Columnist Is the Very Picture of a Caring Individual

“D ear Sir, Ms. or Madam (intended for my editor),

If Dana Parsons has a physical handicap, I apologize. But it seems that with a slight increase in pay, or a hint to the maintenance department, he could get the missing caster on his chair replaced. Then you can justify a new photo that won’t carry the negative body-English signals that the current column head photo gives me.

“Perhaps other people also perceive his side-saddle drop-shoulder canted-head position as I do, as portraying a ‘What do I care about anything?’ attitude. When I get past that reaction, I usually enjoy his columns. Other times, I just turn the page.”

Letters to the editor have always provided some of my favorite reading in newspapers or magazines. It’s a little disconcerting to admit that the public’s writing often is wittier, more insightful or more compelling than the stuff we supposed professional writers offer up every day, but the enjoyment in reading them more than makes up for the embarrassment.

A former editor of mine tells the story of his days as a PR man for the Illinois Farm Bureau, a job requiring him to deliver the company line in a column for its magazine. Because his instincts weren’t so servile, he wanted a forum for opposing views. So every once in a while his column would feature him conversing with trees, in which he would present the Farm Bureau’s position, and the trees would argue the other side.

One day he got a letter from Elgin, Ill., home of the state mental hospital, which read, “Dear Sir: You talk to trees, they make you an editor. I talk to trees, they put me in here.”

I don’t know if he ever wrote back to the vexed reader or not.

As for me, the mail is the highlight of the job, although I’m terrible at writing back. Sometimes there’s not much you can say, such as when a letter begins, “Are you stupid or just naive?”

The letter printed above was written by a gentleman from Midway City and merits a public response, if only because of the full range of troubling questions it raises. So here goes:

For starters, sir, everyone I’ve talked to accepts your premise: it’s a dopey-looking photo. I would argue that that’s slightly different than saying I’m a dopey-looking person, but let’s not quibble over that right now.

To ease your mind on the first point, I have no physical handicaps that account for the pose, so no need to apologize. Second, I’m not going to quarrel with your suggestion that I receive a slight increase in pay, but rest assured that if I do, it won’t be spent on a missing caster for my chair.

Which leads to the next point: Alas, sir, there is no missing caster on the chair. Not only are all the casters in place, but the chair is ergonomically designed for maximum comfort and posture control.

Now to the nub of your letter; to wit, that I give off negative signals--the unavoidable result of my “side-saddle drop-shoulder canted-head position.” I know you probably meant that in the best possible sense of the phrase, but I couldn’t help but take it a tad personally.

But, sir, to say that I give off a “What do I care about anything?” attitude is sorely off the mark. There are things I care deeply about, some of them to a degree that has baffled the best psychiatric minds of this generation. I don’t just care , sir, I obsess .

I know what you mean, though, about certain photos or faces turning you off. I’m that way with Pat Sajak. I see that smarmy little mug of his and I just want to poke him with a needle.

The history surrounding the photo is a simple one. Over my steadfast objections, the editors demanded that the column have an accompanying photo. I told the photographer I’d like to effect a look that was “all-knowing yet accessible.”

Instead, after several rolls of film, my inability to pose comfortably resulted in every shot looking like I had just been slapped with a paternity suit.

Around that time a colleague was leaving for another job, and one of his friends was putting together a snapshot album as a goodby present. He came back to my desk, snapped a quick picture with his Instamatic and left. The whole thing took maybe 45 seconds. The editors liked that photo better than anything else they had to work with and stuck it in the paper.

So if it looks like I’m saying, “What do I care about anything?” please know that it reflects only my indifference at that moment to the departure of my former colleague and not to any column subjects.

That’s the whole story, and aren’t you glad you asked. For some reason, I have a feeling this may be one of those columns you don’t finish, and I bet it has nothing to do with the photo.

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by writing to him at The Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, Calif. 92626, or calling (714) 966-7821.