This is a letter from a reader. His response came after reading a column I penned a few weeks ago concerning pillow fighting in Detroit. I am not sure how to do it, but I’m sure you computer whizzes out there can find that column to refresh your frontal lobes before diving into Robert’s letter.
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“I too remember the good years, like coming across the Ambassador Bridge on the night of the riots and being stopped several times by the National Guard and told martial law had been declared and to go straight home.”
Note from Don to history buffs — the Detroit riots Robert refers to are the ones that broke out in August of 1967. I know, that’s when my Grandpa John Rush died. (When, and not because of.) I was 4 1/2 years old. I’ve heard my father had a dickens of a time trying to find beer for the wake. Martial law meant beer and alcohol sales were frowned upon. Yet, some how, some way (was there a bribe) ever the good Irish-American Catholic, my dad persevered and managed to procure a “pony” keg. My dad kept that keg — dry since the funeral — in his garage until he died in 1996. Since then, I have become keeper o’ the keg. It sits in my garage collecting dust, because I don’t know what else to do with. I can’t throw it away. But, I digress . . . back to the letter . . .
“It was the last part of you column that concerned me. (I called us once proud and mighty Michiganians ‘sheep.?) It is how close you are coming to the truth of what is going on in this country. Divide and conquer is working well to bring this country to its knees. It’s getting harder and harder to find the rams among the sheep.
“I thank God I am old and will not be around long to see the mess (the persons I did not vote for created) unfold and tear this great country of ours apart.”
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What are your thoughts — on the sheep-thing or the keg thing. Any ideas can be sent to: email@example.com