Hiroo Onoda, the last imperial Japanese soldier to surrender after World War II, hid in a jungle in the Philippines for 29 years, refusing to believe that the war was over. He finally turned himself in, wearing his sword, cap and patched uniform, in 1974.
The psychological explanation for what happened to Catherine Ferreira is neat and tidy and sounds like reason.
Every four years, at some point in the presidential campaign, one candidate says something that leads the other to accuse him (or her) of challenging his (or her) patriotism, and then we have a 48-hour spat over who called who unpatriotic, and then we go back to the usual political game in which talking heads viciously attack each other 24/7.
Relax. This is not a slippery slope. So Justices Samuel Alito writing for the majority and Anthony Kennedy writing in concurrence, take pains to assure us in the wake of the Supreme Court's latest disastrous decision.
Mitt Romney said it, and on Monday the Supreme Court upheld it: Corporations are people, my friend.
The summary moment of Barack Obama's foreign policy came in August 2013 during a consequential stroll.
Republicans, after years of squabbling with President Obama, have decided to resolve their differences with him according to a time-honored American tradition.
In the latest issue of Vanity Fair, there's a story about popular novels versus serious novels. It asks the question: Can they be one and the same? In the course of not reaching any conclusions, the article quotes a critic who complains: "Doesn't anyone care how something is written anymore?"
WASHINGTON -- When Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, R-Ky., went to the Senate floor Thursday afternoon to announce the death of Howard Baker, his words recalled not just his revered predecessor but an earlier, worthier cohort of American politicians.
WASHINGTON -- Noted management expert and IRS Commissioner John Koskinen was apparently called out of retirement -- like the Ted Williams of evasive, unapologetic bureaucrats -- to destroy what is left of his agency's credibility.
When I worked as a Senate aide in the early 1990s, the state of New York was represented by two figures who could hardly have been more different.
The tea partyers made a serious blunder in Mississippi, costing them a runoff win: They carelessly slipped their magic passion potion to the opposition.
Have you stopped using your hands? Do your fingers struggle to sign your name? Is chopping an onion with a knife hard work? Must you call someone to fix a cabinet door off the hinges? Is it agony to sew on a button?
I wanted to phone my father from Southern Utah. When recently we drove through the national park everyone calls "Arches," its red rocks carved by millions of erosive years into magnificent sculpture, I almost reached for the phone. It was the kind of natural scene he liked to hear about.
The signs were all there. This is what jumps out at you in perusing postmortems of the two greatest surprise attacks in American history. In the days and weeks leading up to Dec. 7, 1941 and Sept. 11, 2001, there were numerous clues that seem neon in hindsight, but which no one pursued.
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. And although retribution shall surely come in the fullness of time, a ballplayer can only wait so long. Accordingly, when Boston slugger David Ortiz came to bat against Tampa Bay's David Price at the end of May -- for the first time this season -- Price fired the very first pitch, a 94-mile-an-hour fastball, square into Ortiz's back.
What is the most shocking takeaway from the story of the two 12-year-olds who repeatedly stabbed their friend -- nearly to death -- on the imagined orders of a fantasy character?