NP Michael Moore's latest

[Doug Millison]

Date: Mon, 17 Sep 2001 17:43:47 -0400
From: Michael Moore <mikemail at cloud9.net>
Subject: [Mike's Message] An OK City


An OK City

9/16/01

Dear Friends,

Pulling out of Albuquerque on Saturday, on our way
back to New York City, 
we pass by the exit that invites us to visit the
"National Atomic Museum," 
but figuring we probably couldn't get a New York Times
there, we decline 
the offer and head out across New Mexico.

The amazing thing is that you can even still get a
Wall Street Journal -- 
anywhere and everywhere. As I write this late Sunday
night, the captains of 
Capitalism are declaring that the stock exchange will
re-open on Monday, 
even if they don't have running water and phones, just
to show its enemies 
that NOTHING can stop the forward accumulation of
wealth.

The vast majority of the dead are those who labored to
bring them that 
wealth, and it dishonors them and their families to so
callously crank up 
the greed machine within days of this tragedy. Their
bodies -- thousands of 
them -- are still buried under the rubble down the
street, but, hey, why 
wait to give them a proper burial -- let's get busy
making some money! I 
can only hope that the stench from the rotting corpses
of their former 
employees will haunt them for the rest of the day and
remain in their 
consciences for the days to come...

The Wall Street Journal has not missed a day of
publication, even though 
much of their operation has been moved to New Jersey.
Perhaps this explains 
why they lifted a portion from my first letter to you
last Wednesday and 
reprinted it out of context. As this is a publication
whose editorial 
department has no moral compass, I shouldn't be
surprised that they would 
appropriate my words and twist them to fit their own
conclusions. I thought 
I'd write them a letter about this, and then I went,
Ah, jeez, do I have to 
explain satire to these people? I gotta drive through
Texas!

We entered what I thought was Texas, but we were never
sure because there 
was no "Welcome to Texas" sign on the road. All states
greet you with some 
oversized pride billboard when you cross their state
line. Not Texas. Is 
the implication that you don't need to know you are in
Texas because, as 
long as you are in the United States, you're
essentially always in Texas? 
Kathleen said let's just get across this state as
quick as we can.

We stopped for gas in Groom, Texas, a skanky little
hole of a place where 
someone's typo must have caused the letter "r" to be
hit instead of the 
intended "l." A newspaper article near the cashier
proclaimed that Groom's 
mayor has been the big winner in the Texas state
lottery -- twice. I wasn't 
sure if the posting of this news was to warn us not to
bother buying a 
lottery ticket here 'cause the fix is already in or to
simply remind us 
just how lucky we should feel to be in Groom. I bought
my wife two 
souvenirs from the store: a t-shirt that read, "I'm
Smarter Than Him. I Can 
Count to 10," and a "Foxy Lady" car decal. These did
not make up for the 
"The Eagles" reference in my last letter.

It seems like every sign and flashing marquee along
the road has some sort 
of message regarding the massacre in New York: "GOD
BLESS AMERICA UNLEADED. 
$2.09 GAL."  and "REMEMBER WORLD TRADE CENTER PORK
CHOP BREAKFAST $5.99." 
But then a Southern Baptist preacher comes on the
radio and says the 
following: "Perhaps America has some repenting to do.
We propped up the 
Shah of Iran when maybe we shouldn't have. We have
used the poor of the 
world to make our goods so we can make a profit when
maybe we shouldn't..."

These were stunning words to hear, but it coincided
with much of what we 
have been picking up along the road; namely, that
many, many Americans are 
not in support of gong off half-cocked and bombing
innocent people, no 
matter how much we all want those responsible to be
brought to justice. I 
continue to be hopeful...

Sunday morning in Oklahoma City. The clerk at the
hotel notices the 
California license plate on our rental car and asks
about where we are 
going. I tell him New York City, and he tells me that
this has been an 
especially hard week for Oklahoma City. He puts his
hand out to me and says 
he went to three funerals himself after the Oklahoma
City bombing, one of 
which he sang at. "It was the father of my best
friend." Tears are pushed 
back.

We go four blocks down the street to the memorial. The
streets around it 
had been blocked off all week for fear that someone
may want to bomb it 
again. The barriers are down now, and the place is
full of people stopping 
to pray and reflect. A large granite slab says "9:03"
and I am struck by 
the fact that this is the same exact minute that the
second plane slammed 
into the World Trade Center.

Kids are writing messages to the people of New York
with chalk on the 
sidewalk. Nearby, a man tells me he hopes that our
leaders pay heed to the 
words inscribed on the memorial about violence never
again being used. 
Another lady points out that the business of vengeance
is the Lord's, not 
ours. Again, I am hopeful, but the sadness of this
site is too 
overwhelming, and we leave and don't say much for the
next hour or so on 
the road.

I wonder if New York will honor those lost by turning
the former blocks of 
the WTC into its own quiet, peaceful memorial site.
Or, as the pundits 
insist, will they rebuild it immediately to show our
enemies that the 
business of America shall continue uninterrupted? At
that moment we enter 
the "Will Rogers Turnpike," and I think I know what he
would say about all 
this, let alone what he would say about this state
naming a toll road after 
him.

After passing by the birthplace of French's Mustard
somewhere in Missouri, 
we eventually make it to the city that houses the
National Bowling Hall of 
Fame, and spend the night...

Yours,

Michael Moore
mmflint at aol.com
www.michaelmoore.com

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