>> One more thing that Reagan was right about: Gorbachev outs himself as a believer.

I’ve been a fan of the Criterion Collection DVD series for some time, ever since I saw a friend’s copy of their wonderful remastered version of Charade - perhaps the best Hitchcock not directed by Hitchcock - whose VHS version, when you can find it, is notoriously grainy and washed out, even to the point of eliminating the dimple in Cary Grant’s chin, which Audrey Hepburn points out as she asks, “How do you shave in there?”

If you haven’t seen one of their other films, the Criterion folks pull together a film-school session in a DVD package - a full range of supplemental materials, commentary, interviews, and background info - coupled with some excellent design perks. They all cost about twice as much as a normal DVD, but if it’s for a film you really enjoy and will watch over and over again, it’s worth it.

That brings us to the Criterion edition of “Ernest Hemingways’ ‘The Killers.’” The set includes three films - all share a title, two share the same opening scene, and little else is common between the three.

The least known and shortest film is the 1958 version of The Killers, which was put together by a famous Russian director, Andrei Tarkovsky, as a student film project. It’s chilling and stark, but it also is the most true to the fatalism of Hemingway’s original story - about two hired killers who come to town in search of a target, a man they don’t know named “The Swede.” But when the man is warned of the fact, he greets the news of his oncoming death with a calm resignation. He is not interested in running. When he originally wrote the story, Hemingway is said to have changed the title from “The Killers” to “The Matador” and back again. The idea of the man who stands as the bull charges is very Hemingway, yet it’s the Russian who seems to best summarize this idea in a simplistic three-scene film.

The 1946 Robert Siodnak version of The Killers is an apotheosis of film noir, all characters in darkness emerging into pools of light. Siodnak opens with the scene in Hemingway’s story transferred to a small New Jersey town, which is full of ominous wit. But that’s only the first reel of the film - after The Swede is killed (Burt Lancaster in the role that really launched him as a star, even at the old Hollywood age of 32), the film invents a reason to delve into backstory.

What’s interesting about the ‘48 film when viewed today is how much of the plotline and characters have been imitated and duplicated since, even to the point of relatively recent films. Busted caper films really are limited in their form, and there are only so many ways to change it by inventing new venues or twists. And while the packaging may be dark, the film’s actual message is less so - the villains get what they deserve, the everyman hero figures out the mystery, and the femme fatale (Ava Gardner) is reduced to begging the dying husband she doesn’t love to clear her name. The film actually ends on a joke, one that feels more appropriate for a radio serial. This is old-school noir - a great model of a film that deals with the darkest corners of human existence, while still being essentially a family-friendly enterprise.

Not so for the 1964 Don Siegel version of The Killers, which is famous for a couple of reasons: it’s got the best performance of Lee Marvin’s storied career; it was supposed to be the first honest-to-goodness major made for TV movie (NBC ultimately passed on it because of the violence); and it has the last performance of Ronald Reagan, as the villain. The ‘64 film is noir without the shadows. It has no darkness in it - even every death is in broad California daylight, which somehow makes it more disturbing. There’s no diner scene in this, no Hemingway (a fact that led to much critical disfavor at the time), and the Swede has turned into a modern race car driver, but the violence - particularly that directed at Angie Dickinson, all legs and hollow promises, who gets smacked around by half the men in the picture - is surprisingly raw for the time, and it tells us a lot about how much Hollywood has changed in less than 20 years. A movie like this obviously pales next to Reservoir Dogs, but it’s obvious that they’re on the same visceral coninuum.

Marvin really is very good, driven and undeterred and a murderous student of human nature. His death scene over the last few minutes of the film is chillingly great. Sidekick Clu Gallagher’s performance as the younger yet more heartless hitman serves as a rebuke for every snotnosed brat packer who’s tried a similar role with less dedication. And Reagan, though he hated the film, and only did it as a favor to a friend, is steadily great. “I approve of larceny,” his character says, “Homicide is against my principles.” The best moment for Reagan comes at the end, as Dickinson weakly tries to lie her way out of death. Reagan glances at the ill-gotten cash in his hand, and gives her a sideways look that hints at quiet disgust. Dickinson’s doe-eyed act, which worked on so many others - including the audience - doesn’t buy her any mercy from Marvin. “Lady,” he spits, “I don’t have the time.”

The dark hitman drama is one of Hollywood’s standbys, and films like Collateral continue in the tradition of the ‘64 Killers. Yet there’s little joy in such inhuman protagonists, and limited story to boot. There are elements passed on from these older films to the revenge flicks like Man on Fire, Road to Perdition or The Limey - yet it’s illuminating to realize that the more enduring films are ones like Leon (The Professional), where the redemptive power of human relationships drives the emotional attachment to storyline.

The novelty of a flawed criminal or violent killer as a protagonist was a part of the ‘46 picture; it was all of the ‘64. Now there’s no novelty left. And what you really see here is actually a darker story: how, from 1945 to 2005, we got to a point where we have more antiheroes than actual heroes at the movie theater.

(Originally posted March 2005)

So here we are, at the turn of the tide: one vote from winning the court; two-to-three good years from winning the largest stage of the war; the pressures of the Oval Office at their dramatic peak. A critical moment in our nation’s history, time for an individual with the strength and courage to do what the moment demands.

In 2008, I support John McCain.

“But…but…” my friends say incredulously, “But John McCain is crazy!”

“Perhaps,” I answer. “But you say this as if it’s a bad thing?”

It’s true: stubborn and irascible, John McCain’s living rendition of Don Quixote has been infuriating to watch. He always had a bit of the mad saint of the valley to him—a quality that has only increased with age. His breaks from conservative doctrine are manifold, but fewer in number than those of several of his fellow Senators. Yet McCain’s breaks seem so much greater than those of, say, John Warner—why? Because when he goes on his separate path, he damn well wants you to know it, and know that he thinks you and his other conservative opponents to be inches from Lucifer for your damnable orthodoxy.

Or as Lileks put it: “I like John McCain. He seems like the sort of guy you could have a beer with, right up to the moment where he smashes the bottle on the table and jams it in your face over something you said six years ago.”

It all used to have an endearing Abe Simpson quality to it—“Dear Mr. President: There are too many states. Please eliminate three.”—but there is a ferocity that has emerged in recent years that has led to countless run-ins, of the sort staffers share in loud whispers after too many drinks. They tend to remind me less of the befuddled Abe than of Richard Burton as Henry VIII responding to Woolsey in defiance of Rome—“How far would I go, you ask? I would cleave the earth in two like an apple, and fling the halves into the VOID!”

Yet this is also what I’ve always admired about McCain, even if conservatives curse him in the course of legislative battle: he is the same man, whichever side he is on. He brings that same infuriating passion to our cause when his inner compass has led him to alliance. His support of the surge confounded the glitterati of the MSM, who gave him every opportunity to break with the president in a fashion that would’ve led to countless more cover appearances for the late-night self-pleasuring of pimply interns of the New Republic. And yet he could not be agreeable to them, as tempting as the doyennes and the cameras were: he rambled through, grousing yet triumphant, middle fingers raised to Rumsfeld on the right and the New York Times on the left. Even if you dislike McCain, you have to admit: It was a glorious moment for him.

Of course, there is another candidate who shared many of these admirable traits: Rudy Giuliani. It might surprise a few of you to know that hizzoner was my first choice, and first choice by a mile, in this election. No, Rudy’s not a full-bore conservative, but we thought George W. Bush was, and we’ve all seen how that has turned out. The rationale for me was simple: the next four years will be very, very rough for the Republican Party as a whole. The next President will likely be working opposite large Democrat majorities in the House and the Senate. In such a scenario, having a President who does not fear telling Nancy Pelosi to shove it—in fact, ENJOYS the very act and revels in the consequences—is enormously advantageous. In New York City, he survived by keeping his head on a swivel, which is what you gotta do when you find yourself in a vicious cockfight. We could use that in Washington.

Nearly two years ago, I started working in a voluntary capacity alongside others to share the perspective of a dedicated social conservative with the nascent Giuliani campaign, arguing that—with a few internally consistent moves rightward on matters of judicial policy—Rudy could establish himself as the consensus second choice for many social conservatives. He could issue a sterling call for a New Federalism, as Dan McLaughlin has eloquently offered—that while personally pro-choice, he believed Roe to be bad law, wrongly decided, and that every American should have the right to have their voices heard on such an issue by voting in their state. He could argue that it was high time the federal government got back to the business of defending the country, not squabbling over marriage and stem cell funding. With such a position, I still believe that after Brownback, Huckabee, and others inevitably faded, Rudy could have been the consensus pick.

Of course, Rudy’s campaign could easily ignore me or any of the other dirty web folks saying this, but it was advice echoed publicly by genuinely smart people: Patrick Ruffini, Michael Barone and Fred Barnes among others. His campaign chose to ignore all this advice. Instead, they started believing their own name-ID-elevated tracking polls about their frontrunner status. I sat and watched in Houston as Rudy unequivocally passed on the opportunity to become a consensus candidate. They ran the most short-sighted, parochial, and—frankly—flat-out wimpy campaign I’ve ever seen at the national level without the inclusion of Dick Lugar. And that’s saying something.

It’s not like Rudy was the only disappointment, of course. This cycle has been full of them. The only candidate to overperform, as you look over the field, has been Huckabee. As a naturally gifted communicator with good instincts and an evangelistic temperament, I think that people need to recognize that Huckabee represents the views of a significant number of people in the Republican Party, whether they like it or not. If he isn’t chosen for Veep this time, I have no doubt he’ll run again for POTUS in the future, and probably with the Tom Joad impression tempered a bit. A McCain-Huckabee ticket would make Rush Limbaugh’s head explode, as it would for many of our readers, but it’s a ticket that would fully satisfy a good 75% of Republicans, if not more. That’s the reality, folks, and if you don’t like it, then get to changing it.

With Rudy’s ship sinking, Fred a non-factor, and Huckabee hampered by lack of foreign policy chops and a shoestring budget, the opportunity was there for McCain—once the establishment pick, imploded and then reborn, to once again don the armor and save the unseen Dulcinea and her doubtless properly filed FEC paperwork.

We are left with two realistically possible nominees, with hopes for a brokered convention dashed. In 2008, the question has become: do you support the calculating unprincipled friend, or the passionate principled foe?

For me, it came down to three choices, made on three critical fronts: McCain’s decision to side with President Bush on the surge, with President Bush on Alito and Roberts, and against President Bush on the largest entitlement in the history of America. In each of these areas, we were and are agreed—and in each, McCain displayed the courage and patriotism he has always possessed—the strength of character to do what he believed was right, regardless of whether it was popular.

There are other areas, yes. It’s true that when history calls out for a strong choice, I often say “No!” as McCain, onscreen, declared “Yes!” And in response to that same demand, Mitt Romney has answered loud and clear in his four years in elected office: “Present!”

We may rightly ask: what would John McCain’s first 100 days look like? I’m sure any of us could sit down and outline them in rough but accurate fashion—the good and the bad are well known to us by now, and we can anticipate them with all the regular rhythms and sound effects of a 1980s sitcom. We would have to balance against him on some things and cheer him on in others. We know him as a foe and a friend, and know him well.

On the other hand, what would Mitt Romney’s first 100 days look like? I cannot begin to answer that question, because it’s ludicrous to conceive of this as even a possibility. It simply will not happen, ever. The man has the highest negative ratings of any candidate in the field not named Hillary, and she still beats him by an easy margin—one that will only increase as the Oprah-fueled excitement gap widens.

After two-plus years of having Candidate Mitt before us, conservatives have barely scratched the surface of this candidate’s remarkable political liabilities. His weaknesses are not just small or needling—they are epic. More troubling for those who value winning, though, is the fact that Romney campaign’s reactions to assaults are easily foreseen and more easily outmaneuvered; the predictability of out-populisting Huckabee in Michigan followed by blasting John McCain’s conservative position on Medicare in Florida is the hallmark of this movable feast of a campaign (corn dogs here, caviar there, and be sure to peel the skin off that fried chicken).

As general election strategy goes, Barack Obama would have Romney twisted in all directions, with strong words and an easy smile; the Clinton machine would dismantle him piece by piece with a singsong sledgehammer, leaving bits of bone and blood as bleak warnings to future would-be CEO-politicians. The end result is the same: when he’s been chewed by the machine, Mitt Romney will come to symbolize every worst cliche of corporate greed and offense, be reviled as out of touch and inconsistent, and be mocked at length as the whitest white man in America.

Allow me a moment to be blunt: The Democrats will hand Mitt Romney his ass on a silver platter, and force him to wear it as a hat. His sunny demeanor unchanged, he will give a strong farewell speech thanking his supporters, and give the experience a solid B+.

In 2000 I wrote that Joe Lieberman was a man forever at war with his conscience—Mitt Romney battles his very self on what seems like a daily basis. At least Lieberman’s struggle was interesting and soulful—with Romney, one might as well watch varying shades of astroturf compete for territory. Find me the one issue that Mitt Romney will fall on his sword for, and it would be the first. He is not just untested and unmeasured by adversity or serious political firefights (people speak about him “saving the Olympics” as if it was something that mattered; guess what? I’ve been to the Olympics; the Olympics are the United Nations of sport, where everybody gets together to hate on America; nobody actually likes the Olympics, not even Costas), he has the CEO’s strong aversity to the very concept of things falling apart. Equipped with the flat, even optimism that only the gift of a silver spoon and prep school makeout sessions in the bushes near the quad at Cranbrook-Kingswood or Phillips-Exeter can bring to a man’s life, he comes before us as one who has never risked his all for any cause without having a fallback, who has never overcome a vice, who has never wanted for anything.

American voters are fickle creatures, but with great consistency, they recognize such poll-tested waffle-patterned on-demand candidates as being either naïve, otherworldly, or false. With Mitt Romney, would-be heir to the “once adamantly pro-choice” Ronald Reagan (“I was an Independent during Reagan-Bush, I don’t want to take us back to Reagan-Bush”), they may well judge him as all three combined. In another political day, candidates of his ilk won with regularity; they still develop a train of guppy fish lackies in some circles—yet that was before people’s inauthentic comments were fodder for the internet grind, and Romney talking about “seeing the Patriots win the World Series” would get repeated on CNN, Comedy Central, and ESPN News for the next 48 hours, and sent via YouTube to 100,000 people in mere moments. “Conservatives are such rich white idiots,” they will say, and move on.

The Reagan coalition has and will survive many things. But can it survive the total loss of one of its strongest remaining assets—the authentic, consistent, principled leadership it represents? Make no mistake: Clinton or Obama know Mitt Romney’s weaknesses, and they know those of the Republican base as well. They know the opportunity he represents to slice the Reagan legacy away from the Republican Party—a well-manicured pretender to the mantle who gets by on pancake makeup, eyebrow waxing, and hair gel.

So here we are, at the turn of the tide—and you go to the polls with the candidates you have, not the candidates you want. Saint John McCain of the Campaign-Finance Cross versus Willard of the North, well-mannered Ken Doll? The choice is an easy one for me. Let’s help old Don Quixote into the saddle one more time, and set him on his merry way, to win or lose with him.

The Reagan coalition survived Read my lips. It survived Bob Dole’s peanut butter. It survived compassionate conservatism and its kid stepbrother national greatness. And it will survive John McCain and everything he will do as our nominee and as president. In fact—in a twisted version of the ancient Vulcan proverb “Only Nixon could go to China”—only McCain can save it.

They will say the coalition is dead—but we will know better. We know it only sleeps. We will cast our votes knowing that the day will come, four years from now, when a new leader, one who knows what the shining city truly means, stands in front of the fresh-dug tomb, and calls into the blackness, as if to Lazarus—”Come out!”

And when we hear it, we will rise from out of our stupor, dust cobwebs from our arms, stumble to the door, our eyes blinking in the sunlight … and we will know our day has come.

It’s okay, you can smile. The bastards won’t know what hit ‘em.

crossposted at redstate

As the Iowa voters prepare to go to the polls and their places of caucus, the individuals and organizations conservatives respect are raising endorsement flags above their heads, declaring their allegiances. It is time for me to follow suit. And there is no question in my mind that there is one candidate in this cycle who truly stands above the others in several significant areas.

That candidate is Mitt Romney.

I share so many opinions with my colleague Thomas, but on this one I must break from him. All of the candidates in this nomination battle have important and significant qualifications that cannot be underestimated. Yes, they have their flaws—but surely we could trust Rudy Giuliani, the man who fixed the unfixable city, to be an effective Commander in Chief; surely we could trust John McCain, patriot, war hero, old man who shakes fist at clouds, to be a just if irritable POTUS; surely we could trust Fred Thompson, irascible conservative hewn from old growth timber and stained with single malt, to slug the hippies and cut the size of government; surely we could trust Mike Huckabee to use his silver tongue to make NARAL and the ACLU’s collective heads explode on a daily basis; surely we could trust Ron Paul (albeit in an alternate parallel universe where human nature does not exist and there is no need for interstate highways) to rule his idyllic Randian paradise with a soft yet perfectionist touch, fanned with palm fronds by volunteer Oompah Loompahs who sing glorious songs about the gold standard that would make your heart break.

These are good, committed men. There is much in them to appreciate. Yet these candidates all pale when compared to THE Man, Mitt Romney.

Some may point out that Mitt Romney has the least political experience of any candidate in this field. This is of course a bigoted lie. The least politically experienced candidate in this field is, after all, Alan Keyes. And Mitt Romney’s achievements in his lone electoral victory in Massachusetts cannot be underestimated in any respect. As everyone who knows anything knows, Massachusetts residents speak of the Romney years with a mournful fondness unmatched in human history, except perhaps of Adam and Eve speaking in their old age of the lost Garden of Eden. Most cannot speak of it without breaking into a fountain of regretful tears, crying on street corners, wearing sackcloth and ashes as they beg for the return of their lost executive. In the waning days of the Romney rule, one fellow I know actually took to standing outside of the governor’s mansion holding a boombox above his head playing “In Your Eyes,” begging the governor to stay, wailing as if pining for a lost lover.

But Massachusetts’ loss will be America’s gain, as our golden hero brings his unique amalgam of talent in such a critical time in our nation’s history. He has run the best statewide healthcare insurance plan in the country, the best investment capital group in the global economy, and the best Olympics pageant in the history of mankind. Imagine what such a man can do with the United Nations! I know I, for one, am very excited.

Some may say that Romney is merely Steve Forbes circa 2000, a wealthy man attempting to buy a nomination, with few principles but a better face. This is a shallow, bigoted lie. Mitt Romney’s other physical features are also far more attractive than Mr. Forbes’, as anyone could tell you. Mr. Forbes also showed himself to be an inflexible and non-representative politician what with his loyalty to the so-called Flat Tax and his dedicated work on behalf of fiscal conservatism. To be charitable, perhaps it is true that in one area, and one area only, Mitt Romney lags behind Mr. Forbes—Mr. Forbes has an obvious and ironic sense of humor and wit, as displayed with verve on Saturday Night Live, while Governor Romney’s laugh has been called “robot-like,” “less human than Al Gore,” and “like a horse coughing on a large fly” by some. But no worries, he is cognizant of this minor personal flaw—we are continuing to work with the focus group on this and will have the Romney laugh resolved into a smooth, hearty guffaw in time for the general election.

Some may say that Romney’s endorsement by the National Review was a dark moment in the history of that fine journal. This is yet another bigoted lie. The truth is that the New York offices of the National Review have been very even handed throughout this entire process. They have weighed each candidate equally, and found the rest wanting. They do have high standards—the National Review famously declined to endorse Dwight D. Eisenhower, after all—but in each and every way that was meaningful, Mitt Romney represents their views.

This brings us to an important point. Some may say that Romney is not a candidate who can be trusted. This is another bigoted lie. On the contrary: we can absolutely trust him! We can trust him to follow the path that our country charts for him. Are we not interested in representative government? Of course we are! And Mitt Romney is perhaps the most representative of all the candidates to ever seek the presidency of any nation, ever, even the imaginary ones with the aforementioned Oompah Loompahs—there is nothing untrustworthy about this man, not even his hair. When the electorate wants him to believe something, he believes it! When they want him to oppose something, he opposes it! When they are divided, he waffles! This is man is not just the one to lead our nation—he symbolizes it in all its indecisive, fickle greatness, just as Ronald Reagan did when he stopped being pro-choice!

Some may say that comparing Romney to Reagan is like comparing 98 Degrees to The Beatles. But they are by that very argument revealing themselves as nothing more than shallow bigots who have allowed their bigoted minds to overwhelm their slightly less-bigoted hearts to create a bigoted bigot-fest of bigotry.

The example, however, provides some interesting comparisons. It is true that America loves all things processed and manufactured—one need only note the aisles of meats, cheeses, music, television, and grande lite vanilla soy frappucinos. But it is also true that for every giddy, screaming fan of such sparkling pre-packaged talent as Ashley Simpson, Jamie Lynn Spears, or Hannah Montana, there are also “player-haters” who denounce these nipped, tucked, remastered and vacuum-sealed productions as “sickeningly sweet” or “almost repulsive” or “no-talent assclowns.”

Yet as the Republican brand faces an identity crisis, shouldn’t we take a cue from reality television and the boy band mafia? The American people LIKE things that are processed, predictable, and fluctuate as needed. Don’t we believe, as free market conservatives, that the market should get what it wants? This is an on-demand culture, and it’s time we met the demand with the man who understands how to adapt the best, and the fastest, to suit the needs of the moment.

Don’t you see? When the bigoted liars attack Mitt Romney for saying things like “let me check my notes” on an issue as important as the tactical surge in Iraq, they are merely confusing a negative with a positive. Aren’t you tired of the tone-deaf administration we’ve got right now? Under a Mitt Romney administration, our president will understand America enough to know that he needs to check the polls up to the very minute of the State of the Union address to determine what he ought to say about our Global Warming policy. Want to make it illegal to drive cars? Want to make it illegal NOT to drive a Hummer? America, now you too can decide! Just dial the number and press 1 or 2 respectively to make your voice heard.

Some may say, such as Redstate’s own Dan McLaughlin in his well-written but clearly wrong-headed series on the Unbearable Lightness of Mitt, that Romney is a liability for the Republican Party—that he has the highest negatives of any potential nominee, rivaling Hillary Clinton’s. Some may say that Mitt Romney’s path to the nomination would be a victory for the lowest common denominator. And some may say that given the power of the Executive Branch, Mitt Romney’s cadre of loyal supporters will be like Clintonites on speed, leaving a path of vindictive destruction as they target bigoted liars to be investigated, audited, and personally embarrassed.

These are all bigoted lies, and if you believe them, please register your complaint below while including your email, permanent address, and SSN for our files. We will contact you after the election.

I have chosen not to listen to such fools. Fie upon them. It is the dawn of the age of the pre-packaged candidate. Look on Mitt Romney’s works, ye mighty bigots, and despair.

crossposted at redstate

We got in line yesterday around 3 PM, with about a hundred people ahead of us. We were dead center in the front row, bordering on the reflecting pool, looking straight ahead at the Capitol and the glowering statue of General Grant on horseback. We waited for the arrival.

Folks were from everywhere – Iowa, Austin, Chicago, Minnesota, Kentucky, Frankfurt. Not everyone was a Republican… but someone who saw me reading NR did ask if Ramesh’s piece on Spitzer was good. It was probably the most calm and polite line I’ve ever seen in DC. It really was sweltering, but the Red Cross was there, and water was plentiful.

That mini-evacuation scare was really just frightening to the out-of-towners (anyone who works on the Hill is used to getting those sort of warnings by now), and the locals helped people out. All ages were there – old military men, young families, a baby that couldn’t have been more than a year old.

We counted the stacks of water bottles on wooden pallets scattered around the grounds. Approximately 1,800 bottles per pallet. Upwards of 110,000 bottles of water. They were going to need more.

The F-15s flew right above us, the sunlight winking off their wings. As the last fighter broke off towards heaven in The Missing Man maneuver, I knew this was one of those moments I’ll be telling my grandchildren about someday.

There was a circle of silence that surrounded the horse without a rider – it was awesome, in the true sense of the word. The murmur went through the crowd from those holding newspaper clippings – those were his boots in the stirrups. They were. But of course they would be.

At first, there were just a few hundred people in line. Then it grew. As the casket made its way slowly up Constitution, passing by the thousands who lined the streets and the balconies, watchers would break off and move up towards the line. They stood in families and groups and in crowds, on the sidewalks and the steps, knowing that others stood at home.

By the time the caisson reached us, there were tens of thousands of them, moving steadily down the mall, watching from a distance as the honor guard carried The Man Who Wrestled the Bear up the steps.

I’ve never had a soft spot for Nancy. But to see her standing up there, a frail yet strong figure at the top of the wide stairway, reaching out for one touch, was as moving a sight as I have ever seen.

The lines of the honor guard looked straight and steady as they bore him through the door. Someone cheered – and then another – and then everyone was clapping and whistling, as if welcoming home a conquering hero.

There were hours more to go in the heat as we worked our way through security and up towards the southwest entrance. The sun set when we were by the reflecting pool. We were in the first group to go in – they were counting us off, and we were numbers 143 and 144.

Up the steps, across the front, through the outer door, into the entranceway. Throats are clenched, hands held tight. The guard nods. The doors open.

The room is hushed. The crusty military man in front of us, whose legs were broken on some mission long ago, creaked up to the velvet rope and did a slow, solemn salute. We stepped together around the axis of the rotunda, as slow and deliberate as the honor guard. The draped flag shone bright in the spotlights, shimmering with color, vivid and unashamed.

We wept for a man born before our grandfathers.

One last glance, and then we are in the outside world again. The air seems lighter now. Standing atop the Capitol steps, we look across towards the Potomac – past the crowd, the trees, the monuments of heroes, and up up up to that night sky where the fighter jet rose like a soul aloft, busting through the clouds – straight on through to the kingdom of heaven.