Jody closed the scrap book. They sat silently for a moment. Charlotte was the first to speak, rather cautiously. "Well done. Something said well that desperately needed saying. The book review serves as a splendid device. It offers the tool to foster passing of painful truths without a killing of the messenger." "Yes," sadly responded Jody, "you see, I completely understand McVeighs motivation. In time his outrageous deed may become more prophetic than pathetic."

Jody had much to say about this event. He noted the outrage by those who survived or lost loved ones in the event, and that all others without exception, were so intensely hateful that no one dared to question any motivation that might have set McVeigh in motion. Could Jefferson have been a prophet for McVeigh or merely a crutch? Had our free republic gone too far in teaching abuse as Brandeis spoke of? For such as Jefferson, quoted by McVeigh, both tyrant and patriot must collide. Did McVeigh fully understand the consequences of such extraordinary act, and carefully identify his role?

Had he not the sense to know the backlash would completely eradicate any noble curative action he might hope to make? No one seemed to make the slightest move to understand how anyone could feel any kind of ill will against soft federal workers, self serving, in paper shuffling jobs, for the most part, with even on the job baby sitting as collateral duty. No one seemed to realize how far socialism of employment and parenting and child care had saturated a free nation of free choice by using the taxes confiscated from a vast number of workers who made it independently on their own. No one worried then or now about federal government policing or the loss of freedom of choices.

Rather, great haste was made to put in place of that flimsy building a sorry in your face monument that further promoted the governments on the job permissiveness with little chairs for little people, so none must ever forget that they remain on the job in an adult work day world, and glorify this child abuse fostered by parents who never hesitate to put their children in the care of others no matter the expense or inconvenience to all others except themselves. No one ever howled out for tax breaks so one parent could stay home when children needed that kind of attention. No one complained about the planned bastards or later deserted children by one or both the parents. No one, not a single printing had been seen to explain how this way out socialism might move one who had once cared, to instability and an over reaching reaction.

A young reporter watched the execution of McVeigh, who, it was reported, lay quietly, nodded calmly to each, one by one as he caught their eyes, and then with his eyes wide opened, fixed on the camera in the ceiling, calmly passed away.

"It was awful, it was evil," said Jody, "such terror, such screaming silence, that none would dare to hear before desperation aggravated McVeigh to the point of deliberate destruction. Not before. Certainly not then. Then never, thereafter."

"I hear you Jody, and I understand you, them and even maybe even McVeigh, a little. His was a deep dastardly gash and will take a very long time to heal, even a little." "Added to that, said Jody is the certain knowledge that not much will change for the good. Only more policing and oppression. Freedom destructive pro-active policing by a centralized government."

"Talking of death and dying," said Charlotte, rising, "I have one." She shelved the scrapbook, and pulled down her slim volume. "Ready?"

Charlotte prefaced: "This speaks of an idealist I once knew. One who could not cope with realities and disappointments. One who turned to himself for a solution. That permanent solution to a temporary problem: Memory of a Dead Poet

After singing of Elizabeth and people and church and bells

you in green-leafed dreaming once cried O, Ecstasy!

but quickly stilled that mystic joy

searing otherworldly word-dreams into silence.

Departing a world that once tried to kill and failed you went

leaving behind a lingering trail of sorrow and broken dreams

to haunt the hearts of friends.

Journeying outward setting aside all thoughts of Elizabeth

and quiet shy glances of love over cups of tea

as the poetic flowering of your soul no longer sang

or gazed at open skies, ecstatic trembling green leaves,

Elizabeth, bells or tea.

As it oozed out the red-stained window blown through your skull."

"Jody, how can goodness go so wrong?" said Charlotte, quietly closing the book.