Future historians will have to determine when it all began, but American society now finds itself smack dab in the middle of a period that can best be called the Conspiracy Era. No event is too small, too remote or too insignificant to attract the conspiracy aficionado, who can be counted on to supply, within moments of any national tragedy, a creative but sinister explanation for the event. More often than not, the theory advanced is one contrary to logic, official explanation and even the laws of physics.

The era began, perhaps, following the 1963 assassination of President Jack Kennedy. Although an investigation commission, composed of some of the nations most respected citizens, concluded that JFK was killed by a lone gunman, a cottage industry was quickly formed to provide us with more than 500 other theories, at least some of which were confirmed by a sizable number of otherwise clear-headed citizens who normally wouldn't believe there was such a thing as a two-headed cow without first seeing it.

Since the Warren Commission, it seems every tragedy, whether an act of Nature or Man, has immediately produced a counter-conspiracy that is accepted by at least a large minority of Americans. This American counter-culture has had plenty to keep it busy since the tragedies at Ruby Ridge, Waco and more recently, Oklahoma City. When there was a momentary pause awaiting a new theory for these tragedies, we have had the theater of the absurd in a Los Angeles courtroom, where O.J.

Simpson's misnamed Dream Team has produced a long series of illogical jurisprudence nightmares.

I'm proud to say we have our own Conspiracy Culture right here in Missouri, where events that appear to have perfectly logical explanations are given a new twist by seasoned practitioners. With the state's long history of harboring colorful personalities, from Jesse James to Pretty Boy Floyd, from Daniel Boone to Yogi Berra, the Show Me State is a shoo-in for the conspiracy culture.

Take the state's two historic floods in just three years. One would normally suspect that record amounts of water running down the state's major rivers would be caused by an excessive amount of rainfall. Well, that's all you know. There are several conspiracy theories for this seeming act of nature that deserve careful public consideration.

I suppose you think it's just coincidence that the 1993 flood occurred just as voters were giving approval to casino gambling? Not on your life, Mister. That flood, and the one two years later, came after casino operators decided they could make higher profits if they didn't have to cruise the rivers, and to demonstrate how dangerous it was, the casinos bought all the surplus water they could find and floated it down the Mississippi and Missouri. One conspiracy buff swears the gaming companies even bought an entire Indian tribe, which was forced to engage in 24-hour marathon rain dances, thus adding to the overflowing waters cascading down the state.

I'll bet you didn't know there was a conspiracy going back years before House Speaker Bob Griffin ever got into legal difficulties. The Democratic leader's problems, it seems, stem from a plot hatched by his opponents who conspired to persuade Judi Moriarty to resign as Secretary of State, promising to paint her house mauve and let her son file for office after the legal deadline. When Judi was replaced by Capitol newcomer Bekki Cook, the re-election of Griffin as House Speaker was botched, and the entire state noticed. This notoriety attracted the attention of the U.S. Attorney's office in Kansas City and investigators began looking into Griffin's activities, which involved casino gambling companies. (See Conspiracy No. 1.)

Another event gives us a different conspiracy to chew on. You probably thought the reason St. Louis had to pay so much to secure the Los Angeles Rams was because fans were eager to stop attending the games of a second NFL team. Wrong. The people who put up much of the cash for the Rams are the same guys who makeup Civic Progress, a silk-stocking group of millionaire industrialists who make billions of dollars every year just for showing up at work. Embarrassed by their huge salaries in a city where poverty and crime rank as the leading industries, members of Civic Progress wanted to import a few more billionaires to share the guilt, concluding that people who can't spell Missouri but earn big bucks every year just to have their knee caps broken would assuage any residual guilt and embarrassment about being overpaid.

As Joyce Kilmer might ask: Do you think we will ever see, a tragedy without a conspiracy?

~Jack Stapleton of Kennett is the editor of the Missouri News and Editorial Service.