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I was in the thick of it on las Malvinas; I saw the nuns in El Salvador who were shot in the back of the head; I had to dig myself out of a mountain of bricks and rocks that pummeled on me during the Los Angeles riots; I answered the knock on the door at de Mohrenschildt’s daughter’s house just after de Mohrenschildt blew his brains out; I was at Ford’s Theatre (private box of course) while Booth was killing Lincoln and never did I see hide nor hair of O’Reilly.
In all fairness to Mr. O’Reilly, that does not mean that the great combat correspondent and investigative reporter wasn’t just a few thousand miles nearby. It just means that I didn’t see him because of the fog of war, the heavy gun smoke, the choking rubble dust, the general pandemonium….
Furthermore, because of recent advances in communications, in the internet, in photography and especially in imagination, it often feels just like being there.
So, please, let us give O’Reilly some rope slack.
Fortunately, this story is finally being overtaken by the more important, breaking news of people disagreeing on the colors of a dress.
Lead image: www.shutterstock.com
