Not a call came about it. A strange, quiet day, the telephone did not ring once.

October 19

Of all things unexpected, this is the largest. Harrison Shepherd fires the shot heard ’round the world. That quote has gone everywhere, even overseas to the armed services, they’ve run it in Stars and Stripes. Here’s what one spineless fellow thinks back home, and you can bet Harrison Shepherd did not serve active duty: “Our leader is an empty sack, let’s knock him over, put some horns on a stick and follow that. Most of us never choose to believe in our country, we just come up short on better ideass.”

Republic Digest, “Words from the Nation’s Most Dangerous.” Harrison Shepherd has gone to the top of their list, above Alger Hiss and the Hollywood Ten. The clip service at the publisher’s counted sixty-one newspapers and magazines running the quote so far, and the monthlies are yet to come. These words seem to be driving some form of madness that gets in the head like a nursery rhyme. Leader is an empty sack, empty sack, empty sack! Head with horns upon a stick, follow that!

It’s hard to guess why the publisher needed to call Mrs. Brown with that stunning figure from the clip service. Can it be they are pleased? Because they are rid of me now? The receptionists at Stratford’s are star-eyed at the measure of my infamy; they have no capacity to resist it. The reach of the quote has gone far beyond any readership of mine, by a hundredfold, bringing joy to people with no prior knowledge of my prowess. It’s bracing in these times. A man you can love to despise.

Mrs. Brown is so distracted she can’t type a letter. Most of the morning she sat in a chair near the front window, knitting a baby shawl. She keeps dropping stitches, finding mistakes, tearing it all out to begin again. Her eyes go out to the street. I’ve never seen her so frightened. More dangerous than Alger Hiss. Who is well on his way now to conviction for treason.

Most of us never choose to believe in our country, we just come up short on better ideas. The most widely printed words ever written by Harrison Shepherd.

The Echo, October 21, 1949

Spy Secrets Between Hard Covers

Author Harrison Shepherd has covered a long career of Communist tricks under the guise of mild-mannered writer, producing facile novels that appeal mainly to intellectuals and longhairs. But he has thrown off his cover with the latest round of arrogance, declaring openly in print, “Our leader is an empty sack. You could just as well knock him over, put a head with horns on a stick and follow that.”

Threatening violent overthrow is a matter for public outrage. What’s at the bottom of this twisted mind? His family life tells it all. Born in Lychgate, Virginia, Shepherd was a child of divorce. The father worked as an accountant in the Hoover administration, while the mother was an impecunious Mata Hari, changing her name repeatedly to get close to men in government on both sides of the Mexico border. New York psychiatrist Nathan Leonard, asked to weigh in on the disturbing case, said, “The shattering psychological effects of a maternal example like this cannot be escaped.”

The son dropped out of school to become a Communist sympathizer, working in the households of leading Stalinist functionaries in Mexico City. From there he moved on to a life of such intrigue it would confound most men: art smuggler, womanizer, State Department courier, using at least two pseudonyms on two continents. All this he accomplished despite a physical appearance so repellent, photographers have shunned him for a lifetime. Such remarkable feats of philandering and espionage carried out by a homely man may arouse false hopes in the Walter Mittys among us. But Harrison Shepherd is not cut from the ordinary cloth.

Among the latest charges: he supplied secrets to the Communist Chinese revolt against Chiang Kai-shek. Like all enemies of America, he adheres to the plan of giving aid and comfort to our enemies. A year ago he told the Evening Post he agreed with Bernard Baruch that our atomic bombs should all be thrown in the drink. Now he’s found a better way to throw us on the mercy of the Communists: experts confirm a copy of his book has been found with certain passages underlined, possibly a coded blueprint for the atom bomb. Fortunately this country has a cure for such troubled minds. It is known as the electric chair.

According to the United Press, the Committee on Un-American Activities has already documented countless plans to smuggle bomb secrets to Russia and China. In a 384-page report released last week after five years of investigation, the committee detailed techniques used by American Communists for sending coded secrets to Moscow. “Devices for concealing such messages include necklaces, boxes containing matches cut at various lengths, dental plates, a notching of postage stamps, engraved cigarette cases, embroidered handkerchiefs, special book-bindings and tiny compartments in phonograph records.” A copy of George Bernard Shaw’s Devil’s Disciple, the report disclosed, was found to carry a Russian code message by means of having certain of its words underlined in invisible ink.

Now another Devil’s Disciple, in the guise of writer Harrison Shepherd, has released his latest tome, The Unforetold. To such a chilling title we need only add a small footnote: buyer beware.

November 7

Mrs. Brown went to the bookstore to have a look. She did not want to go, and did not want to tell me about it when she came back. So help me God, I pressed her into spying for me. They’ve made a “Ban Harrison Shepherd” window display. I’m not alone; they’ve found a pile of other books written by Communists.

The sign asks, “Would you buy a book if you knew your money was going to the Communist Party?” Under the question were two boxes marked “Yes” and “No,” with a cup of pencils handy for the plebiscite.

What more can they take from me? I asked Mrs. Brown, what do they want? About what anyone wants, was her best guess: safety. That and grace. They know not what they do. Probably they were all aimed at heaven at one time, and lost their way.

What is that, grace?

She says, believing you are special and saved from harm. Kissed by God.

Well, that’s how thick I am, I never knew how to want what everyone wants. I only thought to look for a home, some place to be taken in. Handing over a crumpled heart, seeing it dropped in the wastepaper basket every time. Here, though. Americans sent love letters in return.

December 22, 1949

Dear Shepherd,

All right pal, keep your hair on. Probably this is not going to be the salutations you’ve been waiting for. Merry Xmas and all that. Things have changed here, it can’t be helped. I collared a job in ads. No fish! Me myself, in an office full of neck ties, and let me tell you, these cats are steaming. I don’t want to be the jerk that can’t keep up.