when the going gets tough the tough go shopping

The book I've been reading lately is called Ignorance Is Blitz. It is a collection of wonderful mistakes that college students made on papers and exams in History 101 at colleges where the author and his friends taught. The kids made the mistakes because they slept during the lecture, were lazy, didn't study, or were just plain dumb. Read separately, or even a few at a time, these items are hysterically funny. For instance: "Death rates (from the Bubonic Plague) in many villages exceeded 100%." Taken together, though, these gems cease to be funny and scare the dickens out of me. These were written by people whose parents - or worse, taxpayers like me via subsidized loans - were paying for them to learn things. And guess what? These kids are over 18. They can vote. Our country will be in even more serious trouble if these kids ever learn enough geography to find a polling place.

One thing these kids don't know: who was Nathan Hale? Canadians, you are not excepted, because if I learned who Major Andre was, you could know about Nathan Hale. Just in case, know that Nathan Hale was a very young schoolmaster from Connecticut who joined up to fight on the side of the Americans in the Revolutionary War, had a gift for ciphers and language that came to the attention of the chain of command, and was made a spy. He was a very successful spy, until his luck ran out, and the British put him to death by hanging. He was asked if he had any last words. He said, "I regret that I have but one life to give for my country." Someone present at the awful event was moved by this statement, and wrote to Nathan Hale's family (or commander, not clear) so that his sentiment would be remembered. And it has been. It used to be part of every patriotic holiday: someone would either be dressed as Nathan Hale, blue coat, tan pants and buckled shoes to march with a fife and drum corps, or would have celebrated too much and would make Nathan Hale's last speech and pass out, or would - you get the picture. The guy was a hero and a patriot to the end.

NOT A SIGN
YOU WILL SEE
IN NEW YORK

I didn't think about Nathan Hale much after 7th grade until September 11, 2001, brought him to mind again. I was walking around the area I loosely call "the neighborhood" and noted that stores were opening, the dry cleaner was taking in clothes, the nail parlor had a "Back On Friday" sign in the window. And then I passed the Banana Republic. There are many Banana Republic branches in our town, you can have a nice tour of New York going from one BR to another looking for your size. This particular BR is on the

NATHAN HALE DELIVERS
HIS FAMOUS LAST WORDS

site where a famous restaurant, née a coaching inn and tavern, stood for literally centuries. The restaurant was most recently called The Sign of The Dove, and everybody's parents remembered a romantic meal there. Now there's a large apartment building with a BR on the ground floor. Sick transit glorious Monday, I muttered to the bus that didn't stop for me, and I went back across the street for a closer look at the BR. The plaque you see at the top of this post comforted me. The spot where Nathan Hale (more than likely) met his martyrdom now hosts a middle-level chain store. First I was outraged, and then I was comforted. Business moves on, New York keeps going. The Banana Republic is still there, and so is the plaque. And the idiot who asked whether Nathan Hale was my cousin when I told this story at a dinner party, is still eligible to vote. Although he has no idea why, as a born and bred New Yorker, I always reply "Early and often" when someone asks me on Election Day if I've voted yet.

Just can't resist another quote from Ignorance Is Blitz: "The British defeated the French from 1793 to 1815, but at gastronomic cost." Hm, maybe the kid's got something.  Do I detect a teensy ray of hope for the future?