Veterans' Day

A haiku: We stood together For Liberty and Freedom, Sacrificing all.

Once, There Was a War

Once, there was a war, a great war, a war to end all wars. For five years, the combatants savaged one another from one end of the European continent to the other. New weapons were developed, new means of increasing the horror. When it ended, it was not by victory or defeat, but by a negotiated armistice that took effect on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Peace negotiations dragged on for another year and the terms finally imposed virtually insured that the peace would not endure. And the peace did not endure.

Again, there was a war, and it was a war of such global extent as to be termed a world war. New weapons and tactics provided new means of inflicting punishment. Ironically, this war was ended by the use of a weapon of such unspeakable horror that it has not been used since. In this war, there was no doubt who won and who lost, of who were the victors and who were the vanquished. Afterward, the victors assisted the vanquished to reconstruct so that these former enemies are now among our staunchest allies.

But again, within five years, there was a war. Not a declared war but a police action in the land of the frozen Choisan. Men endured almost unendurable conditions. Men suffered. Men died. And the war was ended by a negotiated armistice. War continues to threaten while peace negotiations continue to this day almost sixty years later.

Once again, there was a war, and this one was my war. Maybe it wasn't much of a war, but the mud, the blood, the pain, and the sacrifice were as real as in any other. The troops in the field did their jobs but the politicians back home lacked the backbone to win. We were winning when they negotiated away what we and our allies had won and sent us home from where we watched our legislators abrogate treaty obligations to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

There have been two wars since then. The first was conventional. Ended by negotiation short of absolute victory, the terms of peace virtually ensured that the another war would be necessary, as it was. So, once again, we are at war, and this time it is not a war among nation states, but against shadowy organizations loyal not to any nation but to a religious ideology. Conventional strategies and tactics are of only marginal value in a fight where the primary weapon is the improvised explosive device and the primary objective is to sow destruction and reap terror among non combatants.

In this war, there can be no negotiated peace. How does one negotiate with an implacable enemy whose only desire is to see us dead? In this war, victory will come to the one who is best able to endure, and endure we must, lest we cease to be a nation. Have we the backbone to do what needs to be done and to keep doing it for however long it takes?

To Original Happiness

A good friend recently sent me an article documenting the continued gratefulness of the citizens of the city of Plzen in Czech republic to the American soldiers who liberated them at the close of World War II. It's an annual celebration and the article closes with an invitation to visit Plzen in May. I'd love to visit Plzen in May or any other time of the year. Plzen -- English spelling Pilsen -- is where they invented the beer called Pilsner, and where they continue to brew it today. In German, the word Ur means original, as in "original recipe". The word "Quel" means source, as in source of a river. Urquel therefore means "Original Source". So Pilsner Urquel is the original recipe Pilsner from the original source, the Pilsner Urquel Brauerei in Pilsen. I am a long-time fan of Pilsner Urquel. In Germany, I sought out establishments with signs advertising "Pilsner Urquel vom Fass", that is "from the barrel" or on tap. That sign has been the source of very many very pleasant evenings. Germany boasts many excellent beers, and among them many Pilsners or Pils. More than a few called Ur or original Pils. Some, like Kirner Pils and Alpirsbacher Klosterbrau, are excellent, but there is only one Pilsner Urquel, and it's the best. If you find yourself in Pilsen in May or any other time of the year, please consume at least one Pilsner Urquel in my honor. Or, if you can't make to Pilsen, feel free to consume one purchased locally. Benjamin Franklin once said that "Beer is God's way of saying He loves us, and wants us to be happy." Ben was right. Pilsner Urquel proves it.

Requiem

Every high school class has one -- the girl who is near or at the centre of everything. Known by all, if she is not in charge then she gets everything organised for the one who is. If she's not the organiser, then she's the tireless worker who makes the event or whatever happen. She has very definite ideas about what needs to be done, how it needs to be done, when it needs to be done and, if all else fails, the gumption to do it herself and to joke and cackle and make it fun. In our class, that person was Anna. No matter the activity, whether a dance, a choral performance, an operetta, or a student council election, she was part of it, usually infecting and involving a lot of others with her enthusiasm. We met during our first week of kindergarten in 1950 and remained classmates until graduation in 1963. After graduation, we saw each other only infrequently but somehow maintained the bond of shared experiences. At our most recent class reunion, all of us spent a great deal of time recounting and chortling over incidents and events long past, yet still as fresh as yesterday in our minds. Anna chortled the loudest. Anna left us last Monday. She was visiting one of her daughters, and on Sunday evening complained of a cold. On Monday morning, she failed to awaken. She leaves behind her loving husband of 44 years, four daughters, numerous grandchildren, many friends, and at least one BFF. Her death leaves a large hole in the lives of those of us privileged to be her classmates and friends. Go in peace, Anna. You left us too soon. There was never anyone like you before, and after you there shall come no other. You are missed.

Lazy Days

Leaves are beginning to fall in Northern Virginia. The trees have yet to turn, but some leaves, not knowing any better, have begun to fall and cover the back yard. It is the turning of the seasons. Some trees have the first blush of colour, some have started to go yellow, and others remain summer green. But the leaves have begun to fall. Today, Columbus Day, we celebrated European discovery of Western Hemisphere by working in the yard. My wife raked up the first leaves of autumn and I mowed our scant fifth of an acre for what I hope will be the last time this season. Each time I mow, I am freshly amazed at the number of mini-climates of which I am steward. Today, the weather was too perfect not to be outdoors. In this weather, autumn often seems better than spring, more settled, more laid back and relaxed. Days like today, joy is found in the simple and ordinary things of life -- a sunny day, an autumn breeze, and the smell of fresh cut grass. Sometimes, life just can't be more perfect.

Never Again

Several readers have been kind enough to take exception to my last post in which I expressed rage at being attacked on 9/11, rage at the perpetrators of those attacks, rage at those who persist in saying "Peace, peace!" when there is no peace, and rage at those who lack both the passion to recognise that a great wrong has been done and the resolve to see it righted.

My rage is born of passion and I am passionate about only a few things.

I am passionate in my love of this, my country, which I have served, for which I have killed, and for which I've bled and nearly been killed myself. I carry in my body scars that are the results of that passion. I always will. Whatever else, I am a soldier and will always remain so. A great evil has been and is being done to my country.

Should I not be angry? Should I not as a soldier and a citizen be resolved that this evil shall not triumph?

I am passionate in my devotion to my family, for whom I would give my life and possessions, and for whose welfare I labor daily.

Should I not be angry at any and all who seek to enslave them? Should I not be resolved to oppose all who seek such slavery with my every waking breath?

And I am passionate in my desire that evil shall not triumph. In my church, when we recite the creed that states, in part "We are called to be the church ... to seek justice and resist evil," I passionately believe in the meaning every one of those words.

Should I not be angry when I experience a great evil? Should I not be resolved that it never be allowed again?

My good friend Lash pointed out in an email earlier this week, that, in the end, my rage is less about anger and more about resolve. In his words "It would have been easy to roll over and accept our earlier great Satan's: the NAZI's, or military rule by the Japanese, or domination by the Soviet Union's Communism; but we did not take the easy way out. We didn't just give in or give up in order to avoid war and deaths. We were even willing to use our ultimate weapon to end WW-II!! Then we helped those enemies recover. Those enemies are now some of our closest allies... Also, "ISLAM" needs to be 'Judged' by free people everywhere! If 'they' (the majority of Muslims) can't see the difference between murder, freedom, individual rights, respect for other religious beliefs, then they need to be judged and dealt with harshly; just like the other Great Satan's."

We must maintain our resolve, if not our anger, and never forget and NEVER LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN"

That Day

“Dies illa, Dies irae, Calamitatis et miseriae” (That day, day of wrath, calamity and suffering...) Gabriel Faure, Requiem.

This morning, I raised the American flag over my small suburban lot and said a prayer of remembrance. It is 9/11. It is time to remember, and in my memory, September 11, 2001 remains as vivid as yesterday.

On that day, I was at work in the Pentagon. At 9:38 am, I was less than 200 feet from where the right engine of American Airlines Flight 77 tore through C ring before coming to rest against the wall across A-E drive. I smelled the smoke. I saw the fire. I stepped over debris as I exited the building. Outside, I watched as the victims were cared for.

When I learned that what I had experienced was the result of a deliberate act, I was enraged. I remain so. I am enraged that my country was attacked in the name of 'a religion of peace'. Neither terror nor mass murder can ever be part of any rational definition of peace, nor can they ever.

I am enraged.

I am enraged that it took less than six weeks for our elected representatives to start speaking of compromise and negotiation rather than retaliation against those whose sole objective is to obliterate us as a nation. We negotiate. We compromise. We appease. We accommodate. They want to kill us.

I am enraged!

I am enraged that no one in the Islamic world has come forward to condemn these acts of murder for what they are. It's been nine years.

I am enraged!

I am enraged that so many of our priests, ministers, and bishops have joined our pettifogging Congress in blaming us, the victims, for this unprovoked attack. Pale comfort, that.

I am enraged!

I am enraged that even today, we are letting ourselves to be bullied into building a shrine to the religion whose teachings led to the despicable acts of 9/11 at the site of one of those attacks.

I am enraged!

And I am enraged that we cringe so much in fear of the Islamic world that we refuse to advance our rights as a free people living in a free nation. Giving in to bullying is the moral equivalent of “paying protection” in Chicago and only benefits the bullies.

I am enraged.

Everything I ever needed to know about Islam, I learned on 9/11 in the Pentagon. Nothing since then has changed my mind.

And I am enraged!