Solomon’s Wisdom: An allegory for a modern topic

By “Uncle Peter”
Sun contributor
I had been on my way to Savannah when I stopped for a tire repair in a spot about seven miles east of the County seat, a mite of a place, hardly a town at all, just an intersection where the dirt farm road crossed the highway. A hearing was being held in the little General Store, there being no court house in this smidgen of a town.

We were five: widow Maisie Heartland, farmer John Husker, Mrs. Owing, the Judge and myself.
As your observer, I write mostly in mid-American English as I am not apt in colloquialisms though occasionally they are unavoidable and I will try my best.
When you lightly tap a wine glass with the back edge of a knife, it sounds a soft, clear note. Southerners speak with a soft lilt, as pure and clear as that wine glass.
There is a soft Southern logic that contrasts as clearly as that note with the sometimes harsh New England nonsense of the North.
To Judge Solomon, it was an open and shut case. The town council had met but two days prior, surreptitiously it seemed to him, yet within the law. Just three, constituting a quorum of the majority of the five-man council. In the sweltering humidity of central Georgia, widow Heartland had managed to pass an ordinance that made no sense at all. And the Judge was set to put matters right, albeit after due process.
Maisie Heartland, bereft of her husband Bo, after fifteen years of marriage and still barren, had allowed her cats to multiply beyond reason. While they certainly had kept the rodents under control, they had also provided Maisie with companionship and solace. Neighbor John had stepped in and sharecropped the Heartland’s 400 acres, helping now and then when Maisie needed work done she herself was unable to do. She had looked after his horse and dogs when he had to travel to Valdosta on business. Theirs had been a practical, farm friendship.
As the hearing moved along the facts had become clear. Widow Heartland’s cats had become an infernal nuisance. Husker had strangled one, shot another. Maisie had been hurt, angry. She had accosted him. As any follower of Garrison Keillor knows, cats can be important, especially in a rural life. They can warm ones shoulders, ones very soul.
Husker’s attitude, simply looking at the matter as a reasonable way to deal with the problem, infuriated her. His act was unconscionable. Tough, occasionally intense, hardened by life in rural Georgia, she had become furious and killed his dog when it had taken one of her chickens. John, a placid man, didn’t think that was right. He had brought it up at the town council meeting and allowed as how dogs were important and valuable farm animals and, in their county, protected by law.
Moreover, cats, while useful enough were after all, just cats. No special protection was accorded cats under local law. Further, they reproduced themselves in great plenty, which is at the very root of this matter.
The three council members had consisted of Maisie Heartland, John Husker and Mrs. Owing. Mrs. Owing had been a teacher. She had taught arithmetic, reading and writing to all six grades in her one room school. Her mind was logical, orderly and run by a set of rules, no less rigid than the mathematical algorithms she taught.
Even though you and I are from other parts of the country, it is not difficult for us to understand the two conflicting points of view. And I was just as curious as you would have been to know how this local melodrama would play out.
Then the unexpected had happened: Mrs. Heartland had introduced a new ordinance.
Mrs. Heartland’s ordinance had said that in the future in accord with local law, all cats were to become dogs. Simply stated, the ordinance would read: “All cats are dogs.”
“Thet’s crazy!” John had opined. “Don’t make no sense ’tall.” And Owing had chimed in. “Y’all can’t just change a word like that! Words have meaning,” she said. “Dogs and cats are different.”
Maisie, however, had not been dissuaded. She had pointed out that as far back as anyone knew, marriage had always been between a man and a woman. That was the very meaning of marriage. That was what marriage was.
But, Maisie had said, a law could, in principle, be passed to make anything the law said, something else, if it wanted to. In Massachusetts, she had heard, they had passed a law saying that a marriage could be between two men!
“Thet’s not marriage!” John had shouted. “Thet’s…” but before he had finished,
Maisie had interrupted. “Besides, this ordinance don’t hurt dogs no way. They have the same special rights they allus had.” And “Now John, you know pufectly well if it’s the law in Massachusetts, its gonna get t’be the law evywhar.” And, to cap her argument “Besides, you know very well they’s betta edjicated up thar. They’s got a mess o’ colliges up theya. They’s iva liggers”
Astonished, Owing had spoken. “That’s insane! Such a change would impact both cats and dogs. In different ways perhaps but both are affected. Words have meaning. A law could say a ‘3’ is the same as a ‘4’. You could add three and four and get six! That’s crazy!
But Maisie had persisted “Now look, I realize this is silly, but the simple fact is that if we wait for the County or the State or the United States Government to give equal protection to cats and dogs, it ain’t nevah gonna happen. So this is a practical answer. An answer to a local problem by local folks.”
Yet as preposterous as it had seemed, Mrs. Owing had been unable to refute Maisie’s logic. She had been moved, too, by strong feelings, that Maisie had somehow been wronged, and she had wanted to support Maisie, so against her own better judgment she had voted for the ordinance. John had vote against. But with a two-thirds majority, Maisie’s ordinance had carried the day.
A two-day lapse had ensued, giving all a chance to think the thing through. And Judge Solomon Harrell had been requested to step in and hold the present hearing.
He had heard all the foregoing arguments, reprised by the same folks who had passed that law. Now, the Judge had to decide.
Words do have meaning, he reasoned. If a law could change meaning, then a law could say a ‘3’ is the same as a ‘4’! You could add three and four and get six! Imagine what that would do to town taxes!! The implications were mind-boggling.
If meaning can be destroyed by a simple change in the law, then all meaning would be shattered as easily as if that wine glass had been crushed in one’s hand. There is a terrible danger buried in that idea, hidden from view. He heard that glass-clear bell- note; a soft, Southern logic. With knowing insight, confident that a higher court would review his finding, his decision was crafted.
He leaned back, spat a practiced plug of tobacco into his battered spittoon. Brown liquid spattered up, gleaming on the stained floor of the country store where the hearing was being held while he pondered and we waited.
At last he spoke. “It is the opinion of this court that:
“1. Being as how you, Maisie, in an unwarranted act and in violation of county law, did destroy your neighbor’s dog, you are hereby assessed a fine of $10.00.
“2. The jurisdiction of this court provides no authority to overturn the ordinance subsequently and legally passed by our town council two days ago. Henceforth in this town, all cats are dogs. This hearing is now closed.”
And with a rap of his gavel, so it was, attesting to the wisdom of Solomon, duly signed and recorded.