Off the I-15

My cell phone rang while I was out getting the police logs today. The man on the other end of the line had a heavy accent and seemed agitated. He wanted to know why I had never responded to a letter and an email he sent me “regarding my relationship with my brother.” I get a lot of emails from people about a lot of different things, including people’s relationships with their family members, but this one didn’t ring a bell at all. We went back and forth for several minutes, while I was trying to figure out what he was talking about, and he was clearly convinced that I was beating around the bush.

“I don’t quite understand what it is you’re looking for,” I told him. “Is this a letter to the editor, or something you think I should write a story about?”

“I want you to print my letter in the paper!” he said.

“Okay,” I said, thinking I understood. “If it’s a letter to the editor, you actually need to send it to Scott Shackford. He’s our editor.”

“I want you to print my letter in Dear Abby!” he replied, growing more and more excited.

Suddenly it all became clear. It’s not the first time someone has been under the impression that I am the Abby who pens the regular Dear Abby advice column in the paper. For the record, I am not. Dear Abby is a widely syndicated column written by Jeanne Phillips under the pen name Abigail van Buren. It was founded by her mother, Pauline Phillips, some time in the 1950s, I believe.

Apparently this guy had sent his letter to the contact address listed with the column, and after becoming frustrated with waiting for it to appear, called the newspaper to complain to Abby and got transferred to my extension.

So, just to set the record straight, I’m not Dear Abby — just a lowly reporter. You can write to me for advice if you really want to, but it won’t end up in the paper.

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