Welcome to the 21st century clothesline &mdash the neighborhood listserve

It is said nowadays that most Americans don't know their neighbors, but that's not entirely true. I know plenty of Nashville neighborhoods where the residents not only know each other, they also routinely discuss and debate everything from religion to property taxes. They've opened up to one another about their prejudices and shortcomings. They've laughed together and sometimes even cried together. But for all the camaraderie, they wouldn't necessarily recognize each other if they were to meet on the street.

That's because these days, neighbor-to-neighbor communication no longer happens on front porches or back decks. Instead, it takes place on the Internet in the form of listservs, email groups that allow members to send out a message and reach the entire subdivision or community.

I first discovered listservs several years ago when I was a television reporter and someone suggested I join East Nashville's virtual coffee klatch. I signed up and read, fascinated, as they gossiped incessantly over their keyboards, generating up to 100 emails a day. I learned which electricians were reasonably priced and which bars had the best drinks. I knew who was having trouble with vagrants going through their trash and who was about to face foreclosure. And I got plenty of TV stories out of it.

One of my favorites involved a seemingly mild-mannered husband and wife who were tired of plants being stolen off their porch. They knew exactly who was doing it — the trouble was the man was a career criminal. He'd get caught, spend a little time in jail, then come right back and pinch their brand new begonias.

One night, they spotted his car parked in their 'hood, its backseat filled with OPP — other people's plants. They did what any reasonable middle-class couple would do in the face of such blatant disregard for personal property: They slashed his tires. And when he returned to drive home, they chased him away on foot. There even may have been pitchforks involved. I'll never know for sure.

But they couldn't help but crow about it on the listserv that night, to much virtual applause. The very next evening, I did a live shot for the 6 o'clock news in front of the man's abandoned hooptie, making sure my cameraman zoomed in on the wilted chrysanthemums locked inside. "A case of vigilante justice," I intoned in my news voice, "in the age of the Internet."

Crime reports are a staple of the East Nashville listserv, as neighbors breathlessly report everything from shots fired to home invasions. Here in Bellevue, the crime may be a little harder to come by, but it's taken no less seriously.

Things got more than a little heated on one Bellevue subdivision's listserv recently when two reindeer were "inappropriately repositioned" on someone's front lawn. Fingers were pointed at a group of Catholic schoolboys, and that's when all hell broke loose, at least online. Neighbors were accused of Catholic profiling, old wounds were reopened as the Great Catholic Purge of a local Baptist church's preschool staff was revisited, and the War Between the Catholics and the Protestants was waged anew. Even those who tried to remain impartial found themselves sleepless late at night, haunted by visions of those X-rated reindeer.

"The reindeer is a respect issue," one man philosophized in an email message, "just like cussing loudly at Chucky Cheese [sic]. It shows a lack of respect for the people who had the display and a lack of respect for parents that might have to explain it to their children."

Wise words from a sage man.

Of course, you don't have to actually participate in listserv discussions to enjoy them. Many neighbors merely lurk quietly and revel in the buffoonery. And then they send the evidence on to me.

"Responsible person needed to help us with our two children (14 and 11)," read one listserv email passed on to me recently by a reader. "The ideal candidate would take children to and from school, help them with homework, shop for groceries, run errands and possibly cook. We are a two-income family and need some assistance. If you know of anyone meeting this description, please have them email me directly."

All that, of course, was code for, "Our kids have morphed from adorable angels into adolescent jerks and we've decided it's time for someone else to take over."

Nothing wrong with that. It takes a village, right?

Or at the very least, a listserv.

Read more Suburban Turmoil at www.suburbanturmoil.com.

Email editor@nashvillescene.com.