10/14/2026

 Wednesday, October 14, 2026

1964 Martin Luther King Jr. was announced as the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize

1986 Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to Auschwitz survivor Elie Wiesel for his efforts to ensure the Holocaust was remembered

1991 Burmese opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi won the Nobel Peace Prize

1994 Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to Yasser Arafat, Yitzhak Rabin, and Shimon Peres

2025 Donald Trump awarded himself and Benjamin Netanyahu the Nobel Peace Prize😊

2025 In response to the limited release of bodies on Monday, Israel notified the United Nations that it will not open the Rafah crossing and will only allow 300 aid trucks to enter the Gaza Strip daily, instead of the 600 agreed to in the ceasefire agreement.

2025 Israeli troops killed nine Palestinians in Gaza, saying those killed violated the IDF's withdrawal line as established by the peace agreement

In bed at 9, awake at 2:30, and up at 3; 

Morning meds at 10 a.m.  Entresto at 4:45 a.m. and 5 p.m.

What I wrote a year ago has only gotten worse.😞   

We are living in a dystopia right now.  Our children and grandchildren will live in this worsening dystopia when I am gone.  

I think back to the days when Jimmy Aquavia and I would smugly and culpably take some comfort in the fact that we are not long for this world, ignoring, temporarily at least, that our loved ones have presumably long lives ahead of them in the world we will leave them.  I think back on all the many Cassandra-like predictions I made to Kitty in our early morning conversations, ending them feebly with "I hope I'm wrong," but the evidence of where we were heading, i.e., where we are now, was too strong to be ignored or denied.  I think too of the last Republican administration that we had pre-Trump: that of George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Don Rumsfeld, and George Tenet.  It was the era of extraordinary renditions, 'black sites', 'enhanced interrogation techniques,' i.e., torture, and of Abu Ghraib. the U.S. Army prison where Iraqi prisoners were regularly subjected to sadistic, cruel, and illegal treatment by U.S. Army troops.  Donald Trump was not the first president, certainly not the first Republican president, to ignore "the rule of law."

 

 Text from PCC:

Hi Grandpa, I’m so glad you had a great time in DC, I’m thankful for choosing my dad to have this great opportunity. I wish your flight wasn’t delayed so I could have seen you at the airport but a delay was expected to be honest. Anyways, thank you for the wishes and I hope you enjoy being back in Wisconsin.

Sometimes I wonder why I spend time every day, sometimes quite a bit, making entries in this journal.  Sometimes I joke that it's to keep me out of trouble (as if!), or to keep me off the streets (as if!), or, not so facetiously, to record some memories of each day before my memory further deteriorates with age, or to provide "proof of life,"  like a secreted kidnapping victim, since I lead such an indoor, interior, sedentary, stationary life.  But this morning, while going through my bi-weekly sorting of pills and capsules for my pill boxes,  I recalled for some reason how I started the journal - as a poor substitute for my daily, early morning text message conversations with my sister.  It reminded me of Duke Ellington's great song, beautifully recorded by the Ink Spots in the 1940s, Don't Get Around Much Anymore.  The "you" in the lyrics referred to a lost sweetheart; in my case, it would refer to my lost sister.

Missed the Saturday dance

Heard they crowded the floor

Couldn't bear it without you

Don't get around much anymore

Thought I'd visit the club

Got as far as the door

They'd have asked me about you

Don't get around much anymore

Darling, I guess my mind's more at ease

But nevertheless why stir up memories?

Been invited on dates

Might have gone but what for?

Awf'lly diff'rent without you

Don't get around much anymore

I shared Phil Klay's op-ed in this morning's NYTimes, Pete Hegseth’s Bloodlust Doesn’t Hide His Military Failures, with this comment:

God bless Phil Klay, another former Marine.  We need to recognize and call out bloodlust when we see it, as we often see in our own government, the people who purport to act on our behalf and in our name.  We have seen it often from Hegseth, who gained fame largely from his vocal defense of war crimes committed by our own troops, but also in our "homeland security" forces, including ICE and Border Patrol agents, who we've seen acting like Hitler's Gestapo and Mussolini's Blackshirts.  We see it in more digestible form in our political leaders, who show indifference and defense of those who commit deadly wrongs in our name.   We see it most prominently in the blithe indifference of our Commander-in-Chief to the death, destruction, and suffering he has caused by his policies and his politicos.  I cringed on Saturday when I saw on the pediment of the entryway into the Memorial Amphitheater facing the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, the words from one of Horace's odes, "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori," or "It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country."  The English poet Wilfred Owen wrote a devastating poem called Dulce et decorum in WWI, calling the words "the old Lie."

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori. See less

I also requested Klay's collection of short stories, Redeployment, and a book of Wassily Kandinsky's paintings.

The Social Reckoning, directed by Aaron Sorkin, starring Mikey Madison as Frances Haugen,  Jeremy Allen White as Jeff Horwitz, and Jeremy Strong as Mark Zuckerberg.  I watched the 1:30 showing of this film at the Marcus North Shore Theater.  It was, not surprisingly, powerful and well executed: Sorkin's scriptwriting and directing, the cast;s acting, the whole schmear.  Jeremy Allen White is a gifted actor.  I suppose Jeremy Strong is also, but the characters he plays are so thoroughly unlikable that it's hard to warm up to him.  His Zuckerberg is particularly spooky.  The plot is simple.  Howwitz is a WSJournal investigative reporter sniffing around Facebook, Haugen is his source, a leaker of information and secret documents, and  Zuckerberg is a money and power hungry tech nerd trying to hide behind the cover of being a "free speech absolutist."  He is indifferent to the harm his service products (FB, Instagram, and WhatsApp caused, despite his company's full knowledge of that harm to children, to social unity, and to democracy.  The film suggests boldly that he is responsible for the Trump Insurrection on January 6th.  So there were no big surprises in the plot, only an engaging retelling of the story of Frances Haugen's service to humanity by breaching her non-discolosure agreement with Facebook, her employment contract, and probably some criminal law.  Terrific strory.

A letter I received from a freshman at Wauwatosa West High School.  I've sent thank you letters to those who wrote Honor Flight "letters from home" to me, but not yet to the members of the We The People Club at the hight school.  I'll try to finish the 31 letters tonight and to draft an appropriate thank-you response tonight and tomorrow.

10/13/2026

 Tuesday, October 13, 2026

917 70,000 people gathered to see the 'Miracle of the Sun', solar visions reportedly by the Virgin Mary in Fátima, Portugal, after prophecies by local children

1988 Shroud of Turin, revered by many Christians as Christ's burial cloth, was shown by carbon-dating tests to be a fake from the Middle Ages

2024 SpaceX completed the first recovery of a rocket as its Starship rocket booster was caught by a giant pair of mechanical arms in a test flight near Brownsville, Texas

2025 Scientists at the University of Exeter in England reported large-scale die-off of coral reefs, the first major tipping point in large changes in the climate system. 

In bed at 9:30, up at 4:12 by low glucose alarm; 0425 202.8 124/74/64; 70/65/74/61, sunny day ahead

Morning meds at a.m.  Entresto at 5 a.m. and p.m.

Text exchange with Karyn Roelke:

Hi, Karyn. First, thank you so much for the wonderful experience I had Saturday on the Stars and Stripes Honor Flight. I was quite apprehensive about taking the trip, but it was an experience I’ll never forget. I wrote up some reflections on the day in my daily journal/blog and I’d like to send a hard copy of them, if you can provide me an address to mail them to. Thank you again, for everything.  

+1 (815) ***-****:  I am so glad that you enjoyed your day! You can send to: Stars and Stripes Honor Flight, PO Box 547,Pewaukee, WI 53072

Me:  Thank you, Karyn.  I mailed the journals today with this cover letter:

Ms. Karyn Roelke, Stars and Stripes Honor Flight, P O Box 547, Pewaukee, WI 53072

Dear Karyn:

I’ve enclosed the entries to the daily journal I have kept for the last 4 years.  I wrote the first on Sunday, the day after our return from Washington, and the second on Monday.  I had hope to post something on Facebook, but the entries ended up so long, especially with the photos, that I gave up on that.  The journal appears as a blog on Blogger.com, under the heading of Slogthrop Imponderables and Incommensurables, but it has no ‘followers’, so basically I’m talking to myself when I write these thoughts.  Nonetheless, I wanted to share them with you and any of the other Stars and Stripes folks who might be interested, because I wanted to acknowledge my gratitude for all that you and they did for me and my fellow passengers on October 10th, and before.  The entries are so long that I don’t expect you to read them all, but I’ll tell you that they reflect the experiences of one 85-year-old former Marine and Vietnam veteran during that long, busy, unforgettable day, and his deep gratitude for them.  I wanted to express that gratitude to you and to Stars and Stripes in writing, so here it is.  Thank you so much.

Gratefully,  /s/ 

Letter to EHC:

Dear Lizzie,

No New Year's Day to celebrate

No chocolate covered candy hearts to give away

No first of Spring, no song to sing

In fact, here's just another ordinary day

No April rain, no flowers bloom

No wedding Saturday within the month of June

But what it is, is something true

Made up of these three words that I must say to you

I just called to say I love you

I just called to say how much I care

I just called to say I love you

And I mean it from the bottom of my heart

Stevie Wonder wrote it and sang it, and it’s one of my favorite songs.  I thought of it just now as I began to write this short letter to you because it expresses so well what I think about you.  I just write to say I love you and I mean it from the bottom of my heart.

I’ve watched you grow from infancy through toddlerhood and childhood into the beautiful, responsible young woman you have become.  I’m so proud to be your Grandpa.  I’m remembering now how I felt when I saw you wearing a sweatshirt (?) with the name CLAUSEN printed on the back.  I almost cried with happiness and pride.

I’ve always been so pleased on the scattered occasions when your Dad would text me to ask if I could pick you up to go to or from school, or some other place.  I love chatting with you, and learning about your activities, and the challenges in your life.  You are growing up in a much more challenging time than the one I grew up in.  I often get near despair when I think of the challenges of our time, fearing for you and your brothers, and your Mom and Dad.  I comfort myself thinking of your strong character, your grit, which you have demonstrated so many times.

I’ll be thinking of you this weekend as you are on your retreat, as I think of you regularly.  Keep on truckin’. Sweetie.   Your old Grandpa loves you now and will love you forever.

(I wanted to handwrite this letter, but I’m still kind of worn out from my trip to Washington, D.C. with your Dad on Saturday.   I feared my script would be unreadable.)

 Text to AHC:

Hi, Sweetie.  I’m writing belatedly to thank you for the lovely letter you sent me as a ‘letter from home’ for our ‘mail call’ on the Honor Flight Saturday.  You were very kind and I very much appreciate it.  I think I am still recovering from Andy’s and my 22 hour day (without a nap!).  Your husband was a real “mensch” for me that whole day.  The Honor Flight escorts are called “Guardians” and now I understand why.  Andy took care of me all day, pushing my wheelchair most of the day, and supportively standing beside me on the few occasions when I hazarded walking.  He was really wonderful and I deeply appreciate his guardianship, just as I deeply appreciate the ‘letters from home’ that I received from you and him, and from all the children.  All of it warmed my heart and lifted my spirits more than I can say.  Thank you so much.❤️❤️❤️

Text to EHC:

Hi, Sweetie.  I’m writing to thank you for the lovely letter you had delivered to me on my Honor Flight to Washington with your Dad.  It was very gracious and I very much appreciated it.  Your Dad was my “Guardian” for the day and he surely earned that title.  We covered a lot of territory moving between monuments and memorials all over central Washington with your Dad usually pushing me in my wheelchair, sometimes over pretty rough terrain.  I couldn’t have been more capable or more caring hands.  He watched over me much as I watched over him when he was a little guy.  Now our roles are reverse.  I’ll attach a few photographs from our day together.  Thank you again for your very kind letter.❤️❤️❤️

Another Marine on the flight.  I started the day sharing my Kleenex with him.  We became pals.

 

 The only Marines on the Honor Flight

 Watashi-wah, 2nd from the left

I spent the day still recuperating from the Honor Flight and catching up on thank-you notes. 

10/12/2026

Monday, October 12, 2026

1492 Christopher Columbus's expedition made landfall on a Caribbean island he named San Salvador (likely Watling Island, Bahamas). The explorer believed he had reached East Asia

1972 46 sailors were injured in a race riot on the American aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk

1977 US Supreme Court heard arguments in the "reverse discrimination" case of Allan Bakke, a white student denied admission to the University of California Medical School

2023 Israel said it would not stop the bombardment of Gaza until hostages were released, amid a growing humanitarian crisis with 338,000 displaced and the population without electricity or water

2025 Four people were killed, and at least 20 others were injured, including four critically, in a mass shooting at a crowded bar in Saint Helena Island, South Carolina

A proud old Marine with his trusted guardian at the World War II Memorial

In bed at 9, up before 5; 115/72/63 105 202.6; 62/80/60, cloudy morning, sunny afternoon.

Morning meds at6 a.m.  Entresto at 5:45 a.m. and 5:30 .m.

More on the Honor Flight.  Here are some photos related to what I reported yesterday.

James and his guardian moving through the honor guard

Among the honor guard, USN Lt., CDR., and Capt.

 

And members of a bikers club

James, his guardian, and two angels of mercy: one of the docs who cared for him, and Karyn, who cared for all of us and helped me personally with respect to the Arlington gravesite of 'Moon' Mullen.

Where we went, what we saw.  Our first stop was the Marine Corps Memorial, which was significant for us 6 Marines on the flight, and especially to me since my father had been one of the 70,000 Marines and Navy corpsmen on that island.  From the landing beach where his JASCO comm unit was stationed, my Dad watched the flag being raised.  Many years later, after I had left home for college and the Marines, my Dad and Mom visited the Marine Memorial.  I have a snapshot of them there, and I can only imagine what thoughts were in their heads, what emotions stirred their hearts, as they stood there. The Memorial is magnificent. I am deeply grateful that, so late in my own life, I finally had the opportunity to stand where my parents once stood, before a monument commemorating an event my father had witnessed with his own eyes.

Our next stop was at the Air Force Memorial, where the Air Force Drill Team and Honor Guard were

 putting on a tightly choreographed performance of precision drill with their M1 rifles with fixed bayonets.

After that, we drove into the iconic Arlington National Cemetery, which I had also never visited. It is an immense expanse, and we saw only portions of it. I knew two veterans whose gravesites are there: Marine A-4 pilot "Moon" Mullen, who was shot down over Laos in 1966 and whose remains have never been recovered, and "J" Trembley, a Navy bombardier-navigator aboard an A-6, who was shot down over China in 1968. J's remains were identified in 2004 and buried at Arlington in 2005. Moon's gravesite is a memorial, since his remains were never recovered, but his widow, Barbara, is buried there.

As a frequent visitor to Wood National Cemetery in Milwaukee, where the headstones are uniformly arranged and virtually identical, I was surprised by the many private, nonuniform grave markers at Arlington. Their presence reflects the cemetery's evolution over more than 160 years. For much of its history, families were permitted to erect personalized monuments and headstones in certain sections, a practice that has since been substantially restricted.

Our only stop within the cemetery was at the Memorial Amphitheater, about which I wrote yesterday (Dulce et decorum), and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, where we witnessed the 2 p.m. ceremonial changing of the guard.  I noticed that the sentinels do not use a normal walking or marching stride, but rather take almost mincing steps, something like 'baby steps,' executing a highly controlled drill movement designed for precision, uniformity, and symbolism.  The key constraint is that each sentinel must take exactly 21 steps along the black mat before turning. That number symbolizes the 21-gun salute, the highest traditional military honor.  They repeat the same 21-step sequence continuously.  Everything about the Tomb of the Unknown is appropriately dignified and ceremonial.  I fully appreciated that, but confess that I had my usual ornery reaction to seeing military folks acting in an almost robotic style, like mechanical toy soldiers.  When I was much younger, I enjoyed the uniform, almost robotic precision of military drills.  I loved the precision and ceremony of the Sunset Parade at the Marine Barracks at 8th and I Streets in Washington,  but after Vietnam, not so much.  Most of the viewing public present for the Changing of the Guard stand or sit on the steps behind the Memorial Amphitheater, facing the Tomb of the Unknown.  Andy and I were on the other side of the parade ground with the other guys in wheelchairs.

…

After the Changing of the Guard, we were back on the buses and off to the new, beautiful, and very impressive World War II Memorial on the Washington Mall.  It commemorates the about 405,000 dead, 671,000 wounded, and roughly 72,000 still unaccounted for in that global war against Fascism.  My Dad and all my uncles served during the war: Dad in the Marines, Uncle Jim in the Navy, Uncle Bud in the Army at the Manhattan Project in New Mexico, and Uncle 'Bim' in the Army Air Corps.  My Dad was the most injured of all of them, and my mother, my sister, and I lived with the effects of his injuries, uncounted civilian casualties of the war.  Dulce et decorum . . .  The photo is of Pvt. Charles E. Clausen upon his 'graduation' from the Marine Corps Recruit Depot at San Diego in 1944.  Like most veterans of most awful wars (are there any wars that aren't awful?), he almost never spoke of his experiences on Iwo Jima, even with me, another Marine and veteran of yet another war.  But I know from the many writings of others some of what he experienced on Iwo, and that it was horrendous and life-altering for him and his family. RIP, Pop.

We spent the next two hours on the Mall, visiting the many memorials located there, with Andy, God bless him, pushing me the whole time over cobblestoned, rough pebbled walkways, and some welcome concrete ones.  We first visited the Wall, with its inscribed names of 58,281 who lost their lives in the Vietnam War, including those of Bill 'Moon' Mullen and J. Forrest Trembley.  Andy found their names for me.  While there, I met Karyn Roelke, who had been so gracious and helpful in trying to determine why Bill Mullen's headstone was not where Arlington's records indicated it should be. Perhaps it had been removed to be modified to reflect the burial of his widow, Barbara, at the same gravesite. Karyn and several others had gone out of their way to accommodate my hope of visiting Bill's grave while we were at Arlington.  It was one of countless acts of kindness that I experienced on that day and, in Karyn's case, even before that day.  I've often said, and often written, that the world is full of saints and miracles.  Karyn is one of them, as are all the volunteers who made the Honor Flights possible for thousands of old veterans.  And as are the countless people, including many, many children, who approached me on that day, shook my hand, and thanked me for my service so many years ago.  I get a bit teary as I write these words, especially remembering all the elementary and high school kids who were so gracious to this old guy being pushed around in a wheelchair by his son.  For a change, words fail me.

During the day, I was asked more than once which stop had been my favorite, or which had moved me the most. I could never pick just one. But if pressed, I suspect I would choose the Vietnam Women's Memorial, which I think of as the Nurses' and Medics' Memorial.

That sculpture, along with the Three Servicemen statue at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial and the figures at the Korean War Veterans Memorial, offers realistic, profoundly human depictions of the wars they commemorate. All of them touch my heart, move me, and remind me of the soldiers, Marines, sailors, and airmen who sacrificed so much more than I did in their service.

I've long felt a measure of survivor's guilt when thinking of them. I think of my wife's cousin Michael, and what he and his parents endured because of the injuries he suffered in Vietnam. And I think of the words I've seen on the walls of VFW and American Legion posts around the country: "All gave some, some gave all."

I was especially touched by the collection of bracelets of some sort at the base of the 'Nurses Memorial.'  I wasn't sure what they signified, but I wished I had had one to leave there.

The upper photograph is of the Three Servicemen statue at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The three infantrymen represent American servicemen in Vietnam. The figure on the left carries an M60 air-cooled machine gun, the man in the middle a .45-caliber pistol, and the figure on the right an M16 rifle.

When I served in Vietnam in 1965–1966, we Marines were still wearing heavy, Korean War-era utility uniforms and heavy leather combat boots. Our standard rifle was the M14, which was subsequently replaced by the M16, beginning on a large scale in the Marine Corps in 1967.

In the lower photograph, taken at the Korean War Veterans Memorial, the many figures appear almost ghostlike, all wearing ponchos that afforded some protection from the elements, but none from bullets or high explosives.

The sight brought to mind the Marines who fought their way north to the "Frozen Chosin" Reservoir, near the Chinese border, and then fought their way back south when some 120,000 Chinese troops attacked and surrounded the American forces. The Marines suffered more than 4,000 battle casualties and more than 7,000 additional casualties from the brutal cold.

The Korean War has largely faded from the consciousness of most Americans, but not from that of Marines, at least those with some knowledge of their Corps' history. I was deeply moved by this memorial.

Before we arrived at the Mall, we visited a memorial I hadn't even known existed: the National 9/11 Pentagon Memorial. It commemorates the 184 people who died there at 9:37 a.m. on September 11, 2001, when al-Qaeda terrorists crashed American Airlines Flight 77 into the western side of the Pentagon.

The victims included 125 people working inside the building and 59 passengers and crew aboard the aircraft. Their names are inscribed on 184 cantilevered benches, each positioned above a small reflecting pool. The benches are arranged so that visitors reading the names of those killed inside the Pentagon face the building, while those reading the names of the aircraft's victims face the direction from which the plane approached.

It is a strangely beautiful place, at once serene and deeply moving. I was surprised, and a little embarrassed, that I hadn't even known it existed.

As the day drew to a close, we had time for one final stop, with a choice between the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial and the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial. Andy and I chose Dr. King's memorial because he had been such a powerful influence in my life and remains one of my great heroes.

It is a powerful but austere memorial, and I confess that I'm not particularly fond of it. I especially dislike the way Dr. King is depicted. Although he was hated, reviled, and persecuted by many throughout his public life, he was animated by love for people, all people, and I can find little of that love reflected in his face carved in stone.

Nevertheless, I am deeply grateful to have had the opportunity to visit this national memorial to a giant in American history, and an American martyr to the causes of justice, fairness, and human dignity.

At the end of this busy day, we boarded our buses and headed back to Dulles International Airport for the flight home. Our departure was delayed by a mechanical problem with the aircraft, but we finally took off at 11:15 p.m. and were back at Mitchell Field by midnight, where I was once again overwhelmed by the reception awaiting us, including my beloved wife, who was there in the terminal to welcome us home.

But I must mention one more extraordinary act of kindness we experienced at Dulles as we waited for our aircraft to be ready for departure. The Stars and Stripes volunteers held a "mail call," reminiscent of those we had experienced during our military service, when letters from home were eagerly awaited and treasured.

I was very tired by then, having been up since 4 a.m. and having gone without a nap for perhaps the first time in the nearly twenty years since I retired. So I left my large mail call envelope unopened until I got home. Most of the other veterans opened theirs while we waited in the terminal, and I could see how engrossed they were in what they found inside.

And these really were letters from home, from family members and friends expressing warm and loving thoughts.

When I finally opened my envelope, I discovered letters from my wife, my son, my daughter, my daughter-in-law, my grandchildren, my oldest pal (another Marine), and 31 letters from members of the We the People Club at Wauwatosa West High School.

Each was a love letter, and each tugged at my heart.

I had been moved to the verge of tears so many times throughout the day, and now, once again, as I sat at home reading those letters.

Yesterday, when I began writing these reflections on my Stars and Stripes Honor Flight, I wrote that although I had believed in the rightness of American involvement in Vietnam's civil war when I went there in 1965, I soon came to regret both the war and my participation in it. I came to believe that the war was unjust, unwise, and at least semi-fraudulent, and that those of us who participated in it did not deserve grand celebrations upon our return home.

I also wrote that I rejected the maxim inscribed above the entrance to the Memorial Amphitheater at Arlington, Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, and that my feelings about Vietnam and America's involvement in other unworthy military adventures "colored my whole experience of yesterday's Honor Flight."

All of that remains true, or I wouldn't have written it. But I also recognize that wars are not started because soldiers and Marines want them. It is not those who are called upon to fight wars who bear primary responsibility for them, but the political leaders and policymakers in national capitals, including Washington, who send them off to fight.

It was these conflicting thoughts that left me feeling somewhat sheepish and humbled about being honored on the Honor Flight, and unworthy of the countless expressions of respect, affection, and gratitude I received throughout the day.

Having acknowledged all that, however, what remains with me at the end of this extraordinary experience is a profound sense of gratitude to everyone who made it possible, from the remarkable Stars and Stripes volunteers to the countless individuals who shook my hand and warmly thanked me for my service.

Even now, as I type these words, I am almost overwhelmed by the memory of it all, overwhelmed and profoundly thankful to every one of them.