A wonderful little incident took place at the start of my time in London, where I was set to deliver a talk for the conference of the Shakespearean Authorship Trust (S.A.T.) at Shakespeare’s Globe. After the plane had landed at Heathrow, I took my place in line to go through the Customs section, holding my passport and the form I had filled out. The line moved along in fits and starts and, soon enough, I was approaching the man behind the counter.
“Here you go,” I said, handing over the papers.
The man looked at my passport, then at the form, then back at the passport. I watched, wondering what might be going through his mind. Finally he looked up at me.
“Are you staying in London?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“How long do you intend to be here?”
“Oh, well, five nights, I believe.”
“Mmmm. Are you here for business or pleasure?”
“Well, uh, I’m going to give a talk.”
“A talk, eh? On what subject?”
I was not sure it was any of his business. Briefly it occurred to me that once you give a guy a uniform, he suddenly feels the need to exercise his power as a figure of authority. I began to feel a little nervous. Nearby was an officer with a leg-sniffing dog. And I thought, as the Customs agent looked at me, waiting for an answer, that my hesitation probably seemed suspicious.
Say something, I told myself, and be quick about it.
“Well, actually I’m giving a talk about Shakespeare.”
“Oh, really?” he said, and now I imagined he was an official of the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, placed there to nab me and confiscate my speech.
“Yes,” I said. “Shakespeare.”
He leaned forward, one elbow on the counter, and gestured with a forefinger for me to do the same. I bent my head forward and down, the better to lend him my ear.
“You know,” he said in a low voice that was nearly a whisper, “some people think Shakespeare didn’t write those things.”
I lifted my eyes and looked at him.
He was smiling.
I smiled back and said, “So I’ve heard.”
“Good luck with your talk,” he said, waving me through.
Later I realized what he may well have been thinking:
“That American guy must be one of those die-hard Stratfordians. When will they ever wise up?”
