Déjà ‘Den’: One ‘Den’ too many!!! - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

You vacated the premises, Denny. That much is not in dispute. Your shadow lingered, but the room was empty.

 

For readers unfamiliar with the rich history of this column space, a brief orientation is in order. Prior to The Chaff, this column in The Citizen was home to Denny’s Den, a long-standing weekly dispatch authored by Denny Scott. When Denny chose to leave, he did so honorably and transparently. He wrote a final column. He bid farewell. He turned in his press card.

 

After a suitable period of respectful silence, The Chaff emerged; not as a replacement, but as a continuation of the sacred weekly rite. We entered not as conquerors, but as caretakers. We did not take over the Den. We were absorbed by it. It changed us. It made us what we are. We hermit crabbed our way into the vacant shell.

 

And then, some weeks ago, we learned that Denny, having resurfaced at The Wingham Advance Times, had begun writing a column once more. That in itself is not troubling. What is troubling, and what requires the full force of this week’s Chaff, is this: he has called it Denny’s Den.

 

Not A Den of His Own. Not Return to the Den. Not even Denny’s Den: Denpocalypse Den. Simply Denny’s Den. Again. In a new publication. As though nothing had happened.

 

This cannot stand.

 

We are not engaging in melodrama. We are enforcing order. When Denny left The Citizen, he relinquished not just the space, but the title, the aura and the narrative authority that came with it. Column names, once shed, do not simply follow the author. They become bound to the place of their publication, like lichen to rock, or gossip to a village.

 

There is only one Denny’s Den. And it lives in memory, in the archives, and, structurally, in The Chaff.

 

We did not invent this rule. It was handed down to us by the lineage of columnists who came before. To allow the existence of a second, unsanctioned Denny’s Den is to invite chaos into the fragile ecosystem of rural newspaper opinion pages. Without clear succession, there can be no trust. Without trust, no readership. Without readership, no community. Without community, blank pages.

 

And so, it is with great reluctance, and with the full backing of our editorial conscience, that we must now pursue legal remedy.
We are initiating proceedings in the following jurisdictions:

 

Ontario Small Claims Court, seeking declaratory relief and exclusive rights to the column’s narrative shell.
The Ontario Superior Court of Justice (Columnal Integrity Division), requesting a permanent injunction on further use of the name Denny’s Den in any form, font or emotional register.
The Hague, for international confusion and duplicity in the public sphere.
The Esoteric Tribunal of Authorship, headquartered deep in the woods, operating under seal and gavel, where matters of authorial identity and narrative custodianship are ruled on in total silence.

 

We have prepared exhibits. We have retained a legal scholar with a background in newspaper folklore. We have a 43-page affidavit detailing our spiritual occupation of the Den and its subsequent transformation into The Chaff (or Pumpkin or Chumpkin or Chaff Wolf or whatever nonsense is wasting your time this week). We are prepared to submit this, in full, to any body, board, bench, boor, beachbum or behemoth that will hear us.

 

But.

 

In the interest of peace, and in recognition of Denny’s foundational work in this space, we are offering one and only one path forward: he may continue to write his column, unceasingly, provided he changes the name to: Denny’s Den (Denny’s Version)

This is a fair and accurate title. It distinguishes the new column from its previous incarnation. It reflects the author’s legacy without creating confusion. And it preserves the sanctity of the original Den, now absorbed into the living tissue of The Chaff.

 

He has 7,000 business days to comply.

 

If we receive no response, the process moves forward. Public notices will be issued. Print statements will escalate. Comparisons will be made. Letters will be written on thick, unbleached stock.

 

We do not wish to proceed.

 

But we will, unwillingly.

 

This is not about ego. It is not about preference. It is about the laws that hold small-town publishing together. About structure. About succession. About the quiet but vital bonds between columnist, column and reader.

 

There can be only one Den.

 

And this is it.