Katrina – 5 years later

Five years ago, Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans.  The media blamed Republican president George W. Bush.  They ignored the actions of Democrat Governor Kathleen Blanco and Democrat Mayor Ray Nagin, who did mostly nothing to prepare people.  Hollywood leftists flocked to the scene. Tonight, the same media is reliving, as they say, the hurricane.  We [...]

Dead Byrd

Dead Byrd

Earlier this month Senator Byrd was sent to that great cross-burning in the sky. Racists everywhere were saddened, yet some good did come out of it. For Byrd’s funeral proved to be another adventure in disassembling the truth for Arkansas whore-dog and impeached former president Bill Clinton, who tried to gloss over Byrd’s racist past [...]

Will fidel’s lawyer represent KSM

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So, you still think there’s an embargo XXXVI

We’ve written for years on the half-assed embargo of Cuba – some things embargoed, some not, states cowtowing to fidel for business, businesses organizing to ship even more to Cuba, and a push to eliminate the requirement at Cuba pay before the goods are shipped. Now from Net For Cuba What Cuba Embargo? By INVESTOR’S [...]

Katrina – 5 years later

Five years ago, Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans.  The media blamed Republican president George W. Bush.  They ignored the actions of Democrat Governor Kathleen Blanco and Democrat Mayor Ray Nagin, who did mostly nothing to prepare people.  Hollywood leftists flocked to the scene. Tonight, the same media is reliving, as they say, the hurricane.  We [...]

Dead Byrd

Dead Byrd

Earlier this month Senator Byrd was sent to that great cross-burning in the sky. Racists everywhere were saddened, yet some good did come out of it. For Byrd’s funeral proved to be another adventure in disassembling the truth for Arkansas whore-dog and impeached former president Bill Clinton, who tried to gloss over Byrd’s racist past [...]

Katrina – 5 years later

Five years ago, Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans.  The media blamed Republican president George W. Bush.  They ignored the actions of Democrat Governor Kathleen Blanco and Democrat Mayor Ray Nagin, who did mostly nothing to prepare people.  Hollywood leftists flocked to the scene.

Tonight, the same media is reliving, as they say, the hurricane.  We thought we would reprise our own coverage of the storm – first, our Mahone Dunbar.

Katrina Hits Hollywood


Sean Penn
Penn & Ink Productions
609 Palm Lane
Hollywood, CA

To Carl Weishammer,
Cinema Solutions West, Inc.
1134 Hollywood Blvd.
Suite 110
Hollywood, CA 90210

Re: Project proposal

Dear Carl:

Hope everything is going well for you. I am about to get a new film project off the ground and immediately thought of you as the principle cinematographer – providing you can pencil me into your busy schedule. I will need a sixteen week block of time starting in late November of this year. I intend to wrap post production by early March and be ready for late spring or early summer release. Please let me know if you are interested.

I am currently headed out of town on a mission of mercy to New Orleans, with my entourage, but you have my cell number, so call anytime. However, I’m not sure if the cell towers are functioning properly down there as yet, so you may have to leave a message with my service. In addition to saving some lives down there, I intend to kill two birds with one stone by getting some set ideas on film, and soaking up the atmosphere of events, and getting the big picture on this whole catastrophe thing.

Here are some relevant stats and facts, as well as a brief plot synopsis and some production ideas, that I would like to bring to your attention. I have included some script specifics (the first section is completed) to give you the flavor, and a synopsis of the rest. I have included a few of the story-board sketches to give you an idea of my camera angles, etc.

Cordially,

Sean Penn

PS Financing will be no problem on this one. I made some great personal connections with money sources on my last trip to the Mid-East. Being familiar with the general tenor of the project, they have already expressed an interest in bank-rolling it.


Proposal: Action movie

Working title of production: The Big Blow

Alternate title of production: Bushwhacked

Setting: New Orleans, post Katrina

Cast: To be determined (some tentative suggestions below, if available)

Star: Sean Penn

Scripting: Sean Penn

Director: Sean Penn

Cinematography: To be determined

The Big Blow

Partial Script, Narrative Outline, and Synopsis

Sean Penn

Copyright 2005

Title credits over shots of New Orleans in happier times.

Opening: We will use some canned footage, stock shots and such, of old New Orleans for the titles, during Mardi Gra, perhaps, with crowds of revelers partying big time. Dixieland jazz will be played behind this. As the titles come to an end, we segue to the White House and the Oval Office. Here, we see two men, the president, (Alex Balwin has expressed interest in the role) and his top advisor, a Karl Rove type (I’m shooting for Danny DeVito here, his busy schedule permitting). The two are considering a NYT headline that reads: “Iraq occupation winding down. Future of Iraqi Oil Fields In Doubt.”

President: Putting down the paper, looking glum: “Well, that just about tears our plans, Paul. Damn! After all the money I invested . . . ”

Presidential Advisor: A smug smile on his face, he produces the Washington Post. Its headline reads: “Katrina headed for Gulf Coast: New Orleans and off-shore oil fields may be in danger.”   ”I wouldn’t worry about that, sir. We may have a bonanza closer to home.”

President: Looking up at advisor. “What? We’d have to be mighty lucky.”

Presidential Advisor: Chuckling. “Lucky? Remember the Tesla particle beam energy weapon we have in geo-synchronous orbit, sitting there doing nothing since the Reagen administration? I had our science boys spread the beam’s focus out and point it at the gulf–about a four-hundred mile spread. Anyway, it heated the ocean surface up a few degrees, enough to mimic the global warming effect–the greeners would love that if they ever found out–and get a good class five hurricane going. The rotation of the earth will do the rest. It should go right over the oil fields. They’ll be destroyed, or damaged and condemned. They’ll have to be shut down, with a loss of hundreds of millions of dollars.”

President: “But . . . Paul. They’re reporting that New Orleans is directly in its path. All those people . . . ”

Presidential Advisor: Shrugs. “But, they’re not our kind of people, are they? Mr. President. They’re blue state voters. Besides, the destruction of New Orleans will provide the distraction we need. The surge from a category five will breech the levee–we’ve made sure the levee could never stop anything over a cat four. New Orleans will flood. In the confusion, everyone, including the media, will be too busy to notice as our dummy corporations move in and buy up the damaged and condemned oil fields. Then, you put the squeeze on your Saudi pals again to raise the price of imported barrels of oil. . . Congress will gladly allow the reopening of the old fields and the establishment of new ones off the coast. The public will demand it.”

President: Smiling. “That’s great news. No wonder I pay you so damn much. Come on. I feel like celebrating. Let’s fly down to Florida and shoot some dolphins.”

The president gets up from his desk and heads for the door. At the hatrack, he stops to pick up a cowboy hat, then turns around, having just remembered something.

President: “But what if Katrina doesn’t create enough of a surge to destroy the levee and inundate New Orleans?”

Presidential Advisor: Shakes his head, and smiles broadly. “Oh, the levee will break . . . one way or another. That’s already taken care of. Don’t worry. Nothing can go wrong.”

President. He starts to ask how, but thinks better of it, puts on his cowboy hat and turns away.

Presidential Advisor: After the president leaves, the advisor turns to a TV screen that is now showing Katrina blowing around New Orleans. He mutters to himself. “Hope you monkeys can swim.”

Cut to New Orleans Setting: A neighborhood near the levee as heavy rains from the tail end of Katrina are passing. [Atmosphere Note: The feel what I want here is a cinema noire type thing; bleak, gray and wet. The music will become the pulse of the inner city, thumping gansta rap.]

Behind a row of houses, above the levee and seen though heavy rain, a black helicopter with no markings hovers. The camera then switches to following an African-American youth, KaMeen. KaMeen is out in the torrential rain looking for his lost dog, Berniemac, calling its name over and over. He comes upon the scene at the levee and pauses to watch as several men in camouflage gear rappel from the helicopter on ropes. The men hurriedly plant explosive charges in the ground, then back out of range to await further instruction.

KaMeen happens to have a digital camera handy. Since his curiosity is aroused – he hopes one day to become a reporter and break a big story like Watergate – be begins taking pictures of the unusual scene. As he is photographing the men on the levee, Berniemac finds him. After a hurried and joyful reunion between KaMeen and his dog, he returns to photographing the strange happenings on the levee. Unfortunately, Berniemac notices the men on the levee and begins barking at them. The men on the levee hear the dog and subsequently see the youth – in the middle of taking a picture – before he can withdraw to safety.

Group Leader in copter: Close up shot, shouting into his headset at the ground-team leader: “Get that kid! And bring me that camera!”

On the ground, the goons start chasing KaMeen. They are no more than a block from the levee when the explosives go off and the levee gives way, sending torrents of water gushing out. This immediately washes away two of the goons.


KaMeen takes pictures of the president’s henchmen getting ready to blow up the levee.

Using his street savvy, KaMeen manages to elude the men, who are now taking shots at him. As the water rises, the goons begin to panic. One is impaled by a falling weather vane. Another is crushed by a concrete brick wall that collapses. Running toward higher ground, KaMeen goes through a small opening in a chain link fence at an industrial site. The final goon pursues, but his military-style utility belt gets stuck in the fence. As the water rises around him, he screams. KaMeen stops and looks over his shoulder as the man’s last scream is replaced by a choking gurgle.

KaMeen: “Come on, Berniemac. We got to find Shamall and tell him about this!”

This section ends with the helicopter high in the air, from which the group leader watches helplessly as KaMeen disappears into the rapidly flooding city.

Team Leader: Shouting into his headset. “Call in another team. . .. . I don’t care what it costs! We’ve got to find that kid and get that camera.” He motions to the pilot and the black, unmarked copter disappears into the sky.

Segue. Fade-in to Street Scene, New Orleans, post Katrina.

The camera establishes a long shot of flooded streets and people wandering around confused. It slowly pans in on the figure of Shamall (played by Ice T, who has already committed to the project), who is a compassionate and benevolent gang leader, a community activist with political aspirations, and a positive role-model for lower income youth. Shamall and his posse, knee deep water, are directing refugees, helping the old and infirm, and explaining to them where to best appropriate the resources they will need for survival. Shamall comes upon an old woman, futility trying to break the window out of a pastry shop with her cane.


Shamall proves himself a boon to the community in dire times.

Shamall: Smiling. “Yo’, granny. This is how you do it.”

He deftly removes a crowbar from under his shirt, grips it like a baseball bat, and shatters the window.

Old lady: Holding a donut aloft in one hand, she raises the other, with the cane in it, and waves at Shamall as he retreats down the street. “God bless you, young man! I didn’t know where my breakfast wuz coming from.”

Segue to KaMeen, pulling Berniemac in a red wagon as he wanders down the flooded streets of the French Quarter. He is attracted by commotion coming from a nearby jewelry store, whose display windows have been broken out. He spots Shamall, standing in front of the busted window, laden with gold chains and other shiny baubles.

Shamall hears a dog bark, and turns to see KaMeen and Berniemac.

Shamall: “Yo, lit’al bro. I been worried ‘bout yo’ skinny ass. Where you been?”

KaMeen: “Shamall . . . what you doing?”

Shamall: “Uh, liberating some of these goods. You know . . . so I can, ah, use them later to barter with the corrupt political forces in this city for food for the people.”

KaMeen then explains to Shamall about what he saw at the levee, the pictures he took, and the men who chased him.

Shamall: “Damn!” He motions for his posse to gather. “Word up, guys. My little brother just laid some heavy shit on me.”

Shamall explains KaMeen’s situation and the fact that the ominous and always mysterious powers-that-be have tried to destroy the city.

Shamall: Scowling in the classic Ice T way. “This is heavy, man. From now on, we gots to protect our own, dig? These goons will be coming after us, maybe disguised as rescuers.

Posse Member MC Weasel-tooth: He nervously fingers a large crucifix he wears. “Disguised as rescuers? Man, that jest ain’t right. That’s positively un-Christian.”

Shamall: “Right, Weasel-tooth. So, anybody get near the hood in a boat, shoot the shit out of ‘em. Got it?”

They all nod. A couple pull their nines and rack one in the chamber.

Anonymous Posse member: “Man . . . this is too heavy. Maybe we should go to the po-lease? Git them to help?”

Shamall: “Fool. You know a powerful cabal of the white po-lease and corrupt white politicians controls this town. They be wantin’ to hunt us to extinction anyway.”

Posse Lieutenant, Kamir: Wearing wrap-around mirrored shades and a stocking over his hair. He pulls two Desert Eagle auto mags from beneath his shirt and holds them aloft. “Don’t worry ’bout it. None of them ‘publican bitches getting’ through. Ain’t nobody huntin’ me to extinction.”

All Posse Members: A general clamor of agreement goes up.

Shamall: “Good deal, men. Now, while there’s still daylight, let’s get busy and get some more tangible goods that we might later use to barter for food for the old and the infirm. I’d suggest we start at that Best Buy over there. Them plasma screen TVs got to be good for a few loaves of bread.”

Cut to rescue jump-off point. Red Cross workers and civilian volunteers mill around. From the back of the crowd there is a commotion among the aid workers and victims who are idling around. It is the arrival of Hollywood actor, humanitarian, world traveler, intellectual and political activist, Brawn Pennelton (Sean Penn). Pennelton is wearing his John Lennon-style sunglasses, his signature black beret, and is sporting a flak jacket.

Action: Pennelton passes among the victims of Katrina, giving words of encouragement, shaking hands, and passing out boxes of breath mints. Since he has an affinity for the less fortunate which comprise the urban population, he is hip to the latest handshakes on the street, and uses these to bond with the victims as he passes among them. His sincere smile and easy going manner create instant rapport with the flood victims and lift their spirits considerably. His entourage has commandeered a boat for him, so he can go in and rescue two or three victims personally. He also has a film crew among his entourage so that they can record his magnanimity and self-sacrifice for prosperity.

Synopsis: The middle section of the movie is comprised of a series of cliff-hangers as the posse is chased, and in turn chases, and clashes with the goons who are after KaMeen and his camera. Brawn Pennelton comes upon Shamall as the latter is cornered by a force comprised of corrupt police and government goons. Also with Shamall is a Sydny, a sexy young female Red-Cross aid worker (Angelina Jolie would be perfect here) with striking good looks who has been caught up in the events. Brawn intervenes, takes a machine gun away from a goon, and he, Shamall, and Sydny (who proves surprisingly sufficient with automatic weaponry) fight their way out of the fray and escape. As they continue to elude police, Brawn and Shamall bond, and Shamall – realizing that Brawn is actually a caring and sensitive individual, thus trustworthy – explains about the importance of KaMeen’s camera. A hot romantic relationship also develops between Brawn and Sydny. Brawn decides that if he can get the camera and take it to Hollywood, where there are a lot of people concerned with freedom and truth, he can inform the world about how the current corrupt Washington administration blew up the levee, and thus bring down the corrupt regime. He convinces Shamall to let him take possession of the camera.

Ending:


Brawn Pennelton, actor, intellectual, and selfless friend of humanity, saves the day.

This is all a good set up for a great action ending. After another protracted gun battle and chase scene,  most of the goons and Shamall’s posse die, and Shamall is incapacitated by a grievous wound. As a helicopter with the presidential advisor, Paul, aboard (who has come to New Orleans to personally oversee things) rises in the air to escape, Brawn Pennelton jumps up and clings to one of the struts. As the copter begins to rise, Brawn realizes he might die and bravely takes KaMeen’s camera and tosses it down to Sydny.

Brawn: Shouting over the roar of the copter blades. “For God’s sake . . . get that to Hollywood! The truth must prevail. The president is using an energy beam weapon to worsen global warming! It’s a vast conspiracy for oil!”

Brawn knows that if the helicopter escapes all will be lost; the truth will never be known and the murder of his friends, the innocent gang members, will continue. So, in an ultimate act of sacrifice, he uses his free hand to grab his gun and fire up through the bottom of the helicopter, and at the fuel tank. One of the bullets strikes the pilot, killing him. Another bullet hits the fuel tank. With the presidential advisor screaming in terror, the copter spins wildly out of control. As Sydny, the wounded Shamall, KaMeen and Berniemac, all watch in horror, the helicopter explodes high in the air.

Final scene: Sydny, a bandaged Shamall, KaMeen and his dog, Berniemac, are seen in a Cadillac passing a freeway sign that says “Hollywood: Next Exit.” A rap version of “Fight The Power” by the Isley Brothers begins to play in the background.

Fade to black.

End:

Final Credits. Fade back in and play over an air shot of a flooded New Orleans. A funeral dirge plays softly, and a tattered American flag waves gently in a breeze. The camera slowly closes in on an object floating in the water. It is a newspaper with the headline: President Impeached. A smaller headline reads: Beloved Hollywood star missing in New Orleans. The camera then slowly pans to a piece of flotsam, and slowly closes in on it: It is Brawn Pennelton’s signature beret, drifting in the water.

Popularity: 5% [?]

Dead Byrd

Byrd mourned

Earlier this month Senator Byrd was sent to that great cross-burning in the sky. Racists everywhere were saddened, yet some good did come out of it. For Byrd’s funeral proved to be another adventure in disassembling the truth for Arkansas whore-dog and impeached former president Bill Clinton, who tried to gloss over Byrd’s racist past by saying of Byrd, “He once had a fleeting association with the Ku Klux Klan, what does that mean? I’ll tell you what it means. He was a country boy from the hills and hollows from West Virginia. He was trying to get elected.”

A fleeting association? Like Hitler had a fleeting association with lederhosen.

“And maybe he did something he shouldn’t have done,” Clinton continued, “. . . and he spent the rest of his life making it up. And that’s what a good person does. There are no perfect people. There are certainly no perfect politicians.” Yes, by God, Clinton is correct there.

Still, it is astounding, the lies Bill Clinton will tell. Byrd was no hapless victim caught up in events he didn’t fully understand: he not only was the head of his chapter of the Klan, and chief recruiting agent, but also left many written exemplars of his detestation of the black race in America. In short, his writings proved he was not amused by black people.

(After the funeral, speaking informally to reporters, Clinton added, “Shucks, it’s not like he ever hanged nobody. The worse he did was tease them about their Brillo-like hair and note their propensity for stealing watermelons. Heck, he even praised them on occasion for their ability to shine shoes!”)

However, for the sake of debate, and amusement, let’s assume Clinton was telling the truth (for just this once), i.e., Byrd only joined the Klan to get votes, hence, he was only a titular member. If true, that would be even worse, since it meant Byrd was willing to turn his back on any presumed moral principles of political or spiritual equality he harbored just to get political power. A true racist would at least have some immutable principles, and would be morally above someone who sold out principles they did believe in – like political equality for the various races.

Look at it another way. Say, a German politician had claimed he only joined the Nazi party in order to gain political power. That certainly would let him off the hook for the Jewish death camps, right? Clinton did not succeed in removing the moral Albatross from Byrd’s neck. But then again, Bill Clinton has never succeeded at anything when it comes to establishing moral worth! It only proves a Democrat like Clinton will say anything – in spite of the overwhelming historical evidence to the contrary – because of his surety that the mass of citizens he’s speaking to have neither the intellect to ferret out the truth nor the moral desire to see it established.

Meanwhile, later that evening back at the White House, President Obama, at the suggestion of Michelle, reverts to that Old Time Religion in an attempt to raise his poll numbers from the dead.

Obama's old time religion

Popularity: 12% [?]

Times that try men’s souls

Today is not the only time that American ideals have been under attack.  On December 23, 1776, Thomas Paine, under the pen name Common Sense, published his first essay on The American Crisis.  At the time Lord Howe and his British Army and Hessians (foreign troops) were raping and pillaging their way across New Jersey. The end of the American Revolution appeared near, but General George Washington read Paine’s essay to the troops, and two days later, they made a perilous crossing of the Delaware River, and defeated the Hessians at Trenton.

THESE are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated. Britain, with an army to enforce her tyranny, has declared that she has a right (not only to TAX) but “to BIND us in ALL CASES WHATSOEVER” and if being bound in that manner, is not slavery, then is there not such a thing as slavery upon earth. Even the expression is impious; for so unlimited a power can belong only to God.

Whether the independence of the continent was declared too soon, or delayed too long, I will not now enter into as an argument; my own simple opinion is, that had it been eight months earlier, it would have been much better. We did not make a proper use of last winter, neither could we, while we were in a dependent state. However, the fault, if it were one, was all our own [NOTE]; we have none to blame but ourselves. But no great deal is lost yet. All that Howe has been doing for this month past, is rather a ravage than a conquest, which the spirit of the Jerseys, a year ago, would have quickly repulsed, and which time and a little resolution will soon recover.

I have as little superstition in me as any man living, but my secret opinion has ever been, and still is, that God Almighty will not give up a people to military destruction, or leave them unsupportedly to perish, who have so earnestly and so repeatedly sought to avoid the calamities of war, by every decent method which wisdom could invent. Neither have I so much of the infidel in me, as to suppose that He has relinquished the government of the world, and given us up to the care of devils; and as I do not, I cannot see on what grounds the king of Britain can look up to heaven for help against us: a common murderer, a highwayman, or a house-breaker, has as good a pretence as he.

‘Tis surprising to see how rapidly a panic will sometimes run through a country. All nations and ages have been subject to them. Britain has trembled like an ague at the report of a French fleet of flat-bottomed boats; and in the fourteenth [fifteenth] century the whole English army, after ravaging the kingdom of France, was driven back like men petrified with fear; and this brave exploit was performed by a few broken forces collected and headed by a woman, Joan of Arc. Would that heaven might inspire some Jersey maid to spirit up her countrymen, and save her fair fellow sufferers from ravage and ravishment! Yet panics, in some cases, have their uses; they produce as much good as hurt. Their duration is always short; the mind soon grows through them, and acquires a firmer habit than before. But their peculiar advantage is, that they are the touchstones of sincerity and hypocrisy, and bring things and men to light, which might otherwise have lain forever undiscovered. In fact, they have the same effect on secret traitors, which an imaginary apparition would have upon a private murderer. They sift out the hidden thoughts of man, and hold them up in public to the world. Many a disguised Tory has lately shown his head, that shall penitentially solemnize with curses the day on which Howe arrived upon the Delaware.

As I was with the troops at Fort Lee, and marched with them to the edge of Pennsylvania, I am well acquainted with many circumstances, which those who live at a distance know but little or nothing of. Our situation there was exceedingly cramped, the place being a narrow neck of land between the North River and the Hackensack. Our force was inconsiderable, being not one-fourth so great as Howe could bring against us. We had no army at hand to have relieved the garrison, had we shut ourselves up and stood on our defence. Our ammunition, light artillery, and the best part of our stores, had been removed, on the apprehension that Howe would endeavor to penetrate the Jerseys, in which case Fort Lee could be of no use to us; for it must occur to every thinking man, whether in the army or not, that these kind of field forts are only for temporary purposes, and last in use no longer than the enemy directs his force against the particular object which such forts are raised to defend. Such was our situation and condition at Fort Lee on the morning of the 20th of November, when an officer arrived with information that the enemy with 200 boats had landed about seven miles above; Major General [Nathaniel] Green, who commanded the garrison, immediately ordered them under arms, and sent express to General Washington at the town of Hackensack, distant by the way of the ferry = six miles. Our first object was to secure the bridge over the Hackensack, which laid up the river between the enemy and us, about six miles from us, and three from them. General Washington arrived in about three-quarters of an hour, and marched at the head of the troops towards the bridge, which place I expected we should have a brush for; however, they did not choose to dispute it with us, and the greatest part of our troops went over the bridge, the rest over the ferry, except some which passed at a mill on a small creek, between the bridge and the ferry, and made their way through some marshy grounds up to the town of Hackensack, and there passed the river. We brought off as much baggage as the wagons could contain, the rest was lost. The simple object was to bring off the garrison, and march them on till they could be strengthened by the Jersey or Pennsylvania militia, so as to be enabled to make a stand. We staid four days at Newark, collected our out-posts with some of the Jersey militia, and marched out twice to meet the enemy, on being informed that they were advancing, though our numbers were greatly inferior to theirs. Howe, in my little opinion, committed a great error in generalship in not throwing a body of forces off from Staten Island through Amboy, by which means he might have seized all our stores at Brunswick, and intercepted our march into Pennsylvania; but if we believe the power of hell to be limited, we must likewise believe that their agents are under some providential control.

I shall not now attempt to give all the particulars of our retreat to the Delaware; suffice it for the present to say, that both officers and men, though greatly harassed and fatigued, frequently without rest, covering, or provision, the inevitable consequences of a long retreat, bore it with a manly and martial spirit. All their wishes centred in one, which was, that the country would turn out and help them to drive the enemy back. Voltaire has remarked that King William never appeared to full advantage but in difficulties and in action; the same remark may be made on General Washington, for the character fits him. There is a natural firmness in some minds which cannot be unlocked by trifles, but which, when unlocked, discovers a cabinet of fortitude; and I reckon it among those kind of public blessings, which we do not immediately see, that God hath blessed him with uninterrupted health, and given him a mind that can even flourish upon care.

I shall conclude this paper with some miscellaneous remarks on the state of our affairs; and shall begin with asking the following question, Why is it that the enemy have left the New England provinces, and made these middle ones the seat of war? The answer is easy: New England is not infested with Tories, and we are. I have been tender in raising the cry against these men, and used numberless arguments to show them their danger, but it will not do to sacrifice a world either to their folly or their baseness. The period is now arrived, in which either they or we must change our sentiments, or one or both must fall. And what is a Tory? Good God! What is he? I should not be afraid to go with a hundred Whigs against a thousand Tories, were they to attempt to get into arms. Every Tory is a coward; for servile, slavish, self-interested fear is the foundation of Toryism; and a man under such influence, though he may be cruel, never can be brave.

But, before the line of irrecoverable separation be drawn between us, let us reason the matter together: Your conduct is an invitation to the enemy, yet not one in a thousand of you has heart enough to join him. Howe is as much deceived by you as the American cause is injured by you. He expects you will all take up arms, and flock to his standard, with muskets on your shoulders. Your opinions are of no use to him, unless you support him personally, for ’tis soldiers, and not Tories, that he wants.

I once felt all that kind of anger, which a man ought to feel, against the mean principles that are held by the Tories: a noted one, who kept a tavern at Amboy, was standing at his door, with as pretty a child in his hand, about eight or nine years old, as I ever saw, and after speaking his mind as freely as he thought was prudent, finished with this unfatherly expression, “Well! give me peace in my day.” Not a man lives on the continent but fully believes that a separation must some time or other finally take place, and a generous parent should have said, “If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace;” and this single reflection, well applied, is sufficient to awaken every man to duty. Not a place upon earth might be so happy as America. Her situation is remote from all the wrangling world, and she has nothing to do but to trade with them. A man can distinguish himself between temper and principle, and I am as confident, as I am that God governs the world, that America will never be happy till she gets clear of foreign dominion. Wars, without ceasing, will break out till that period arrives, and the continent must in the end be conqueror; for though the flame of liberty may sometimes cease to shine, the coal can never expire.

America did not, nor does not want force; but she wanted a proper application of that force. Wisdom is not the purchase of a day, and it is no wonder that we should err at the first setting off. From an excess of tenderness, we were unwilling to raise an army, and trusted our cause to the temporary defence of a well-meaning militia. A summer’s experience has now taught us better; yet with those troops, while they were collected, we were able to set bounds to the progress of the enemy, and, thank God! they are again assembling. I always considered militia as the best troops in the world for a sudden exertion, but they will not do for a long campaign. Howe, it is probable, will make an attempt on this city [Philadelphia]; should he fail on this side the Delaware, he is ruined. If he succeeds, our cause is not ruined. He stakes all on his side against a part on ours; admitting he succeeds, the consequence will be, that armies from both ends of the continent will march to assist their suffering friends in the middle states; for he cannot go everywhere, it is impossible. I consider Howe as the greatest enemy the Tories have; he is bringing a war into their country, which, had it not been for him and partly for themselves, they had been clear of. Should he now be expelled, I wish with all the devotion of a Christian, that the names of Whig and Tory may never more be mentioned; but should the Tories give him encouragement to come, or assistance if he come, I as sincerely wish that our next year’s arms may expel them from the continent, and the Congress appropriate their possessions to the relief of those who have suffered in well-doing. A single successful battle next year will settle the whole. America could carry on a two years’ war by the confiscation of the property of disaffected persons, and be made happy by their expulsion. Say not that this is revenge, call it rather the soft resentment of a suffering people, who, having no object in view but the good of all, have staked their own all upon a seemingly doubtful event. Yet it is folly to argue against determined hardness; eloquence may strike the ear, and the language of sorrow draw forth the tear of compassion, but nothing can reach the heart that is steeled with prejudice.

Quitting this class of men, I turn with the warm ardor of a friend to those who have nobly stood, and are yet determined to stand the matter out: I call not upon a few, but upon all: not on this state or that state, but on every state: up and help us; lay your shoulders to the wheel; better have too much force than too little, when so great an object is at stake. Let it be told to the future world, that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive, that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet and to repulse it. Say not that thousands are gone, turn out your tens of thousands; throw not the burden of the day upon Providence, but “show your faith by your works,” that God may bless you. It matters not where you live, or what rank of life you hold, the evil or the blessing will reach you all. The far and the near, the home counties and the back, the rich and the poor, will suffer or rejoice alike. The heart that feels not now is dead; the blood of his children will curse his cowardice, who shrinks back at a time when a little might have saved the whole, and made them happy. I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. ‘Tis the business of little minds to shrink; but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death. My own line of reasoning is to myself as straight and clear as a ray of light. Not all the treasures of the world, so far as I believe, could have induced me to support an offensive war, for I think it murder; but if a thief breaks into my house, burns and destroys my property, and kills or threatens to kill me, or those that are in it, and to “bind me in all cases whatsoever” to his absolute will, am I to suffer it? What signifies it to me, whether he who does it is a king or a common man; my countryman or not my countryman; whether it be done by an individual villain, or an army of them? If we reason to the root of things we shall find no difference; neither can any just cause be assigned why we should punish in the one case and pardon in the other. Let them call me rebel and welcome, I feel no concern from it; but I should suffer the misery of devils, were I to make a whore of my soul by swearing allegiance to one whose character is that of a sottish, stupid, stubborn, worthless, brutish man. I conceive likewise a horrid idea in receiving mercy from a being, who at the last day shall be shrieking to the rocks and mountains to cover him, and fleeing with terror from the orphan, the widow, and the slain of America.

There are cases which cannot be overdone by language, and this is one. There are persons, too, who see not the full extent of the evil which threatens them; they solace themselves with hopes that the enemy, if he succeed, will be merciful. It is the madness of folly, to expect mercy from those who have refused to do justice; and even mercy, where conquest is the object, is only a trick of war; the cunning of the fox is as murderous as the violence of the wolf, and we ought to guard equally against both. Howe’s first object is, partly by threats and partly by promises, to terrify or seduce the people to deliver up their arms and receive mercy. The ministry recommended the same plan to Gage, and this is what the tories call making their peace, “a peace which passeth all understanding” indeed! A peace which would be the immediate forerunner of a worse ruin than any we have yet thought of. Ye men of Pennsylvania, do reason upon these things! Were the back counties to give up their arms, they would fall an easy prey to the Indians, who are all armed: this perhaps is what some Tories would not be sorry for. Were the home counties to deliver up their arms, they would be exposed to the resentment of the back counties who would then have it in their power to chastise their defection at pleasure. And were any one state to give up its arms, that state must be garrisoned by all Howe’s army of Britons and Hessians to preserve it from the anger of the rest. Mutual fear is the principal link in the chain of mutual love, and woe be to that state that breaks the compact. Howe is mercifully inviting you to barbarous destruction, and men must be either rogues or fools that will not see it. I dwell not upon the vapors of imagination; I bring reason to your ears, and, in language as plain as A, B, C, hold up truth to your eyes.

I thank God, that I fear not. I see no real cause for fear. I know our situation well, and can see the way out of it. While our army was collected, Howe dared not risk a battle; and it is no credit to him that he decamped from the White Plains, and waited a mean opportunity to ravage the defenceless Jerseys; but it is great credit to us, that, with a handful of men, we sustained an orderly retreat for near an hundred miles, brought off our ammunition, all our field pieces, the greatest part of our stores, and had four rivers to pass. None can say that our retreat was precipitate, for we were near three weeks in performing it, that the country might have time to come in. Twice we marched back to meet the enemy, and remained out till dark. The sign of fear was not seen in our camp, and had not some of the cowardly and disaffected inhabitants spread false alarms through the country, the Jerseys had never been ravaged. Once more we are again collected and collecting; our new army at both ends of the continent is recruiting fast, and we shall be able to open the next campaign with sixty thousand men, well armed and clothed. This is our situation, and who will may know it. By perseverance and fortitude we have the prospect of a glorious issue; by cowardice and submission, the sad choice of a variety of evils — a ravaged country — a depopulated city — habitations without safety, and slavery without hope — our homes turned into barracks and bawdy-houses for Hessians, and a future race to provide for, whose fathers we shall doubt of. Look on this picture and weep over it! and if there yet remains one thoughtless wretch who believes it not, let him suffer it unlamented.

December 23, 1776

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Desperate to avoid the nagging of his, “Daddy, did you plug the hole,” daughter, The O turns to Federal Prison Industries for ideas.

Doig hard time

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All that needs to be said.

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