At some point in the coming days or weeks, McCain and/or Palin will be campaigning in Pennsylvania, probably somewhere in the Philadelphia suburbs. I wonder if it would be worth the one-hour trip to Fort Dix, New Jersey, to hold an event preferably within sight of the base. (Obviously, campaigning on the base is off-limits.) There, either McCain or Palin ought to read a bit from Bob Owens:
In less than the blink of an eye, the blast of eight tightly-bound sticks of dynamite shattered the brittle wooden shell of the building hastily constructed during the Second World War, adding jagged splinters and rusting nails to the shrapnel that ripped through cheap tables and chairs, taffeta and chiffon, uniforms, and flesh.
Before the concussive shock waves reverberated off nearby buildings, half a dozen human beings closest to the outside wall of the NCO Club became mist.
The roof, lifted skyward by the explosion and suddenly absent a supporting wall as it returned to earth, crashed down on the dead and dying. Leaking bottles from the shattered bar fed the rapidly spreading flames, and deafened, dazed and bleeding survivors crawled or stumbled towards escape in ones and twos.
As soldiers from nearby buildings ran to help the bleeding and burned, a carefully-crafted 12″ pipe-bomb studded with roofing nails hidden in a nearby trash can went off, turning rescuers into additional victims.
Just outside Fort Dix confused onlookers sat in stunned amazement, as a pair of nondescript young women nervously laughed and counted ambulances for a half hour before losing count and heading back to the townhouse in Greenwich Village. The message had been sent.
Though he would have no way of knowing it at the time, the Weatherman’s attack on the non-commissioned officer’s dance would stand as the deadliest act of terrorism on U.S. soil for 25 years, 1 month, and 13 days, until Timothy McVeigh drove into Oklahoma City and infamy.
Of course, that isn’t how history unfolded.
Instead of counting ambulances as a measure of their handiwork on the night of March 6, 1970, a dazed and panicking Kathy Boudin was running from police, and the remains of Diana Oughton were scattered in the rubble of the townhouse basement, as the bomb she was helping build went off, killing her, Terry Robbins, and Theodore Gold.
A careless movement, inadvertent twitch, poor design, or perhaps an act of God stopped the Weathermen from carrying out their attempt to dramatically and lethally escalate their war against the United States.
William Ayers is a monster, who sought to kill American soldiers and their girlfriends. The misconduct of a prosecutor may have left Ayers “guilty as sin, free as a bird”, but the American people don’t have to pretend Ayers’ construction of bombs never happened.
The American people would never pretend that it is normal to be an employee, friend, and associate of Timothy McVeigh or Eric Rudolph. It’s time to ask the hard questions of why Obama had no problem working for and with this man for so long.
Allow me to throw out a potential line: “There’s reason to doubt that oft-repeated pledge of ’supporting the troops’ when you’ve worked for a man who tried to kill the troops.”