Your biggest fan!

It's hard to hate someone who is delusional, and as angry as I was, I was inclined to give Jansen a pass on grounds of craziness. Her lawyer, on the other hand, the weaselly, pompous little Matt Blanton -- I wanted to kill him. At the very least I wanted him to pay my legal bills, which by this point had reached over $14,000, not a dime of it covered by insurance or the network. And I wanted a prolonged, groveling, preferably tearful apology for sending a letter to my place of work accusing me of a felony sex crime.

I didn't get either one. Saul Pilchen, Bennett's able deputy, convinced me that suing Blanton for damages (and I was prepared to spend whatever it took to do it, as long as it wrecked his day) would only draw attention to the original accusation, discredited as it was. In the end, my name would be joined in the same sentence with the word rape, and it was worth at least fourteen grand to keep that from happening. Instead, Pilchen sent Blanton a tart letter pointing out that it's pretty irresponsible for an attorney to make such serious allegations based on the ramblings of a mental patient.

Blanton responded with a snippy letter explaining that his client had "decided to put this matter on hold at this time." As "a respected member and entrepreneur of Harrison County and other surrounding counties," Blanton wrote, Jansen "understands very well the potential ramifications to her personal and entrepreneurial life" of a court case. In other words, Jansen didn't want to embarrass herself by testifying against a rapist like me. It was infuriating.

Almost as infuriating as the letter Jansen herself sent a week later. "I am glad to hear that Mr. Carlson can verify his innocence to the claim that I had made earlier," it began. "In light of the evidence that you provided to me, obviously the person who had assaulted me was not in actuality Tucker Carlson, but an impostor." She said sorry, sort of, and that was the extent of her contrition.

Because, as she went on to explain, she's the real victim here. "I don't appreciate the statements that you made about my mental status," Jansen wrote, launching into a lecture about the need to show sensitivity and tolerance toward people with emotional disabilities. "I am a highly educated individual, with multiple degrees." Yes, she conceded, "I am a manic-depressive." But "everyone of concern knows that this condition can be very well managed. It is usually the ignorant that sensationalize it. There are some very successful people who have this condition. I know many."

In other words, Jansen's craziness may have cost me thousands of dollars and jeopardized my career, my reputation and my freedom. But it was still wrong of me -- "ignorant" -- to suggest that her mental illness might not be such a good thing. Nuts or not, Elizabeth Jansen had a lot of chutzpah.

Six months later, she wrote me again. This time she sent a clock radio with my name on it, along with a note apologizing "for the misunderstanding." A few months after that I got an Easter card from "Your Biggest Fan!" Her next card had five exclamation points, which I took as a sign of escalating mania. I looked her up on the Internet to try to assess the threat. She was there. In fact, she had her own Web site, complete with a photograph of herself sitting at the computer. I'd never seen her before. She was a heavyset woman in her early forties with waist-length hair and short bangs. She didn't look crazy.

People who stumble across her site probably never guess. Jansen lists her many degrees (one in accounting, another in data processing, and yet another in something called Information Science) and promises to take care of just about any paperwork problem you might have. For reasonable rates, she'll draft your financial statements, process your Medicare claims, balance your books, or do your taxes. And although she doesn't say so, for no extra fee, she's also happy to include you in her delusions.

The site gave me the creeps, and I was tempted to call her and tell her to stop bothering me. I never did, though.

Copyright 2003. "Politicians, Partisans, and Parasites" excerpted by permission of Warner Books.

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