At least that's over

The enormous advantage of the discipline

of history, when compared with the com-

pulsions of journalism, is that no one's

picking winners and losers in the turns

of human events. Yesterday's winner, the

historian is relieved not to have to say,

was a President of the United States who

had the presence of mind to head out for

a round of golf, as the National Cathed-

ral, that ostensibly Episcopal place of

worship, was given over as Westminster

Abbey was, 21 years ago this week, to a

festival of revenge for the dead. Earl

Spencer in the pulpit, damning enemies

named and lewdly implied, did not out-

do the mourners of the man in the box;

and history records he was applauded,

in the righteous zeal with which media

critics of the President teased him for

being ostracized. As Groucho Marx re-

marked of a country club that invited

him, it obviously wasn't worth joining.

I think our perspective on the American

President is sufficiently established,

by now, to allow the plain verdict that

he certainly won that round, not to be

tainted by fainting spells of umbrage.

Her Majesty had always been right: the

occasion called for introspective grief.

Every sacred pretext for the obsequies

was smashed and trashed, and an entire,

institutionally obligated, if exploited

congregation's respects traduced, by a

festival of recrimination in the guise

of a Requiem, beneath the Cross and in

the presence of innocent servicemen, of

God and of country. Shame seems not to

live here anymore. To be a historian! 

Instead of witnessing that. Who hasn't

the President hauled down to his level?

Wiktor Sudol