No matter whether it was his aquiline nose, his rugged jaw, his surfeit of white teeth, his blue eyes, or his strapping body, Charlton Heston was nothing but a third-rate actor who rose to prominence together with American power projected to all corners of the world. All of which you fail even to hint at in your pusillanimous obituary (April 12, 2008). But you outdo yourself in the drooling caption under his name, where you dub him “America’s prophet.” This is where you may be dead right, though. All image without substance. All show. All make-believe. All fantasy. All vapid impression without a trace of authenticity. In a word, a puppet. America’s prophet, indeed.