A FAMOUS POEM DIDN’T QUITE GET IT RIGHT
For decades, schoolchildren had to memorize a famous poem that begins with these words:
“Up from the meadows rich with corn,
clear in the cool September morn;
The clustered spires of Frederick stand,
green-walled by the hills of Maryland.”
It’s John Greenleaf Whittier’s “Barbara Fritchie,” an American classic. The story of how as Confederate troops are passing through her town, elderly Barbara Fritchie bravely snatches a banner that was shot down by Rebel bullets and shouts the poem’s famous lines. Continue reading
We’ve witnessed incredible heroism recently. When nature unleashed this summer’s seemingly endless string of natural disasters, Americans rolled into action: folks leaving jobs to fight wildfires, sportsmen using bass boats to rescue flood victims, even people opening their homes as havens for hurricane refugees. When nature is at its worst, Americans are at their very best.
You heard the story so many times growing up, you can recite it by memory. How Francis Scott Key was detained on a boat by the British as they attacked Fort McHenry outside Baltimore. How he couldn’t tell during the dark night whether the Americans inside the fort had given up. How when dawn revealed the American flag still flying, he was so inspired he wrote a poem whose words became “The Star Spangled Banner,” our national anthem.
You’ve used it for decades. It was probably rubbed on your bottom when you were a baby to treat diaper rash. Your mom may have applied it to cuts and burns. Perhaps you still use it to moisten dry skin.
Frequent readers know I’ve been a certified Civil War nut since age 9. I’ve visited every major battlefield. In my younger (and thinner) days I was a Civil War reenactor. I even have a collection of 5,000 original War-era photos.
Unauthorized release of sensitive information is all the rage these days. Washington leaks like pipes in the “charming fixer upper” a smooth-talking real estate agent wants to unload.
There I was the day before Memorial Day, walking through Springfield National Cemetery in southwest Missouri, paying my respects to the Civil War dead. It’s one of the few national cemeteries where men from both sides rest.
Face it: bureaucrats, those unelected holders of colorless government jobs, are among the least popular Americans. They rate at the bottom of the list, right alongside used car salesmen and sewer cleaners.
Think quick: when I say Benito Mussolini, what comes to mind? Bad guy. Bellicose. Bald.