Today Gene Edward Veith at Cranach blogged on the point (which I’ve brought up myself here) that in our society today all crimes, however vile, are considered preferable to hypocrisy. In theory the modern American thinks that a man who struggles in the privacy of his soul with a besetting sin like drunkenness is a hypocrite, and therefore far more to be condemned than a mass murderer, providing the mass murderer commits his crime in public, before the eyes of all.

In my comment I referenced a poem of Ogden Nash’s, which seemed to me prophetic. I’ll post the poem here. This version comes from the collection Verses From 1929 On, published by Modern Library.

THE STRANGE CASE OF THE IRKSOME PRUDE

Once upon a time there was a young man named Harold Scrutiny.

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Harold had many virtues and practically no vices.

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He smoked, to be sure.

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Also he drank and swore.

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Moreover, he was a pickpocket.

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But, for all that, Harold was no prude.

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I am no prude, Harold often said.

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But Detective Guilfoyle of the Pickpocket Squad is a prude, the old prude, said Harold.

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One day Harold went into the subway to pick some pockets.

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There was a man on the platform penciling a beard on the lady on the toothpaste placard.

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Hey, said Harold.

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Hey who, said the man.

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Hey you, that’s hey who, said Harold.

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Aren’t you going to give her a moustache?

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Sure I’m going to give her a moustache, said the man.

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What do you think I am?

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I think you’re somebody that puts beards on ladies on toothpaste placards before they put on the moustache, said Harold.

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Don’t you know enough to put the moustache on first?

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You put the moustache on first, why then you can turn it up or turn it down, whichever you want, said Harold.

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You try to turn a moustache down after the beard’s on, it runs into the beard, said Harold.

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It don’t look like a moustache, only like a beard grows up and down both.

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Go on, said the man, go on and pick some pockets.

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Harold turned to his work, but his mind was elsewhere.

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Suddenly the lady on the toothpaste placard got off the toothpaste placard and arrested him.

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It was Detective Guilfoyle of the Pickpocket Squad all the time.

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You got a beard grows up and down both, said Harold.

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Detective Guilfoyle searched Harold.

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He certainly was surprised at what he found.

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So was Harold.

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Harold hadn’t picked any pockets at all because his mind was elsewhere.

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He had picked a peck of pickled peppers.

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Detective Guilfoyle wanted to call Harold a name, but he couldn’t because he was a prude.

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Harold picked his pocket and later became the smokingest swearingest, drinkingest Assistant District Attorney the county ever had.

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Don’t be a prude.