On Tuesday afternoon, shortly after the inauguration, I got a note from a friend. It said, “Well, it’s done. God bless GWB.” I thought that summed things up perfectly. (And, yes, my friend wishes the new president well, too–he wishes all of us well.)

‐After I wrote about Obama and his inaugural address on the Corner, I got a lot of mail–a lot of mail, as you would expect. And a lot of it was from lefties saying, “Get over it, you sore-loser, whiny, pathetic SOB.” (I have made the language a lot nicer.) And many, many of these people said, “Your George W. Bush is leaving with the lowest job-approval ratings ever. No one likes him. A consensus formed against him long ago. We greet this new president with joy and relief. Your president is in the toilet.”

They kept harping on this matter of low approval ratings: and I was reminded forcefully: I am not a majoritarian, and don’t want to be. Don’t want to be majority-conscious. You should not be a majoritarian when the people are with you, and you should not be a majoritarian when the people are against you. Opinions shift with the winds. Majoritarianism–which is related to groupthink and even mass mesmerism–is for the weak-minded.

(Which is not to say we don’t bow to majority rule, when that is politically called for.)

I am tempted to quote “One with God is a majority.” But then I might come off as a dangerous theocrat or something . . .

‐In my Corner scribbles about the inaugural address, I left something out–but a reader of ours wrote in with the same point. So I thought I’d share it.

Obama said things like, “We have to stop putting off the tough decisions.” And, of course, Bush’s specialty was making tough decisions–that is one of the things that cost him political popularity.

This reader and I thought of what Nancy Reagan said, when Bush 41–the 41st-president-to-be–said from the rostrum in New Orleans that he wanted a “kinder, gentler nation.” The First Lady turned to her stepdaughter, Maureen, and said, “Kinder and gentler than who?”

Indeed.

‐Liked very much this letter from a reader:

Jay,
You talked about the bumper sticker that says, “Dissent is the highest form of patriotism.” [Will that still hold true, now that the One is president?] I have a liberal neighbor with some bumper stickers that no longer send the message she wants. I’m watching to see if and when she removes the sticker that says, “Visualize Impeachment,” and another saying, “If You Can Read This, You’re Not the President.” Clearly to her, those are now outdated and should be removed. Would it be wrong to go knock on her door and ask if I could have them for my car?
I know, I know–we conservatives must have more class than that, but I would love to see her reaction at seeing the tables turned on her. But I will happily give her her “safe zone.” That’s the neighborly, conservative thing to do.

Incidentally, when that reader said “safe zone,” he was alluding to this column: “My Kingdom for a Safe Zone.” In that context, a “safe zone” means an area free from partisan politics. (If you know of such a zone, tell me.)

‐Related to “Dissent is the highest form of patriotism”: A reader saw a T-shirt that said, “Question O-thority.” Nice.

‐I hope very much you’ll see the new issue of National Review. You’ll find it in digital form here. My contribution happens to be on a Special Forces captain with an unusual name: Ivan Castro. He is also an unusual officer: blind, wounded in Iraq two and a half years ago. I have noted him in Impromptus before. And, last week, I went down to Fort Bragg to see him.

He is an extraordinary man, Castro. He was unconscious for six weeks, riddled with injuries (if I can put it that way). And he has climbed a long way back. Unwilling to be “transitioned” out of the military, to begin life as a disabled vet, he fought to stay in the Army, and the brass agreed. He is the picture of determination. He carries out his duties on base. And, last year, he ran five marathons. And did a triathlon. And scaled Grays Peak, in Colorado. To visit with him is to be humbled.

Incidentally, for a picture of him–in marathon mode–go here.

I asked him why he simply didn’t give up, after he was so badly–brutally–hurt. He said, in part, “My mother, my dad: They were really hard workers. My mother was a survivor. They divorced when I was five, and she worked really hard for everything she had–and she taught me to work hard as well.” And then there was his military training: Ranger School, the Special Forces Qualification Course, and so on. That instilled a certain toughness, too.

And he felt he had to set an example–for his peers, for the soldiers who were under his command, and for the general public, too. “When I don my beret, and go out with my [white] cane, people stop and stare”–he can feel it. And “if you’re a Special Forces Ranger, everyone expects more from you. You’re never cold, you’re never hungry, you’re never tired.”

Captain Castro sometimes fights what he calls his “demons in the darkness,” or his “demons in the closet.” “The closet is my brain,” he says. “I don’t see anything. I’m totally blind. I have no light perception. And when the demons want to take over, as soon as they try to, I try to keep them out. I think about all the things I’m grateful for: my wife, my son, the Lord above, His mission for me.” There are days “when I walk into the wall, both literally and figuratively. I try to take a step back and not get angry and figure out a way to go around things.”

Anyway, I hope you will meet Captain Castro in this new issue of ours. You may have a hard time forgetting him. I will.

‐Someone sent me a clip of a British colonel, Richard Kemp. And he knocked my socks off–he may well yours, too. He is on the BBC, talking about Israel and Gaza. The BBC woman . . . is being a BBC woman, classic. But he is talking complete sense about the matter: what Hamas is like; what Israel does to spare civilian casualties; and so on. I wonder if the BBC knew what they were getting when they invited him on.

Oh, sorry: here.

‐News from Ann Arbor, my dear hometown? A friend sent me the following notice:

Monday, January 26, 2009, 7:00 pm
Author readings and book signings with Bill Ayers and Bernardine Dohrn
‘Fugitive Days: Memoirs of an Anti-War Activist’ by Bill Ayers and ‘Race Course: Against White Supremacy’ by Bernadine Dohrn
Presented by Shaman Drum Bookshop
www.shamandrum.com/bookshop
In “Fugitive Days,” Ayers tells the real story of the defining events of the radical ’60s. The book is an eyewitness account of a young pacifist who helped found one of the most radical political organizations in U.S. history, and who consequently lived for ten years as a fugitive. In a new era of antiwar activism and suppression of protest, “Fugitive Days” is more poignant and relevant than ever.

Suppression of protest? What suppression of protest? Only in the Ann Arbor mind, surely. Also, my friend commented, “Since when do pacifists bomb buildings?” Well, maybe Ayers was a special kind of pacifist.

And I always quote what he said when he was acquitted: “Guilty as sin, free as a bird. What a country, America.” Yes, afraid so.

Just one more thing: President Obama may have disavowed his friend Ayers; but Ann Arbor will never.

#JAYBOOK#

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‐In a couple of columns, we’ve–readers and I: I’m not being royal here–discussed the issue of “boys,” “men,” “girls,” and “women”–when to use those words. I want to publish just one more note, from a reader. It sort of tickled me. He said, “I have a neighbor whose age group may be inferred by the position he once held: Dean of Boys at SMU.”

I should say.

‐This is really amusing–really, really amusing. Peter Jacobsen, the golfer, has drawn laughs for years when he does imitations: imitations of famous golfers (Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus, and so on). Well, you want to see a cellist doing imitations of famous cellists? Hilarious. Fantastic. Here.

By the way, the best mimic I have ever encountered is Michael Schade, the tenor. His conductors are hilarious–Karajan, Muti. And his singers . . . unbelievable. I’ll never forget an imitation of the late Alfredo Kraus.

‐A little more music? Someone sent me a recording of an amazing song. The clip is here. And the song is “Don’t Bite the Hand That’s Feeding You,” from 1915 (I believe). Here are the lyrics–they come from a different planet, of course:

Last night, as I lay sleeping, A wonderful dream came to me. I saw Uncle Sammy weeping For his children from over the sea. They had come to him, friendless and starving, When from tyrant’s oppression they fled, But now they abuse and revile him, Till at last in just anger he said: If you don’t like your Uncle Sammy, Then go back to your home o’er the sea, To the land from where you came, Whatever be its name, But don’t be ungrateful to me! If you don’t like the stars in Old Glory, If you don’t like the Red, White and Blue,

Then don’t act like the cur in the story, Don’t bite the hand that’s feeding you! You recall the day you landed, How I welcomed you to my shore? When you came here empty-handed, And allegiance forever you swore? I gathered you close to my bosom, Of food and of clothes you got both, So, when in trouble, I need you, You will have to remember your oath. If you don’t like your Uncle Sammy, Then go back to your home o’er the sea, To the land from where you came, Whatever be its name, But don’t be ungrateful to me! If you don’t like the stars in Old Glory, If you don’t like the Red, White and Blue, Then don’t act like the cur in the story, Don’t bite the hand that’s feeding you! Would today that qualify as “hate speech”?

‐Finally, someone sent me a clip of Cecilia Bartoli, the Italian mezzo-soprano. She displays her special brand of coloratura (here). I have had mixed feelings about La Bartoli over the years, as many have. But she is a big, big talent. And I mainly wanted to say that I loved the note our reader sent, accompanying the clip: “There is no bang big enough to explain this.”

Have a good weekend, bravehearts.