPages are uninformative, unless it is an area that attractsrntourists, because the locals already know where to go for everything,rnand it is not as if they had a great deal of choice.rnIn larger cities, even such minuscular large cities as Rockford,rnthe telephone books are less coherent but more informative.rnApart from the prevalence of Swedish, German, and Italianrnnames, not too much could be concluded from an examinationrnof the Rockford directory. The Yellow Pages, on the otherrnhand, are filled with lures and hooks and advertising slogansrndesigned to beguile the unwary into thinking that there mightrnreally be a good restaurant, an interesting store, or some placernto go in the evening. We usually return from such expeditionsrndefeated, but this does not prevent us from opening the telephonernbook the next time we are playing Don Quixote, andrnonce again it will be the inedible meal that we find rather thanrnthe impossible dream.rnWhen community is gone, there is still the telephone bookrnthat connects the hundred thousand telephones of Rockford inrna conversation made up of wrong numbers, burial plot solicitations,rnfinal warnings, and restaurant reservations. PeggyrnNoonan’s thousand points of light was only a flicker comparedrnwith the blaze created by the vast neural network of a hundredrnmillion American telephones. Our place in the world is definedrnby the area code and number that expose us to any discountrnbroker or insurance salesman with a finger, and if wernthink we can escape by paying for an unlisted number, there arernunscrupulous people whose business it is to sell unlisted numbers,rnand there is no protection against the lawn service or pollsterrnwith computerized dialing. “If you would like more information,rnpress one. If you would like to place an order, pressrntwo.” And if you would like to keep these jerks off your back,rnget their name and number and start calling them up at threerno’clock in tire morning.rnThe telephone directory is the address book of the artificialrncommunity of commerce, and along with city directories andrnmailing lists, it is the sacred scripture of our national religion.rnIt is, therefore, not merely offensive when evangelical Christiansrnpresume to put out their own directory—here in Rockfordrnit is called The Shepherd’s Guide—it is blasphemous. Most ofrn14/CHRONICLESrnrnrn