If you wanted to share your thoughts

Mr. Dye (referenced in my previous post, has a publically posted e-mail addy.

drye@northernbroadcasting.com

So any of you who want to join the inevitable onslaught from outraged liberals. (Is there any other kind?) may feel free.

For some background on the inimitble Mr. Rye, his his bio is precious (and where I got his e-mail address).

For broadcast news experience and depth of knowledge about Montana, Dave Rye is unparalleled among the state’s broadcasters. As network News Director, Dave produces seven daily newscasts covering Montana’s biggest headlines and issues, with voice actualities from the newsmakers. He also does a daily commentary on Montana's issues and people.

A consummate news professional, Dave Rye will go to any length to get both sides of a story, and his balanced presentation of the facts has been his hallmark.

So when he insulted the residents of Ismay (the town from whence came SSG Gray) he knew what he was talking about, or maybe not.

My response (in the public forum where his original comment was made, and with thanks to those here, and at soldiergrrrl's post which helped me clarify my thoughts. It is in moderation. If it fails to appear, I'll be sending it directly).

Mr. Dye,

The level of disrespect you’ve managed to pack into four sentences is incredible.

First, you insult a dead soldier. You didn’t, it seems, have the courage to cast such aspersions (that he, and his fellows were ignorant dupes, unable to see that they would have their opinions twisted to something which was mere propaganda; and not able to actually come to such conclusions in the language used in that Op-ed).

Then, in the same sentence, you insult living soldiers, like myself.

In the past 15 years I’ve been in the Army I’ve heard words a lot more unlikely than “recalcitrant” coming from the mouths of SSGs. I’ve heard them from PV1s as well.

Not content to let it rest there, you take the knowledge of Montana (often touted as one of the most educated states in the nation) you caim your role as reporter, and now news director has given you an “unparalleled understanding,” and use it to tar the residents of an entire town as ignorant of perfectly ordinary English.

Not to be tendentious, but you sir, are being an ass. Insulting, bemeaning and arrogant; to say nothing of your subsequent attempts to make a vague appeal to authority (since I’ve probably spoken to a lot more troops about what they think/feel/believe about the war; having spent my time there, and knowing a lot more who’ve done the same.

And the variety of opinion is vast; though; in the main (from the non-random [in the statistical sense] sample I’ve been able to get) leaving is higher on the list than staying; certainly when those who are most adamant about us staying are also those who have zero intent of actually enlisting, even when they are of an age where service is possible.

As for what the troops want.

Washington - Congress should look at cutting off funding for the Iraq War if Senate efforts to change the role of U.S. troops in the battlefield fail, Sen. Ken Salazar said Monday.

Salazar, a Colorado Democrat, previously has not supported Congress using its ability to stop war payments in order to force President Bush to change direction.

While in Iraq over the weekend, Salazar said, some service men and women told him that they wanted Congress to cut off funding.

That’s from the Denver Post (http://www.denverpost.com/ci_6919211). A small sampling, to be sure, but enough that a politician is willing to change the course he’s been advocating for years.

I guess that’s all old hat to you though, since, as your biography (http://clients.centric.net/nb/bio.asp?PageID=4&ID=15) says, Dave Rye will go to any length to get both sides of a story, and his balanced presentation of the facts has been his hallmark.

On dying, and living

Robert Jordan has died.

To those who care I doubt this is news (and if I am the one to break it to you, my deepest condolence).

I never met him, in life; or online. I knew of his epic. I know lots of people who are crushed because of his passing.

Grief is contagious. I am reminded of all the people I no longer get to spend time with (and as I age that list gets longer, in "Boat of Million Years" Anderson has one of his character say life is nothing buy saying goodbye, it becomes more true).

Hamlet points out that death is ever present, "If it be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come." His answer, "the readiness is all"

Sort of.

Would I Be Shrived?

(Francois Villon, being about to die, a worthy friar would fain have shrived him, and did earnestly exhort that he should confess him at this time of those acts of his life which he did regret. Villon bade him return yet again, that he might have time to think of his sins. Upon the good father's return, Villon was dead; but by his side were the following verses, his last, wherein he set forth things which he did regret. Whereat the friar was sore grieved, and hid them away among the manuscripts of his abbey, showing them to no man; yet they were found in somewise. The name of the friar and the very place where stood the abbey are forgot; but the verses have endured unto this day.

I, Francois Villon, ta'en at last
To this rude bed where all must lie,
Fain would forget the turbid past
And lay me down in peace to die.
"Would I be shrived?" Ah, can I tell?
My sins but trifles seem to be,
Nor worth the dignity of hell;
If not, then ill avails to me
To name them one and all -- and yet --
There be some things which I regret!

The sack of abbeys, many a brawl,
A score of knife thrusts in the dark,
Forced oft, by Fate, against the wall,
And years in donjons, cold and stark --
These crimes and pains seem far away
Now that I come at length to die;
'Tis idle for the past to pray,
'Tis hopeless for the past to sigh:
These are a troubled dream -- and yet --
For them I have but scant regret!

The toil my mother lived to know,
What years I lay in gyves for debt;
A pretty song heard long ago:
Where, I know not; when, I forget;
The crust I once kept for my own
(Though all too scant for my poor use.)
The friend I left to die alone,
(Pardie! the watchman pressed us close!)
Trifles against my crimes to set!
Yet these are all which I regret.

Captains and cutthroats, not a few,
And maidens fair of many a clime
Have named me friend in the wild past
When as we wallowed in the slime;
Gamblers and rogues and clever thieves,
And unfrocked priests, a sorry crew,
(How stubbornly the memory cleaves
To all who have befriended you!)
I drain a cup to them -- and yet --
'Tis not for such I feel regret!

My floundered horse, who died for me
(Nor whip nor spur was his, I ween!)
That day the hangman looked to see
Poor Villon earth and sky between!
A mongrel cur who shared my lot
Three bitter winters on the Ile:
He held the rabble off, God wot,
One time I cheated in the deal;
'Twas but an instant, while I fled
Down a vile alley, known to me --
Back in the tavern he lay dead;
The gamblers raged -- but I went free!
Humble, poor brutes at best; and yet --
They are the friends whom I regret!

And eke the lilies were a-blow
Through all the sunny fields of France;
I marked one whiter than the snow
And would have gathered it, perchance,
Had not some trifle, I forget,
(A bishop's loot, a cask of wine
Filched from some carbet -- a bet --)
Distracted this wild head of mine.
A childish fancy this, and yet --
It is a thing that I regret!

Again I rode through Picardy
What time the vine was in the bud;
A little maiden smiled on me,
I might have kissed her, and I would!
I've known a thousand maidens since,
And many have been kind to me --
I've never seen one quite so fair
As she, that day in Picardy.
Ashes of roses these -- and yet --
They are the things which I regret!

One perfect lily grew for me,
And blossomed on another's breast;
Others have clasped the little hands
Whose rosy palms I might have pressed;
So, as I die, my wasted youth
Mocks my dim eye and failing breath: --
Still, I have lived! and having lived
That much is mine. I mock at Death!
I should confess, you say? But yet --
For life alone I have regret.

Envoy

O bubbles of the vanished wine
To which my lips were never set!
O lips that dimpled closed to mine,
Whose ruddy warmth I never met!
Father, but trifles these, and yet --
They are the things which I regret!

John D. Swain

+++

I have enough of those regrets. I am, however, working to keep the list from growing.

Go thou, and do likewise.