Old Weird Ward
Unless otherwise noted, that which is posted here is opinion, which is protected by the First Amendment to the US Constitution. If you don't like my opinions, go somewhere else. Nobody is forcing you to actually read this drivel.
The presumption exists that you can read at all.
That may be a large assumption.
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Wednesday, June 09, 2004
- - - - - G8 Protests - - - - -
Last Wednesday, I went down to Fernandina Beach, FL, where my dermatologist hangs out, to get some stitches removed from my right wrist. The Doc had removed a squamous cell carcinoma by carving a chunk out of the Magnificent Bod. (OK, you can stop the obscence cackling now.)
As I came back up US17, after getting the stitches out, I passed a group of eight people walking along the side of the road, carrying signs: "Economic Justice" and "Corporate Globalization = Poverty for the People" and "People before Profits".
The local newspapers have been, for the last month, just full of "news" about the security precautions for the expected disruptions caused by "thousands of protesters" that were expected in Brunwick and Savannah for the G8 Economic Summit.
In the morning, a small but diverse group of activists braved stifling heat and humidity to march through Brunswick protesting the Iraq war as well as a variety of social causes. They carried homemade signs, banners, flowers and rolled a giant black G-8 ball made from cloth.
They were met almost one-to-one by reporters covering the march, which was held under the watchful gaze of law enforcement and military personnel.
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In other words, the protesters couldn't generate enough interest to generate any kind of noise.
Good. Maybe the citizenry of the US is wising up to the intellectually bankrupt rhetoric these folks use.
Of course, some of them tried other tactics:
Some of the marchers tried to provoke the camouflage-clad military personnel who watched calmly without response from sidewalks near major intersections along the estimated 4-mile parade route. A dozen youths, dressed all in black with their faces concealed by bandanas, screamed curses, made obscene gestures at the soldiers and at some of the police officers assigned to traffic control so the march could pass safely through the streets.
Residents looked on with curiosity and disdain.
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And...there were no incidents, despite the best efforts of the masked "youths". According to one report, on the radio, the cops and soldiers yawned and laughed when the "youths" were screaming curses and making obscene gestures.
- - - - - D-Day Plus Three - - - - -
On this day, in 1944, a twenty-one-year old infantryman came ashore in Normandy. He walked across France and Germany, getting cold, wet, muddy, scared, and shot-up.
On V-E day he sat with the other soldiers in his company, dug in, not quite believing that it was over. He didn't really believe the war was over until he was on the transport headed for the US six months later.
The only thing he ever said to his children about the extra "button" on his arm and the "zipper" on his thigh was "I zigged when I shoulda zagged".
He's eighty-one now, and just returned from a solo trip to Italy, Austria, and Vienna. He took a train across France, but didn't want to spend any time there. "The last time I was in France, unfriendly people were shooting at me."
That's my pop.
About five years ago, he and I went to breakfast at a local coffee shop. After breakfast, he and another older gent struck up a conversation, and somehow or other WW2 came up. The Other Old Gent (we never learned his name) talked of his time in the Pacific in the US Navy. He'd been on the USS Lexington when she got sunk in the Battle of the Coral Sea. Later, he'd been on a cruiser in Tokyo Bay when the Japanese surrendered.
Dad said a little bit about walking across Europe with the Infantry, and then introduced me as a Navy vet of Viet Nam.
The Other Old Gent said, "You must be very proud of your son."
And Dad said, "I am."
Dad, you wouldn't believe how proud I am of you.
For all that you did, and all that you went through to rid the world of the late un-lamented Adolf -
Thank you, Dad.
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