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August 8, letter to Frank Michel

So we’ve finally come down to it, Francois.  You hid from my last four calls, but this morning I caught you before your staff could answer the phone.  Let me see, you deserve to have your side told.  You said you resented being bullied to publish the piece that you admitted three days ago was right on target.  I think your doubts have little to do with truth in reporting.

Now I’ll be frank for you and tell you that no squirming you have done has surprised me.  By the time I wrote “3/7 Cavalry, tragedy and travesty,” I knew it would be a simple issue of opportunism for you.  You would pretend to the best possible character while doing whatever would advance your career.

From the time I met you, you have hedged every bet, sat every fence and kissed every ass that could get you a step higher in the corporate ladder of the Chronicle.  You explained it way back when, over beers and cigars at the Ginger Man:  “Captain May, you can go and rustle up some adventures as a free lance, but I’m a big paper tree dweller.  I’ll play it safe and retire in comfort.”  I never forgot that conversation.

You told me you believed my 3/7 Cavalry theory back in April, but begged off when I told you I had been in touch with Tom Daschle and Sheila Jackson Lee.  “It’ll come out, eventually,” you said calmly.  You didn’t lift a finger to follow the story, though I’m sure you squealed to your bosses all the way back to Hearst Corporation.  I wasn’t surprised by your lack of ethics.  I knew you would use the essay and follow the story when it was good and safe, and not a minute earlier.

You got scared when I returned from Ft. Stewart with contacts and data, and you didn’t lift a finger to get to the truth I had ridden a thousand miles to investigate.

You made excuses and left town when you had the first essay in America to say the prez was a liar, and left my work behind.  When other folks started mentioning “the credibility issue,” the piece ran.  Safe bet, buddy.  Do you ever really gamble?  Nope, no balls.  Most people don’t have the courage to admit they’re cowards, buddy, so I’ll be brave for you and write it.  You’re a coward.  There’s honesty, for old time’s sake.  I hope you have it in you to be ashamed, but I don’t think so.

In fact, I remembered it well when I wrote the 3/7 Cavalry essay and attached a letter to you on top of it.  Here it is again, with translations:

First graph:

“Since I talked with you the day after the 3/7 Cavalry was attacked at the Baghdad Airport, you have been the only media person to take me seriously.  Thanks for encouraging me to write.  I have tried to spark other media interest in the fate of the 3/7 Cavalry, but have been ignored by television and radio.  I have been dismissed as crazy more than once.”

Translation:  You have known my theory since April 6, and you have encouraged me to develop it.  You can be the best journalist in America if you’ll explore it.

Second graph:

“For the last week I have been taking up a collection for the unit’s Army Emergency Relief fund.  The donations bucket carries the sign:  ‘Please donate to the relief fund of the 3/7 Cavalry, which took losses over the weekend.’  I have collected for 22 hours, and have exactly twenty dollars in donations.  Although the public has no reason to doubt the unit that was the spearhead of the advance has taken casualties, it has not been told to grieve yet, so it renders no gifts to the dependents of the dead.”

Translation:  Real servicemen died, and a patriot like you ought to feel as sorry as I do that they are unknown rather that mourned by the nation they served.

Third graph:

“Nothing would make me happier than to be wrong in my inferences.  I hope the facts will disprove me.  Should my fears about the 3/7 Cavalry be realized, I ask that you publish this essay.”

Translation:  Having adduced your journalistic and humanitarian duty, I am putting this squarely on you, so that you can be remembered as a heroic editor.

Yep, Francois, I gave you a straight-up chance to stop a national slide into tyranny and get deserved praise for doing it.  But as you said this morning, you aren’t a man to be told how to do your job.  I laughed for a few seconds while you barked defiance over the phone.  You sounded like a Chihuahua, and I smiled as I listened, thinking that if I were standing in front of you, you’d be shaking and stammering.  I’m not smiling now, though.  To tell you the truth (as if you cared), I’m feeling sad that a man who claimed to be a friend turned out to be a nothing.  Grad students will read about you in the future and write papers with catchy titles like “Frank Michel, April – August, 2003:  A Chronicle of Cowardice.”

Captain May

Rousseau said it well:  “Civilization is the appearance of every virtue without the existence of any.”  Napoleon said it more succinctly of Talleyrand:  “He is shit in a silk stocking.”  Pretend to be an editor one last time and pick the quote you prefer for yourself.

 

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