Bristol 2009: Maybe.

“Hey, isn’t that Ed?”

“Where?”

“Right there, between the clowns and the guys wearing the lampshades in the little cars.”

“Naw, that’s the guy who does the weather, I think.”

“So where’s Ed?”

“Maybe he’s on the Felon Float.”

“They got a Felon Float this year?”

“Yeah, they learned last year that felons are a big draw, bigger than those guys with the muskets in the George Washington suits, bigger than the bands from Minnesota and Wisconsin. People run out to hug a felon. People even like to take their kids’ pictures with them.”

“Jeez, go figger. Little Johnny and the ex-con right up there on the mantel with the wedding and graduation pix.”

“Hey, welcome to Post-Shame America, pal. It’s all just one big reality show now.”

“So maybe Richard Hatch might be in the parade when he gets out?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. There’s precedent. And he’d be a natural. From Survivor to the slammer to Hope Street on the Fourth. It’s what you might call the Rhode Island Triple Play.”

“And people’d probably want a picture of him with the kids, too?”

“Count on it. The guy’s famous. That’s all that matters.”

“You mean, it doesn’t matter what he’s famous for?”

“Absolutely not. Battlefield, football field, cellblock — the fame can come from anywhere, as long it puts a guy on TV or the front page.”

“And Celona?”

“You kiddin’ me? He’s gotta be making plans right now for the day he gets out. He’s never shied from the spotlight, and now that the parade has become shame free, he’s got to be thinking about a spot on the float, maybe even his own division.”

“How about a spot on the CVS float?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m just trying to get in the spirit of the day.”

“You’re almost there.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s what scares me.”

“Just go with it. Here we are, right on the turn on the parade route near Ray DeLeo’s house. We got history behind us, history in front of us. Someday, you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren you were here on the day when corruption and patriotism shared the spotlight.”

“Gosh, how special, like the day I stopped believing in the Tooth Fairy.”

“Just lighten up. Look at it as a shift in tradition, from ‘Give me liberty or give me death’ to ‘Gimme gimme gimme.’ We’re seeing a real big step into the new millennium here. Every-thing’s changed. The Minutemen are on cell phones.”

“So the Felon Float is kind of a symbol — that there’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of anymore?”

“Oh, there are still things to be ashamed of, just not as many.”

“So there are still some limits?”

“Of course. There have to be limits.”

“How will we know when we’ve gone beyond them?”

“I’m not really sure.”

“OK, I guess. But I’m still hoping to see Ed. After all, he was the governor of the state. He did time. It seems the parade should be ready for him.”

“Actually, I’ve heard he’s not coming.”

“Not coming? Why not?”

“I don’t know. He’s always been low profile. No radio gig. Maybe he decided betraying the public trust isn’t something to celebrate.”

“Boy oh boy, would he be out of touch.”

“He really would. Somebody would have to talk to him.”

bkerr@projo.com