In the fledgling years of the new century, I pitched many book ideas to publishers, some via literary agents and some not. Perseverance in the publishing business is a must. Rejection, too, is part of the game, so get used to it or pick up your marbles and go home. The snippet to follow is from an unsold project of mine entitled 115 Who Had Their 15—fifteen minutes of fame, as it were. One of the sample chapters included in the proposal was headlined Different Strokes and recounted the story of Michael Fay. These many years later, I hadn't remembered who he was or his particular moment in the spotlight, proving that —yes—he really did experience fifteen minutes of fame.
Michael Fay
In some instances, a person’s fifteen minutes of fame can be a very painful affair. Certainly, Michael Fay’s fleeting moment in the public eye stung and then some. In fact, had his criminal sentence not been commuted, it would have hurt a great deal more.
In 1994,
an American named Michael Peter Fay achieved international renown after being
arrested and charged with numerous counts of theft and vandalism. Despite a
defense plea that a diagnosed attention-deficit-disorder was the wind beneath
the wings of his lawlessness, a court of law found him guilty. However, this layered
legal state of affairs unfurled not in the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave,
but on the faraway topography of Singapore, where the teenaged Fay resided with
his mother and stepfather in the early 1990s.
Fay’s trials and tribulations took flight as a news story when it came to light that the eighteen-year-old’s punishment included a series of canings—six strokes to be exact—along with both jail time and a not inconsiderable fine. That is, the teen was to be lashed in the buttocks with a thirteen mm-thick rattan rod. True to form, America’s posturing politicians and many in the elite chattering classes complained that the nature of the offenses—vandalizing cars and stealing road signs—did not jibe with the excruciatingly painful sentence meted out. On the other hand, a fair slice of the crime-weary American populace was anything but exorcised about a juvenile delinquent getting thrashed several times where the sun didn't shine. And since Singapore justice flogs its convicted vandals—it's their thing—the nation’s government wasn’t too keen on getting lectured by American bureaucrats and its sanctimonious fourth estate.
Via diplomatic channels, the Clinton White House nevertheless got involved, calling the caning “excessive” and trying to spare the young American a hiding he’d not soon forget. Publishing multiple editorials on the barbarity of caning, The New York Times editorial board was positively heartsick over the matter. Responding to the tidal wave of negative publicity generated, Singapore President Ong Teng Cheong, in one broad stroke of generosity, commuted Fay’s caning sentence from six strokes to four strokes.
On May 5,
1994, Fay’s commuted sentence finally came to pass. Stripped of his clothing,
he was ushered into Caning Central, if you will, where he was asked to bend
over. His various limbs were then strapped to a trestle, with the area of the
kidneys protected from the rattan rod, which was to do the handiwork in concert
with the designated caner.
Fay took his lumps and, it was reported, walked unassisted back to his jail cell. He behaved like a mature adult. But unfortunately for Fay, the literal moment of his fifteen minutes was a decade or so too early. Had his saga occurred today, he’d most assuredly have landed on a reality TV show, perhaps have gotten a book deal, or possibly had a movie made about his life. Instead, his post-caning life as a young adult landed him in Hazelden with a substance abuse problem—the agonizing experience having not put him completely on the straight and narrow. His vandalizing and petty thieving antics, though, appear to be a thing of the past.