E book american history

American History - The Good - The Bad- The Ugly

Table of Contents
1. Wicked Cool: The hubris and high jinks of Captain Owen Honors, United States Navy, sometime
captain of the USS Enterprise.
2. Fifty years ago January 9, 1961 John F. Kennedy gave his celebrated 'A City Upon a Hill' speech.
3. An appreciation for the life of Violet Cowden, 94, died April 10, 2011. World War II aviation
pioneer.
4. The day the world began to turn upside down. March 5, 1770, Boston, Massachusetts Bay Colony.
The day the world began to turn upside down. March 5, 1770, Boston, Massachusetts Bay Colony.
5. U.S. Marine Sergeant William Woitowicz. Dead too soon at 23 in 'the place where the winds
arise'. June 7, 2011.
6. 'Our lives, our fortunes, & our sacred Honor'. Rediscovering William Whipple, New Hampshire
patriot, signer of the Declaration of Independence.
7. How one man -- known to history as 'Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne' -- lost his majesty's empire
and gave victory to the rebellious Americans. An astonishing tale.
8. Newly released de-classified documents about the 1961 failed Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba
embarrasses U.S. further.
9. Remembering the commencement of World War I, when the road to Tipperary proved to be very
long and arduous indeed, 1914.
10. 'For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the repeated risk of his life...' Marine Corporal
Dakota Meyer... recipient of the Medal of Honor. True grit.
11. About Spc. David Hickman, the last of the U.S. troops killed in Iraq. He was just 23.
12. The weakest link. PFC Bradley Manning, his court-martial, the biggest leak of classified
information in US history. Was anyone paying attention?
13. Abraham Lincoln... captivated by words, created by words, empowered by words, glorified by
words. Reflections on his Cooper Union Speech, February 27, 1860.


Wicked Cool: The hubris and high jinks of Captain Owen
Honors, United States Navy, sometime captain of the USS
Enterprise.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Let me introduce you to a cool dude, cute too, who knows how to party and had the perfect place to
do it. I'm talking about U.S. Navy Captain Owen Honors, only just relieved as commander of
America's only nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, the proud USS Enterprise.
Honors, who never met a camera he didn't like, a man determined to please his crew, liked to spend
his week preparing videos -- starring, guess who -- Captain Owen Honors, 49 year old Top Gun
pilot and decided off-color video star.
Honors had at his disposal the very best video equipment generous U.S. taxpayers could buy. His
effects were right up-to-the-minute, like having three separate screens in which (guess who?)
appeared as three different (all cool) characters. Wow!
Honors, each week determined to outdo himself on week-end XO nights (when his latest videos
were shown), somehow found time in his very busy days. The USS Entereprise, after all, was
deployed supporting the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. A man of dedication, energy, imagination he
somehow found the time to work on video ideas, plots, film venues, and a dazzling array of really
cool outfits perfectly tailored. This caring captain was determined to give his eagerly expectant
6000-person crew the very best . He certainly did, particularly in 2006-2007 when his bold ideas and
still bolder presentations took the Enterprise by storm and riveted every eye on the ship. What, they
all wondered, would their daring executive officer, then Captain Honors do next?
They never had long to wait.
There was that hot video when their cutting-edge commander simulated masturbation at his desk. As
Paris Hilton would say, "That's hot!"
What about the never-to-be-forgotten episode of two naked guys soaping each other off in the
shower. Honors was a nut for saving water... and wanted to drive home the point with eye-popping
visuals. And, to be completely politically correct, he did the same scene with two of the women of
his crew.
There was more, much more since Honors was an indefatigable guy with an unceasing appetite for
more and better; ambitious videos of which he soon became the master with the help of designated
members of his command.
There was the anal probe episode... and all the "fag" plots, pratfalls and plays. That commander...
what a cut-up.
There were the in jokes, like writing "little XO" on his you-know-what. It was hilarious, pure camp,
what a guy.
And just think, he did it all while on deployment in not one, but two war zones. How did the guy do
it, inquiring minds wanted to know.
Alas, there was irritating criticism from small minds.
It's hard to imagine... but disgracefully true... that there were members of the Enterprise crew who
found their commander's hard work and dazzling results offensive. Small minded, picayune,

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uptight... these folks made a fuss and criticized the coolest guy in the fleet. This rankled with
Honors, for he was working so hard. Why his bravura video on the "f-bomb" was pure poetry.
Really, who could object?
In a rare outburst, this commander of poise and sensitivity lashed out at his anonymous accusers:
"Over the years I've gotten several complaints about inappropriate material during these videos,
never to me personally but, gutlessly, through other channels." Gutless, indeed! If there'd been a
plank aboard the Enterprise, Honors would have been well within his rights to put the snivelers on it.
Instead, he opened one of his last videos with these mild, entirely justified words: "This evening, all
of you bleeding hearts... why don't you just go ahead and hug yourself for the next 20 minutes or so,
because there's a really good chance you're gonna be offended."
That's the man in a nutshell, empathetic, soft spoken.
Still one of these snivelers (probably gay), not yet identified by name, took (inexplicable) offense...
go figure... sending the (to him) offending tapes to the Navy Inspector General.
Where all hell broke lose.
Despite the fact that Owen Honors was well-known throughout the Navy, despite the fact that he
had a high visibility command; despite 3,400 flight hours in 31 types of aircraft... despite a chestful
of bona fide awards and medals... the Navy moved expeditiously because it knew it had a real hot
potato on its hands.
Navy media releases quickly went from "the videos were intended to be humorous" to
"inappropriate"... to the announcement Captain Honors was relieved of his command as the Navy
initiated, behind the scenes, the steps required to cashier him from the service he loved and had
served throughout his life. My how the mighty had fallen!
Certain Navy personnel and those persons wedded to the good old days of fag baiting and the
humiliation and degradation of women, predictably launched a campaign to save the Captain and his
wayward views. They tried to convince by asking what was the big deal after all; the views
advanced in the Captain's high tech videos were commonplace, nothing to write home about, the way
"everyone" thought.
Exactly.
This is why the Navy Department is to be commended on taking (reasonably) prompt action to lance
the infection and proclaim zero tolerance for mocking good sailors, their sexuality and gender.
The Navy is moving fast now to get just-suspended Captain Honors out of public view, to bury this
still young officer with talent and skills to burn and ensure that he becomes the complete
non-person, He is, after all, a total embarrassment... the story breaking at the worst possible time, as
the Navy shows that it can, with good humor and in good order, nimbly move into the post "don't
ask, don't tell" era.
There is, the Navy signals, no place in this new order for Captain Honors, once absolute lord of all
he surveyed. Such a man so powerful and so lacking in judgement is now an inconvenient artifact of
an age and state of mind the Navy wants firmly, irrevocably behind it.



Fifty years ago January 9, 1961 John F. Kennedy gave his
celebrated 'A City Upon a Hill' speech.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
It is fitting and proper that we recall the great events of our Republic, events that remind us of where
we have been and exhort us to where we are going.
Such an event was President-Elect John Fitzgerald Kennedy's celebrated speech known as "A City
Upon a Hill."
Kennedy made this speech just days before he assumed his "high and lonely" office in the capital.
And, as so often in one of his speeches, there were many elements present, some celestial, others
less serious, even puckish, all quintessential Kennedy.
Who was there?
First of all, every politician in politician-filled Massachusetts was present for this speech, which was
given in the Victorian ornateness of the House of Representatives in a joint session with the state
Senate.
Each and every one of these politicos, each one in his best bib and tucker, came to learn, came to
scrutinize, came to imitate, came to see what made this oh-so-favored son of Boston tick. So they
could do it, too. This speech, this whole shebang, was an opportunity to learn from the very best, and
all were determined to make the most of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Who wasn't there?
Conspicuously absent was the man who, more than anyone other than Kennedy himself, made it all
possible. Joseph P. Kennedy it seems did not attend. Already, the Kennedy's knew, no one more
than Joe himself, that he was to be, had to be, the power behind the throne if the new regime was to
flourish. His reputation as wire-puller, boot legger, with a whiff of Nazi sympathy made it necessary
for him to remain firmly behind the scenes. Joe was ok with this. It was the devil's deal he made for
his son and the glory of Kennedy.
Who wrote the speech?
It seems, though absolute certainty may stay elusive, that Kennedy's speech writer Theodore
Sorensen wrote this speech. If so, it would hardly be surprising. Sorensen had a gift for simple,
graceful prose as he had proved in the writing of "Profiles in Courage". Sorensen was coy
throughout his life (he died in 2010) about whether or not he wrote this Pulitzer Prize winning book;
(he was constantly, annoyingly asked). He always said no... but the cognoscenti doubted.
Sorensen was the ultimate loyalist; he was accustomed to giving his all... and he wrote prose the
President-Elect liked and could deliver with ease, elegance, and persuasion.
Why John Winthrop?
Governnor John Winthrop was a man of parts, a thoughtful man, a man of guts and grace, a man in
communion with God who needed all his wits not just for getting his people to the new world of
Massachusetts... but making sure they knew what to do when they arrived. It was a matter of urgency
and the deepest possible significance.
Towards this end he wrote in 1630 a document which he called "A Model of Christian Charity." It
was in fact a series of admonitions about how citizens of this clean, unblemished new world should



behave. And John Winthrop minced no words.
One can picture the scene as Governor Winthrop assembled his flock on the main deck of that little
ship of fate and read the portentous words that defined who they were, what they were doing, and
why it mattered so. It was a scene of importance and they all knew it; they gave their leader their full
attention as he moved to the ringing conclusion he gave them and to the ages to come:
"For we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us. So
that if we shall deal falsely with our God in this work we have undertaken, and so cause Him to
withdraw His present help from us, we shall be made a story and a by-word through the world."
Governor John Winthrop was determined this should not happen... and John Fitzgerald Kennedy
was determined, too, as he plucked this phrase and launched it as a missile into a future as
murky,difficult, and grave as Winthrops's.
And so the President-Elect walked purposefully to the podium, his every move and action the
subject of scrutiny and comment.
He was, much of America thought, too young (43), too inexperienced, with a religious affiliation
that troubled many and appalled some. He had much to prove... but John F. Kennedy was an
historian. He understood History, and on this day he knew he would make it. Thus he began,
revealing his vision for the politicians in attendance, the whole of Massachusetts, and for every
citizen in the nation he was about to govern.
There were words of pride as when he cited Pericles' resounding boast to the Athenians: "We do not
imitate -- for we are a model to others."
There were his words of inspiration and hope that the "enduring qualities of Massachusetts" as
embodied in "the common threads woven by the Pilgrim and the Puritan, the fisherman and the
farmer, the Yankee and the immigrant" would truly merge and renew the rich heritage of the
Commonwealth, now atrophied and in danger.
There was the famous charge to all the legislators and statesmen before him... and all those who
were watching from afar, reminding them all that "For of those to whom much is given, much is
required."
And then, finally, there were the 4 famous questions:
"First were we truly men of courage...
Secondly, were we truly men of judgement....
Third, were we truly men of integrity....
Finally, were we truly men of dedication -- with an honor mortgaged to no single individual or
group....?"
Humbly, he then asked for God's help in this undertaking "but aware that on earth His will is worked
by men." Yes, he asked for the help of all "as I embark on this new and solemn journey."
Then, his words hanging in the air, the applause of his audience rising, he descended from the
podium and moved on, setting out upon his voyage; a man aware of the nation's great trust and his
great responsibility.



An appreciation for the life of Violet Cowden, 94, died April
10, 2011. World War II aviation pioneer.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
President Harry Truman once remarked that there is nothing new under the sun except the history
you haven't learned yet. How right he was, and nothing proves the point so well as this appreciation
for the life of World War II aviation pioneer,Violet Crowden and all the other 1,078 Women
Airforce Service Pilots.
Here is the crucial problem they helped to solve:
When the United States entered World War II, (December 1941), it placed its massive
manufacturing and industrial capacity at the service of the Allies. This meant producing aircraft in
the quantities needed to overwhelm Germany and Japan thereby ensuring the fastest possible
victory. But there was a problem here.
The war drained America of its male pilots; they were needed at the front, to fly the crucial
missions. But there weren't enough male pilots in the country to replace them. That left a huge
problem that had to be solved and had to be solved fast: how to get the planes being manufactured to
the landing fields worldwide where our "boys" desperately needed them?
The solution?
Cherchez la femme, particularly the thousands of American women who were licensed pilots. They
were the ace in the hole... though they had to get through a mountain of male skepticism and doubt
before they got the opportunity to show America and the world that they could do their "bit" too.
Creation of the WASP.
Even before America entered the war far-seeing women were at work on solving problems that
would occur when she did. Two famous women pilots -- Jacqueline "Jackie" Cochran and test-pilot
Nancy Harkness Love -- independently submitted proposals for the use of female pilots in
non-combat situations. These proposals were submitted to the US Army Air Forces (USAAF),
predecessor to the United States Air Force, or USAF. They rightly believed the war would spread
and that the United States must be prepared when it did.
Their (separate) proposals were rejected by General H. "Hap" Arnold, commander of the USAAF.
Poor "Hap" was hapless. Not least because Eleanor Roosevelt, America's activist First Lady,
intervened and strenuously so. Her involvement triggered the usual winks, nudges and (privately)
malicious digs and comments; why couldn't she just give teas in the Blue Room like all the First
Ladies before her?
But that wasn't Eleanor Roosevelt's way and the USAAF got a whiff of what one determined
woman could do to help other determined women help America. In due course, America's need for
pilots trumped the arguments against female pilots... and so, bit by bit, women were integrated into
the services. Some ferried new planes to their destinations; others towed targets for aerial gunnery
practice; still others were flight instructors.
The "Big Cheese" syndrome.
But if women could do men's work, they also suffered from the same turf battles. Who was going to
be the Big Cheese of these proceedings -- "Jackie" Cochran or Nancy Love? Cochran was in
England volunteering to fly for the Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA). While she was gone, "Hap"



Arnold decided to go with Nancy Love's proposal. "Jackie" Cochran, back from England,
immediately made An Issue of this decision... while Hapless Hank Arnold claimed ignorance...
anything to cool Cochran down.
Arnold's solution was classic: both proposals were accepted and a final decision postponed. Of
course both tenacious, determined, bureaucratically adept women continued the battle for supreme
control. In July 1943, Cochran, famous and better connected, got what she wanted. With Arnold's
assistance Cochran became director of the Women Airforce Service Pilots. No one knew better than
General Arnold why they were called WASPs.
Violet Cowden at work for America.
While these internecine battles were playing themselves out, the recruitment of women pilots got
underway... and the results were astonishing. More than 25,000 women applied for WASP service.
Fewer than 1,900 were accepted and just 1,078 of them got their wings... including Violet Cowden,
who served the WASPs in 1943 and 1944. Cowden was typical of the kinds of women who became
WASPs and the constant obstacles they faced.
Born October 1,1916 in Bowdle, South Dakota, in 1936 she earned a teaching certificate from what
was then the Spearfish Normal School, in Spearfish, S.D. She then stayed in Spearfish to teach first
grade. There, she rode her bicycle 6 miles each way to a local airfield for her first flying lessons.
After Pearl Harbor was attacked, Cowden, by then a licensed pilot, asked to join the Civil Air Patrol
but got no reply. That was typical. She tried again and applied to the Women's Flying Training
Detachment, an early incarnation of the WASPs. She was one of the 1830 lucky applicants and
reported to Avenger Field in Sweetwater, Texas for six months of rigorous training.
There she discovered that because WASPs were civilian employees and not military, they had to
pay for their own food, lodging, and (generally ill-fitting) attire. Barely 5 foot tall Violet Cowden
was installed in a men's Size 44 for the duration.
Violet Cowden faced the snubs and slights the way most WASPs did -- by ignoring the fact they
were ignored and getting on with the job. They knew something about America's pilots that these
male pilots often forgot: they needed these women and their often overlooked skills. It was a simple
as that.
Always an afterthought, Cowden worked seven days a week, sleeping on commercial flights that
ferried her to and from her crucial business. There was hardly ever a good word for a dangerous job
well done... and remember what the WASPs did could be very dangerous indeed. Thirty eight
WASPs died in accidents during training or on duty.
And despite all they did, when in late 1944 male pilots began coming home in significant numbers,
the WASPs were, with hardly a word of thanks or recognition, simply dismissed. For Violet Cowden
that day came in December, 1944 when the Army dissolved the WASPs altogether and told them to
go home. For Cowden this was the "worst day of my life"... but it was a man's world then... and this
was how things were done. It was America at our crudest and most insensitive, and it is painful to
recall that our nation treated these patriots so.
Recognition, at last.
If there contemporaries ignored and overlooked them, later generations did what they could to
bestow proper recognition and acknowledgement for a job well done. President Jimmy Carter signed
in 1977 legislation to give WASPs full military status for their service. On July 1, 2009 President
Barack Obama awarded the WASP the Congressional Gold Medal and said, "I am honored to finally
give them some of the hard-earned recognition they deserve."



As for Violet Cowden, having been kicked out of the war, the WASPs dissolved, she got the only
job in aviation she could... behind the ticket counter of Trans World Airlines, waiting for history to
catch up. Perhaps now it has...



The day the world began to turn upside down. March 5, 1770,
Boston, Massachusetts Bay Colony. The day the world
began to turn upside down. March 5, 1770, Boston,
Massachusetts Bay Colony.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's note. To get the most from this article, you should listen to the words and music for a tune
called "The World Turned Upside Down". It's an English ballad first published in 1643 as a protest
against the policies of Parliament relating to the celebration of Christmas. Parliament under the
Puritans believed the holiday should be a solemn occasion and outlawed the more raucous
celebrations beloved of the English. There are (as with many protest songs) many versions of the
lyrics. It is sung to the tune of another ballad entitled "When the King Enjoys His Own Again."
You will find several recordings of the music and the various lyrics in any search engine.
A day like every other, a day like none other, March 5, 1770.
Imagine you are in Boston, Massachusetts Bay Colony. It is March 5, 1770 a typical late winter day,
cold, frosty, where the bone-chilling winds off the Atlantic go right through you, the streets (such as
they are) byways of grit and mud making travel hazardous to man and beast... and to the soldiers of
the king, George III.
Men beginning to call themselves patriots were affronted by these soldiers, aggravated by their
presence, eager to see the back of them. They had been sent to help local officials enforce the
Townshend Acts, a series of laws passed by the British Parliament with a special eye on the always
vociferous Bay Colony residents. The Townshend program was to make colonial governors and
judges independent of local control, to create a more effective means of enforcing compliance with
trade regulations, and to establish the controversial precedent that Parliament had the right to tax the
colonies. Then, as now, the very thought of dipping into their pockets turned many otherwise
law-abiding men from Loyalists to oppressed, mistreated, ranting, canting "patriots", clothed in
righteousness and outrage.
Colonists objected that the Townsend Acts were a violation of the natural, charter, and constitutional
rights of British subjects in the colonies. The Massachusetts House of Representatives,
headquartered in Boston, began a campaign against the Townshend Acts by sending a petition to the
king. It also originated what came to be called the Massachusetts Circular Letter to the other colonial
assemblies, asking each and all to join the resistance movement.
In Great Britain, Lord Hillsborough, recently appointed to the newly created office of Colonial
Secretary, blinked. He was alarmed... and he showed it, ordering colonial governors in America to
dissolve the colonial assemblies if they responded to the Massachusetts Circular Letter. He also
directed Massachusetts Governor Francis Bernard to have the Massachusetts House rescind the
Circular Letter. The House indignantly refused to comply. Loyalists were adamant that the colonies
comply; "patriots" were adamant that their rights as freeborn Englishmen were being trampled, It
was not time yet for revolution, but farseeing gentlemen in the quiet of their homes considered the
options and revolution (once unthinkable) was one of them...
The Townshend Acts were so unpopular in Boston that customs officials requested naval and
military assistance. In May, 1768 the 50-gun HMS Romney arrived in Boston Harbor. Many
colonists, even the most loyal to the crown, saw this as a provocation as they did the June 10, 1768
seizure of the Liberty, a sloop owned by Boston's richest citizen and leading merchant, John



Hancock. He was charged with smuggling. He probably was... but that didn't stop colonials from
being further outraged. To make matters even worse, the captain of HMS Romney impressed local
sailors into the King's Navy, a proven way of augmenting a ship's complement and infuriating the
colonials.
The atmosphere was deteriorating rapidly and the word "revolution" could be heard under the breath
of aggrieved Bostonians.
Then things got far worse, fast. Lord Hillsborough again was the culprit. Seemingly intent upon
fomenting real trouble, his lordship instructed General Thomas Gage, British Commander-in-Chief
for North America, to send any force he thought necessary to pacify the good people of
Massachusetts. On October 1, 1768, the first of four regiments of the British army began
disembarking in Boston. Relations deteriorated despite the fact that two regiments were removed in
1769. Such was the state of affairs that leaving even a single soldier would have been regarded as
brute force, completely unacceptable.
Predictably each side (for now there were defined adversaries) looked for ways to trip up the other,
while claiming complete innocence and superior morality. Clashes, incidents, fiery language, claims
and counter claims were the order of the way. It was just a matter of time until Something Happened.
It did, March 5, 1770.
The Boston Massacre.
A young wigmaker's apprentice named Edward Gerrish brought matters to a head. He claimed that
British Captain Lieutenant John Goldfinch had neglected to pay his overdue bill. Such was the
poisoned environment in Boston that this trivial accusation was the match required to light all the
combustible elements at hand. The irony is that Goldfinch had paid the bill the day before...
Mere facts, however, were irrelevant. The colonials were angry... and the British certain to defend
themselves if needed. As the evening of March 5 progressed, a crowd grew, becoming restive,
belligerent, harassing the soldiers with snowballs and small objects. Private Hugh Montgomery was
knocked down and when he recovered his feet, he fired his musket...
In the next few seconds, three Americans died instantly -- ropemaker Samuel Gray, mariner James
Caldwell, and a mixed race sailor named Crispus Attucks. There were other victims, too. And so the
patriots had what every revolution must have: innocent victims... and in sufficient quantity, too, to
incite revenge and even more outrage.
In due course, the British commander, Captain Thomas Preston, his men, and four men who were in
the Customs House and allegedly fired shots were indicted for murder. No one could be found to
defend them.... until the leading patriot of all, John Adams, made the difficult and unpopular
decision to defend them. And so he did to his everlasting glory. Adams either got them acquitted or
else (in the two cases where it was clear they had fired point blank into the crowd) lower sentences.
Eleven years later, in 1781, at Yorktown, the British surrendered and so lost their last opportunity to
keep their American empire whole and intact. As the troops under Lord Cornwallis marched out, the
American musicians played "The World Turned Upside Down". And so it was...
And it all started in Boston, with what the British called a "riot" and the colonials a "massacre". Yes,
that was the event that started it all. And at last local officials, including the Massachusetts Bay
Transportation Authority, are cleaning up and rehabilitating this historic site where colonials, in
Massachusetts are least, stopped thinking they were anything other than Americans ,thereby
ensuring the king never did get back his own...



U.S. Marine Sergeant William Woitowicz. Dead too soon at 23
in 'the place where the winds arise'. June 7, 2011.
By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's note. This is a sombre article on a sombre subject. I have chosen the deeply moving music
"Swing low, sweet chariot" to set the mood. There are many fine versions of this well-known tune
written by Wallis Willis in 1862.
I have chosen the one by Kevin Maynor. You will find it in any search engine. Listen to it without
interruption of any kind. This powerful song deserves nothing less.
Mellifluous language.
The Persian language is a language of poetry and culture. It is fluid, nuanced, and often
extraordinarily beautiful. So evocative are its words that once bestowed on a person, place or thing,
these matters, hum-drum anywhere else, are turned as if by magic, into words of lyric beauty.
Such a fortunate place is Badghis, a province in the northwest of the nation of Afghanistan. It is a
place of winds, many bruising and destructive. Other places, like Chicago, the "windy city," have
been blunt about its disposition. Badjhis prefers a softer touch that makes the point, but does so
without a candor that can be abrasive.
And so this place came to be called the land "where the winds arise" and it is where U.S. Marine
Sergeant William J. Woitowicz fell never to rise again, cut down by small-arms fire and so released
so early from the thrall of life.
Where he fell, how he fell, just what happened when,are the pedestrian details of an incident soon to
be forgotten and without any significance to anyone but William J. Woitowicz. He expired in the
full bloom of youth on an ordinary day, where the quotidian was mundane, banal, commonplace to a
degree, and where absolutely nothing done that day was unusual or important... except this
particular sergeant. For him that day was everything...
From a place far, far away.
Ever been to Groton, Massachusetts or its near neighbor Westford? If not, make plans to visit. The
fall is best, since those autumnal days of colored leaves and crisp, clear skies showcase these typical
New England towns best. These are places so scenic, your finger automatically takes the pictures
you will share with friends along with your decided opinion on how nice these previously unknown
places really are.
No one was more of these serene bedroom communities than William Woitowicz. He knew them
down to his fingertips, and they knew the brawny athlete with the killer smile and winning ways.
People just plain liked him... and he, without much wondering why, liked them in return. It was a
formula for many of life's happynesses. Make a note that when your next child or grandchild is born
to ask the fairies to give unstintingly of charm and an inquisitive mind. Woitowicz was gifted with
both and showed just how far they could take a likely laddie.
For such a boy, the world was his oyster; everything possible, the very best that could be had in the
great Republic.
That is why his decision to join the Marines directly following high school graduation in 2007 came
as a shock. It was not the career path of choice parents like Kevin and Rosemary Woitowicz could
understand, approve or recommend.



But their son (remember that killer smile) soon showed his "devastated" parents why his decision
made sense -- for him. And, of course, in this situation, as so many others, parents, even strongly
disapproving parents, could in the end only concur and offer heartfelt wishes. And so they did for
Billy Woitowicz. He was now en route to his strange destiny.
He now had the kind of lifestyle that exults Marines and causes lesser folk, needing their comforts,
to cringe. But Woitowicz, having made his choice, was determined to turn himself not merely into a
superb Marine, but the most cheerful Marine ever; it was an unusual combination... and it did not go
unnoticed. Billy, in the Marines as at Groton-Dunstable Regional High School, was noticed; people
kept their eyes on the man, he could be counted on. That means everything to Marines, for whom the
word "buddy" constitutes a religion.
They needed him and all the other meritorious Marines everywhere there was America's business to
transact. But it could only send this particular Marine to one high priority place... and the place they
needed him yesterday was Afghanistan, the basket case of nations, where people like Billy were
gold, not least because the locals soon understood his smile was for them, too.
And, by the way, he volunteered for Afghanistan; he knew the "basket case" needed what he had in
excess, and to spare: humanity.
June 7, 2011, a day like any day.
June 7 had "routine" written all over it. And so it started... Billy was deployed as part of the Second
Marine Special Operations Battalion of the Marine Special Operations Regiment, based at Camp
Lejeune, North Carolina.
No one expected anything to go wrong; everyone was prepared in case it did. And then, in an instant,
it went terribly, terribly wrong for Billy Woitowicz; the gym-tailored body he had been so anxious
to perfect, lay face down in the dust of one of the most miserable countries on earth his hair dappled
with blood and blasted expectations.
No one, despite their sense and exhaustive training, could quite take it in: Billly Woitowicz had gone
before... "Swing low, sweet chariot..." and he had his orders from the highest source:
"Well if you get there before I do, Coming for to carry me home. Tell all my friends I'm a coming
too, Coming for to carry me home."
Carried home.
The people of Groton and Westford did Bilie proud. Never in their long history of service, patriotism
and support had these communities poured out their pride and gratitude, their grief and pain for any
citizen as they did for this citizen.
The Marine Corps, more than a career, his vocation, advanced him to the rank of sergeant and the
Purple Heart. From the Corps he loved and served unto death this meant everything.
The flags at half mast, the bunting, the remnants of the heartfelt ceremonies civil and religious are all
apparent, And on another day of "war as usual" Billie abides in peace in the town he knew so well,
amongst the citizens who liked and loved him. Here, in tranquility he graces the ages with his
all-embraciing killer smile taken too soon from us in the land where the wind arises.



'Our lives, our fortunes, & our sacred Honor'. Rediscovering
William Whipple, New Hampshire patriot, signer of the
Declaration of Independence.
By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. I have found the perfect music to accompany this article. It is called
"Washington's March". It is an elegant piece of 18th century music, balanced, refined, symmetrical,
as suitable for a drawing room as for an afternoon's review of the troops.
It reminds us that George Washington and all his officers were gentlemen born and bred, citizens of
substance who undertook the pronounced hazard of revolution because that was the only way open
to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." They risked everything...
You can find this tune in any search engine. It appears as part of a splendid collection entitled
"Music of the American Revolution: The Birth of Liberty." Sadly the composer of "Washington's
March" is unknown. He deserves recognition, too...
Steps to glory... or the gallows.
It is important to remember one thing about history: at the time it is actually occurring only God
Himself knows the outcome. No person present can do anything more than speculate on what may
happen. You must remember this, for the people you encounter in this article were each and every
one making the most bold, audacious and rash decision of their lives when, on August 2, 1776 most
of the delegates to the Second Continental Congress, meeting in Philadelphia in the Pennsylvania
State House (now Independence Hall), signed the Declaration of Independence. William Whipple,
one of the three representatives from New Hampshire, signed that day. We can imagine the scene...
Every man present, as his turn came to sign, would have had, must have had a moment of the utmost
sobriety, even dread. He would have thought of the terrible risk he was taking to bring forth the new
nation. His mind would have touched on the people he loved.... the people who loved and trusted
him. As he moved up in the queue he could so clearly see the beloved aspects of his life, each and
every one of them, now with his own signature in the most perilous danger.
But though there had to be profound reflections and profound anxiety, there was in that place, on
that date, emanating from each man present and all the citizens there represented, a deep certainty
that what they were doing was profoundly right, proper and necessary.... and as they took pen in
hand, they wrote their names, if not so grandiloquently as John Hancock, yet with the same ringing
belief...
They did this for liberty! For freedom! For the chance of some happiness in the shortness of life.
And, most of all, to create a nation which would provide a living model, where the good of all would
always be the goal, not the good of a few. They stood for a new way of governing men and
arranging their affairs... they stood for a nation they insisted be great!
Thus did William Whipple, in sober reflection and invoking God's will be done, sign the most
important document in the short history of mankind, and, thus committed, did he resolve to strive, to
turn brilliant rhetoric into vital reality.
About William Whipple, Jr., born January 14, 1730.
Whipple was born in Kittery, Maine, now famous for its many factory-outlet stores. He went to the
sea, like so many Mainers, having studied in the common school the essentials necessary to become
a merchant. He became a Ship's Master by the age of twenty-three, and in 1759 moved to



Portsmouth, New Hampshire where he established a merchant partnership with his brother. In either
1770 or 1771 (the record is unclear) he married his first cousin Katherine Moffat; they must have
been in love, and adamant, for such matches between those so closely related were not
recommended. But, of course, without documentation, we can only speculate and may thereby
deduce the wrong conclusion.
The people's choice.
In 1775 Whipple, a well-established businessman of 45, was elected to represent his town at the
Provincial Congress. In 1776 New Hampshire dissolved the Royal government and reorganized with
a House of Representatives and an Executive Council. Whipple became a Council member, and a
member of the Committee of Safety, and was elected to the Continental Congress, serving through
1779. There he was one of a group of men who worked hard, staying out of sight, achieving results,
letting others take the credit. He was chairman of the marine, foreign relations and quartermaster
committees and served on the committee which gathered intelligence on the British. Such a
committee at such a time goes only to the most trusted of men.
While still in Congress, Whipple was appointed one of two brigadiers general; John Stark got the
other appointment. The appointment came at a time of the utmost danger. The Americans had
evacuated vital Fort Ticonderoga, the British having then taken it over. From this key strategic
position, General "Gentleman Johnny" Burgoyne meant to wreck havoc. General Whipple meant to
ensure he didn't.
Burgoyne was everything Whipple was not: a braggart, popinjay, condescending man who believed
the Americans were there for one reason and one reason only: to provide him a step ladder to wealth,
deference, renown. Whipple just got on with the job of defeating the man who never dreamt his
defeat was possible. The result was the pivotal Battle of Saratoga, where the Americans not only
defeated Burgoyne (thereby motivating France and Spain to enter the war on the side of the
insurgents) but ended the Gentleman's vainglorious career. He never had another military command;
Whipple did. Appropriately, Whipple was accorded the honor of being one of the two American
representatives assigned to working out the terms of capitulation. A victorious Burgoyne would
have been contemptuous and insulting on such an occasion. Whipple handled the situation quite
differently, although all knew how important the victory just obtained.
One more anecdote about Whipple at this time must be told. Like many officers Whipple had slaves;
one in particular, named Prince, went to the war with his master. Before an engagement expected to
be difficult, Whipple freed him upon Prince saying that he could only fight for freedom if he himself
were free. Whipple felt the full force of this unanswerable argument, and made Prince a free man on
the spot.
Whipple's career both during and after the Revolution flourished, despite the fact that his health was
uncertain, his heart weak. It because of this heart that he died. As Associate Justice of the Superior
Court of New Hampshire he was required to ride circuit. One day while doing so, he fainted and fell
from his horse to his death. Right up to the last moment of life, he worked for the good of the people,
quietly, resolutely, obscurely, dying November 28, 1785.
Long overdue.
When it came for his tombstone to be made, his reserve served him poorly. Not even the fact that he
had signed the great Declaration was mentioned. Now at last, for him and for 11 other signers,
belated recognition has come. This year small bronze plaques will be added to their tombs. It's little
enough and that overdue, for those who gave so much to create and maintain our Great Republic,
now imperiled by lesser folk who not only do not know Whipple's work and legacy, but are doing
everything they can to undo it.



How one man -- known to history as 'Gentleman Johnny
Burgoyne' -- lost his majesty's empire and gave victory to
the rebellious Americans. An astonishing tale.
By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. "Gentleman Johnny" Burgoyne loved the pomp and circumstance of war.
That is very apparent from one of the greatest "swagger" portraits ever painted. It is the masterpiece
of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who captured if not the man, then the way the man wished others to see
him. To Burgoyne we may guess, even if we have no record to confirm, that that pomp and
circumstance include just the right martial music. That it stir the blood, quicken the step, and
motivate every heart to -- victory, for King and Old England.
As the tale of the Gentleman demands, only the renowned music of the celebrated "March of the
British Grenadiers" would do. Burgoyne would have known it well. Once you've found it in any
search engine, play it... more than once. Unless there is water in your tired veins, you will instantly
feel its power... and you will understand the loyal soldiers of the monarch stood tall and moved so
well as they marched to their fate. And so "Gentleman Johnny" marched to his...
Find the man in the myth.
On his deathbed, August 4, 1792, I suspect the expiring Gentleman would have known (and would
surely have rued) the fate and reputation impressed on him. He knew he would be, thanks in large
part to the unfortunate sobriquet he once found so stylish, considered a popinjay, vainglorious,
interested in the trifles of war, not its often deadly essentials. In short, the classic situation of a man
fatefully over his head. It is a situation common in history, often bringing about the most serious
consequences and world-changing realities. The question we must ask ourselves is this: does such
an evaluation do justice to the man? For history must not be merely (as Voltaire said) a pack of
tricks we living play on the dead. It must strive to be just, honest, truth-telling, not
truth-manipulating.
Facts about John Burgoyne, born 24 February, 1722.
Right from the start, fate seemed to be playing games with Burgoyne. He was born in Sutton,
Bedfordshire, into a county family with the required Baronet at its head. His mother was Anna Maria
Burgoyne, daughter of a wealthy merchant. His father... but there's the rub. The story line might
have been taken from "The History of Tom Jones, foundling," written by Henry Fieldilng in 1749.
Burgoyne's father was (legally) Captain John Burgoyne; in actual fact, it may have been milord
Bingley, who served as his godfather. When his lordship died in 1731, his will specified that
Burgoyne was to inherit his estate if his daughters had no male issue. Thus did the young Burgoyne
find himself treated like a likely lad with great expectations... but no certainties. Charles Dickens
wrote a classic on this predicament which wrecked havoc in many lives.
Burgoyne, like many future officers, was sent to Westminster School. There handsome, athletic,
high spirited, gifted with the ability to make friends and to lead boys, he flourished. Perhaps, like
many such, he peaked there; it is a common enough tragedy. But at the time things seemed very
different... and he made many friends, including Thomas Gage and Lord James Strange. What he
needed was money.... a career... and more money, in just that order.
With family help, in August, 1737 he purchased a commission (the usual way of getting one) in the
Horse Guards, a very fashionable and very expensive regiment composed of just the kind of people
he had spent his life around. His duties were light... the life congenial, not least because it enabled



him to find a rich wife, absolutely necessary to maintain the ostentatious life style he loved,
pressingly necessary because of his huge gambling debts, so characteristic of the 18th century, so
puzzling to us.
Such a man, of course, beautiful, charming, all genteel condescension and winning plausibility was
not to be denied by mere woman, no matter how well connected. Her name was Lady Charlotte
Stanley, and she was one of the great catches of her day. Her brother was Burgoyne's school friend,
Lord Strange, the heir to one of England's grandest and most historic families. Unfortunately, the
head of that family, Lord Derby, demanded more than white teeth and insinuating manners. He
nixed the marriage, whereupon in 1751 Burgoyne and lady eloped, to parental fury, the end to her
allowance... and (unthinkable!) a possible lifetime of just making do. But that wasn't Burgoyne. And
so he used his assets to best advantage... and in due course, the Burgoyne's produced their only child,
Charlotte Elizabeth, in 1754. She was the gambler's lucky chip he needed to reinstate happy (and
remunerative) relations with Lord Derby, who in due course, succumbed to Burgoyne's undeniable
charm. It wasn't enough, of course, and there was absolutely no glory to be delivered from living off
his wife's rich father.
He went back to the military where freedom from wives and debts was to be found and, to the lucky
ones, renown and bright shining fame...
Having acquired an empire, England needed the military establishment to sustain and protect it.
Wars, small, middling and international, were the order of the day, most every day. Trained officers
like Burgoyne were valued... and their peccadilloes winked at. He was (in the parlance of the day),
"honorable and gallant"... the more so as he was also in Parliament from 1768. He was leading the
charmed life of a man who had (nearly) everything, including a string of military honors and
advancements starting with the British raid on St. Malo (1758) and combating the Spanish invasion
of Portugal (1762).
His tryst with America.
Like most professional soldiers of the day, Burgoyne despised the colonials and thought they'd be
promptly defeated and put back in their place. Right from the start, at Concord, at Lexington, at
Bunker Hill this view was challenged. But it was a prejudice that persisted and was to cost him, and
his sovereign, dearly. A temper tantrum by Burgoyne in 1775, when he fulminated against the
limited opportunities he felt insufficient for his genius might have saved his eternal reputation. He
resigned and went home in a huff... but, fatefully, he returned. He thought he had to, since the
American theatre was where glory lay... and so it was -- but not for him.
And that was because of a place called Saratoga, where Burgoyne's career of happy mobility ended
in 1777 and where the United States of America as a plausible entity began.
Lord George Germain, Secretary of State for the Colonies, had a plan, a clever plan for dividing
New England from the rest of the colonies. He would send Burgoyne down the Hudson, General
Howe up the Hudson, to rendezvous at Albany and victory. Unfortunately his lordship forgot to tell
General Howe, who sat and did nothing while Burgoyne walked into a trap he thought mere
colonials could never execute. Too late he discovered American grit, learning to his chagrin that
even rebellious Britons are Britons still and that "Britons never, never shall be slaves," surrendering
his entire army of 5000 and the fate of British North America. Lord George Germain, too powerful
and well placed for blame, made sure Burgoyne was the culprit and never held another active
command,, while his lordship got the chance to muddle again -- this time at Yorktown in 1781 --
where he got another, final chance to destroy the jewel in the crown.
Burgoyne spent the remainder of his life rethinking what had happened and in writing plays... but
none of his dramatic endeavors were as compelling as the plot of his own life.



Newly released de-classified documents about the 1961
failed Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba embarrasses U.S. further.
By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. For this article of ugly disclosures I have selected a famous Cuban song of
sultry, seductive beauty... It's the famous habanera "Tu" written by composer Eduardo Sanchez de
Fuentes (born 1874) when he was just 16. I like the version by Fernando Albuerne.
In it he serenades Cuba the beautiful island of ardiente sol, the queen of all the Caribbean flowers.
You'll find this song in any search engine. Go now, find it and let this canto lindo, insinuating and
beckoning caress you. If you do, you will understand why so many love her, want her, and will do
any act, any act at all, to get her and keep her... And it's been going on like this since Christopher
Columbus discovered Cuba for Spain on 27 October 1492.
Too much promised, too little delivered.
On 22 April 1961 Immediately following the humiliating failure of the Bay of Pigs invasion,
President Kennedy asked General Maxwell D. Taylor, Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy,
Admiral Arleigh Burke and Director of Central Intelligence Allen Dulles to form the Cuba Study
Group, to learn what lessons could be derived from the failed operation. On 13 June, General Taylor
submitted the report of the Board of Inquiry to President Kennedy.
The defeat was attributed to lack of early realization of the impossibility of success by covert means,
inadequate aircraft, limitations of armaments, pilots and air attacks to attempt plausible deniability,
and, ultimately, loss of important ships and lack of ammunition.
At the time this group did its work and reported it, hundreds of the men who both made up the
invasion force and native Cubans who favored it were being tortured and killed in the most barbaric
of ways as a victorious Fidel Castro, relieved to be alive and still in power, showed what a man will
do to prove he remains El Jefe Maximo. Blood was called for and blood he got... for the isla
hermosa, sorceress, was worth it.
The CIA's report.
Doing now what it should have done before the invasion, the CIA released its report in November
1961. It was authored by CIA inspector general Lyman B. Kirkpatrick and entitled "Survey of the
Cuban Operation" and remained classified top secret until 1996. Its conclusions were:
1) The CIA exceeded its capabilities in developing the project from guerrilla support to overt armed
action without any plausible deniability. (It other words, the CIA was well and truly over its head.)
2) Failure to realistically assess risks and to adequately communicate information and decisions
internally and with other government principals.
3) Insufficient involvement of leaders of the exiles.
4) Failure to sufficiently organize internal resistance in Cuba.
5) Failure to competently collect and analyze intelligence about Cuban forces.
6) Poor internal management of communications and staff.
7) Insufficient employment of high quality staff.
8) Insufficient Spanish-speakers, training facilities and material resources.



9) Lack of stable policies and contingency plans.
In short, in plain-spoken language, they just plain didn't know what they were doing and hadn't
begun to do the necessary and essential planning that would increase the odds for success. Nothing
that should have been done had even been considered, much less accomplished.
And now, with the release of the latest batch of newly de-classified documents more of this regime
of muddle, inefficiency and glaring incompetence at the highest levels of our government is
revealed... whilst we, fascinated, wince at so much ineptitude by the officials who should have
known better but quite clearly did not.
The newest revelations.
Before telling you the latest information, just de-classified, a setting of the stage is important. Try to
remember what President Kennedy and his Cuba team wanted. They wanted to snuff Fidel Castro,
do it so no one at any time (especially Russkies) could point the (accurate) accusing finger at us...
whilst we, busy at our work, went about the happy task of installing (always with plausible
deniability) a government well disposed to Uncle Sam.
This was all fatuous, foolish and impossible to achieve... but no one told the Emperor in the White
House that his plan had no clothes. But who could tell such truths to such a president, so young, so
tender, so inexperienced. His feelings would be hurt... and no one wanted to be responsible for that.
Better to proceed, to ignominy, to the deaths, maiming and torture of hundreds than that.
What the newly de-classified documents show.
This time the documents offer rare details about the close links between the CIA and the presidents
at the time of Guatemala and Nicaragua, Miguel Ydigoras Fuentes and Luis Somoza, respectively.
First, we owe thanks to an April 2011 lawsuit filed by the independent Washington-based National
Security Archive. The nonprofit group has sought for years to de-classify all five volumes on the
invasion. With the release of these 2 volumes 4 of the 5 are now available. The group remains active
in de-classifying the fifth and last.
The newly released volumes describe how Guatemalan leader Ydigoras helped secure the training
space for the exiles in Guatemala and even wanted his own troops to participate. He was rebuffed
but let Washington know that he hoped they would back a multi-national force to fight communism
not merely in Cuba, but throughout Latin America, the better to make safe the plethora of dictators
supported by the United States and threatened by Castro and his Cuban revolution.
But gifts from dictators never come without the inevitable strings and conditions. In this case
Ydigoras wanted U.S. assistance in combating his own insurgents, very much under Castro's spell.
He wanted Napalm bombs, for instance, mounted on GAOG B'26's. The request was declined for
technical reasons; privately the CIA probably just wanted what they wanted, no strings attached.
They politely thanked Ydigoras and kept the door open...
There is also new correspondence between the CIA and the two Somoza brothers running
Nicaragua, Luis and Anastasio. It was previously known that they provided the base from which the
Bay of Pigs air attacks were launched. Unfortunately, they were mishandled. While the first strike
virtually wiped out Cuba's military aircraft... they did not destroy private aircraft... and these
managed to launch air strikes against the invasion force's supply ships, which were destroyed.
Castro's forces then had the invasion troops trapped... and so they were killed and captured (to be
killed) accordingly. And so Castro survived... right up to and including the present moment. You see
he know the words from "Tu", "Fuego sagrado guarda tu corazon". He is the keeper of this sacred



flame and, for whatever time he should have, he means to remain so, whatever the Yankees might
say or do, for he fears nothing but the loss of the isla hermosa who has possessed him and possesses
him still.



Remembering the commencement of World War I, when the
road to Tipperary proved to be very long and arduous
indeed, 1914.
By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's Program Note. This day in August 97 years ago was a day of general European warfare.
The great powers, the most civilized nations on earth, had, at last, done the unthinkable, allowing a
regrettable incident to morph into mayhem.
For this story, I have selected one of the most famous songs of World War I, "It's a long way to
Tipperary" to be the musical accompaniment. Written by Jack Judge in 1912, it started life as a
rousing music hall number, and you can almost hear the clinking of glasses as you listen. It's got a
catchy beat of course but the underlying message is sad, even tragic, for with each passing day, the
way back to Tipperary got longer... and the list of those who would never go home again did, too.
You'll find this tune in any search engine. Try to get the version by celebrated tenor John
McCormick (born 1884) It's grand indeed. Once you've found it, play it a couple of times. And
listen to the words... carefully... many men died with this song on their lips and in their hearts....
How had it happened...
Once a war begins, people cease to be very interested in how they got there... and focus instead on
how to ensure that they go home again safe and sound. That is entirely understandable, but not what
we want to know today. We want to know why, so that (we hope) we can avoid such travail and
grief for ourselves.
The proximate cause of the war was the assassination of the heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary,
Archduke Franz Ferdinand. I have two autographed pictures of this man, known to history solely for
his assassination and death, when, had he lived and reigned he would have been known for more.
The photographs I am looking at as I write show him first in 1890 (age 27 ) and then later in a
glorious silver presentation frame with his archducal coronet blazing in gold at the top looking
supercilious, complacent, a tad silly, and not just for his outsized handlebar mustache either.
He looked like a man you wouldn't want to cross... and insiders within the empire knew he was
adamant about reforming the ramshackle imperium, bringing her antiquated systems and
infrastructure up-to-date. He gave every impression that he meant not just to be emperor... but
master. "Yes, Gustave, he means what he says," they whispered over their snitzel, then went on with
the national obsession, living well. This was Austria in 1914... where things were significant, but not
important.
Franz Ferdinand has gone down to history as stern and unyielding. The Hungarians certainly thought
so... and Hungarians (whose royal status had been upgraded in 1867) had a huge (entirely negative)
influence in the empire. Franz Ferdinand meant to change all that, with a system he called
"tri-alism", aimed to elevate the Slavs in his empire to equal status with the Germans who founded it
and the Hungarians. The Hungarians, especially the nobility of this most aristocratic of nations, were
opposed... and not just mildly, either. In fact, had one heard that Franz Ferdinand had been shot your
first reaction would have been to assume the deed was done by an Hungarian. There was certainly
(suppressed) joy around the noble tables of Budapest when the news of his death became known...
joy and (very subtle but heartfelt) toasts (in the very best tokay, Aszu Escenzia).
A man of cultivated taste and sensibility and a gnawing sense of injustice.



Though Franz Ferdinand's public persona was grave, censorious, insistent, he was very different at
home... for there he was a man in love, whose deep affection was equaled only by the burning rage
he felt because his wife could not be accorded his imperial honors. She was Sophie Chotek von
Chotkovato, a mere countess, hence beneath the contemptuous notice of the sublime Hapsburgs.
Franz Ferdinand was forced to sign a declaration prior to his marriage saying that while he retained
his position in the succession... his wife, of such lowly rank, could not share it, neither would any
issue by her be allowed to reign. And so out of his great love for his lady came an abiding, gnawing
sense of injustice, rage, and dishonor. Growing exquisite roses, collecting exquisite furniture, the
tastes of an accomplished aesthete, did not begin to heal his anger and mortification. The humiliation
was as calculated as 650 years of Hapsburg rule and unbending protocol could make it... she could
never walk into any imperial function on his arm; she had to walk instead where her rank as
lady-in-waiting placed her... each slight an insult like acid... to be endured but could never be
amended. He fumed... and whilst fuming sought ways to show her and the world how he felt about
the woman he so loved... such an opportunity came in July, 1914. He was going to the Bosnian
capital of Sarajevo in connection with his military duties. He brought Sophie along because she
could share his rank there... and he was insistent that she should.
A young revolutionary, burning with youthful zeal and the righteousness of his cause, the cause of
Slavic independence, gave Sophie equal treatment indeed, killing both her husband and herself at the
same moment. Ironically he got his chance because the car carrying both made an erroneous stop
just a few feet from Gavrilo Princip, one of the several terrorists placed in the crowd that fateful day.
Even the novice that Princip was couldn't miss... and didn't. Another Balkan crisis, amidst an
unending stream of Balkan crises,was underway. But "crisis" didn't necessarily mean "war". While
this great question was being answered, Princip, in prison, probably tortured, became the third
fatality. He was just 20 years old...
War did not have to come; a negotiated settlement was not only probable but virtually certain.
Patriotic Austrians were rightly outraged and aghast at the murder of their imperial heir. He might
not be popular but the dynasty he represented was. Importantly those with political acuity saw an
opening, to weaken the Slavs who wanted total independence from an empire not willing to concede
the point. And so an ultimatum, reckoned to be the most severe one sovereign nation had ever sent
to another, was drawn up in Vienna and sent to Serbia... an ultimatum which made it clear that each
point was not negotiable and that any quibble, even the smallest, would result in an immediate
invasion of Serbia and the most abject of terms, even worse than in the ultimatum.
Serbia, having no means ready to combat Austria-Hungary, capitulated... with one minor, even
trivial exception. Here was the basis for peace and even the German Kaiser Wilhelm II knew it.
And yet war came. Why?
Because a militaristic coterie in Vienna (headed by Conrad von Hotzendorf, Chief of Staff) and one
in Berlin (headed by the Kaiser and the court and army officials who kept this mercurial emperor on
track), wanted this war, at this time, sure they could win it. They almost won their bet, too... only to
be handed in due course ignominy and total defeat.
Along the way, the road to Tipperary became long and bloody indeed, inscribed as it was with the
names of all who knew the poignant significance of its words. As for us, we must remember that we,
too, have more than enough people amongst us with a penchant for war. Eternal vigilance is the
price we pay to ensure we do not experience any more of the long roads than we already have.



'For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the repeated
risk of his life...' Marine Corporal Dakota Meyer... recipient of
the Medal of Honor. True grit.
By Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. For this article, there is only one song that will do: the Marines' Hymn of the
United States Marine Corps with its revered and unmistakable opening line, "From the halls of
Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli".
Given that it's one of the signature songs of the nation surprisingly little is known about it. The
music is from the "Gendarmes' Duet" from an 1867 revision of the 1859 opera "Genevieve de
Brabant" by Jacques Offenbach, the man who wrote the music for the scandalous "Can, can." The
lyrics are more obscure because there is no known 19th century version. Legend has it that it was
penned by a Marine on duty during the Mexican war (1846-1848), hence "From the halls of
Montezuma..."
On September 15, 2011 at a White House ceremony presided over by President Obama it will be
played with the pride and flourishes it has earned for Dakota Meyer, the man fate allowed to serve
instead of die... and whose selfless heroism embodies the best of the nation... at a time when
America needs to be reminded of who we are, how we got here, and the people and characteristics
we need to carry the great Republic forward....
"Operation Enduring Freedom," part of the Afghan War which promised much, and delivered little.
Every once in a while, the nation remembers it is at war, first in Iraq, then, very much an
afterthought, in Afghanistan, where warfare is the biggest part of its history, economy and past,
present and, one sadly concludes, future. Afghanistan is simply a cauldron where the many elements
of unending instability and war are blended together to create a noisome, noxious vintage. It is a
place no sensible person wishes to go... and where the words "Operation Enduring Freedom" are
nothing so much as high irony, grand but unobtainable objectives, a cruel hoax. Into this unforgiving
land, Dakota Meyer came to make history.
The date was September 8, 2009.
It was another hazardous day in hazardous Kunar province where Meyer was serving with
Embedded Training Team 2-8. There was news... and it was bad, the kind of news no Marine wants
to hear and which he instinctively wants to do something about: a group of insurgents had attacked
with savage results. Three U.S. Marines and a U.S. Navy corpsman were missing.
Dakota Meyer didn't have to think about what to do... he knew. His responsibility was to rescue his
brothers... any other action was unthinkable. Marines help Marines. And that was what he and his
combat team set out to do as they moved forward to find and engage the enemy.
Let us recreate the circumstances of that fateful day...
As the combat team moved forward it was hit by intense fire from roughly 50 Taliban insurgents
dug-in and concealed on the slopes of Ganjgal village. They had to be removed to accomplish the
rescue mission.
Meyer, trained for such an event, mounted a gun-truck, enlisted a fellow Marine to drive, and raced
to attack the ambushers and aid the trapped Marines and some Afghan soldiers, too. What ensued
was a six-hour fire fight in which Corporal Meyer called upon every feature of brain and body. The
Taliban was determined Corporal Meyer would not advance... he was equally determined that he



would. The result was war, war in all its brutalities, in all its unpredictabilities, its confusions, and
unexpected developments, war to the death between wary opponents who respected each other's
capabilities and meant to have victory... whatever must be done.
Yes, Dakota Meyer meant to go forward... And his determination to do so changed dozens of lives,
not least his own. He had brothers to rescue and nothing, absolutely nothing was going to stand in
the way of getting to them and bringing them back. Absolutely nothing.
As he moved forward, inexorably forward, he changed lives. He saved 36 Marines and Afghan
soldiers that day before he found the bodies of his 4 brothers. To get to them he performed deeds
prodigious, sublime, unimaginable. Alone, he charged into the heart of a deadly U-shaped Taliban
ambush.
But not just once... not twice... not even three times... but he went into this vortex of mayhem and
death four times. What drives at man so, when such a forward policy could, in an instant, send him
into eternity and his mangled body home to grieving parents and relations? What drives a man at
such a moment, when all the joys and pleasures of a young life could end in an instant?
He was insistent, determined that his brothers, or whatever was left of them, should not be mutilated,
humiliated, and left to rot in the inhospitable soil of this supremely inhospitable land. He did not
think of death... or valor.... or heroism. He thought of brothers, of buddies, young men as young as
he, just a moment ago bursting with hijinx and wise-cracking humor... now face down in their own
blood and the dust of Afghanistan. These brothers, spirits now, called out to Dakota Meyer... and
they did not call out in vain.
Charging alone into the enraged, determined Taliban he focused on his mission... beyond thoughts
of death. At such a moment, facing fearsome odds, a man becomes so certain he will die that a
profound liberation occurs... because death is likely, he means to exact a terrible price on the
enemy... and he finds hitherto unknown strengths and abilities which he is determined should be
fully used with deadly effect.
Meyer killed 8 Taliban!
Meyer personally evacuated 12 friendly wounded!
Meyer provided cover for another 24 Marines and soldiers to escape likely death at the hands of a
determined and numerically superior foe!
On his first foray his lone vehicle drew machine gun, mortar, rocket grenade and small arms fire
while he rescued five wounded soldiers.
His second attack disrupted the enemy's ambush and he evacuated four more wounded Marines.
Switching to anther gun-truck because his was too damaged they again sped in for a third time, and
as turret gunner killed several Taliban attackers at point-blank range and suppressed enemy fire so
24 Marines and soldiers could break-out.
Despite being wounded, he made a fourth attack with three others to search for missing team
members. Nearly surrounded and under heavy fire he dismounted the vehicle and searched house to
house to recover the bodies of his fallen team members, the brothers who he valued beyond his own
life and who, he knew, would have done as much for him. As any Marine would...
One of only 86 people to receive the Medal of Honor while still living.
The Medal of Honor is the nation's highest military award. It represents the highest standard of
courage, boldness, and valor. Only 86 living people have received it and the last Marine to do so was



Sgt. Maj. Allan Kellogg, Jr. in 1973 for gallantry in Vietnam.
Meyer, modest, polite, affable, makes it clear that he is no hero, just a Marine doing his best for his
brothers... but we are not circumscribed in what we may say about this man who, by any reckoning,
should have died that day a dozen times in Ganjgal.... but who instead delivered life to many
colleagues without thought of his own. It is fitting and proper to award such a rare and prestigious
award to such as Dakota Meyer... a man who, so young, reminds America that great deeds are
conceived in selflessness and sacrifice. God shed his grace on thee, Dakota Meyer. You remind us
all of what we each must do to ensure He sheds it still on all of us and our great exercise of freedom,
now challenged on all sides.



About Spc. David Hickman, the last of the U.S. troops killed
in Iraq. He was just 23.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. What you would have noticed first of all was that the pews were filled with
young faces... the kinds of faces you don't usually see amongst the congregation at funeral services
in Greensboro, North Carolina. And you knew right away that this was a service for someone who
died young, died whilst knowing hardly a thing about life... except that he knew and embodied the
most important realization in life... that to give to others is the essence of our humanity... whilst to
die for others is sublime.
As David Emanuel Hickman had done...
"Zeus".
What you would also have noticed about David Hickman was that he was as near physical
perfection as a human can be, so much so that he called himself "Zeus" after the king of the Olympic
gods. He didn't just look good... he looked awesome... toned, sculpted, working as the physical
fitness fanatic he was to perfect perfection. He was avid in pursuit of the body to die for, organized,
dedicated, committed.
Such people, of course, with eye-popping muscles and the kind of beefcake you see on the covers of
magazines in the check-out lane at grocery stores, can easily irk and irritate the rest of the
population, too lazy to exercise and yet proud... but David Hickman knew the secret to making even
the most jealous like him, for he was the class cut-up... a man whose smile was more killing than his
six pack. David loved to laugh... and he loved to make everyone around him laugh, too. We could
forgive this kid anything... because he made us laugh at everything... it was his real claim to fame,
even when he was masterminding the complicated plays that brought sweet victory to Northeast
Guilford High School. For he was, in time-honored American fashion, a grid iron hero...
Complicated plans.
David relished his time playing football... not least because it gave him the opportunity to create...
the most complicated plays, plays which he would sit at home inventing, doodling, making notes on
a page that would in due course become the moves that would bring the excited crowd to its feet
shouting for David, anxious for more of the same, sure it would come... for David loved the game
and relished the fact that it gave him the opportunity to dazzle... even though his ultra complicated
game plans had to be put aside after he graduated... mere teen-agers were unable to understand,
much less execute them. How David must have smiled when he learned that, "Don't that just beat
all... Don't that just beat all?"
What now?
But as all grid iron heroes learn, football and its perquisites stop.. but life goes on. Thus each such
hero must answer one insistent question: what now? For David Hickman this meant the service of
America, this meant the army... and so he enlisted. And remember this: he did this of his own
choice, his own volition. He was not compelled to do so, neither forced nor drafted. He selected the
service of his nation because he believed in this nation, its great mission, and its essential goodness
and purpose . David Hickman, American boy, volunteered and volunteered in time of war. This
single decision, this action was the determining factor in the remaining time of his short life.
Boy into man.



In the army Hickman learned what every service man learns... the crucial importance of the unit, the
team, his buddies. Being a team player for football gave him a head start; he already knew how to
turn a commitment to his team mates into victory. These crucial skills, on which more lives
depended than just his, were honed in the army, in his unit, the 2nd Battalion, 325th Airborne
Infantry. Hickman, more man than boy with every passing day, grew up in his regiment, as so many
before him had grown up. It was all about the men and women he served with, men and women who
selected the army, the service of the Great Republic... and their fate as warriors in the current of
America's lengthy and growing chain of wars. For be clear on this: in the year Hickman enlisted, in
2009, the great fact of America was America's current wars, in Iraq, in Afghanistan. And David
Hickman knew that service to America would very likely, quite probably mean active duty in one or
more of these turbulent, always dangerous war zones.
Whether he enlisted because of this great fact, or in spite of it is not known... but this fact is: he
signed his name on the required paperwork... and so declared himself ready for whatever should
come. Thus, in due course, David Hickman took his godlike physique, his mega-watt smile, his
rollicking humor, and his complete commitment to his country to Iraq and to kismet.
Getting into war -- easy. Getting out -- hard.
Every nation or political entity always learns one certain, irrevocable fact: that it is easy, ridiculously
easy, to get a war, any war, started. The paraphernalia of war is readily at hand, the stirring rhetoric,
the certainty that war, always war, must be the solution to any problem, the seemingly irrefutable
argument that this war is just, honest, timely, necessary...
Oh, yes, each war, all the wars, have been easily convoked... and so Johnny goes marching from
home, all the necessary assurances and certainties in his kit. And the rest of us wish him well and
say that this war, like all the previous wars, is necessary and proper; that our cause is always just,
and our wars are all needed, each and every one.
Then we discover that war isn't always the best solution... that war is always muddled, confusing,
inept... and expensive. And so painful to see and experience, that the very people we have gone to
save are not grateful... are in fact outraged by our presence and wish us to the devil... or at the least
to go home soonest. All this invariably surprises, baffles and confuses the likes of David Hickman
and all the buddies... for their certainties melt when confronted by the forge of politics, self-seeking,
and its multiplicity of shades of gray, instead of the black and white they expected and which had
been so clear the day they departed.
And so the team, their buddies and colleagues grows in importance... as does the vital necessity to
stay alive, to go home. And a kind of game develops... once the feeling is general that this once
certain and necessary war will be over soon, politicians prating of the victory they didn't get... once
this happens, the emphasis is on getting out alive; nothing, absolutely nothing is more important
than that.
And so the war that no one now believes in must be kept going, while every thought and every
effort is on staying alive... going home.
Killed at 23, November 14, 2011.
David Hickman, so expert at so many games, knew the drill... and took his chances. And died in the
process.
He was killed by an improvised bomb, a device characteristic of the Iraq war, a cheap, nasty,
made-up weapon that mangled and killed the military professionals of our nation. And on an
ordinary day in mid-November cut down David Hickman, too... the beauty of his youth, every
possibility of a life graced with goodness, empathy, and a willingness to work to make things



better... all this gone because of a random destructive device detonated on a day when all David
Hickman wanted was to stay alive and go home.
And he did go home, as nearly 4,500 of our countrymen and women came home... to flags flying,
guns firing, salutes smartly given... in a box; the last casualty in a war hardly anyone understood... a
war that brought us the obloquy of the world... and a church full of his buddies and comrades, every
one young, every one without a line, without a single wrinkle... all thinking of God, of David, of
themselves, and most of all about America, our Great Republic... and why Taps is played for so
many, so often, so much expected, so little achieved.
Go now to any search engine and play it for David Hickman, and for all the rest; for they all died,
each and every one of them, for us.
*** What do you think? Let us know by posting your comments below.



The weakest link. PFC Bradley Manning, his court-martial,
the biggest leak of classified information in US history. Was
anyone paying attention?
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
I have been thinking a lot lately about Eddie Slovik. He was a private in the US Army during World
War II and had the unsavory distinction to be the only soldier of the Great Republic to be
court-martialled and executed for desertion since the American Civil War.
Eddie Slovik was the kind of guy it was very easy to ignore, unless you were one of the
householders in the Detroit, Michigan area; then, you needed to be alert, because he was probably
burgling your house or stealing your car. He was a man whose life was going nowhere until he met
and in November 1942 married a good woman he adored named Antoinette Wisniewski. Shortly
thereafter he was drafted for service but his criminal record made him classified as unfit for duty in
the US military... later, as the nation pushed for victory and needed every man, he was re-classified
as fit for duty... and sent to France, where he discovered fear, desertion, execration, execution -- by
no means the only man who deserted... but the only man who paid the supreme price for doing so.
But consider this, Eddie Slovik never killed a man, never hurt a man, never took the necessary
secrets of the Great Republic and gave them to our sworn enemies. No, Eddie Slovik never did any
of these things... yet he was executed, his American born and bred body riddled with American
bullets, his blood dappling the snows of newly liberated France where the crucial question resonates
to this day and beyond: did we overcharge Pfc Eddie Slovik for a sin that was venial, not cardinal, an
incident that hurt him, but no one else?
Another PFC, a different kind of war.
Now meet another Private First Class -- Bradley Manning, young like Slovik, just 24 years old. A
native of main street Crescent, Oklahoma...slight, fey, a malevolent Peter Pan who came to work day
after day, wearing the insignia of the Great Republic, wearing her proud uniform, whose sworn duty
was preserving, maintaining, defending, advancing America's interests... and yet every hour of every
day engaged in systematic betrayal, disloyalty, treason ... the man who allegedly alone accessed over
700,000 sensitive, classified, ultra-private documents... which he then released to foes who wish us
ill in all climes and places.
And yet these foes did not seek out PFC Manning. PFC Manning contacted them on his own
volition... And so we come to know him...
sworn to defend the nation and all his fellow citizens, selected treason as his code; reckoning that the
betrayal of his nation was more important than defending his nation.
educated himself in treason. He was his own tutor of hate, disdain, and disloyalty to America.
having discovered the means of accessing sensitive data he had no right to peruse, much less
disburse, gathered these data in epochal proportions. He didn't want just to hurt America... he
wanted to humiliate her, harming as many of his fellow citizens as he could.
took hundreds of thousands of these sensitive documents, as many as 700,000 of these documents,
and offered them to WikiLeaks, an organization which breaks every law to release every sensitive
document it can; disclosure always trumping in their self-sanctified minds all sense, sensitivity,
confidentiality, privacy; all things we value and rely upon.
released documents which had severe implications for our emissaries, agents, representatives and all



their families. The very lives of America's people at home and abroad were jeopardized -- are
jeopardized now -- because of one man's adamant, unyielding belief that America needed
chastisement.... and that that chastisement was suitable and particular work and high mission for
PFC Manning, self-appointed to do what the nation would regard as heinous, inexplicable,
despicable.
And so PFC Manning became a man of infamy doing a thing of disgust.
Meet Bradley Manning, a man with a dark mission.
Bradley E. Manning was born innocent on December 17, 1987. He was born an American, son of a
Navy man... every prize of the Great Republic his to win. What then caused his troubled journey?
Did it start with his diminutive stature, just 5 feet 2 inches, 105 pounds? Was it his adamant
disavowal of God and religion? Was it a father's disdain of his effeminate son's homosexual
preferences, the source of argument, fights, an unloving home for a son who deserved more than
disdain, threats, physical violence instead of understanding and a loving home?
If there was treason in this boy then, the boy who loved the saxophone, science, and computer games
and was firm in his often controversial opinions but could make his case without rancor and with all
civility; if there was treason here, it was seen by none of the Sooners who were his classmates,
friends, and neighbors, the people who see nothing at the time but talk of strange eyes and odd
habits years later. Besides, no one wants to think that the quiet, unobtrusive loner at the back of the
classroom is a traitor and menace to the Great Republic.
Yet America took a body blow from this forgettable, average, hardly observed young man,
voluminous in his discoveries, unrelenting in his high crimes and misdemeanors.
Arrested in Iraq, May, 2010.
In October, 2009 Manning was assigned to a unit of the 10th Mountain Division, based near
Baghdad. There he had regular access to the Secret Internet Protocol Router Network (SIPRNet). It
was used by the United States government to transmit classified information. He was arrested for
hubris, namely by bragging to computer hacker Adrian Lamo about what he was doing. Lamo
reported to the FBI that Manning had told him during online chats what he had done, what he was
doing, and who got the data he downloaded to his personal computer. Amongst these data there
were 250,000 diplomatic cables of first-rate significance, footage of a July 2007 Baghdad airstrike
and footage of a May 2009 Granai airstrike in Afghanistan.
The FBI acted promptly and so Bradley Manning's need to be perceived as the big guy, the
important guy, the coolest of spooks, brought him down, his pride his undoing, in the proper manner
of every Greek play... for if one thing is clear in this sordid matter, it is this: that Bradley Manning,
product of divorced parents, one-time resident of his pick-up truck, the victim of sexual obloquy, an
employee who found the computer job he loved, only to be let go after four months... if one thing is
clear, it's that Manning is just like all of us... a man buffeted by hard times and out-of-control
circumstances... a man without self-respect who needed to brag and was brought down by his own
foolishness and indiscretion; a man who in this gnawing vortex lost his way... a victim, to be sure,
but a victim with the means to hurt us all. And so we say, "There but for the grace of God..."
But PFC Manning, despite every painful incident of his short life, despite his undeniable pains,
despite every bad thing that happened to him was still a Child of God, still had the benefit of God's
boundless grace. He just didn't get that point, and even now as he faces the majestic wrath and stern
protocols of military justice he probably still doesn't grasp this essential matter... And yet, even in
extremis the perpetrator of this great evil, even now God's grace abides for Bradley Manning, arch
traitor, all unknowing about God, His Ways, and the Great Republic, God's great enterprise.



Amazing Grace.
Your court-martial is near at hand. Tell all, Bradley Manning, reserve nothing and throw yourself
upon the merciful people of this forgiving nation... the people who are horrified by what you have
done and all the terrible things which could yet come from your terrible indiscretions... people who
still have mercy for you and concern, although you gave none of these to us. Because of that mercy
you will not receive a bullet in the heart, like Eddie Slovik, though life incarceration is possible. But
even there you will still have life, for the prosecutor will not ask for your extinction.
And, thus, where there is life, there abides hope and God's eternal grace, even for a wretch like
you...
Author's program note. Go now to any search engine; find your favorite rendition of "Amazing
Grace." We all know the tune; this time listen to the words... and ponder them.
** We invite you to submit your comments to this article.



Abraham Lincoln... captivated by words, created by words,
empowered by words, glorified by words. Reflections on his
Cooper Union Speech, February 27, 1860.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. 150 years ago, March 4, 1861 Abraham Lincoln (born 1809), became 16th
president of the United States. And if you do not believe in destiny, fate, or kismet, even you will
wonder at the undoubted fact that at the time of its maximum peril, the Great Republic should have
found the perfect man to guide her affairs and so preside not over her premature dissolution (as so
many thought and even wished) but her greatest trial, from which, terrible forge though it was,
emerged the greatest of nations. Oh, yes, here was the hand of God, indeed... to the wonder of all...
and as we know His ways are mysterious so we shouldn't wonder at this man and his story... a story
to be told in the words he loved, the words he mastered, the words he used to effect his great
purpose... the words we all have at our disposal... but which only he used with such grace and
power... and such resolve... the mark of the consummate master of our language and the great uses to
which it can always rise...
For this tale, I have selected as the occasional music a tune Abraham Lincoln loved and tapped his
toe to, "Jimmy Crack Corn". It's a frolicksome number thought to be a black face minstrel song of
the 1840s. Like so much that touches Lincoln, it's not quite what it appears to be.... that is, a black
slave's lament over his master's death... it has indeed a subtext of rejoicing over that death and
possibly having caused it by deliberate negligence.... "Dat Blue Tail Fly"... It is a feeling every slave
must have thought at some time... which every master must have understood and feared... and from
this seemingly unsolvable conundrum Lincoln freed both, saving the people, cleansing the Great
Republic.
Without benefit of formal education... yet with every necessary word to hand.
Consider the matter of Illinois, the 21st state, frontier of the Great Republic in 1818 when it was
admitted to the Union. It was a land firmly focused on the bright future all were certain was
coming... the better to obliterate and make bearable the rigors and unceasing travails of the present.
The land was rich... the richness of the people would soon follow.
In this land of future promise, inchoate, Lincoln, like all those who delight in words, found his
labors lightened and vista magnified by books, and thanks to the good and helpful work of Robert
Bray (2007), we may learn just what books he possessed, and so which words he knew, by whom
rendered, and how.
It is impossible to know in just what order young Lincoln found the books, read the books, and with
what degree of joy and enthusiasm, for Lincoln (unlike many who love and live by words) was not a
great writer of marginal commentary, in which reader engages in often enraged tete-a-tete with
author. Such marginalia are cream to any biographer, but in Lincoln's case were infrequent.
In any event, we can surmise that he learned his words first from the great King James version of
The Bible, perhaps the most influential and certainly most lyric book in the language. If so, it
bestowed on him not only the words but their sonority, cadence and above all, moral certainty, all of
which were critical in the development of his mature style and so helped save a great nation from
self-destruction. There followed first the odd volume, happily received, then a steady trickle, then
the glorious days when he could have as many books, and so as many words, as he wanted; paradise
to a man for whom each word, and every book, was a key to greater understanding of the cosmos...
and himself...


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