Opinion: Well, Buckle My Swash

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A man in a Wisconsin city hears a woman’s screams coming from the apartment downstairs –- the cries of a woman who, he thinks, is being raped.

He seizes the only weapon at hand -– a cavalry sword, a family heirloom -– and dashes gallantly off to the rescue.

But there was no damsel in distress. There was only a dame getting screwed for money on a porn video, making all the customary noises which had misled Our Hero.

Sure, James Van Iveren kicked in the door in his search for the wronged woman -– isn’t that what Samaritans do in the movies? –- and he smashed the doorjamb and the lock. And, he said afterwards, he felt ``stupid’’ about the whole thing.

I’m reading along, reading along, waiting for the story’s cozy finish, where the grateful mayor hands him the keys to the city of Oconomowoc, Wisconsin -- evidently named after an explosion in the Scrabble factory -- and I see he got arrested!?

The man who thought he was saving a woman from a fate worse than death should be feted with the Swashbuckler of the Year Award. He should be keynote speaker at the convention of Bodice Ripper and Romance Novelists. And instead he’s facing 33 months in the slammer?

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Harlequin romance publishers: step up to the plate. Pay for this man’s defense, pay his fines, pay to fix the door, and hire a lawyer to get the cops to give him back his sword. A couple of years ago a cable network staged a reality competition for the next Fabio to grace the cover of a Harlequin romance. Just put Van Iveren on a horse, hand him his family sword, and you’ve got it: ``Sir James of Waukesha to the Rescue.’’

After he’s finished serving his sentence cleaning up roadside trash on Interstate 94.