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October 12, 2001

" . . . the violence and impression of an excessive grief must of necessity astonish the soul, and wholly deprive her of her ordinary functions: as it happens to every one of us, who, upon any sudden alarm of very ill news, find ourselves surprised, stupefied, and in a manner deprived of all power of motion, so that the soul, beginning to vent itself in tears and lamentations, seems to free and disengage itself from the sudden oppression, and to have obtained some room to work itself out at greater liberty."

. . . —MONTAIGNE


Trolling in Troubled Waters. . .
. . . Last night I watched the C-SPAN replays of our president speaking at the Pentagon and separately answering questions at the White House, marking the one-month observance of the 9/11 acts of terror. Although "life goes on," there are times when the situation at hand is overwhelming to my consciousness, and this was one of them. For the most part, I wake up each day to gather information and assess the posture of our nation, and am heartened by the fact that we have experienced, deeply thoughtful leaders in place to deal with this crisis. After years (decades?) of a low-grade, background anticipation of potential calamity, there is a part of me that is not thrown off balance by the events of last month. Perhaps it's also due to the circumstances in which I found myself that day... that day of stunned disbelief, but also a day of rare personal pleasure.
. . . Bill Barefoot and I were out trolling on Lake Huron, having our best salmon luck in years, and we didn't think to turn on the radio until around 11 am. I'd caught a fish right away that morning, on the starboard pole, right after I had set the gear. I was so involved with the port downrigger that Bill had to holler, "Dix!" when it hit. We went on to get two more before returning to the resort, but, of course, I will remember most those first sketchy fragments of journalism... first about airliners having hit the twin towers and then a reference to the Pentagon. My shock at a significant terrorist action was then amplified alarmingly when the reporter made mention, almost in passing, about the collapse of a tower. I can recall that silent "what the hell?" look that passed between us, and it wasn't long before we both understood that both skyscrapers were gone. I don't know how many minutes passed before we heard the words, "For those of you just joining us..." but time was suspended in utter astonishment.
. . . The isolation of our fishing experience in such a peaceful setting held our priority of attention, plus we were running expensive tackle at 60 to 70 feet into underwater troughs that can go from 80 feet deep to 30 feet in a matter of moments, and that tends to compel concentration on the immediate task. Nevertheless, I felt the great joy of catching salmon slide into a hollow depression as I heard myself thinking, "the bastards got them... after surviving the previous bombing, they're gone... this time the sons of bitches got them..." It was almost as if I initially personified the structures themselves in my mind's eye, with my inner being unable or unwilling to grasp the enormity of the human loss. And the awareness of the Pentagon attack expanded my surprise to include a profound sense of vulnerability. The Pentagon! The very headquarters of the most powerful military of the age... I felt detached in an almost bizarre way, out in the Great Lake, hovering between the U.S. and Canadian mainlands. I had no visual reference. Only my imagination could try to make sense of it and, uncharacteristically, it was falling short. When we got back to the cabin at last, I found each broadcast video clip more disturbing than the last. I tore myself away to call Dana.
. . . I've wanted to write these thoughts and feelings ever since, but the emotional distractions and stresses of the aftermath have left me powerless or intimidated when it came to getting them recorded, although I seem to deal adequately on the surface with each grim revelation. I managed to express myself orally, but when I picked up my pen I would fall silent within. I keep coming back in my mind to my faith in the invisible hand that has guided this nation since day one and my genuine trust in the leadership team calling the shots for America. I'm buying the administration strategy. If my allegiance is misplaced, then so be it. Look... I've watched and listened to Dick Cheney for years and I think he's as steady as they come. I sat in the car and sized up Donald Rumsfeld for nearly an hour last year when we drove him from Lexington to Danville for the VP debate. I'm convinced that he's the real deal— a keenly intelligent, mature, patient, tough leader who knows the meaning of his sworn oath. Ashcroft is a true friend of freedom. Powell is at the right place at the right time. Rice is nobody's fool. Ridge has met the test of courage... And I have sensed the mantle of a sacred office descend upon our commander-in-chief. He has a good heart and a focused, performance-oriented sense of mission. Having grown incredibly since the candidate governor stepped onto the national stage, I believe he now understands his destiny and how he must set precedents for how a president should respond to the unique challenges of a new century. Step by step, he's won my confidence. For months I've looked for signs of phoniness or a lack of integrity and I don't see them. He seems to rise to every occasion. Historians have said that great presidents are only made by the great crises of great times. Are we thirty days into such times?
. . . On my way back from Michigan I spent a little time in Tipp City, walking the historic streets and alleys. For the first time in a long while it almost felt like home... I bought some grass seed at Saunders and checked out the Railroad Carryout to convince myself that the old mural was really painted over... Had they even tried to preserve it?
. . . Well, that's the way it goes. Eventually, everything we have created will just be a part of the past. What is permanent? Not the sacred integrity of American soil, as we have seen. Not even Freedom... and that is why the torch must be continuously won anew by each generation and passed on to the youth. So that those who have kept the Faith and held the balance can raise their banners high and salute the fallen who have paid the ultimate price... only to weep as they watch another crop of flag burners slap the face of Liberty.


October 12, 2000
One year ago . . .
. . . Wouldn't you know it... Bush beats Gore decisively in last night's debate and then all hell breaks loose in the Middle East, wiping the political campaign off the news, preventing Republicans from consolidating the public relations victory. The attack on the USS Cole is both tragic and troubling. What the hell were they doing in Yemen?

October 12, 1996
Five years ago . . .
. . . Dana and I have hit a lean spell in our business, perhaps as dark a financial chapter as we've ever had... As far as the election goes, Bill Bennett was warning about "the worst hangover in American history," if the country retains this president. I fear he is correct. I still dream about a major upset that will put Dole and Kemp in the White House, but I can't get attached to that idea. We've been fretting lately about the macro-scenario and are losing touch with our own microcosmic critical mass...



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