Poosey Digest: All is not well

by Freida Marie Crump
Greetings from Poosey.
The village, like all small villages in those days, had a Towne Crier. His name was Tom. Each evening, at precisely 5:30, Tom would walk the streets of his tiny village, ringing his bell, and announcing whatever news he had managed to glean from passing travelers and the residents of the town. Then again, just at 10 p.m., he would again stroll through the tiny streets, ringing his bell, giving a briefer version of the day’s events, proclaiming “All is well!” then going to bed. Everyone went to bed after Tom had given his last cry of the day.
Things went along in this merry and comfortable fashion for many years and Tom the Towne Crier became a man of great esteem, for he would never knowingly cry any news other than what he believed to be the truth.
The village grew. The streets became longer, and after some years had passed another Crier walked the streets each evening, then another. Each Towne Crier had a slightly different method of telling the day’s news. But each of their stories was pretty much the same, thus confirming the truth of the other two. It was a good arrangement, this merry and comfortable fashion.
Then things began to change. Even the elders of the town were not sure where it began, but other Town Criers began to spring up – it seemed on every street corner. And with so many Criers crying out the nightly news, the competition grew fierce. The truth of what had happened that day no longer became most important, but rather that the citizens of the town would listen to this Crier instead of that one.
The result? They cried louder. They shouted! And they no longer cried “the news” just twice daily, but all day long. They walked the noisy streets of the village, not only shouting out the news but trying to out shout the other shouters. It became a very, very noisy village.
The people were perplexed! To whom should we listen? For more and more the news the Town Criers cried was not a single voice of truth, but something …well …something quite different indeed. One Crier, in an attempt to draw attention away from the others would try to make his tale more colorful …more interesting …more sensational. Then the next Crier would color the tone of his cry a bit brighter, perhaps adding a small detail here, changing a fact there.
But the worst was yet to come. The once peaceful village where people thought much the same as each other and believed in the same general things become a faction. The “news” the Criers cried did not suit them.
Then one evening just before his nightly rounds, one of the larger and loudest Criers had a rush of thought: “Aha! I shall make up news just to suit those who will hear me! They will pay me well for reporting only the news they want to hear! Better yet! I shall make up my own news! This will please them and I shall become the most popular and well-paid Towne Crier of all!” And he did.
Then another Towne Crier took up the idea and cried “Ditto! I shall do the same!” And he did. Then another and another and before the once tranquil and agreeable village understood what was happening, their little settlement was chock-full of Town Criers crying out news that was not at all true – at least it was heavily colored with the needs of each particular Crier and it made their purses fatter and fatter.
Instead of simply crying out the news each night, the town’s new flock of noisy Criers had actually become leaders of people’s thinking. Instead of walking the streets each evening and retelling the day’s news, they were the ones making the news.
Oh, some people laughed at this. Some people spent much of their day being entertained by the plague of Criers. But the village, the once serene village, began to slowly rip apart. For where the truth cannot be found, peace is hard to come by. Where could they go for the truth? Poor Tom the Towne Crier had disappeared. No one wanted to hear the simple truth so he found no occupation in crying. Some say he became a shoe cobbler in the neighboring village.
You ever ’round Poosey, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.