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A politically active neighbor friend of mine was talking up St. Paul School Board member Greg Filice. I knew a little about the man, but I guessed I liked him.

My friend challenged me to put up a sign for the election this week. I said I'd do better -- I'd write letters to the papers praising him.

Which I did. Three very short letters, making the same essential points but in different language. You could I was punchy by the last paragraph of the third one: "So remember to vote early and often for Greg Filice!"

A week later, all three letters appear in their respective newspapers. I'm feeling like both a good citizen and a good letter writer. Then the phone rings.

"Hello, I'm calling to ask if you're a member of the Filice campaign staff."

"Uh, no, I'm not," I say.

"You hesitated. Are you trying to hide something, Mr. Finley?"

"No. I don't work for him. Truth is, I've never met him. But I like him enough to write a letter of support."

"Three letters of support," he corrects me. "Why'd you write three?"

"Let's start over," I frown. "Who is this?"

"Yes, I'm researching political letters in the are newspapers, and your name keeps coming up. Are you aware of the exclusivity requirements of editorial pages?"

"Sure," I say. You can get in trouble with editors if you send the same letter to competing papers. Makes 'em look bad. The trouble being, they never publish you again.

"But," I say, "my letters were different. Different words, different styles. I'm OK on this."

"They look the same to me."

I could feel my heart quickening from aggravation. "Could you say again who you are," I say, "and on whose behalf you're calling? Are you from one of the papers?"

"Never mind who I am. We're keeping a file on you, and you could be in a lot of trouble. This is a violation of campaign law if you're on his staff, and an ethical violation even if you're not."

"Really?" I said, my heart going like a trip-hammer. "And what are the ethical guidelines for anonymously calling people at their homes and badgering them?"

"This isn't about me, Mr. Finley. Say -- that's an Irish name, isn't it? The Irish are famous for breaking social contracts. Irish politicians and political writers are never very troubled by ethics, are they? Winning is everything with you Irish, isn't it, Mr. Finley?"

Well, I am in full cardiac arrest at this point, pulling at my collar for air. "Listen. I didn't do anything wrong, illegal, or unethical. I wrote three letters of support. They're different enough that no editors are going to get into a tizzy. And I truly resent the hell out of your remark about the Irish."

"OK, well screw you and -- "

I must report that the conversation deteriorates into invective, mostly relating to my relationship with my mother -- a good, decent, and largely Irish woman. So I hang up, but still snorting fire from enlarged, pulsating nostrils. The next person who says even a peep to me is going to get both barrels.

The phone rings again.

Quaking with rage, I pick up the receiver.

"Listen, you cowardly little worm, you annoying little bully. You haven't the guts to tell me who you are or who you're working for, yet you call me at my home and inundate me with insults and accusations. If I had you here right now, boy, you would understand all there is to know about the Irish uprising --"

"Hi, Mike," the voice on the other end said. "This is Greg Filice."

* * *

Wait, there's more!

Two days later, I got two envelopes in the mail, addressed on the outside in the shakiest hand you could imagine -- like it was written with the head of a pin dipped in ink. The first letter was a reprise of the phone call -- mean, paranoid, and insulting. The second must have been send a few hours later -- it took a more conciliatory tone.

What a nut!