He was the man of the hour, exploited darling of the literary world, at least that's what everyone said. We were fortunate to be honored with his presence I was told, as he was usually booked months in advance. With that Ichabod Crane countenance and resonant voice, he was an impressive figure, no doubt about that. And then there were those fireman red suspenders, and lets not forget the feather in his french beret. Slowly he mounts the dais, confidence exuding from every pore, posturing before his adoring audience. Poised, assured, bowing, scraping to the applause of his adoring public, this paragon of intellect begins! The booming voice, pregnant with feeling, vibrates, trembles, and soars, literally saturating the senses. He gyrates, gestures, eyes wild, hair on end, he collapses onto the floor, long arms and legs waving in the air. And from the mouth of this illustrious scholar, spewed volumes of rambling, absolute drivel. I laughed and laughed and ... but only on the inside, maybe because I remember the story, The Emperor's New Clothes...

By Charlotte Perry