Today I wander as a tourist downtown. On the way to the airport, I stop for a shoeshine, performed by an elderly black gentleman named Randolph. We talked about the coming war with Iraq, and he tells me about his family history with war: his grandfather was in World War I, father in World War II, he was in the Korean War, and his son was in Desert Storm. His son just resigned his commission (voluntarily) after eight years of service. The timing was not coincidental – his son is opposed to the war and what it stands for. I only mention that my father was in Vietnam and his father was in World War II, and that I felt fortunate not to have to be a part of any conflict, but was much more interested in hearing his perspective. It was a nice way to leave this city until I visit next Thursday.
Mortie, Mortie: He's no shorty, Mortie.