My grandfather was persuasive and confident man, as southern leftists had to be, even more so in 1935 than now. In those days he was a student at the University of Virginia, making money tutoring gentlemen who slacked off all year and studied only under duress, usually in last-minute cram sessions that he would prepare for all semester.
I don’t know whose car it was, but he and a friend were driving in a thunderstorm in the evening. Yes, a dark and stormy night. They were moving slowly, so they had plenty of time to see the woman walking down the middle of the road in a thin cotton shift. They helped her into the car: she was apparently fleeing a drunk and violent husband.
I don’t know if they gave her a ride to the bus station, or bought her some coffee, or perhaps a meal. I do know that her story was one that everyone has heard before: husband out drinking late, a violent attack, passing out by the woodshed, he’d likely kill her if this kept up. At some point my grandfather said, “I’m surprised you don’t just wait for him to pass out, then chop his head off with an axe. That’s what I’d do.”
Several hours or weeks later, that’s what she did. In her defense, she said a man from the University had told her it was a good idea. She didn’t recall his name, and he didn’t come forward to announce himself as an advisor or accessory to the crime. The result of her trial isn’t part of the story either.
I’m not sure what I would do in her situation, but it’s quite likely that in his, I’d have made the same off-hand remark. And if I said it, and she then killed her tormentor, I would have to wonder whether I was indirectly responsible for his death. And if I didn’t, and she died at his hands, would I be indirectly responsible for hers?
Secretly Ironic 