The Tale of Sir Harry The Brave And His Princess Bride

as told to Paul Mauro, most noble squire

Once upon a time, in a city by the sea, a prince and his princess faced great peril from a horde of monstrous evildoers. 

The prince, whose curls were red as the fires of old, was as one who knew no fear; his bride, the most beautiful in the land, wore a gown of shimmering gold. 

Together, they braved every trial placed before them, stoic and courageous to the last, wending their way to hearthside, safe and sound, quiet and peaceful… to live happily ever after.

Yeah, um, no.  Actually, it didn’t happen that way.

As we’ve all heard by now, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex (didn’t he renounce his titles or something?) are claiming that on Tuesday night, after leaving an event in Manhattan’s midtown, they were pursued by paparazzi in a “near catastrophic” car chase that went on for two hours.

A high-speed chase.  In midtown Manhattan.  For two hours.  

With an NYPD escort.

Gotcha.

Let’s start at the beginning.  Harry and Meghan were leaving a swanky gala at which Meghan had received the top honor, something known as the “Women of Vision” award. 

The nation’s top “woman of vision?”  Meghan Markle?  Did I miss something?  Was this at the Friar’s Club?

Whatever.  They then jumped into their waiting car – driven by private security – for what would likely have been a 15-minute ride to a residence on the Upper East Side. 

But then – the monsters descended.  There be dragons!  With cameras.  To take pictures.

Zounds. Flee for your life!

There may never in history have been a pair who enjoys the spotlight more than these two (no matter what they claim).  Their move to Beverly Hills was to enter the film world, after all.

So no, the photographers weren’t the issue.  Here’s what likely happened.

Most celebrities will deal with photographers (in fact, most want their picture taken.  They do call it show business, right?).   What they don’t want, however, is anyone to know where they live (the reporting suggests Harry and Meghan were heading to a residence they own). 

This is not unreasonable.  The Upper East Side is townhouse-central.  The pair likely has a brownstone there – which means, no lobby or doorman.  This is hard to secure, and could make them a target of not just paparazzi, but potentially bothersome crowds or worse (my advice would’ve been a doorman building with an interior parking lot, but the royals never ask me these things).

In an attempt to shake off the trailing photographers, the pair’s driver was likely told not to return home until he lost their pursuers.  And by the by, we wish to be home soon, my good man.

Cue the cat-and-mouse that resulted in the Duke and Duchess of Woke finally deciding to seek refuge in the 19^th Precinct (“Hey, we were only kidding about that whole defund thing!”), where a startled desk sergeant probably asked them if they wanted to file a complaint for Stalking 3 (“intentionally engages in a course of conduct directed at such person which is likely to cause such person to reasonably fear physical injury…”) or Reckless Endangerment 2 (“engages in conduct which creates a substantial risk of serious physical injury to another person”).

Now, the two NYPD escort cars involved in all this were almost certainly just a precautionary measure assigned to shadow the transit of a high-profile couple whose public presence could cause disruption (traffic issues, crowds, etc). 

This is always a tricky call.  The PD doesn’t want to be seen as playing favorites (and again, I believe Harry is technically a civilian now, unless there’s a ceremony to defrock him involving Excalibur or something).  On the other hand, the cops don’t want to be the last to find out that traffic on Sixth Avenue is frozen because of a crowd of gawkers at a celebrity-studded event.

So in light of what occurred, it would seem that the PD made the right call to cover them for the short trip.

But if there were truly any “near catastrophic” conditions created, it probably wasn’t due to the paparazzi – but rather the reckless attempt to flee them.  With the patrol escort just trying to keep up.

In truth, I doubt any “near catastrophic” conditions occurred.  A high-level police source reported that there were no 911 calls, no reports of cars colliding, and that the incident “definitely wasn’t two hours.”  (And if this caravan was anywhere near what’s been contended, there would’ve been 911 calls, believe me).

Eventually, our knight errant and his distressed damsel were able to gain refuge in a chariot of gold (a yellow cab) which circled awhile (reportedly still pursued by two paparazzi) then returned to the 19^th (did they tip? Bestow indulgences?).  After that, they reportedly “made their own way home.” 

Wait – as in, they walked?  On the street?  After all that? 

In a gold-plated dress that could be spotted from Jupiter?

Why do I get the feeling some cop coming in for meal break got a sudden assignment involving the patrol van?

And thus, dear readers, endeth the fable.

The End