It is a little after 11:00 a.m., and Elroy Stock has just returned home from his daily trip to the post office. "Mailed six letters today. Nothing special. My usual material," he says with a shrug, cracking open the front door to his home in Woodbury. From the outside, Stock's boxy split-level fits in seamlessly with the other contemporary homes in this growing St. Paul suburb. Inside, though, the place is frozen in time. A lifelong bachelor, Stock has lived here since 1974. Most of the furnishings appear to date from that era, from the earth-tone carpeting to the black-and-white TV with rabbit ears. The upper level is cluttered, with newspaper clippings, church bulletins, and other assorted papers stacked in piles on the dining-room table, the chairs around the dining-room table, the sofa, even the floor. But the kitchen is ground zero. Stock doesn't care to cook ("I eat mostly canned food"), so the countertops function as a sorting table. Little cardboard letter boxes are lined up in a row beside the sink, filled with photocopies of Stock's letters: marginally literate screeds with titles such as "Our problem is: the Word of God versus the Word of Satan," screeds that revolve around racial purity, Stock's primary obsession. Each day, Stock mails off his missives to people involved in interracial or interfaith marriages or who have adopted children of different ethnicities. "I just believe what is respectable and decent, and nobody else does," Stock snaps sharply. "That's why they hate me, why they want me destroyed. If everybody in this world was exactly like me, we would have an almost... More >>>