“Senate candidate Roy Moore of Alabama sought Wednesday to discredit a woman’s accusation that he sexually assaulted her when she was 16, suggesting that what looks like his signature on her high school yearbook is a forgery.”
— Los Angeles Times, 11/15/17
To the sweetest, most beautiful gal I will ever not recall having met,
Wow, what a wild year it’s been! It seems like just yesterday that my eye was first drawn to the bright, lovely young lady whom the Good Lord saw fit to bring into my courthouse. How lucky can a fella get?! I’ll never forget how nervous I was to talk to her that first day — but I steeled my nerves, and I mustered up the courage to walk straight on up to her, introduce myself, holster my firearm, and ask her for permission to date her young child. And I’ll tell you what: I knew right then and there that it was going to be the best semester ever.
We were just a couple of crazy kids back then, weren’t we? Getting our learner’s permits, going to the ice cream social, being investigated by the state bar for improperly convening a grand jury. I’ll never forget the fun times we each had in old Mr. Sherman’s chemistry class, which you took last fall and I took in 1963. Remember where we were on that cool November day when we all heard that the Catholic President had finally been shot? Oooh boy, what a stunner that was! I remember we were in the lunch line in the cafeteria, and I recall sharing a long, silent look with you when we got the news. Of course, technically speaking, it was your father I was looking at — but I happen to believe that life begins when your dad asks out your mom in third period, so, legally, it counts.
It’s so weird that we aren’t sophomores anymore, be it by just a few days or literally two entire decades. Now that it’s summer, I guess we can look back and laugh at all of the things we did and absolutely did not do together this year. Do you even remember all that crazy stuff?! No? Terrific. Even though I know that you’ll be off at girl scout camp soon, and I’ll be prosecuting local sex offenders on behalf of Etowah County, who knows — maybe we can still get together and hang out 500 feet from the mall some time!
To be honest, I wish that I could’ve gotten to know you a little better near school, because you seem like a genuinely discreet person. Heck, had things gone a bit differently, we might have even had one of the great love stories of all time, just like the famous biblical couple, Harold and Maude. Instead, I’ll always regret that I barely got the chance to properly court you, as a southern gentlemen would a barely-pubescent lady, before that silly misunderstanding where I had to ditch you in the parking lot behind the Olde Hickory House restaurant that I’ll later claim doesn’t exist yet.
Anywho, let me be the first to say: thou shalt have a great summer! I will almost always remember you, and hopefully we’ll get a chance to catch up at one of your little sister’s field hockey games next year (I’ll be the mid-thirties deputy district attorney leaning against the windowless white van—ha ha!). In the meantime, remember — stay cool, never change, burn your yearbook, and don’t tell anybody that we know each other!
Love,
Roy Moore, D.A. (“dad’s age”)