Obviously having a life and thus, not posting obsessively on the MudCat can cause degradation of image. Chongo, I invite you to obtain the Book "Defiant Patriot" by Bill Bradlee, the former editor of the Washington Post. It was about Oliver North and Iran-Contra. If you look up the name Don Moore in the index, the first notation in the book states "Don Moore was a Philosophy Major at George Mason College in Virginia when he received his draft notice…" When I came back from the 'Nam I changed my major to Law Enforcement, and was one of the first at George Mason to get that degree. I still enjoy slithering up behind those babbling while sitting in a lotus position and whispering, "Plato was right".

As the estimable Joe Offer once wrote in a MudCat FAQ, "If you attack or provoke people online, be aware that they may wish to fight back in ways you may not have anticipated. If you're not nice by nature, it might be an idea to be nice online for your own protection." Now I happen to regard protection in the MudCat like the Mexicans regarded badges in the movie "Treasure of Sierra Leone". But I am aware that words can hurt. I remember a certain female who was a friend of mine (I actually lent her my computer) who at one point, was terrified that a gang on Mudcatters were going to descend on her apartment. If I'm not mistaken this was why Joe, at several points in the FAQs, mentioned that if you feel threatened, send him a PM. Yet when I had written in the thread about Obama's drug use, she accused me of being racist. My natural inclination was to retort, "It's in his damn book, you twit", but I declined, instead pointing out Washington Post pieces for her to read.

I occasionally have to point out to the ignorant that my record is far more middle of the road than almost any one I write about or to in the MudCat. Stretching back many years I have consistently held for a woman's right to choose, rational gun laws, and meaningful education reform. When Nixon started the EPA, I backed that initiative, as well as his comprehensive approach to the drug situation. I was the only Marine in Vietnam with an autoharp, and my philosophical bent was observed by several articles about North in Vietnam. (I am returning there in August for a 40th reunion of my unit, 3/3). And, until my retirement, I worked for 10 years as the Vocational Manager at the Harpers Ferry Job Corps, providing vocational training for at-risk youth from Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington DC. And I don't care what anyone says, until you've deflected a shank aimed at your heart into your leg, and then butt-stroked one of Anacostia's finest into the arms of Morpheus, you can talk, but I have to work to listen. When Holder made the comment about "cowards about race" my written (but unpublished) email to the Post was that the only racial coward I knew of left wet spots all over the brocade seats in the White House while holding (Holdering?) the pardon petitions from Hugh Rodham during Clinton's last week in the office.

I just don't tolerate ignorance masked in pontification. Rick Fielding once told me over a beer at Ramblewood, that he often agreed with me, but just could not say so. My folk roots are unassailable, playing a banjo in 62 and long neck by 64. Yet I still have the bloody dent in a custom (and heavy) autoharp, from a bar fight in Listowel in 01 during the Fleadh, after my group got done playing a sean nos set (using West Virginia tunes) on Raid'o na Gaeltachata. And that autoharp and I were featured on the second page of the Fleadh brochure in 2002… go figure.

I still have the wooden vase by Bill D and oil it about once a year. The only grudge I have against him was he has never sent me a small slab of burlwood to make an arm guard for my K-2. But he has got to know by now; if you throw a rock on my porch I'm coming off. As a friend once said, "Moore, half of you is belly and the other half is mouth… but all of that is teeth".