The Usual Suspects: L-R, the Lovely Bea, Jim Champagne, Jon-no-H, and John with one. Photo Socotra.
I was going to talk to you about a couple other things this morning, but then the news of Frank’s death spread, and I had to draft an obit, and I put aside an analysis of the origins of the Occupy Wall Street movement.
It is all quite curious, and worth some discussion about the usual suspects. There will be time for that- the coming cold weather will drive the kids off the pavement soon enough, and it may be that this is just a dry run for the big demonstrations that will happen in the run up to the election next year.
I have seen this movie before, as many of you who are a certain age, and remember it well, since most of us were participants in the last widespread street actions in the waning days of the Vietnam conflict.
Mostly for fun, which is why a lot of the kids are doing it now, I suspect. But there is time to get to that in the next thirteen months.
Thoughts about the American Family Party, a front group of ACORN and the SIEU, were driven from my mind as the other news spread. about the Iranian plot to assassinate the Saudi Ambassador here in DC. The plot involved bombing the Peking Gourmet Restaurant over on Route 7, which is where we celebrated my pal Mac’s 92 birthday.
Peking Gourmet Restaurant- target of al Quds Force? The Bush Presidents dined, like Mac, behind the screen at the rear where the Saudi Ambassador would be seated. Photo PGR.
When the al Quds Force is planning on bombing restaurants that serve exquisite Peking Duck, this gets personal. That is, if this is not a “Wag the Dog” moment presaging lobbing some cruise missiles at Baby Food factories.
I don’t know what to think at the moment, though I probably will once I am on the road to Michigan again to deal with the Raven Affair this Friday.
In the meantime, we wound up at Willow last night. That will come as no surprise, but we had a bunch of folks over at the office for a late meeting, which I avoided, and instead swung by The Madison to have my copy of the new book by Eliott Carlson signed by Admiral Mac.
“Joe Rochefort’s War” is one of those books that is absolutely definitive about a deep secret that proved to be the margin of victory in the titantic struggle of the Pacific War.
Mac wrote the introduction to the book, which I read in the advance copy in his apartment last week. Carlson had given him a couple copies in recognition of the more than forty interviews he contributed to the burgeoning narrative over the years.
“It is incredibly thorough,” Mac said. “Carlson went everywhere to talk to the families of the men who have died, and to those few of us who are still around.” I read him the words he had written as the forward to the book, and Mac smiled. “Those words are right from the heart,” he said. “Now, you have to remember, this is embargoed until the 15th of this month. But take a copy with you to get started.”
“I will replace it,” I said, and slipped the thick volume into my briefcase.
I ordered the book from Amazon when I got home, figuring that it would probably show up a couple weeks after the embargo date.
I was amazed that Amazon paid no attention to the embargo date, and happily shipped it to me over the weekend. Accordingly, I decided to take his copy back and have him sign mine before heading over to Willow last night.
Mac is a little more frail than usual- it is either part of an inexorable process, or more likely, the insidious medication he has been prescribed for the slow cancer that all men will get, if we are lucky to live long enough. I read what he wrote on the flyleaf of the thick book, and thanked him for his friendship.
“I am sorry you can’t make it to Willow tonight, Admiral.”
“I know. Me too. If we can fix the medication maybe we will all be there again.”
“I sure hope so,” I said. “I will stick my head in here before I leave for Michigan.”
“Sounds good,” he said, and picked up his magnifying glass to continue to check the footnotes. “And good luck with that. It is never easy.”
I nodded, slipped the signed copy of the book in my briefcase and headed for the elevator, and the bright lights of Willow across the street.
The usual suspects were there, and more. I passed the book around, and Jim Champagne looked at the words that Mac had penned.
“He is an American Original,” he said. “And not just one of the usual suspects.” Then he ordered another Budweiser.
Some of the other unusual suspects, with Willow Fish and Chips. Photo Socotra.
Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com