To The Eagle:

The following was submitted as a rejoinder to J.B. Bouchard’s Merry Marxist Manifesto of two weeks ago, the counter to his Catastrophic Calumny Confrontation of last week will come next week.

A hat tip to J.B. for his concern over my glaring mental deficiencies, but it is indeed difficult for me to reason out how sealing the doors of a police station and setting fire to it with the cops inside, or demanding defunding of all police is somehow anti-racist but not anti-cop. And being called Trump’s acolyte is a compliment I could accept, but I’m way too old to qualify. The reason I admire that young whippersnapper is that he has accomplished a lot of stuff I’ve been advocating for the past half-century.

My recollection of the ‘60’s is different from J.B.’s, too. At that time I was a Navy pilot, then airline pilot, working to ensure that my kids didn’t grow up to be like the hairy drug-addled creeps that had invaded San Francisco chanting “make love, not war” while being capable of neither, or their bomb-throwing brethren like Weathermen Bill Ayers and Bernardine Dohrn, who later became Obama mentors. The Vietnam war, disastrously escalated by LBJ, was mostly wound down by Richard Nixon, not the protesters, and while a modicum of good was done by the Freedom Riders, there was a ton of empty virtue signaling riding along with them, while MLK and company did the heavy lifting.

“This guy” does not feel threatened by these Woke women on the march, but rather saddened by the waste. These women are in the same general age range as my granddaughters who have gotten fine educations in the fields of science, accounting, cosmetology, and computer technology while avoiding the fever swamps of social justice. And, yes, a true liberal arts education is almost impossible to find these days, after the left’s long march through our institutions.

It’s fairly easy to resist taking umbrage at the phrase “America’s twisted society,” because a very small part of it definitely is twisted, and can be readily observed rampaging in the streets of a dozen Democrat run cities, and wandering zombie-like around the crumbling ruins of what was once the Democrat Party.

Howard Brawn

Puget Island