SINthysist
Rural Racist Homophobe
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- Nov 29, 2001
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Thursday, Sept. 19, 2002 5:55 p.m. EDT
Kathleen Willey on 9/11: A Tale of Two Presidents
[White House whistle-blower Kathleen Willey shares her thoughts on the 9/11 anniversary, and how Presidents Bush and Clinton spent that day, exclusively with NewsMax.com]:
Last Wednesday, September 11, I spent the morning at the VA hospital here in Richmond. My husband, a former Marine who served in Vietnam, had a 9 a.m. appointment and I went along with him because I did not want to be alone that morning, of all mornings.
I waited in the cafeteria, intent on drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. A television was on, the volume rather low, and I could see that the ceremony marking the one-year anniversary of the attack on the WTC had begun. I wanted to see and hear better so I moved up closer to the television.
It was then that I noticed that a large crowd was assembling, inching closer as I was. Someone turned up the volume. As I stood there, I began to notice the other people, mostly men, around me. They were all vets and by their ages, I was able to tell in which conflict they served.
The most elderly fought in WWII, those a little younger in Korea. Those closer to my age had been in Vietnam and I assumed that the younger men participated in Desert Storm and Somalia. There were a few women in the crowd, wives of WWII vets and some younger women who had served next to the men in the most recent conflicts.
These vets were from all walks of life, young, old, black, white, amputees lying on hospital gurneys, others in wheelchairs attached to IVs. No one spoke. Their silence spoke volumes. They were there for each other.
I heard a muffled sob from one of the vets and I watched as the man next to him put his arm around his shoulder to comfort him. There were a lot of unabashed tears, but it was their knowing silences that struck me. They had seen the horrors of war. Some came home changed men. The Vietnam vets came home to shame and ridicule, forced to carry their guilt in silence.
They were a fraternity of men that morning, a band of brothers, knowing the pain in each other's eyes. They took care of each other, unashamedly.
I thought about their mothers, sending their boys into battle and how gut wrenching that must have been. I thought about the mothers and fathers, brothers, sisters and spouses who buried their soldiers, their lives forever changed.
But I saw something else in those vets, those old soldiers that morning of September 11. I saw pride. They stood tall in the knowledge that they had served this wonderful country of ours. They stood tall for those among them who could no longer stand. I felt honored to stand in their midst that morning of September 11. They were heroes, one and all.
Then something happened, something I did not expect. Rudy Giuliani began to read the names of those who lost their lives that day in a slow and measured tone so that each and every name could be clearly heard. More dignitaries recited more names as we stood there in that cafeteria.
We were riveted to that screen. We watched and we listened and we cried.
Hillary Clinton stood at the podium and began to speak more names. I watched as those brave men around me turned their backs to the television and began to walk away. Many shook their heads in disgust, but no one spoke. They did not have to.
As I stood there, practically alone, I wondered if she was remembering those victims of the Puerto Rican terrorists, the innocents who were maimed or lost their lives years ago.
Did she grieve for them too? Did she feel any guilt at all that she had played a hand in their release during her Senate campaign? Was she ashamed for her husband, who had released them?
I doubt it. After all, she was running for senator. She deserved to win, at any and all costs. I was reminded of their mantra, "Anything it takes." I was reminded of the words of our past president to his adviser, Dick Morris, at the height of the Monica mess: "We'll just have to win." Anything it takes.
That evening my husband and I participated in a ceremony of remembrance at the courthouse green of our little town. Dignitaries spoke, the choir sang, children stayed close to their parents.
A young Boy Scout played taps. Our American Legion members, my husband among them, held a flag ceremony. They stood tall and at attention. They saluted our flag, for which they had fought. I watched the tears well up in their eyes. I felt their pride.
We lit our candles and sang "God Bless America." We said our goodbyes to the victims of 9/11 and looked to the future with a new resolve and newfound patriotism. I thought about our President and his First Lady.
They had attended ceremonies of remembrance that day too and comforted those many, many survivors of the horrors of a year ago. They had asked that the cameras be held back at a respectful distance so that their words to each other could be somewhat private.
I thought about their last visit of the day at Ground Zero. They walked hand in hand down that long ramp to what will forever be the final resting place of thousands of lost souls. Their tears were genuine. Their words were real.
I thanked the good Lord for this good man and this good woman who are leading us now. I thanked Him for our President's strength of character and I thanked Him for his wife who stands by his side, strengthening his resolve to lead us through these dark days yet to come.
When we returned home, we watched a concert on television. The music was comforting and soothing to our jangled nerves, filled with words of patriotism and pride, a somehow fitting end to a very long and hard day.
Soon after, as I was turning off the lights and locking the doors, I glanced back at the television only to see our former president, sauntering onto the set of the David Letterman show. Joe Cool, talking about his music room in Chappaqua. This day of all days, the one-year anniversary of the worst terrorist attack to befall us. An attack that just may not have occurred had our former president been paying attention.
There he was for all to see with nary an apology in sight, in our faces once again, drawing still more attention to himself on this most solemn of days. Could he not have found the decency to stay away just this once?
I cried more tears that night before I fell asleep. I asked forgiveness for lending my time, efforts and resources to a man who became our president and the woman who went to the White House with him.
I know now that they were undeserving of our honor and respect. They brought shame to that great house. And once again, I was most thankful for this good man and this good woman who live there now.
Kathleen Willey on 9/11: A Tale of Two Presidents
[White House whistle-blower Kathleen Willey shares her thoughts on the 9/11 anniversary, and how Presidents Bush and Clinton spent that day, exclusively with NewsMax.com]:
Last Wednesday, September 11, I spent the morning at the VA hospital here in Richmond. My husband, a former Marine who served in Vietnam, had a 9 a.m. appointment and I went along with him because I did not want to be alone that morning, of all mornings.
I waited in the cafeteria, intent on drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. A television was on, the volume rather low, and I could see that the ceremony marking the one-year anniversary of the attack on the WTC had begun. I wanted to see and hear better so I moved up closer to the television.
It was then that I noticed that a large crowd was assembling, inching closer as I was. Someone turned up the volume. As I stood there, I began to notice the other people, mostly men, around me. They were all vets and by their ages, I was able to tell in which conflict they served.
The most elderly fought in WWII, those a little younger in Korea. Those closer to my age had been in Vietnam and I assumed that the younger men participated in Desert Storm and Somalia. There were a few women in the crowd, wives of WWII vets and some younger women who had served next to the men in the most recent conflicts.
These vets were from all walks of life, young, old, black, white, amputees lying on hospital gurneys, others in wheelchairs attached to IVs. No one spoke. Their silence spoke volumes. They were there for each other.
I heard a muffled sob from one of the vets and I watched as the man next to him put his arm around his shoulder to comfort him. There were a lot of unabashed tears, but it was their knowing silences that struck me. They had seen the horrors of war. Some came home changed men. The Vietnam vets came home to shame and ridicule, forced to carry their guilt in silence.
They were a fraternity of men that morning, a band of brothers, knowing the pain in each other's eyes. They took care of each other, unashamedly.
I thought about their mothers, sending their boys into battle and how gut wrenching that must have been. I thought about the mothers and fathers, brothers, sisters and spouses who buried their soldiers, their lives forever changed.
But I saw something else in those vets, those old soldiers that morning of September 11. I saw pride. They stood tall in the knowledge that they had served this wonderful country of ours. They stood tall for those among them who could no longer stand. I felt honored to stand in their midst that morning of September 11. They were heroes, one and all.
Then something happened, something I did not expect. Rudy Giuliani began to read the names of those who lost their lives that day in a slow and measured tone so that each and every name could be clearly heard. More dignitaries recited more names as we stood there in that cafeteria.
We were riveted to that screen. We watched and we listened and we cried.
Hillary Clinton stood at the podium and began to speak more names. I watched as those brave men around me turned their backs to the television and began to walk away. Many shook their heads in disgust, but no one spoke. They did not have to.
As I stood there, practically alone, I wondered if she was remembering those victims of the Puerto Rican terrorists, the innocents who were maimed or lost their lives years ago.
Did she grieve for them too? Did she feel any guilt at all that she had played a hand in their release during her Senate campaign? Was she ashamed for her husband, who had released them?
I doubt it. After all, she was running for senator. She deserved to win, at any and all costs. I was reminded of their mantra, "Anything it takes." I was reminded of the words of our past president to his adviser, Dick Morris, at the height of the Monica mess: "We'll just have to win." Anything it takes.
That evening my husband and I participated in a ceremony of remembrance at the courthouse green of our little town. Dignitaries spoke, the choir sang, children stayed close to their parents.
A young Boy Scout played taps. Our American Legion members, my husband among them, held a flag ceremony. They stood tall and at attention. They saluted our flag, for which they had fought. I watched the tears well up in their eyes. I felt their pride.
We lit our candles and sang "God Bless America." We said our goodbyes to the victims of 9/11 and looked to the future with a new resolve and newfound patriotism. I thought about our President and his First Lady.
They had attended ceremonies of remembrance that day too and comforted those many, many survivors of the horrors of a year ago. They had asked that the cameras be held back at a respectful distance so that their words to each other could be somewhat private.
I thought about their last visit of the day at Ground Zero. They walked hand in hand down that long ramp to what will forever be the final resting place of thousands of lost souls. Their tears were genuine. Their words were real.
I thanked the good Lord for this good man and this good woman who are leading us now. I thanked Him for our President's strength of character and I thanked Him for his wife who stands by his side, strengthening his resolve to lead us through these dark days yet to come.
When we returned home, we watched a concert on television. The music was comforting and soothing to our jangled nerves, filled with words of patriotism and pride, a somehow fitting end to a very long and hard day.
Soon after, as I was turning off the lights and locking the doors, I glanced back at the television only to see our former president, sauntering onto the set of the David Letterman show. Joe Cool, talking about his music room in Chappaqua. This day of all days, the one-year anniversary of the worst terrorist attack to befall us. An attack that just may not have occurred had our former president been paying attention.
There he was for all to see with nary an apology in sight, in our faces once again, drawing still more attention to himself on this most solemn of days. Could he not have found the decency to stay away just this once?
I cried more tears that night before I fell asleep. I asked forgiveness for lending my time, efforts and resources to a man who became our president and the woman who went to the White House with him.
I know now that they were undeserving of our honor and respect. They brought shame to that great house. And once again, I was most thankful for this good man and this good woman who live there now.
