Lillyanna with Sharene's mummified cermaic cat; half mast for Senator Stevens

Note: Due to satellite troubles, the internet here in Barrow has been going in and out and seems to have been off much more than it has been on. This is my first chance to post, but the net is expected to vanish again at any minute. I have placed my photos, but, if you should come upon this and find that one or all of the pieces of the narrative is missing, it is because the net went out again. I will try to make a save right now and if it succeeds, I will continue until I am done or the net vanishes again:

This is Lillyanna with a ceramic cat that belongs to her Aunt Sharene, who used to have a real, live, cat that I photographed a few times - it even appeared in my book, Gift of the Whale.

Sharene has another niece, older than this one, who was curious about the ceramic cat.

Sharene told her that it was her real cat and that she had had it mummified.

"I just couldn't bear to give her up," Sharene explained.

The niece believed this for a couple of years and then one day Sharene told her she had just been joking.

The niece did not want to believe this, but the ceramic cat had an accident and one ear broke off. Then the niece saw that it was ceramic. She believed.

As I walked around the lagoon in a stiff wind, I saw these kids playing.

Scrimshaw artist Gilford Mongoyak Jr., the son of an elder who had been very good to me and who died a number of years ago gave me this sample of his work the other day. He had invited me to stop by the Iñupiat Heritage Center, where many artists come both to create and sell their work and so I did.

I did not expect him to give me anything, but he did. I have been photographing several artists, as I plan to include a section on artists in my next Uiñiq magazine. It is tough, because there are far, far, far more artists up here than I can even begin to include.

I wish I could include them all.

This is the first flag that I saw flying half-mast for Senator Stevens. Everywhere I go in Barrow, people are talking about his sudden, tragic and unexpected death. I have not heard one negative comment. What I keep hearing, over and over, is how much Senator Stevens  was instrumental in bringing into Rural Alaska.

That would include modern health facilities, such as the old hospital here in Barrow and the new one, still under construction, as well as this housing complex for doctors and other health care workers.

Hey! It looks like I made it all the way to the end.

I've done a lot more photography over the past few days than this blog even hints at, but this is all I have time for right now and I am saving much of it for other uses.

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Barrow Whalers football season opener, part 2 of 5: First half - the flag flies, one touchdown is made, no extra points

I, as I am certain is true for just about every Alaskan and for many others in our nation as well, am rather distracted right now by the tragic news out of the Tikchik Lakes, just north of Dillingham, where Senator Ted Stevens and several others have been killed in a plane crash. My condolences to all those who now most deeply mourn this loss inflicted upon us all by this crash.

As you can see, the warm weather had disappeared and Barrow had become Barrow once again. It was a 30 - 30 day: wind in the 30's, temperature in the 30's. "This is our home," says Coach Voss, "It's what we have to play in all the time. Nobody else faces it like we do."

Except, of course, for the visiting teams, who may find it even tougher.

"It certainly isn't a disadvantage to us," Voss agrees. 

And this could well be the warmest home game of this eight week season. The final home game will be September 22, a date by which one used to know with certainty that snow would cover the tundra and ice would coat the lakes and lagoons. This is no longer certain, but odds are it will be a very chilly game.

But never forget that those who live here at the Top of the World also live in the United States and on this day, Barrow's cheerleading squad stood bravely in the chill wind, gripped the flag and joined in the singing of the national anthem.

Those cheerleaders clearly visible in the picture include Joanne Akootchook, Nicole Hope, Khayla Vigo and Camille Dacanay.

With the wind behind the whalers, quarterback Eddie Benson kicked off to start the game.

The ball was down inside the 20 yard line. South Anchorage tried hard to fight there way toward Whaler territory, but the Whalers opened with a wall-like defense that the Wolverines found hard to penetrate.

Whaler Jacob Harris gets in on the tackle.

Soon, the Whalers have the ball. 

Eddie Benson sprints past defenders toward he hopes will be an opening.

Benson looks for a receiver. With the wind at over thirty, it would prove to be not a good passing day, but as a junior, Benson has many games ahead of him and Coach Voss expresses confidence that he will be a strong force to be reckoned with, both this year and next.

Running back Adrian Panigeo sprints toward the goal line and gains several yards, putting his team close to a scoring position.

Fullback Joe Burke takes advantage of his blockers and punches his way over the goal line for the first touchdown of the day. The coaches did not feel that this was the day they wanted to initiate a kicking game, either for extra points or field goals, and chose to go for two. The effort failed, leaving the score at Barrow Whalers 6, South Anchorage Wolverines, 0.

Clancy Itta cheers happily. His oldest granddaughter, Anissa, one of the three children of Clancy's daughter, Natasha, who is married to Nehemiah Houston, son of coach Houston, is not quite so pleased. Anissa's grandmother, Marie Itta, explained that she had been in the car with Anissa with the big, furry, wolverine mascot from South Anchorage suddenly appeared at the window, peeked in at her and frightened her terribly.

The game continues. As Coach Voss looks on from the sidelines, Benson dashes into the wind and looks for a receiver.

Benson finds that in football as in life there is opposition in all things.

Soon, the ball is back in the posession of the Wolverines. As before, they keep encountering a solid wall of Whalers and fail to threaten.

But, once the ball return to the Whalers, they, too, are stopped before they can return to scoring position. 

Soon, the Wolverines again had the ball but again were stopped by the Whalers. Trace Hudson made this tackle.

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The funeral of Vincent Craig, Part 4: A helicopter passes overhead, procession moves down the hill, military honors, Mormon honors, Apache honors

After the funeral service, the flag-draped coffin that held the body of my friend, Vincent Craig, was wheeled outside the doors of the big Mormon chapel and church house in Lakeside. Those gathered around paused, stood very silent and listened. Soon, the distant beating of whirling helicopter rotors could be heard, growing steadily louder as the chopper that they propelled through the air steadily approached.

Then the helicopter appeared, first as a tiny dot rising above the distant trees. Then it hovered directly overhead, beating the air loudly. All eyes looked up. This chopper had come from Overseas Aircraft Support, a company that rebuilds military helicopters. Vincent had showed up there a few years back, told them he had been a helicopter mechanic in the Marine Corps, had asked for a job and had got it. He had helped to rebuild this very helicopter, which, I was told by his coworker and pallbearer Richard Johnson, will soon be in service in Afghanistan.

After the helicopter disappeared, Vincent's wife, Mariddie, was surrounded by those who sought to comfort her. Before the service began, a small group of relatives and close friends had gathered in the Relief Society room, where Mariddie delivered the family prayer. She expressed her gratitude for the strength and love of her children, grandchildren, family and friends.

As I discovered when we buried my own parents, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints does not allow photography inside their chapels. I wish that I could have at least taken a picture of the congregation that had gathered in this building to say goodbye to Vincent.

This place was chosen for his funeral services because it is not just any ordinary chapel, but rather a Mormon Stake Center. While the chapel itself is large, behind it is a full-sized basketball gymnasium. A sliding partition separates the gym from the chapel. Twice each year, members of all the wards and branches within the LDS Pinetop-Lakeside Stake, a large area which includes the reservation as well as Pinetop-Lakeside and other non-Indian border areas, gather here for Stake Conference. The partition is then drawn and the chapel and the gymnasium become one huge meeting hall. Just like in Utah, white settlement in Arizona Apache country was pioneered by Mormons and their numbers remain strong. It takes a huge churchhouse to accommodate the people of all the wards when they meet. Even so, Dustinn recalled going to Stake Conference with his parents as he grew. Never once did he see this building filled to capacity the way it was for his father.

For his father, the chapel and the gym were packed to capacity.

As the many mourners had entered, Organist Ann Flake played "Oh My Father," a Mormon funeral standard that was also sung by the congregation as the opening hymn, led by music director and close family friend, Phoebe Nez. Jacob Zuniga offered the opening prayer.

Of the excellent speeches that were delivered in this building on this day, I was moved most by the memories and love expressed by Vincent's three sons, Dustinn, Nephi and Shiloh and by his older brother, Harrison. I will not try to recount any of their words here, but I might include some of what they said in the tribute that I will begin to put together after I post this entry. 

Vincent's close friend, Ronnie Peaches, told how the Apache people had adopted this famous Navajo as one of their own. The closing remarks, a summary of Mormon belief in the resurrection, was delivered by President Shumway of the Pinetop-Lakeside Stake.

One day, very near to the end of his life when his physical strength was fading but not gone, Vincent Craig asked for his guitar and then, from his hospital bed, spontaneously composed a goodbye song to his family. Dustinn recorded this final performance and that recording was played here, on this day, inside this chapel.

His voice was weak, but the beauty and love that came from it was strong. The congregation listened. Many wept.

Vincent's sister, Vivian Craig Begay, offered the benediction. Then, as the organist played, "God Be With You 'til we meet again," a representative of Owens Livingston Mortuaries wheeled the casket through a walkway too narrow to accommodate we pall bearers. We, and all the congregation of mourners, followed him into the sun.

Those of us who were pall bearers then wheeled the casket to the hearse. After we rolled it inside, members of the honor guard saluted as Vincent's brother, Harrison Craig, held the Marine colors.

I had to wait a long time before I could pull out of my parking space and enter the line of mourners for the 25 mile processional down the White Mountains to the Whiteriver cemetery. As a pall bearer, this worried me a bit because I did not want to arrive late at the graveside - although I was quite certain they would not start without me.

After I finally worked my way into a line that seemed to have no end in either direction, I saw this bumper sticker directly in front of me and I laughed.

No, not for the mistaken reason that readers unfamiliar with life in this part of the country can be forgiven for thinking. "Shi" is the Navajo word for "my." In one of his songs about the rituals of modern day Navajo romance, Vincent shouts out, "oh, shi heart!"

Hence the bumper sticker, made and marketed by the little company created by Vincent and Dustinn.

As the procession worked its way through Pinetop-Lakeside, some who could not be in it found a way to express their sentiment.

The highway that descends the White Mountains down to Whiteriver is a winding one. Sometimes, when the curves and slants were just right, I would catch a glimpse of the procession behind me in my rearview mirror. I could not see the end of it.

And off to the side, many vehicles traveling in the opposite direction pulled over to show their respect.

As we neared Whiteriver, I finally got a long view of the procession ahead. Even so, the hearse was beyond the reach of my eyesight.

I parked and followed this young family up into the Cemetery. Through Margie, I have many relatives buried here, including my father-in-law, Randy Roosevelt. His was the first funeral that I ever attended on the land of the White Mountain Apache.

A few of those gathered.

I don't know what the temperature was, but it was hot. Not searing, the way Arizona can be, but hot. Even so, a breeze ebbed and surged. It lifted the tie of Harrison Craig.

The pall bearers, minus myself. Vincent planned his funeral himself, with help from his wife. No one knew that I would be attending then and I was not on the list of pall bearers. The night before I was needed, Mariddie told me that one of those selected was not going to be able to make it and asked if I would take his place.

I must have gotten a dismayed look on my face, because she quickly added, "or would you rather take pictures?" 

"Yes," I answered. "I would prefer to take pictures." Then I thought about it a little more. How could I better honor my friend than to set my cameras aside long enough to carry him to his grave?

The day before, at the visitation, I had shot a couple of frames from the vantage point of a pall bearer. On this day, as we carried Vincent to his grave, my eyes saw many powerful images in front of them. I let them pass. I carried my friend with my full measure of solemnity and respect.

The family of Vincent Craig.

An Marine honor contingent fired their salute in three parts.

Vincent's fellow veterans saluted as Taps was played.

Two Marines fold Vincent's flag.

In a display of what struck me as pure and sincere humility, a Marine kneeled before Mariddie and presented Vincent's flag to her. Afterward, he stood up, saluted her and then marched respectfully out of the scene - as did the gunners and bugler. 

Ernie Crocker played two Mormon hymns on his harmonica, then finished with a love song dedicated from Vincent to Mariddie: "You Are My Sunshine."

Harrison asked all those not in military uniform who wore hats to remove them, then, as a family member and Mormon Priesthood holder, offered a special prayer of dedication.

Those who wore flowers pinned them to the Navajo blanket that had replaced the flag and would now go into the grave with Vincent.

All four of Vincent's grandsons: Kraig, Chance, Tristan and Ari. All three of Vincent's sons: Shiloh, Nephi and Dustinn.

At Mariddie's request, the funeral director noted that he was about to open the casket one last time and asked that no pictures be taken until it was closed up again. Then, in the Apache way, Mariddie and family placed items of food and drink in the casket, including a canteen filled with water and corn chips.

Then the coffin was closed again, sealed into the vault and lowered into the earth. In the Apache way, Mariddie and Nephi then brought an armload of Vincent's clothing to the grave and dropped them in with him. 

 

Family members and pall bearers then brought more of Vincent's clothing and personal items and, in the Apache way, left them with him. Now the grave was ready to be covered.

Please take note of the emblem on the top article of clothing. That is the logo for a skateboard competition that Vincent MC'd in Whiteriver in 2000 - just as he MC'd all the Whiteriver competitions. I have not forgotten that day in the late 1970's when Vincent organized and mc'd the first skateboard event ever held on this reservation.

I photographed it all. Somewhere, unseen now for over 30 years, the negatives lie in one of my filing cabinets - along with so many other invisible images.

Take note, too, of all the white shirts and black ties, worn at Vincent's request. A few days ago, I mentioned how, these days, I just basically will not wear white shirts and ties.

Yet on this day, in the midst of this Apache funeral for my Navajo friend, when I looked out and saw all these Mormon-evocative white shirts, black ties, and black slacks, I felt extremely proud to be dressed this way myself. 

As we all will be, my friend Vincent has now returned to the earth.

A moment of certainty and awe.

Mormon leader Ernie Crocker then prayed in Apache and dedicated the grave.

The ash that had been gathered from the cooking fires was then brought to the foot of the grave. First, the men scooped up handfuls, then circled the grave in the Apache way, sprinking ash along the edges as they did. Above is Ari, Nephi, and Emerson.

After the men, the women followed. The last one to circle was Vincent's sister, Elvira.

The funeral of Vincent Craig, Part 3: Visitation at Fort Apache - mourners weep, but they also laugh

I begin my coverage of the day of Vincent's visitation in the backyard of the home where he and Mariddie raised their three sons and where their grandchildren still come to play. People had gathered here to lend comfort to each other and to the family as they waited for the hearse to bring the body of Vincent down from the mortuary in Lakeside for the viewing at Fort Apache.

Among those present was baby Naaneeya, held in the arms of her Aunt Torri Benaly DuQuesnay. In the English language, Naaneeya would be a second niece to Vincent. By Navajo reckoning, she is a granddaughter.

As they waited, women cooked break and other items over the coals of an open fire. The coals would not be discarded, but in the Apache way would be gathered and put to use the following day just before the funeral would come to its end.

After the hearse arrived, those present lined up along the driveway as the driver backed in, military representatives to the one side, pall-bearers and other civilians to the other. Other veterans, including a special honor guard of former Marines, many who had fought in Vietnam, had already gathered at the Fort Apache LDS chapel to prepare to greet Vincent there.

I rode to the chapel in the vehicle of Vincent's brother, Emerson Craig and two other pall bearers, Norman Pete and Ryan Pete, who sat in the back seat. As he drove slowly along the procession route, Emerson told us of a series of dreams that he had after his father, Bob Craig, Navajo Code Talker who fought at Iwo Jima, died.

In the earlier dreams, his father could not talk, but only gesture. In the later dreams, he let his son know that everything was good with him, he was in a good place and had bears to watch over. Among them was a special bear that he would pat on the head. He believed this to be the same bear whose life he had saved during the days of his youth.

The tear that came down his cheek was for at least two people, his father and his brother.

As the hearse drew near to the driveway to the Fort Apache chapel, an honor guard marched in front, Apache cowboys behind and to the side. A long procession of pickup trucks and cars followed.

As the hearse backed toward the chapel doors, the cowboys formed a line and removed their hats.

Vincent's second oldest son, Nephi, stood with his hand on the chest of his six-year old son, Ari, as Vincent was carried into the chapel.

We carried Vincent past his cartoons.

There were military honors, a prayer and then silence followed. Then, softly came the sound of Navajo flute, followed by harmonica and fingers plucking an acoustic guitar in a minor key. Then came the voice of Vincent Craig, singing these words, "My grandfather used to take me to the mountains in my youth and there he would tell me the stories of long ago. Between the four sacred mountains we lived in harmony but now you tell me that we've got to go, because someone drew a line..."

It was his song, Someone Drew A Line, about the forced removal of the Navajo people from their homeland to the Basque Redondo, where so many died before they were allowed to return.

As all others stepped backed to wait, Vincent's family, including wife Mariddie in the dark-patterned camp dress, his sons and a grandson, gathered beside the casket to look upon this man who had given them life and had then filled their lives with something extraordinary and special.

From that point until the closing prayer, the room would be filled with the sound of Vincent's voice, singing to his own accompaniment on guitar, flute, harmonica, mandolin, keyboard - whatever this artist of multiple talent had felt necessary to convey his message.

Comfort was brought to his wife, Mariddie, who he always called by her middle name, Ann.

Comfort was also gladly accepted by Dustinn, the eldest son of Vincent and Mariddie, and by Mariddie's sister, Charlotte.

An old friend of the family shares some good memories of Vincent with Mariddie.

In her pain, Mariddie also extended comfort - here to her son, Nephi.

Mariddie's cousin, Gretchen Ethelbah sheds some tears as she turns away from the casket. Grief was not limited to family members. As I hope I have made clear in earlier posts, those who loved Vincent for the great gifts that he had brought to them through his music, songwriting, poetry and cartoons number in the legions.

Vincent Craig was one of the most beloved individuals in all of Indian Country.

Despite the solemnity of the event, those who had shed tears for Vincent when they stood beside his open casket smiled as they filed past his cartoons.

And sometimes, they laughed out loud. Of all the pictures I have taken since I left Alaska, if I could somehow show but one to Vincent Craig, this would be it. And I know what he would do. He would laugh - loud and hard.

I grew up hearing that a comic should never laugh at his own jokes. This did not apply to Vincent. He laughed. He always laughed.

Mariddie and her sons Nephi, Shiloh and Dustinn. They continue to share the love they had with husband and father with each other.

During the lunch, Phoebe Nez, a good friend of the family, served acorn stew.

As I was eating my acorn stew, a little head suddenly popped up between me and the table. It was this girl, whose name I do not know, but she stayed close to me throughout lunch, sometimes darting laughingly off, but only to quickly return in surprise fashion. 

Members of the Bylas Marine Veterans Honor Guard from the San Carlos Apache Reservation took their turns standing guard at the head of the casket.

Emerson wraps his arms around his weeping niece, Haily Mae Perry.

One Marine Veteran who could not be present in the flesh to pay his honor and respect was the late Bob Craig, Vincent's father. Yet, if you look closely at the Pendleton blanket draped over the edge of Vincent's coffin, or, better yet, click on this image to see a large version, you will see the words, Codetalker. 

This was a special issue Pendleton blanket, done just for the Navajo Codetalkers. Before his coffin would be closed for burial, this blanket, created for his father, would be wrapped around Vincent, so that it encased him and all that he wore.

In this way, Vincent Craig would go to the grave wrapped in the love of his father.

A Boy Scout who came to pay his respects. As I earlier noted, back in our days together, Vincent organized a boy scout troop and I accompanied them camping and hiking.

I took this image about five-and-a-half hours into the viewing. The room had been packed at the beginning and would be packed at the end. The only time the crowd gathered inside thinned out much at all was during the late afternoon meal.

Nephi and Ari.

In the late evening, just before we returned the body of Vincent to the hearse.

What I saw as I wandered through last week's Wasilla Tea Party rally

I see that I have done it again. I have spent too much time writing too many words and so have created a document that few will likely read. I should cut at least two-thirds of those words out, but to make it short and concise would take even more time than it took to make it long and rambling and I can't take that time. Those who wish only to read my direct followup to yesterday's post could skip everything else and go directly to photos 6 and 8.

I pick up where I left off four posts ago, with the three vehicles of the four-wheeler caravan, their flags flying as their drivers race toward Wasilla's Tea Party rally. After spending the day in Anchorage, I was tired. I thought I might just skip the Tea Party altogether, except to shoot a frame or two of the smiling faces of those who would wave their signs at me as I drove by on my way home and then let it go at that. At heart, I am a peace-loving man who prefers to avoid confrontation.

Yet, when I saw these three charging so gallantly to the rescue, it looked so exciting that I decided that I should stop by - but not right away. First, I needed to go to the Post Office to check my mail. Then I wanted to drive back up to Machaus and check out the new iPad. I wanted to pick one up in my hands, manipulate it, see how it looks and functions.

Maybe one day I will be making iPad books, or customizing an iPad version of this blog.

And that's where I found the Liberty Tax Service mascot, on the corner by the little mini-mall that houses Machaus.

This was a very hard tax day for Margie and I.

Yet, according to news reports that I kept hearing and reading, on the whole, it was the lightest tax day most middle class Americans had experienced in years. This year, I heard it reported on the radio, Tax Freedom day had come after 99 work days, as opposed to the 104 of the recent past. Elsewhere, I saw it reported as 100 days this year, 104 in the past.

After I played with the iPad for a bit, I headed back toward the rally, and passed these people working together to get this Dodge rolling again. Elsewhere, substantial amounts of snow still lingered but here, in this cleared out, windswept area, it was all but gone.

I could have driven straight down the Parks Highway to the Tea Party rally, but instead I took my time and meandered down along the frontage side roads. As I did, I saw this man, pedaling his bicycle upon which he carried a sleeping bag, mattress and a few other possessions.

When I came to this corner, I was driving in the right lane. The sign told me to turn right and, by the laws that govern me, I had to. As I did, people waved signs and shouted, "Honk your horn! Honk your horn!" 

I did not honk - but I did wave politely and I did smile.

These are my neighbors, my fellow Wasillans. We can meet in the post office, the grocery store, at a restaurant or an athletic event and be friendly and talk and show each other respect. Indeed, I later saw the father of one of my oldest son's former American Legion baseball teammates. He carried a sign that I disagreed with, but that does not change the fact that in the past he and I have had many good and pleasant visits. In the years since, when we have happened upon each other, we have always engaged in friendly chat. We always ask about the other's children and grandchildren.

On just about every matter that brought, these, my fellow Wasillans, Alaskans, and Americans here, I disagree with them, both as to cause and solution. I see their facts as often erroneous, their blame misplaced. I can't help but wonder where they and their professed anger at government were during the reckless tenure of the Bush years that destroyed our national surplus and drove our nation 13 figures into debt. I wonder why they were silent about the impacts of the deregulation of the financial world that led to such a huge transfer of wealth from the middle and lower classes into the pockets of the wealthy - and ultimately to the financial crisis that exploded upon us in 2008 - to no easy, quick, solution.

Yet, I feel it important that I respect my community members, that even when I disagree with them, I do not call them insulting names. I must not throw cheap, gratuitous insults at them. This has become the norm these days on talk radio, cable news and the blogosphere, in the public forum, where so many do it. Debate, drowned out and stifled by insult.

While they alone do not define it, those who gathered at the tea party by the hundreds, certainly totalling more than a thousand strong over the course, make up a significant part of the soul of Wasilla. if I am to meet my goal to find the soul of this community, then sooner or later I must sit down and speak with some among them, ask them why they believe as they do, listen to their stories and pass them along as they relate them to me.

This does not mean that I cannot express my own opinion or ask some uncomfortable questions. One question I would have for any member of the Conservatives Patriot Group, the sponsor of the Wasilla Tea Party rally, is to better explain this quote, prominently displayed on their web page:

"Evil cannot be wished away, it cannot be loved away, it cannot be talked away, it must be destroyed!!!!"

How do you define this evil that must be destroyed? How do you intend to destroy it?

As theirs' is a political organization dedicated to advocating a political point of view, one could reasonably suppose that by "evil," they do not necessarily describe the kind of things that many of us think to be evil, but rather political viewpoints that differ from their own.

Not only can a political viewpoint not be wished, loved, or talked away, it cannot be voted away. Under the US Constitution, political differences are settled at the voting booth - but the outcome never eliminates the differences. They continue, to be reargued and refought at the next election. The more liberal forces may win one election and then the conservatives the next, but sooner or later it will always tip back the other way.

So, if a differing political viewpoint is what you describe as "evil" and you cannot wish it away, you cannot love it away, you cannot talk it away, you cannot vote it away, then how do you seek to destroy it?

Or maybe I have misunderstood and you mean something entirely different than an opposing political viewpoint. I would like to hear an explanation.

Of course, it is always a little bit challenging to remain respectful and civil when right away after you get out of your car and walk into the crowd you come upon the smiling face of a man who is telling you that you have a mental disorder. I know it doesn't really mean anything. It is just rhetoric. Everyone does it. So what the hell. Let him wave his sign.

I wonder, though - why is he wearing Mickey Mouse boots? And why is his friend wearing Bunny Boots? Those boots are designed for 40 below and it was 40 above.

One could develop sweaty feet this way. It still gets pretty cold at night. Maybe they were out all night, setting up.

And you who wave that flag just remember that it is not a conservative flag, it is an American Flag. Yes, wave it with pride, but don't forget that we who see the political situation differently than you do also love that flag - no less than do you.

Never have I felt more proud than I did on that day when I saw that flag draped across my father's casket as he was carried to his grave by six of his fellow warriors. They were much younger than he and I knew that some had fought or soon would fight in Iraq and Afghanistan. Maybe one or more would themselves return in a flag-draped coffin.

I looked at those soldiers who carried my father and I felt love - pure love; strong, heart-piercing love. Tears streamed down my face and they were not all tears of grief. There was pride in those tears. Afterward, I thanked them, but I owed them so greatly that I knew my thank you to be vastly inadequate.

Remember after 9/11, how flags few from just about every home, be it occupied by conservative, liberal, middle of the road, unsure? 

And then there was that very chilly January 20 of last year, when I stood with my youngest daughter and wife in the midst of two million others on the National Mall in Washington, DC. Two million people, two million flags, all waving, people smiling, people cheering, tears of pride streaming down cheeks - white cheeks, black cheeks, brown cheeks, yellow cheeks, red cheeks; all the cheeks of a diverse America; an America that had become a place of greater equality and thus greater potential than had been the America that I grew up in.

And then, as we waited in the chill for the hour when the man who, under the provisions laid out by the US Constitution had been duly elected as President would be sworn in as Commander-in-Chief, images of Bruce Springsteen and Pete Seeger appeared on the many gigantic screens spread throughout the the mall. Chilled though they were, two million joined in the song, "this land is your land, this land is my land..." two million flags waved... Powerful! How proud we all were to be Americans. How proud I am to be an American. And how proud I am of the vote that I cast to make what happened that day on our National Mall possible.

Nothing that anyone could say or do or write upon a sign can ever take that pride away.

So wave your flag, but remember: it is not your flag alone - it is OUR flag. 

And when you shout, "Patriot," remember that a liberal can be every bit as much a Patriot as any conservative and a conservative can betray his country as quickly as can a liberal. Liberals also wear the uniform. Liberals also shed their blood for America. They die right alongside conservatives, as Americans.

"I was willing to fight, kill or die for this country and for the ideals that it represents and that has not changed. I took an oath to defend the Constitution of the United States, it had no expiration on it. I remember taking that oath as a young soldier and it said that I would swear to defend the Constitution from all enemies, both foreign and domestic and I didn’t understand that domestic thing. Never in a million years did I realize that the domestic enemies would be our greatest threat and they would come from the highest levels of government in this country, from the highest positions. Today, for me, I have no eligible President in office, I have no qualified Commander-in Chief; that’s my personal opinion."

In my post yesterday, I paraphrased the above quote and expressed some thoughts about it, as I had found it not only deeply troubling, but intimidating. A conservative participant at the rally, whose opinion I respect and who I am certain speaks honestly, responded to tell me that she had been there, that she had applauded the speaker and had interpreted his meaning very differently than did I.

"Not once did I hear anyone preach violence as the answer to the problems we face today with the current government," she wrote. "In fact, the voices of many said don't turn to that, use your voices, your votes, stand up for what you believe in."

This struck me with a fear that perhaps I had misinterpreted his words - particularly as I had paraphrased his words from memory, rather than by quoting from a written or recorded verbatim account. Fortunately, I have found a 47 second clip from his speech that is comprised entirely of that part of his statement that I found so troubling. It is on the website of the Conservative Patriots Group, the sponsors of this year's Tea Party Rally, and I quote it above. You can find the clip here, identified as "Rick." It is the seventh of ten very short video clips to be found on that page. The internet is a fluid thing, so this could change.

I think it noteworthy that Rick spoke for probably five to seven minutes and it is these 47 seconds of his speech that, not only me, but his own organization chose to break out and highlight on their own website. As I stated yesterday, 95 percent of his words were ones that, in a different context, most Americans, be they Republican, Democrat or Independent, could go along with, although many would draw different conclusions from the good words that Rick spoke than he did.

Yet, it is the above statement that his own group chose to emphasize. This is what they chose to promote on their website. I will now break the statement down piece by piece and explain why I found it so offensive and still do. I am open to anyone countering here with a different interpretation.

"I was willing to fight, kill or die for this country and for the ideals that it represents and that has not changed..."

So far, very good. I honor Rick for his service to our nation...

"I took an oath to defend the Constitution of the United States, it had no expiration on it. I remember taking that oath as a young soldier and it said that I would swear to defend the Constitution from all enemies, both foreign and domestic..."

Again, very good. Praiseworthy attitude...

"...and I didn’t understand that domestic thing. Never in a million years did I realize that the domestic enemies would be our greatest threat and they would come from the highest levels of government in this country, from the highest positions..." 

Frightening words. I begin to grow a little concerned...

"Today, for me, I have no eligible President in office, I have no qualified Commander-in Chief; that’s my personal opinion."

Now I am deeply troubled by Rick's words. I think of my youngest daughter and how serious she took the Constitution and her right to vote. I think how hard she campaigned for Obama and how, when he won the vote fair and square, nothing could stop her from going to Washington, DC, to be there for the swearing in. Were it not for her, Margie and I would not have been there.

Yet, Rick has expressly stated his readiness to "fight, kill, or die" to protect his country from a domestic enemy and he has defined that enemy as the President of the United States. He has stated his belief that the President is not eligible to be President and not qualified to be Commander-in-Chief.

If this does not insinuate a threat to future violence against the government of the United States, to a willingness to nullify by force the votes of myself, my wife and my daughter, then what does? And if that day were to come when he were to take these words to their ultimate implication, were he "to fight, kill, or die" to remove he who he has declared to be a domestic enemy, ineligible to be President and not qualified to be Commander-in-Chief, then who would he fight? Who would he kill?

Would it not be we, the American People, those of us who live right here in Wasilla and elsewhere, who, in a Constitutionally held election and under laws and rules that found candidate Obama to be eligible, voted him in as President? Not only would that fight be against us, it would be against many who voted with Rick against President Obama, people who deeply oppose our President and resent his policies, but who are loyal Americans with deep respect for the foundations that hold up the United States and would defend their country. 

While I hope and do not believe that it will ever come to this, should Rick or any others who share this sentiment ever act out the full implication of his stated words, he and they would then literally become the domestic enemy that he swore himself to defend against.

That's what his words say to me. They tell me that, while he was part of the laudable "get out the vote in 2010" message of the Tea Party rally, should that effort fail to achieve their desired goals, he has considered other, non-democratic options and found them acceptable.

Again, to those who see a more positive, non-threatening interpretation to his words, I invite you to express your viewpoint.

Look at that mountain, standing so beautiful above and indifferent to the fray. It is not on your side, it is not on my side. It doesn't give a damn about you or me or our squabbles. That mountain is Alaska, that mountain is America. It is the absolute, real America. When we are all gone and forgotten, it will still stand. Not forever - nothing of this earth does, but long beyond any memory of us.

Other speakers stated that the Heath Care Bill was Pearl Harbor to conservatives and that it would result in the deaths of more Americans than Pearl Harbor and 9/11 combined; that, compared to nature, humans pump one tenth of one percent of the total amount of the gas that climatologists blame for global warming into the atmosphere, so humans cannot possibly change the climate. 

My father fought the Nazis in World War II. Many times, he risked his life. A bullet from a Nazi machine gun once struck him in the forehead of his flight helmet, turned it 180 degrees backwards and knocked him unconscious. His captain thought he was dead and ordered a crew member to shove his body out of the way and take over his spot.

Many of the airmen that he flew with died fighting the Nazis.

Down on the ground, Americans and our World War II allies were killed by the hundreds of thousands in combat against the Nazis.

To use the word "Nazis" as it is used here cheapens the sacrifices they made to rid the world of this evil. To use the word in this way dishonors the tens of millions of innocent men, women and children murdered by the Nazis.

Why not use the word "Nazis" to describe... Nazis? No one else. Why not use the name, likeness and moustache of Hitler to describe just one man... Hitler?

It really lets both Hitler and the Nazis off far too easy to lay these obscene titles upon your fellow Americans because they disagree with you.

This also goes for Liberals who would use the word in the opposite direction.

It truly is a great country that we live in. May it long survive and stay that way.

I have already stated my feelings about this one, two photos above.