June 6, 1944

We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field,

as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live.

It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground.

The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract.

The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.

It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work

which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us

—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion

—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain

—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom

—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.


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Trivia question: a part of America is in France.


Granted in perpetuity to the US of A.


Answer:  The Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial , Colleville-sur-Mer.  Within sight of Omaha Beach

Another soldier gone missing




No word yet on whether he fraternized with... shudder... The French.

“The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.” -George Bernard Shaw

Bernard Jordan has been all over the Net today

Jay C's picture

And good for him! 

Better deserving of the attention than a lot of the folks cluttering the Intertubes...

I love BaconLover's comment on Weinstein's feed


"Im just surprised he was able to make it that far, what with having to drag his 1000kg Brass Balls the whole way."


They were just kids then, dumped off in the surf. often over their heads in water.  Many drowned, dragged down by the weight of their gear.  On Omaha, survival was a matter of luck.  Heroes there were aplenty and more in the hedgerows, the bocage.  A more perfect and horrific terrain for close quarters warfare never existed


-- except in cities.  Hue.  Fallujah.  Ramadi.


From a story I wrote for a guy named Scott Butki


So anyway, I'm supposed to tell you a Ghost Story. It happens to be a true story, too. I'm buried in a crypt in a mausoleum in Louisville Kentucky. On a hot summer day, this consultant from Chicago was driving around on his lunch hour. He'd driven by the mausoleum for weeks, he didn't know anyone interred here. Now why he decided to stop in and pay us a visit I don't know, and I don't think he did either, but he does take a lot of pictures of graves and architecture. He's not afraid of the dead, he often seeks peace in graveyards, and really, graveyards are nice places to visit. But it's quiet place, cool and shady. He walked in the front door, took off his sunglasses. There's a chapel in the center of the mausoleum with some nice stained glass in that 1960s style the Catholics like to use then. It's the middle of the day, nobody's there except us of course. He walks around, respectfully, looking at the names and dates on the crypts.


Then he comes to my crypt. My Mom came to grieve here last Easter and left a little sticker of a smiling Easter bunny by my name. The consultant stopped and gazed, and wiped his nose and eyes on a piece of Kleenex he had in his pants pocket. I guess that Easter bunny sorta got to him. He thought about my Mom, and that made me sorta sad, because I was sad when she put that sticker on my crypt, too.


Well, he walked around the mausoleum for quite a while, attracting the attention of all the other spirits. Other spirits had seen him in the Cave Hill cemetery here in Louisville, the one that goes right back to the beginning of the city. Usually we're all a little troubled when people come to grieve or when kids come to desecrate graves and horse around, but this guy seemed all right, and he thought about us as we were, when we were in meat space. He went back to the main door, past the chapel and stopped for a moment and turned around, looking back towards us. I guess there were so many of us there he could sense us, especially me. Some people can sense us, if their hearts are in the right place. He'd seen so much death and suffering, this consultant. I guess part of him was no longer in meat space but into our space too. Maybe that's why he felt so comfortable among us. He looked through us, feeling our presences.


Then he put on his sunglasses again and walked through the door, enveloped in the sunlight.



That Is one nice piece of prose. Awesome. You could practically do a movie from it.

This was clear enough to Larkin, whose patriotism rested on the notion that England was the worst place on earth with the possible exception of everywhere else.

TL;DR...the Curse of Our Present Day Culture...


tl;dr of course means...too long, didn't read.


I have been meaning to have a semi-serious conversation with Blaise over this...how does he stand this trend in our culture, our lives?


He reads...I know this; he knows I read...he  knows this; V for all of our disagreements, we both  know that you read...


but we here, we few, we small band of bothers...we read...


But  for someone that writes as well as Blaise  it must make him crazy that few other people do...they are enthralled by Twitter length prose...


Blaise writes so well...so big....he deserves to be a novelist in the 1930's...when words and word count mattered..


Life is hard on the smart, (you too V).


Sometimes, with all his talent, I wonder why despair doesn't overtake BlaiseP.


God knows it troubles me.


Best Wishes, Traveller

Fitting indeed. Deserves promotion...

Jay C's picture


The Gettysburg Address does seem fitting

Bird Dog's picture


"Transparency and the rule of law will be the touchstones of this presidency."

--Barack Obama, January 2009