Scooter Libby Should Walk

I’d like to introduce the shafted Scooter Libby to Billy Budd and Elian Gonzales.

All have suffered the letter of the law. Billy Budd, of course, was the fictional teen-age sailor created by Herman Melville over 125 years ago in a story about the sacrifice of innocence. As recounted in the 1962 movie of the same name, Billy was an innocent teen, an idealist all the British ship’s crew came to cherish, back in the 1770s. He was driven to do what the rest of the crew wanted done, killing the ship’s sadistic first mate. The ship’s principled and anguished captain had to uphold Britain’s law, but hated it. Finally as the boy was about to be hanged from the yard arm, as prescribed by law, Billy Budd cried out, “God bless Captain Vere!”

It was one of the most emotionally wrenching movie scenes I’ve ever seen.

Fast-forward to the real-life saga of Elian Gonzales, who was similarly sacrificed, though not killed, unto the tender mercies of Castro’s Cuba that demanded his return. As you may recall, the six-year-old youngster, according to Attorney General Janet Reno’s narrow interpretation of the law in 2000, had to be returned to his father in Cuba rather than remain in freedom with other relatives, Cuban expatriates living in Florida. His mother had died trying to boat him to safety in America. It was too sad for words.

As for Scooter Libby, the former senior staffer in the White House and assistant to Vice President Cheney, it’s not so much sad as silly. True, his career has been wrecked, his name forever besmirched by an overzealous federal prosecutor.

But I suspect that most folks conclude he had it coming for lying to the grand jury. And lots of political adversaries claim it proves the Bush administration’s skullduggery in dragging us into the Iraq war.

Too bad Scooter wasn’t as skillful a liar as Bill Clinton, but I guess nobody was. Before another grand jury looking into Clinton’s lurid affairs during his presidency, and after having claimed similarly to a national TV audience, Clinton denied having sex with his White House aide, Monica Lewinsky. You see, what they did wasn’t really sex, he explained, and got away with it. Today he’s more popular than ever. The wages of sin?

In Libby’s trial, the defense tried to show that he hadn’t lied but simply had poor memory over lots of things. But the judge wouldn’t let expert testimony be heard concerning valid cases of similar memory lapses.

Well. Let me tell you, I could have testified in his behalf. Here’s an example way beyond the “where did I put my glasses?” variety so common among us seniors nowadays.

Two years ago I wrote about an accident I had on U.S. 1 during an “Alberta Clipper” ice storm that had clogged traffic. A car coming from the opposite direction spun into my lane and clipped my right front fender. While we were talking it over a few moments later on the shoulder, an old car did a nearly identical spin but, instead of being merely clipped, was T-boned by an oncoming SUV, killing a woman in the car.

After my column ran on the incident, I obtained the police report so I could make a contribution to the slain woman’s daughter. The report was a shock. It referenced a pickup truck that had first clipped the old car before the SUV slammed into it.

I didn’t recall that happening at all. I had been an eye witness to the whole episode, but that pickup’s role drew a blank and still does.

Could Scooter Libby have had a faulty memory of a conversation he had with newsman Tim Russert? Could Russert? As a man with what I’d consider all my senses intact, and with a specific harrowing experience as evidence, I’d certainly say yes.

But Libby’s defense couldn’t introduce expert testimony on the subject of such faulty memory. According to a recent piece in the Wall Street Journal, the judge barred the expert, Robert Bjork, from testifying, holding that the science of memory is not science at all but common knowledge and common sense. Further, the judge held that such testimony was more likely to confuse the jury than educate it.

As the article explains, “Many people believe that traumatic events will be ‘burned’ into the mind…In fact, very high stress can diminish accurate recall. More important, memory is not static, like a videotape; rather, it is malleable and subject to change.” Such scientifically valid observations were barred in the trial. I hope the appeal works.

If I couldn’t recall a major detail of a riveting accident and surely if Bill Clinton’s memory was fuzzy regarding Monica, then Scooter Libby should walk.

Kilroy was here plus others

Kilroy and other treasures...

Yep, "Kilroy was here." Fact is, shortly after World War II, the little cartoonish character was nearly everywhere on just about everything. Troops say he cropped up on things and places shortly after they had won another battle.

As a kid, I remember proudly wearing a Kilroy likeness, gazing over my shirt pocket as if it were a fence.

Remembering him, this old retiree’s mind then went into overdrive, unearthing other tidbits from days past, as we codgers are prone to do anyhow.

Permit me to jog your memory, too, with a little test, as follows:

1. Where did Virginia once charge a toll for I-95 travel?2. Where did Northern Virginia have another " mixing bowl" before the Beltway ever opened?3. And personally, what did it mean to get a "frog"--and not in the throat?

I was reminded of such recollections by a piece on the Internet recently about dated things and sayings common to our golden, bygone days but rare now.

Who among us oldsters can forget the priceless glories of coping with pay toilets, typewriter ribbons and Ditto spirit duplicators (meaning schools' copy machines, not clairvoyants, for you younger readers)?

Or how about those penny peanut machines, running boards, cars' high-beam floor switches, and the naughty school-yard toy telescopes showing nekkid girls?

For sure, let us forgive our youngsters who have no fond memories of the Statler Brothers of Staunton, gloriously singing: "Do you remember these?"

Here’s a sample verse:

“Dancin' close, little moron jokes, and cooties in her hair;Captain Midnight, Ovaltine, and the Whip at the county fair;Charles Atlas course, Roy Rogers' horse, and Only the Shadow knows;Ah, do you remember those?”

That song was hugely popular for a time.

Earlier, before the microwave ovens and TV dinners, we remember drying the dishes, preparing fried chicken by first killing the chicken, and making "butter" by squeezing a package of oleomargarine until the yellow color permeated the white glop. And speaking of food, how about those dear old K rations of mess-kit days? Also who can forget milk bottles with the cream on top; and printed on the bottom of Coke bottles, which town produced them.

And before girls had tattoos and fancy nail jobs, it was fun to shake peanuts in Cokes to make them (the pops) fizz and run 78 rpm records backwards.

The piece on the Internet asked, "Did you ever set up a lemonade stand? Of course; we all did." Me too. But my dad made me take it down, after I had painted "Sorry, no beer" on it. My home town was dry and mighty proud of it. Dad was my first harsh editor, and one of several who taught me much.

To me, music has always been wonderful. From the symphonies to Spike Jones and gospel hymns (on Sunday nights in Abilene's First Baptist Church)-- they’ve all been just great. One exception: Those whining fiddles and lousy singers ruining Mexico's contemporary music. Except it's not really contemporary, sounding just as tinny now as it did back in the 1940s.

Speaking of music, a particular song came to mind the other day. It was Tony Bennett crooning, "I want to be around to pick up the pieces when somebody breaks your heart."

The tune surfaced as I read another piece on the Internet, a Reuters report warning that an asteroid may come uncomfortably close to Earth in 2036. So the United Nations should assume responsibility for a space mission to deflect it, urged a group of astronauts, engineers and scientists.

On second thought, I thought, forget it. By then I'll surely be experiencing either unimaginable paradise or really unstoppable global warming.

After all, I did smoke cigarettes for a long time. I still have a vintage Zippolighter, and until a few years ago a stash of coupons saved from the back of Raleigh cigarette packs. You remember them, of course.

By the way, I almost forgot to give you answers to my little quiz. Enjoy:

1. Richmond-Petersburg Turnpike, 1958-92, and it became part of Interstate-95 when it first opened.2. Shirley Highway, coming south past the Pentagon from Washington's 14th Street Bridge, had a merge (the Mixing Bowl) with Washington Blvd. near the Marine Corps Barracks. It featured frequent jams and wrecks.3. A "frog" appeared on a boy's arm after being struck by another's knotted-finger fist; it would swell for a few moments on the spot of impact. Fun, fun on many school grounds.

Oops, running long. Gotta blow this joint.