TribeNation

     “Oz never did give nothin’ to the Tin Man that he didn’t already have.”

     Such a pretty song by the band that named itself America. And that one line from the song –so profound a statement of reality.

     All alone in a foreboding forest, his metallic joints rusted by the rain and locked stiff, the tin woodsman’s reality of that time was frightful and bleak. But such was not always his situation. Prior, this stout workman had done his chopping with vigor and purpose; before he was careless and got himself caught out in the rain. In future, he would know again the satisfaction of swinging his axe. And later, when he got his heart unrusted, too, would he hurt and revel in its capacity to feel.

     Reality is not static. Companions, strong and fierce, eventually came upon the Tin Man and oiled his stiffened body back into usefulness. His own part in returning his body to vibrancy, what he could accomplish in his paralyzed circumstance, was to not surrender to despair. He willed his mind to remain alert and at the ready.

     Reality is real, and it’s the fool who wastes himself in attempting to deny it. But reality –like life—is not static.

     “Oz never did give nothin’ to the Tin Man…” How could the supposed oracle of wisdom, the central planner, the Oz have gifted something to the reactivated axeman with which the axeman was already, always endowed? Still, the Tin Man believed there was a component of him yet not working (though this was more on his part a failure to recognize reality than a denial of it) and so he set off on a journey with his new friends to hunt for it. He, and they, had heard there was a great wizard who could gift them with that which each believed him or her self to be missing.

     The eager companions traveled toward the Emerald City, hopeful that Oz, beneficent and surely wiser than they, could give them vital constituent parts of themselves they believed they lacked. Here it was that they entered into the realm of denial of reality. Here is when they lost faith in what is real and reduced themselves to needing to believe in magic. Despair can do that to you.

     The wizard played his part. He acted like a wizard. There was smoke and there were flames and thunder shook the great room where his imposing image floated in the air. The travelers, duly impressed and frightened, trembled before such a presence. They ceded their authority over themselves to the spectacle, the histrionics, the seeming omniscience of the Oz and pleaded for his favor.

     But all this awesome display they witnessed, believing it to be reality, was never anything more than a tuxedoed magician directing the audience’s eyes to the shapely legs of his comely assistant while he went to pull off the magic trick over yonder.

     Always know, always remember:  you are the authority over your own life. While the central planners at HQ, the knows-better-than-you oracle, the Oz seems to be granting you something you have been convinced you lack with his one hand, he is snatching away from you something more vital –something of your essence as an individual—with the other hand.

     This is their magic trick. Convince you that you are missing and need something only they can provide while what they really do is rob you of your right to self-determination. Happiness, fulfillment, your right to your own life, your heart your brain your courage and your ability to find your own home and make your way to it –none of these emanate from a central authority, an Oz, a D.C., or any other stage magician.

   To fall for this is denial of reality of the worst kind. Your true reality is that you are free. You are free to decide for yourself how you will live your life and what is best for you. The Tin Man chose for himself to venture out into the woods and feel the worth in his muscles and mind of a good day’s work. His carelessness with the weather cost him and his consequence was that he stood rusted and frozen for the longest time. He risked that he might have stayed there like that indefinitely –but there is the key. HE risked. HE decided. He was not decided for. The Tin Man refused to fall for the magic trick, which when stripped naked is always only a false promise. A lie.     And with his heart later on: He never needed a trinket on a chain hung around his neck by some damn fool pretender. He was endowed by his very existence with all the heart any one good woodsman could ever desire.

                                                                               END

                                                                           

     “Don’t make me send the flying monkeys,” she said. But it was a sarcasm. Send them she does. It is what she does.

     And this took me back. Her threat. Back to dark times when her vile creatures had flown before. When they, in their legions, had laid waste.

     They are always legion. Always the witch dispatches them in numbers. In numbers, safety —right. Yes, but that isn’t the all of it. It’s much more sinister with her gang. In numbers she cloaks them, hiding away their own faces in the mingled countenance of the many. Becoming a gang obscures the quality in them they and she despise, their own individuality; enabling them to do their dirty work. As cogs of the collective, as faceless members of the mob, she knows they are emboldened to work her bidding, a bidding that is always destructive.

     So it always was. Is. With her monkeys, who can know when was the first time ever they flew? Too long ago it was when first she put them on us, too far away to know the first day they swarmed to attack that she fears most. But they would have done then in that dark time what still they work at today. TODAY. In a time when there ought be plenty of light to shine in their black eyes and blind them. Even in our time she sends them out boldly to enforce her sway. In this modern age — our age — the hag believes her goblins can still cowl each of us into submission with their number of beating wings.

     You know they came one time and it was only in a movie, fiction on the silver screen. Though made up, the story in that film stands as exemplar anyhow of what they are and what she works them for in real life. What the witch wants in your real life and in mine. 

     In that old movie she made her minions fly to take away our heart and stamp out our courage but what they attacked most viciously was our minds. She fears this most in you and me —that we should think for ourselves. The mob is unthinking, the collective of monkeys on the wing individually mindless, not capable of articulating for themselves the millions paths you and I choose for ourselves to walk. She sent her monkeys strongest against the straw man; he she knew to be blessed with a strong mind. In the movie it was the scarecrow the witch feared most.

     Why him more than courage or heart? They frightened her too, for it is those resources that give power to the individual mind. Without those stout allies a mind cannot much accomplish. No doubt. Yet it is the director of those twin strengths that terrifies the bitch. She instructed them to do her violence on the tin man and lion, yes, but she had her mindless monkeys rip the scarecrow to shreds. She needed him eviscerated.

     The witch wears many faces. Not now in a Hollywood movie but flying her broomstick amok in our real world today, she shows herself to us, as to free men who came before us, in a most contemptible countenance she often favors. The name she goes by when she wears this face is called censor. 

     stalin courted her in this guise of hers. She abetted him in concealing the true nature and extent of the gulag. She whispered sweetly in his willing ear that the people of his land should not know his true design to steal their minds by silencing their voice and in consequence forfeit their right to self-determination. Tell them they exist not for their own sake but to serve the state, she hissed. The monkeys will snatch away their voice to say otherwise.

     stalin took her counsel. Of course. He had solicited it. His madness gave it sanction. Though he did not invent this witch, who was much older than he, it was he who set her loose on the Russian People. The supper he let her feast on was his people’s liberty. Censored as they were, their ignorance of the true soviet state was the bone in her stew. By not permitting the people to speak freely nor the press to herald his true intention the dictator robbed the common citizen of the power to know and to speak of all that he was stealing from them. Monster and witch gorged themselves together at banquet while her legion monkeys beat the oppressed people into slavery with their bloodied wings.

     stalin’s nemesis, his hateful and hated adversary, the two were cut from the same bolt of soiled cloth. The witch, she was this other one’s handmaiden, serving him perhaps best of all. More than mere handmaiden, she was soul mate to this monster. And even more than that —she became bride to his minister, goebbels. 

     Kristallnacht. Her flying monkeys wore brown shirts that night. On their arm bands they proudly displayed the mark of this beast: swastika. The witch silenced —censored— that frightful night of the broken glass all the Jewish Folk of Germany by effectively muting them as citizens of that nation as it devolved into corrupt state. Her scepter of authority was the swastika. The yield of the swastika was blood, always blood. Nectar to the witch. This warm liquid, her fuel, it is ever on her mind. It seeps, spills, flows when the witch wins her way.

     It can be your blood. It can be my blood. If she is allowed to reign in our day, in this land named liberty, the eventual consequence could be that the witch first sips then gulps your essence and mine. Maybe we dodge the actual spilling of our crimson, maybe, but if she and her monkeys succeed in robbing us of our minds and our willingness to employ them in the pursuit of our own individual liberty, then it will be a massacre all the same. Massacre of our souls. Death of our self-determination. 

     Orwell named it. thought police. That potent, mindless evil army marches not in 1984 but in present day America. thought police. It is the flying monkeys. These demons are obedient to the witch. Her name now, the same as it was with those two murderous tyrants in Russia and Germany and the same in Orwell’s hopeless dystopia, is censor. The nazi piled books in the town square and burned them in an attempt to kill the power books hold. goebbels wickedly substituted for the sacred thinking held in books the false propaganda of the state. 

     The present day version of this same evil, of the witch who is censorship, is put upon us now by the individually mindless monkeys of the current phenomenon of social media. They are her same old useful nameless mob, hiding away from us in their chambers where they arbitrarily decide which voice of ours should be silenced. Removed. Deleted.

     These monkeys and their new age helpmates, the social algorithms, offspring of the monkeys, are servants of censorship. And that witch wrongly believes she has authority to determine which ideas are heard and which not. 

     With every post pulled off of instagram or one of its brethren of the internet for no reason but that its author dared think and write something not in lockstep with the state and its current odd ally, media, all of us have our freedom curtailed. Even the freedom of the monkeys is shrunken by the beating of their own wings as the witch judges and they delete. But they do not see it. All suffer loss of freedom with each deletion, each attempted extinction of thought. But the monkeys, gripped by the, for them, seductive rapture of the homogeneous, their eyes are too dimmed to see what they do to us and even unto themselves.

     If you scoff at my warning, if you think today’s media censorship is not that one same witch as labored so joyously for stalin and hitler, then you commit the cardinal sin. You do not think. Commit this sin at your own peril. 

     The monkeys are swarming. They fly here among us. Now.

                                                                             END

                                                                                                                                           

     “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone.”

     If you know the song, then you know no more poignant musical expression of emotion exists. (If you don’t know the song and have never been gripped by it, MusicLove sez do yourself a favor by listening to the artistry of Mr. Bill Withers.)

     Ain’t.

     This moving, powerful song begins with a negative. It serves as a stark reminder that there are times when the mood is stronger set and the truth better stated by the negative, by stating with certainty that which is not.

     Ain’t.

     Here is my certainty. If it be yours as well, then time to raise your voice. Time now to rise. I suspect, that like me, many of you wish simply to be left alone to make your own choices and live your own lives as best you see fit. This is your birthright as Americans. It was set forth in the sacred documents: stated in the Declaration of Independence (When in the course of human events…; codified in the Constitution (We the People…). But today in our nation powerful forces work in league to deprive us the individual freedoms granted by our Constitution. In their hubris, by their condescension, in their lust for control over us to their gain this evil league seeks to replace our own choices with their dictates. My certainty, forged in the guarantees of the Constitution, tempered by the blood sacrifices of our ancestors and contemporaries, is that they shall fail.

     They ain’t think for me. They ain’t speak for me. They ain’t choose for me. They ain’t live in my stead for me.

     Today, the members of this league of lunacy are plain to see, easy to name, frightful in their aims. The tools they work with are tried and true and can be wickedly effective when wielded by the hands of tyrants. An essential tool of tyranny is censorship of the expression of thought and censorship of debate. And, of course, censorship is no working tool at all but a weapon.

     This weapon of the wicked is being deployed daily in the United States of America by internet social media platforms bent on depriving Americans of access to alternative, fact- based posts that debunk the league of lies narrative about the safety, efficacy and necessity for rushed-to-market vaccines that have not met even minimal established testing standards and masks that are virtually useless against the spread of viral infection.

     Speak these truths –and they are truths well established—and you can expect your internet post and often your entire site to be deleted: Truth 1; the porous, flimsy masks government wants to force you to wear in the deluded hope of preventing the spread of covid are all but useless for that purpose. (I ain’t wearing one.) Truth 2; the available vaccines being forced on you do not prevent you from contracting covid. (Even though the U.S. President went on television and emphatically declared, then repeated, that you cannot get covid if you are fully vaccinated.)  Media, rather than challenge that dangerous lie, attempted to mitigate it at first by admitting to such a thing as rare “breakout cases” occurring in the vaccinated –but, of course, cases of the vaccinated getting the virus are now so numerous that the absurd euphemism is fast disappearing from use. (I ain’t getting the shot.) Truth 3; these vaccines are dangerous, even deadly, for some folks. Consequently, it must be individual choice to receive the shot or not. Truth 4; there are and have been throughout this panic-demic well known, highly effective treatments for this virus. The lie told to you by government and media and parroted by regular folks suffering from fear induced hysteria is that these treatments are untried and maybe even dangerous. No. They ain’t that. Covid can be dangerous. These treatments are well known to work and are being used by doctors who are actually ethical to successfully treat patients infected by covid. If you hear a government official, hospital administrator or doctor lament that the ER, or even the hospital as a whole is overwhelmed by covid patients –then ask those ethics deficients how many of those unfortunate sick folks are being treated with these protocols being successfully used by  ethical doctors  all across the country. Ask them how many of their suffering victims are even being offered the option of trying these known-to-be-safe -and -effective treatments. The public hears little about these life saving treatments because internet media deletes the multitude of posts lauding their success and TV media refuses to acknowledge and accurately report on that success. Truth 5; It is a lie when some self-proclaimed authority tells you more children are suffering serious illness and death now from the variant of the virus than from the original version and, therefore, children must be vaccinated. The rate of child hospitalizations and child death rates from covid were higher in August 2020 than in August 2021. This information is readily available. (You ain’t putting the shot in my child).   

Ain’t.          

      Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto led the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. Whether he actually wrote or said the following, which sometimes is attributed to him, is of little consequence. He certainly should have said it. “I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.” More than say it, he would have been well served to feel the crushing weight of its meaning pressing down upon his bones. 

     The sheer numerical difference in population between America and Japan would have given the admiral cause for concern. He had an awareness of our burgeoning industrial output, which dwarfed Japan’s, and knew that once this production was turned from civilian to military purpose that it would prove disastrous for his nation. These things the admiral, educated and intelligent, well knew. What it is unlikely that he comprehended –the element most crucial in sealing the eventual fate of his apparently successful sneak attack as instead a blunder of historic significance—was the full measure of our truth. It is truth boldly declared as the beginning of our sacred document: We the People. Our truth is that we the people are the giant.

     Yamamoto did not know truly what it was he had assaulted. Could not know it. Numerical superiority and industrial might beyond rival were not what he had attacked that would doom his cause. Coming from his world with its restrictions and limitations on that which is our most empowering quality, individual liberty, he could not comprehend the strength of the giant he had awakened. Freedom of thought, of action, pursuit of one’s own happiness, personal freedom, primacy of the individual; these constitute the colossal musculature of the giant he poked.

     It is being awakened again today, the giant. Yamamoto, from his culture and time, could not grasp who the giant really was and what was its motive power and so could be forgiven his ignorance of its nature. The damn fools prodding the mighty, quiet beast today are American by birth and live here in the land of the free. It is astounding that they fail to recognize what it is they unleash upon themselves.

     In most part the giant, now grown past 330 million individual souls, quietly keeps to itself, pursuing its own individual interests; 330 million in variety. The giant is slow to anger. Slower to wrath. The giant’s normal behavior is to focus on pursuing the freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution. This focus has lately been mistaken by enemies of freedom as weakness by the giant. Complacency. So, these miscreants, like Yamamoto, have attacked. Who are they? They are the collective. The borg. The hive. They call the state lord and the individual servant. Their army is the individually mindless flying monkeys from that dark castle that is not in Kansas.

     Feel the gargantuan strength that flows throughout yourself. You are the giant; unassuming, busy with the living of your own life –until others threaten your freedom to live it. When those others wrongly and in vain attempt to force you to live by their dictates and not by empowering your mind, then those fools, like the admiral, gain your attention. Earn your wrath. Deserve that wrath.

     Yamamoto proudly flew his country’s flag into battle when he attacked your recent ancestors: he was a villain easy to identify. The giant knew full well in that time of turmoil who to smite. Your enemy today dwells among you, calls himself fellow citizen, neighbor, swears he has your interest at heart. He says demanding you grant him authority over your life is somehow in your good interest. This foe can be harder to recognize than one wearing a uniform of a nation openly opposed to yours and flying that nation’s banners.

     But recognize them you can. Know them by their actions. They begin by introducing something to the populace to instill fear, then very quickly fan the flame of fear into hysteria, and then, every time, coach you not to trust your mind about how best you can cope with the object of the fear but instead to abdicate authority over your brain and your body. Sign that authority over to them. Whereas, they say, you are incompetent to do this for yourself, they know how to make it better for you. 

     Even when they don’t wear another country’s uniform or fly its flag, even when they dress like you and live just around the corner, telltale identifiers mark them as the loathsome creatures they are. One sure way to know them is that, in claiming they have the people’s interest at heart they will always diminish the people’s freedoms and the people’s right to control the wealth the people have earned for themselves. Always you can be sure that when the witches who command the winged monkeys pass down from on high their prescriptions for protecting the helpless, hapless rest of us, then the monkeys will swoop in with the witches’ collection plates to relieve you of your birthright to control and use for yourself your wealth, and they will try to rob you of the sovereignty of your own thoughts and the good disposition of your spirit.

     Wake giant. Rise. Swat the monkeys like the insects they in truth are: 1) In 1970 the world’s population was 3.7 billion. The witches proclaimed and their monkeys shrieked the earth could not sustain such a heavy throng and soon civilization must collapse beneath the weight. Mass starvation to ensue. Today there are 7.9 billion souls of us. 2) Very shortly after that, in 1973, the witches spat their venom and mounted their brooms to spread the dire news the world was on the very brink of running out of oil. There are more discovered oil reserves in the world right now than then –those 48 years gone by. “BUT THE AIR POLLUTION IS KILLING US ALL!” This is the next hysteria the witches primed us with. But in 2020 both the American Lung Association and the EPA confirmed dramatic improvements in United States air quality over the last fifty years. (Send the monkeys back to their barracks. Let them rest and keep their hands out of the giant’s pockets. There is no need for them to pilfer 330 million purses to pay for some cockamamie climate accord. 3) The forced wearing of permeable cloth masks under the farcical pretense they stop a microscopically sized virus from passing thru the gaps between their fibers?  Violating the Nuremberg  Code by mandating –and enforcing by threat, coercion, bribing, social shaming, etc. –that citizens be injected against their will with a scarcely tested, often dangerous, ineffective pseudo vaccine.? Telling one citizen he must be responsible for the health of others while those others blithely walk about having eaten and not exercised themselves into obesity (with its many attendant ill health outcomes) while they puff away on cigarettes.? The unconscionable withholding of known, effective treatments which could all but empty our hospitals of those suffering with covid?

     Do you see the formula the witches use? Exaggeration. Lies. Fear. Hysteria. All always used to cowl the individual citizen into submitting to the will of the state at the sacrifice of his or her own will (here use as synonym for the word “will” the word “freedom”.)

     Wake, Giant. Rise. Swat these robbers off you. Stride the earth.

       Now, this was in the way back. Long time gone by it is since he fell down on his beggin’ knees.

     Down there in that dirt he could smell his own fear as it oozed out his body like a vapor from a swamp. He clamped hand to face vainly trying to protect himself from his own stench. The stink of fear, though, assaults not from the outside but the other way. What he smelled, his own sweat and leaked urine, were only markers of the fear. It, itself, was ravaging him from within.  Covering his nose and then even his eyes was no defense as his fear devoured him, fouling him with its paralyzing odor from the inside out.

     In those olden days when the monster used as weapon that beast fear and it set upon him – when the unleashed beast fed upon him—he was no longer like unto himself. He had become another, and this other he had devolved into trembled some at its lips. The stranger he had been frightened into becoming began to weep. And the jagged stones on the ground bit through the fabric of his pants into his knees.

     But then, even thru his despair, he remembered. Somehow in the throes of that stricken state he had been reduced into the man remembered the boy. And the boy’s eyes were blue. The same as were the eyes of the boy’s father. And this remembering, this re-knowing, made the eyes of the man on his knees reopen and rise from that dead place toward which they had been fast descending. Reanimate. Those eyes now gone back to life flashed fury. And they were the same eyes as in the boy and the boy’s father. 

     The man who was down on his knees in that dirt stood; eyes wide and ablaze with purpose, he knew again who he was. Why he was. And like his grandson and his son, his eyes were blue. It was this lineage, a connection thru the blood of one generation to the next to the next, that got him back up when he had counted himself beaten. Before succumbing to the monster, he had struggled mightily for his own sake because he knew like all free men know that to stand against tyranny for nothing other than one’s own right to live a free life is justification enough.

     Yet it took remembering that link to something greater than himself to raise back up he, who fighting merely for his own account, had given over to surrender. That link in the chain that hoisted him back to his feet was the image of his grandson’s sparkling eyes that appeared to him thru the tears and hooded lids of his own eyes. He would not lie down and let that precious boy fall prey to the monster.

     So, the kinship evidenced by those blue eyes—it might have been any number of family traits, in any number of other families. In the multitude of other patriots who stood their ground to resist the monster in that day a half century gone by. What strengthened some men was seeing their own copper-tinted skin reiterated in their children, giving those men purpose to stand for freedom so that the children of their children could also be free. 

     Women aplenty back in that crucial time aspired to be strong mothers to their daughters and sons by facing off against the monster.  They were examples to those children they cherished. Examples of the sacrifices a loving mother will make to perpetuate freedom and the primacy of the individual. Her legacy to her posterity. Those ordinary mothers, those warriors, those patriots risked ridicule from the herd of brainwashed mothers, ostracism from the cliques of non-thinking former friends, derisive labeling by the media, they resisted outright bribery by the monster in their heroic exertions to teach their fortunate daughters and sons to resist the tyranny of thought and behavior control. 

     The monster back then those fifty years gone by now that pummeled my grandfather to his knees was his own government. It nearly broke him, being endowed as it was in those days of such vast resources to assail him. The government launched against the citizenry a relentless campaign of inducing fear in them in order to cower the people into compliance with its despicable designs. A single among myriad examples was this: In a year when no greater number of persons died than in other years,  the government’s assault by television, loudspeaker, billboard, newspaper, social media, a huge cadre of doctors without ethics, and on and on strove to convince citizens an unprecedented wave of death was sweeping across the land.

     Abetted by the formidable array of mindless flying monkeys thrown into the assault by the likes of Facebook, Instagram, CNN and a chorus of others of that ilk, the government very nearly pulled off its gargantuan deception. The monster almost got away with its false preaching, the message of which was that its abhorrent actions were in favor of the health of the people. This was never so. Its actions and its onslaught of spectrum- wide propaganda were always only in the service of control, power, money. So it was with the monster.

     Not only did no larger number of persons die in that year than in any proximate other, but when normal average age of death in the U.S., comorbidities, and failure to administer known and effective treatments were factored in,  it turned out to be true that the survival rate of those infected by the virus,  which the monster and its monkeys screeched was so frightfully deadly, well, the actual survival rate of  adults outside the afore listed parameters turned out to be very nearly 100%. This scourge, this new Black Death the government intentionally and systematically crippled the economy, decimated small business, stripped citizens of their rights, and caused direct grave injury to health over held only a fraction of a single percent’s chance of killing. 

     The monster knew this all along and did not care. It’s tiny, fevered brain was intent on objectives far removed from the health and well- being of the citizenry.

     My grandfather knew these things. He was able to learn them from his own individual exertions and from other patriots who sought and found the truth. Even the monster’s propaganda campaign, of a magnitude unprecedented in all human history, could not obliterate the truths of that time. One of those truths was that children were virtually immune to death or, indeed, any serious harm from the virus. School boards and teachers’ unions and U.S. Senators and the nation’s chief executive and news editors and celebrities all wrung their hands and beseeched parents to strap a ludicrous piece of cloth over their children’s faces and have them all shot up with an experimental barely tested vaccine. All this great cohort of authority and influence insisted I and every one of the other kids of this nation be vaccinated –against something that was statistically impotent to do us harm.

     My, my. The fear, separation, isolation, curtailment of individual liberties the government and its aforementioned axis of flying monkeys assaulted the citizenry with, in the name of health, I say again –it was all, always only for the gain of control, the tightening of a grip on power and the increase in ill- gotten wealth for a certain few. My grandfather recognized this and fought it, but the monster beat him to his knees with its ferocious strength. The integrated propaganda machine of that time that warred against the people of this nation made hitler, goebbels and that gang of thugs look bush league by comparison.

     No wonder my grandfather faltered and fell to his bended knee. No wonder the tears found him and he cried his lament over the theft of his right to self-determination, stolen from him by his own government. No wonder the bile of his fear rose up, stinking, and almost took him. It was a time of state sanctioned, state originated lies and dark deceptions against the people – more widespread, exponentially better financed, more expertly and thoroughly deployed than even when those perverse actions were perpetrated in a previous time by the nazi.

     But my grandfather said to my father once, who said it to me. Just as fear and resignation threatened to consume him, he was able to remember a picture of a four -year -old me he kept at home on his writing desk. My eyes in the photo were blue. Like my father’s. Like his father’s.

Here was reason enough for that man, my grandfather, to get back to his feet and rejoin the fight against the monster.

     He and the other patriots of his day willed that their posterity should live to know and enjoy the rapturous individual liberty and SELF-determination that those other original heroes had bequeathed with their blood to their own descendants when they slew their own red jacketed monster in the way, way back on the hallowed grounds of Lexington, Concord, Bunker Hill, Kings Mountain, Cowpens……

                                                                             END