By all appearances Friday morning, as thousands lined the street waiting (and wilting) for hours in 90-degree heat to enter the funeral arena where President Obama was to deliver a eulogy for state Sen. Clementa C. Pinckney, racial unity seemed a comfortable fact of life.
"I will never be able to hold her again, but I forgive you."
I grew up in cemeteries. They were part of our education, recreation and, too often, conversation.
Actually, they don't. Whether you're a butcher, a baker or a candlestick maker, you make more if you're a man.
There is a website that purports to expose "myths about the economy and government," Cry Wolf Project.
There is something I have never understood about the argument over global warming.
Younger Americans can hardly imagine a time when you had to visit a library to research the population of Phoenix in 1980.
There's nothing as depressing as asking young people whether they plan to participate in the election and hearing them tell you they have no idea which candidate to be for or what the differences are or, worse, that it doesn't matter.
Of the 60 people who co-founded the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People in 1909, only seven were, in fact, "colored."
"I don't ever know what people's motives are," said former president Bill Clinton, prompting one to pause and consider just what the definition of "motives" is.
Video imagery doesn't get much worse than a white police officer throwing an African American girl in a bikini to the ground, kneeling on her back as she cries and drawing his gun on other teenagers. What in God's name is wrong with our cops?
Half a century ago this summer, the Voting Rights Act was passed, propelled by Bloody Sunday at Selma Bridge. The previous summer, the Civil Rights Act became law on July 2. We are in the 7th year of the presidency of a black American who has named the first two black U.S. attorneys general.
Not another Bush v. Clinton campaign, you hear from Republicans who aren't for Jeb Bush anyway.
According to legend, it happened because he didn't want to leave the gaming table. Maybe he was riding a hot streak.
Toward the end of the presidency of George H.W. Bush, America stood alone at the top of the world -- the sole superpower.
The competent Loretta Lynch can no doubt handle the job of cleansing professional soccer of widespread corruption. But why is that the U.S. attorney general's job?
NASHVILLE, Tenn. -- I try to love Nashville because of its country-music heritage. Whenever I visit that city, I listen to WSM on the drive up to get my mind right, and I wear a plaid shirt that snaps and old blue jeans. It's a matter of reverence. Nashville ought to be different, somehow.
I am not normal. This, I learned from a news story 35 years ago. The details have faded with the passage of time, but the gist of it remains clear. Some expert had crunched a bunch of numbers in search of the "average" human being, the planetary norm, and found that she was an 8-year-old Japanese girl, living in Tokyo. I don't fit that profile; I'm willing to bet you don't, either. So as a matter of statistical fact, I'm not "normal" and neither are you.
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