Is it Noonan or is it Not?
by Barry Friedman
I remember when Reagan, against his will, his heart, his very being, spoke, albeit briefly, to men with beards, bad men whose histories and policies were worse than their facial manes, and later said to those of us who sat in another room, marveling at our proximity to greatness and power and the essence of America, "I am not doing this, I am not trading arms for hostages." And we all, those who loved and honored and wanted to crawl inside him, replied, "Mr. President, this is not that meeting, not that moment, not that negotiation with terrorists that we, your loyal minions will deny one day you ever engaged in." And I remembered he smiled, not a "Yale" smile, it was an American "Ah shucks" smile, an Aurora, Illinois smile, but a smile nonetheless--not a cold and steely defiant look that this president exhibited when he brought home yet another bearded one to a bearded papa. America, alas, will accept a trade, but we want it made by those we love for ones we love. Obama, this Bergdahl, this troubled, troubled young soldier with bad skin and far away eyes, are not loved--they are memories of other men, men who turned their homework in our time, lovely men. I, dear friends, turned my homework in on time. And I didn't go to Yale, either.