From My Cold, Dead Hands

A newspaper.

Something we always took for granted that most Americans now don't. I'm not sure that bodes well for our future as a democracy and a free people, the mountain of the world's computers, "smart" phones and ipads notwithstanding.

The Oregonian's writer Julie Sullivan is telling the story of one of this nation's nearly unknown gems. But it's not just the stone, the landscaping, the expansiveness or the vegetation. It's the people whose stories we are at last beginning to know and treasure.

These are not just the stories of loss in war. They are the stories of people whose lives have been changed and whose lives have been poured out in unimaginable ways in the saving of other lives. They are a gift growing in value.

Read more at: http://www.oregonlive.com/living/index.ssf/2010/05/oregon_vietnam_veterans_livign.html

That's why my newspaper is far more important to me than Charlton Heston's blackpowder muzzleloader. The only way you'll get me to part with my newspaper is to tear it from my cold, dead hands.

Even more and even better to come tomorrow. God bless you, Julie!

And thanks,

Roger