telling him that he was about to be blown up, they would come and arrest him.
Going to prison, or a lunatic asylum, was a price Marion was willing to pay for doing the Lord’s work, but only after he had done it. If he was in prison, obviously, he could not blow the Vice President up.
And from what Marion had seen on television, and read in books, the Secret Service was very skilled in what they did. They would obviously make a great effort to locate him, once the Vice President showed them the letter. He was going to have to strive for anonymity.
On the way back to the office from the Reading Terminal, he went to the Post Office Annex and bought two stamped envelopes. Then he went into one of the discount stores on Market Street and bought a thin pad of typing paper.
He often worked late, so no one was suspicious when he stayed in his office after everyone else had gone home. When he was absolutely sure that there was no one in the office but him, he went to the typing pool and sat down at the first typist’s desk. He opened the top drawer and found two spare disposable ribbons.
He took the plastic cover off the typewriter, then opened it, and removed the ribbon on the machine, carefully placing it on the desktop. Then he put in a new ribbon. He addressed the envelope:
The Hon. Vice President of the United States
Senate Office Building
Washington, D.C.
And then he took the envelope out and tore a sheet of paper from the typing paper pad and rolled that into the typewriter. He sat there drumming his fingers on the desk for a moment as he made up his mind how to say what he wanted to say. Then he started to type. He was a good typist, and when he was finished, there wasn’t even one strikeover, and Marion was pleased.
Dear Mr. Vice President:
You have offended the Lord, and He has decided, using me as His instrument, to disintegrate you using high explosives.
It is never too late to ask God’s forgiveness, and I respectfully suggest that you make your peace with God as soon as possible.
Yours in Our Lord,
A Christian.
Marion carefully folded the letter in thirds, slipped it into the envelope, and then licked the flap and sealed it. He put it into his breast pocket.
Then he removed the ribbon from the typewriter, put the old one back in, and closed the typewriter and covered it with its plastic cover.
He tore off the section of ribbon that had the impressions of the typewriter keys on it and put it into the second stamped envelope he had purchased against the contingency that he would make an error. He carried the envelope, the pad of typing paper, and the ribbon he had used and then removed from the typewriter back into his office. He turned on his shredder and fed first the envelope with the used ribbon inside into it, and then, half a dozen sheets at a time, the typing paper. Next came the cardboard backing and cover sheet of the typing paper pad. The only thing left was the almost intact unused plastic typewriter ribbon. It was too thick to get into the mouth of the shredder, and moreover, he suspected that even if it had fit into it, it probably would have jammed the mechanism.
He took the sterling silver Waterman’s ballpoint pen that had been the firm’s gift to him at Christmas from his pocket, and held it through the little plastic inside of the typewriter ribbon. Then he fed the loose end of the ribbon into the shredder. The mechanism drew the ribbon between the cutters. It took a long time for all of the ribbon to be drawn into the shredder, but it was somehow fascinating to watch the process, and he was a little disappointed when it was all gone.
He held the plastic center in his hand and left his office for the men’s room. He went into a stall and flushed the plastic center down the toilet. Then he carefully washed his hands and left the office.
He bought a Philadelphia Ledger from the newsstand at 16th and Chestnut Streets, and grew warm with the knowledge that he had done the right thing and pleased God. There was a headline that said, VICE PRESIDENT TO VISIT.
The meeting in the commissioner’s conference room on the third floor of the Police Administration Building, commonly called the