WHINING liberals say that the special-prosecutor law is necessary, but I say, perhaps, that Mr. Meese is right. His department is the Justice Department, and no other department can make that claim. Why can't the Justice Department see that justice is done? It's been doing it for years. It's not hard to envision.
Scene: The Justice Department, an early summer evening. Looks a lot like an old police blotter room. Dingy green walls, map of the city, duty roster on the wall. At the largest desk sits Police Sgt. Edwin Meese, a genial sort, uniform could be neater. He is reading the Police Gazette.
A patrol car screeches up outside. Patrolman Ed Meese enters with a malefactor in tow. Not exactly a malefactor, really. It's just a round-faced, towheaded lad with cheeks of tan. His arm is stuck in a cookie jar.
Sergeant Meese (looks up with a smile) - Ah, and who have we got here, Patrolman Meese?
Patrolman Meese - Sure and begorrah, etc., if it isn't the lad the neighbors was complainin' about.
Sergeant Meese - Oh, them, those up by the Capitol. They're always complainin' after something. Well, lad, what have you got to say for yourself? What's your name then?
Young boy (sheepishly) - Eddie.
Sergeant Meese - Eddie? Is that it? Give us your real name.
Young boy - Edwin.
Sergeant Meese - Well, young Edwin, and what's that stuck on your arm, then?
Patrolman Meese - 'Tis a cookie jar, sergeant. Look, it's emblazoned ``Wedtech.'' Is that your name, young Edwin?
Young Edwin (a tear forms) - No.
Patrolman Meese - So your name isn't Wedtech, yet I caught you with the Wedtech cookie jar stuck on your arm.
Young Edwin (head hangs in shame; assorted whimpers).
Sergeant Meese - Take him in to see Judge Meese, Patrolman Meese. He'll get a good talking to and a finger wavin' at him to boot. He'll not soon forget a lecture from Judge Meese.
Patrolman Meese - His ears'll be burnin' egad, begorrah, etc.
Sergeant Meese - And I'll call the Widow Meese and get her down here to take the young scamp home.
Patrolman Meese - Ho, ho! I'd not like to be in your shoes when mother gets a hold of you. Ho, ho!
Later, the Widow Meese, in high maternal dudgeon, does indeed take the young scamp home, paddles him soundly, and puts him to bed without dinner. And where, I ask, would you have a special prosecutor come in and disturb this pleasant little scene? What would he do besides ask a lot of questions and get everyone's name in the papers?
Who needs it?
Jeff Danziger is the Monitor's editorial cartoonist.