A GOOD MAN IS HARD TO FIND

Tell the truth, but understand that it is not necessarily what happened.
—Flannery O’Connor

If the Misfit in Flannery O’Connor’s “A Good Man Is Hard To Find,” were up for parole (prior to his escape), I’d be hard pressed to see the good in him. I’d have a hard time giving him the usual speech I give to any inmate willing to listen. “Remember when you were a child,” I’d start, “and you did something bad, I mean really really bad, and your parents were disappointed in you? Remember how awful you felt? Remember how you had to regain their trust? Think of the parole board in the same way, they’re your parents, they’re trying to see the good in you, your redeeming qualities, whether you’re worth placing back into society, whether you’re worth saving.”

Now I’ve had my share of inmates respond with, “Fuck the parole board,” but this here Misfit, he’d claim to have never been bad as a child. He’d acknowledge to having done something wrong, but he wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was; you’d have to read it from his case report.

Here I am, standing in front of Flannery O’Connor’s childhood home in Savannah, Georgia. My wife and I roamed the city, hiding our tourist stickers in our fanny packs, revealing them when we wanted the free trolley ride. We were on vacation and did not want to become victims, easy targets, to any of the misguided souls on the outskirts of the city. As if that mattered, you could spot the tourists from a mile away.

Not only do I admire Flannery O’Connor for her short stories, but her desire to make revisions demonstrates how truly devoted she was to her art. “Judgement Day” had been revised, made seven pages longer, after its initial publication twenty years earlier. How’s that for perfection?