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FATHER ANTHONY J. FITZGERALD, S.J.,
JURISPRUDENTIAL WIZARD
VOLUME FOUR
HUNKERING DOWN IN THE WINDRIVER RANGE
BY ANTHONY J. FEJFAR, ESQ., COIF
MEMBER, UNITED STATES SUPREME COURT BAR
COPYRIGHT 2004 BY ANTHONY J. FEJFAR, ESQ., COIF
THIS BOOK, AND THE ENTIRE FATHER FITZGERALD
SERIES IS FICTION, ANY RESEMBLENCE OR PARALLEL
TO A REAL PERSON, PLACE, OR THING, IS PURELY A
COINCIDENCE.
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CHAPTER ONE
We were hiking across an Alpine Valley, following a deer trail, when we
heard the shot. Suddenly, a puff of dirt kicked up about a yard in front of me, and
a thirty od six slug ricocheted off a boulder about thirty feet away. Hit the
dirt, I, Father Tony Fitzgerald said. And we did.
Jesus, whats going on? said Dan. I think that someone doesnt like
us, said Father Stan. Another shot chipped a piece of rock off a small boulder
about ten feet away. Quick, get behind that boulder over to the right. I said.
We quickly got up, which was tough with our backpacks, and serpentined over to
a string of eight foot high boulders over to our right. Another shot chipped rock,
and the shards covered my arm. Damn, I thought, now what? I think that we
should take our packs off and get our BAMs ready for action. said Father Stan
Fitzhugh.
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We pulled our packs off and untied our BAMs. The BAM, was of course
the Best Air-rifle Made, that is BAM. We each had 177 caliber BAM high
powered air rifles which had a range of approximately one mile. Instead of using
pellets, we used bb gut ammo. It was a home made concoction of Crossman
Copperhead bbs, 10 w 30 motor oil, axel grease, and of course, the spit of the
creator of the concoction. Father Tony made it best. If you used just ordinary
bbs they just rolled down the barrel of the rifle onto the ground before you could
even fully cock the break barrel air rifle. With gut bbs, the
friction caused by the grease-oil, kept the bb from rolling down the barrel. It also kept the
barrel lubricated to help ensure a long life for the weapon. Finally, of course the lubricant
barrel helped to create a better seal and the range and velocity of the air rifle increased
substantially.
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These rifles were accurate as hell. People said that Father Tony could shoot the e
of a crow one mile away. None of us used telescopic scopes to shoot, instead we used the
ordinary rifle sights found on the barrel of the air gun. Once you got used to it, it worked
better without a scope. Less adjustments, and essentially, you remote viewed your targe
the end of the barrel of the air rifle. This brought the target, in frame, relative to the sh
avoiding the problem of multiple frame shifts between the shooter and the target.
We spread out, picking boulders to hide behind that were about 30 yards
apart. I looked in the direction of the shots and saw a flash of metal off his gun
barrel in a stand of boulders about 500 yards away. Hes in those boulders, about
500 clicks away, Father Tony said. I shifted to the other side of the boulder so that
my torso would be hidden and so that I could rest my left arm and the rifle against
the boulder. I lined up for my first shot. The clip sight was a good one, with a tube
sight containing a ridge site at the end of the barrel. I waited.
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Another shot came in our direction, chipping rock off of the boulder that
Father Stan was hiding behind. I saw the barrel of the hitters rifle. I inhaled air
slowly into my lower abdomen, I closed my left eye, sighting down the barrel with
my right eye. I lined up the sights on the area immediately behind the rifle barrel,
slowly exhaled and gently squeezed the trigger as if it were the side of an aluminum
pop can. My rifle jerked, and the back force of the air forced the stock of the rifle
into my shoulder. I heard a scream. Eayyyaeee. Well, I must have hit
something. We had better wait it out awhile guys, he might be faking it. I said.
We waited about 20 minutes without hearing a shot.
Stan, can you work your way down the valley about a mile, and then
come up on him from the right, Dan, you do the same thing on the left. I keep
plinking away here to keep him down, just in case hes still alive and thinking about
chicanery. I said. Sounds good said Stan and Dan. It took about an hour. The
I heard Father Stan yell, Yo, Tony, he deader than a doornail. You got him right
through the left eye yelled Dan. Alright, Im coming across, said Father Tony.
I knew this guy. He was on the law faculty at Lewistown. This guy is
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an adjunct professor in the law school at Lewistown, I said. You know, he is at
that, said Father Stan. Well, said Dan, from what you have told me, we either
have Father Leon Andrev to thank for this, or perhaps, Sister Joan. You know,
youre probably right, said Stan. I dont know, I said. Lets form a circle
around the body and open up our channels and see if we can find anything out.
Im kind of new at this, said Dan. Thats right, we had better work with Dan
first, I said.
Alright Dan, Stan and I are going to each imagine that our spiritual energy is in
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your body and mind and try to form a quantum linkage. O.K.? Alright, said
Dan. We each sat down around the body, as if we were the three points of a
triangle. Aw, shit, were ressurecting the guy. said Stan. Well, I guess, well
have to heal him. said Tony. Concentrate your energy in his head and eye.
The guy sat up. Shit, what happened? he asked. You got shot and we just
ressurected you, said Father Tony. Now, either you swear allegiance to God, and
vow to become a Critical Thomist, and acknowledge that you owe each of us a life
debt, or well have to execute you. He continued.
Well, I, cant Im KGB, SMERSH, I cant do that. He said. Why not go
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KIAO, counter terrorism? asked Tony. The guy spit in Tonys face. Alright, Im
giving you a death warrant on my Coif, under the National Security Act, said Father
Tony, may God have mercy on your soul, because Im certainly not going to.
With that, Father Tony reloaded his BAM, aimed into the eye of the SMERSH hitter
at point blank range, and fired. The hitter slumped over. This time there was no
scream. Well, what do we do with the body? asked Father Stan. I think there is
a cliff just over that ridge, said Dan, we could dump the body off the cliff. Ill go
look. Stan, why dont you search the body, and Ill go see if hes got a backpack
hidden in the trees. Alright, said Stan.
CHAPTER TWO
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We hiked three more miles down the Alpine Valley and then stopped for
the night around four in the afternoon. As usual, a small afternoon shower drifted
by, but we only got a sprinking. After we get the tents set up, why dont you guys
scout down the valley a bit, and Ill do a little trout fishing in the stream, here. I
said. Sounds good Tony, said Stan, I guess well take our BAMs with us, just in
case. Jesu, I have to take a shit, said Dan Corgill, how do you do it out here?
Just get a roll toliet paper out of your pack, said Stan, move away from the camp
site and the creek, use your poop shovel to dig a hole, pull down your drawers, and
squat shit into the hole, use the toliet paper, and then cover over the shit and paper
with the dirt that you dug, otherwise the deer will eat the shit and get sick.
Father Tony, remember to use the ceramic water pump/filter get the water
from the pond. We have to be careful of getting the shits from Gehardia. said Dan.
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Thanks Dan, Ill make sure and remember. We spent the next half hour putting
up our tents. It was pretty easy. First you put out tarp for a ground cloth, and then
you laid out the tent flat on the top of it. You then set up the external frame tent
poles which are held together on the inside with bungee cords, on each end, and then
connect them with the horizontal cross pole. My tent was a Timberline 8' by 6',
and I loved it. It didnt weigh more than a smaller tent, it was easy to assemble and
disassemble, and there was plenty of room for me to roll around on the inside
without hitting the tent sides, and , plenty of room for me to snore, sleeping by
myself.
I was glad that the gay movement in the Jesuits of the 1970's was over. For
awhile there not only were gays not discriminated against, in fact, the opposite was
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the case. You had to be gay in order to get into the novitiate, or at least to stay.
Then, all of a sudden there was an influx of special forces guys from Nam, who
entered the Society. They were all as strait as an arrow and were all martial arts
experts, including tae kwon do, karate, judo, and tai chi. Suddenly everyone in the
novitiates was getting anti gay training. It was really quite simple. You put
everybody with no clothes on in the shower room together and waited to see if
anybody got an erection. If they did, then the other participants in the training
excercise shot at the erect cock of the gay guy with a rubber band gun. Soon, the
erection was gone. It was right out of the Pavlovian training manual.
Another technique was self primogeniture. You had the guy jack off to
Playmate magazine, then bless the cum after he orgasmed, and then had him stick it
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up his own butt with his right fock finger. In addition to being a ritual, there was
some evidence that there was an actual positive physiological effect of having your
anus absorb you own semen rather than that of another person. The combination of
the two techniques had a virtual 100% transformative effect, changing a gay guy to a
strait guy.
CHAPTER THREE
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around my slotted wood, wrapping board. This was essentially the kind of rig that
people used in the middle ages in Europe. In fact, under canon law, most religious
were required to take such a fishing rig with them when traveling so that they could
catch fish rather than having to beg alms.
At the end of the twine I had a three foot steel thirty pound test leader
attached, with a swivel latch on the end. I put a number ten hook attached to a nylon
leader onto the longer steel leader. I put the marshmellow on the hook, and then put
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a small weight on the latch swivel, and then a red and white plastic bobber on the
twine line, about two feet up the twine line. I played out about twenty feet of twine
line on the ground, with the leader off to the side. I then grabbed the twine line
about four feet above the bobber and began to twirl the rig on an angle not unlike the
technique that cowboy would use to twirl a lariat. After I built up some momentum
with four or five passes, I let go of the twine, and let fly the end rig. The twine line
snaked out about 20 feet from where I was standing on the shore.
The weight and the leader with the marshmellow hit first, as of course it
should have, and then came the bobber. Bubbles came up from below the surface
as the weight and marshmellow sank into the depths of the pond. I sat down on a
rock boulder and relaxed, keeping an eye on the bobber which was floating lazily on
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the surface of the pond. I was just yawning when suddenly the bobber plunged
under the surface. Suddenly, there was a jerk on my ankle, where I had wrapped
one turn of twine around, so that the wood twine wrapper wouldnt get pulled into
the water and disappear.
I unwrapped the twine from around my ankle and stood up. I held the twine
board in my hands and wrapped the stretched twine line around my right wrist and
hand and tugged a little bit. The twine line into the water remained taut. I began to
pull in the line, hand over hand. Soon, I could see the bobber about eight feet out
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into the water. I put my foot on the twine line into the water and wrapped up some
of the slack onto the twine board and then began retrieving anew. I grabbed my
little oak laminated fishing net off my hip and kept pulling with my other hand.
Soon I could see a 14 inch rainbow trout in the water. I squatted down, pulling the
trout closer to shore while positioning the net, Gotcha, I said to the trout. And so I
did.
I caught four more trout by the time Stan and Dan returned. They had
nothing to report. I got a can of pond water and we walked down the valley about
two hundred yards before stopping. I cleaned the fish there, partially burying the
guts. We then went back to camp. I got out my Coleman propane backpacking
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stove and went to work with the olive oil, the trout, a little garlic powder, and of
course, the frying pan. I cooked the fish in a spot about 100 yards away from camp.
Bears are really attracted to the smell of trout. By doing the fish cleaning and
cooking so far away from camp, I hoped that this little misdirection play would fool
the bears.
We broke the typical back pack rules and brought along some can goods. For
supper we had the trout, some bread, and some cream corn, with a Hersheys
chocolate bar for dessert. . It was a good meal.
CHAPTER FOUR
I woke up with a start in the pitch black tent. I looked at my watch which
was hanging from my backpacking gig around my neck. I kept a 30 inch stainless
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steel chain with saints medals and backpacking type stuff around my neck. I of
course had Saint John the Apostle/Evangelist, reputed to be an immortal, sequestered
to the Island of Potmos (Guam) until the second coming of Jesus. Next was Saint
Thomas the Apostle, Doubting Thomas, Patron saint of Critical Thomism, and
arguable apostate saint for questioning whether or not the ressurection of Jesus was
real or not. Next, Saint Anthony and the Christ Child, representing Saint Anthony
the Praetorian Legate, that is, God the Father, or in the case of Jesus of Nazareth,
God the Grandfather. The wife of Saint Anthony, Saint Anne, with the Mary child,
Saint Anne being the mother of the Virgin Mary and Grandmother of Jesus of
Nazareth. Finally, my Christ medal, with Saint Anne and the Christ Child on the
back, with Saint Anne representing the Holy Spirit of Divine Wisdom. And,
finally, minimaglite flashlight, my waterproof special forces watch, my Master
Mechanic mini tape measure, and my shrade special forces pen knife.
I rotated my TMX watch face so that I could see it, and pressed the display
light, reading the watch with a time of 3:00 a.m. I sat quietly and listened. I heard
a snorting and squealing outside. I got my ammo pouch and my BAM, carefully
opened the tent from the bottom up using the zipper, and then crawled outside. Stan
and Dan had just gotten up too. Well, it looks like Smoky the Bear has found the
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fish scraps, said Stan. Yeah, I think youre right, I said, Maybe we should stay
up for awhile and then go back to sleep later, toward dawn. Sounds good, said
Dan. I got out the Coleman Camping Lantern which fitted snugly onto the propane
tank, and started the lantern. Soon the entire area was bathed in golden light from
the lantern.
Well, we might as well tell some stories, or something, said Dan.
Sounds good to me I said. Well, Tony, how about one of your World War Two
stories, said Father Stan. Alright, I said. Now remember, this is just a story,
treat it as an allegory at best, not as scientific fact, OK? Alright, said Stan and
Dan simultaneously. Alright, first of all, remember how the American tank
commander General Patton was forced to run around southern England with a
cardboard army so that the Germans would think that the invasion of
France would take place in Calais, instead of Normandy? At least that was the
official story. What really happened was that Patton was reequipted with light
tanks and half tracks, and a lot of jeeps. An allied expeditionary force put to sea and
landed in a deep water fjord in Denmark. I wasnt really even a port, just a fishing
village. They landed on the first week in May, one month before D Day in France.
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G2, intelligence and the Danish underground indicated that the ground in
Denmark was for the most part frozen peat, that is, permafrost. In the Spring and
Summer, it becomes very spongy and virtually impossible to drive in. The problem
for the Germans was that they had put two Waffen SS Panzer divisions with Tiger
tanks as the only defense in Denmark. The Tiger was a huge battle tank, which
weighed a hell of a lot. Additionally, Pattons armorer made the observation in the
war against Rommel in Tunisia, North Africa, that the Tiger had no turrent. That is,
the gun barrel was stationary and the only way that you could rotate and re-aim the
gun was to reverse synchronize the tank treads. What this spelled for the Germans
in Denmark, was, MUD.
Patton picked the ground very carefully, but the botton line was this, the
Americans were able to stay very mobile and were able to keep to the small country
roads and highways, while the Germans stayed in entrenched postions in forested
areas. Patton had orders to Blitzkrieg, that is, to blow right by the Germans as soon
as possible, leaving them mired in the mud. If you look at a map of Europe, you
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might notice that it is a fairly straight shot from Denmark to Berlin, the capital of
Germany. On the way of course, after zipping through Schleswig Holstein, Patton
also occupied the German port of Hamburg and Eisenhower soon had the entire
American Expeditionary Force landing in Hamburg, rather than Normandy. Next
the 101st
Airborne dropped into Berlin right after Patton got there courtesy of the
German railroad industry. Patton set up armored trains and troop trains, used
German speakers, and rolled right into Berlins central railroad yard completely
unnoticed.
Of course D Day in France happened. The Germans refused to send their
troops east to fight the Russians. We used a lot of troops on D Day who were
avowed communists or nazis against the nazis. The reason we were so short of
men on the Battle of the Bulge was that we were already occupying Berlin.
Ironically, our troops fought so heroically against the nazis on D Day that the
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invasion in France was also a success. We had to pull Patton out of Berlin and
move his armored division to southern France.
Operation Market Garden with Monty, British Field Marshal
Montgomery, was meant to hook up our troops in France with those occupying
Schleswig Holtstein. Unfortunately, the Waffen SS armored Divisions from
Denmark were able to fight their way through and stop Market Garden in Holland.
Fortunately before that happened, Patton was able to liberate five German
concentration camps which were chocked full of Jesuit Priest from the major
European Universities. They were able to get out through Hamburg, and then made
it to Canada, courtesy of the United States Navy. Remarkably, it wasnt the Jews
who went into the camps first in Nazi Germany, it was the Jesuits. Apparently Rome
was unwilling or unable to do anything about it.
Now, you might think that the story is about over, but there is a little bit more
to it said Father Tony. Now, the problem was that there were a fair number of
Germans caught in central France, and, also, since the Germans decided not to
make peace with the Americans, they again thought about their socialist brothers and
sisters, the Russians. Von Ribbentropp, the German Foreign Minister was sent to
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Yalta, where he met with Kruschev. They agreed to an armistice, on the condition
that the Germans would allow Russian troops free passage through central Germany
into France, to attack the American Army during the Battle of the Bulge. You
would be surprised how many good, loyal American troops were put into the
stockage, and some into mental institutions, because they kept telling everyone that
they kept hearing the troops in German uniforms during the Bulge, speaking
Russian.
In any event, from the troops point of view, lets consider this from the
vantage point of the Americans in combat at the time. The Germans had pretty
much surrounded the village of Bastogne. Most of the American troops were
hunkered down in fox holes in a wooded area of the Ardenne Forest north of
Bastogne.
For awhile the fight went north to south, Germans on the North and
Americans on the South. The object was to keep control of an east-west road
which was supplying the German forces from the east. The American ran low on
ammunition and the Germans captured the road. This is when the German
commander demanded the Americans to surrender, and the American Commander,
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McCauliff, told the German commander, Nuts in reply.
Soon there were large amounts of German troops walking down the road to
the west in front of the American lines. The Americans sent three scouts, all Native
American, to the east along road to see if they could tell what was happening. The
scouts returned, reporting that there was a north-south river about two miles to the
east and that the Germans were starting to move armor across the bridge. They
then told McCauliff, much to his surprise, that the Germans seemed to be Russian, at
least they were speaking Russian, and, that immediately behind a stalled column of
German-Russian armor, was an armored unit with American Sherman tanks,
apparently Russian lend lease material, and Russian T-54 tanks.
McCauliff, just about shit bricks when he heard the report, and didnt know
what to do. He called in his G2 intel officer and asked him what he thought. Blow
the bridge sir. We dont need it, and regardless who they are they are hostile to us
and it cant hurt us to stop their armor at the river. How the hell are we going to
do it? asked McCauliff.
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Well, said G2, there is an east-west farm road about 100 yards behind us
and we have one artillery piece that works, and have three rounds of ammunition.
Lets hook the arty piece up to a jeep in low gear and pull it down to the river south
of the German lines. Then make our way north till we have a straight shot to the
bridge. Lower the tradjectory on the artillery piece and shoot point blank at the
bridge and knock it out. Alright, Colonel Winter this baby is yours, if you blow
it, weve lost the war. So Winter led a hand picked company of troops with the
jeep and arty piece along the road until they got close the river, and then turned
north. The recon patrol they sent out killed all of the German pickets without firing
a shot.
Winter had the men line up the arty piece point blank aimed at the bridge
which was crawling with German and or Russian troops. Just then the first German
Panzer tank gunned its engine and started across the bridge. Winter and his men
had to literally put the yoke of the artillery piece onto the drivers seat of the jeep in
order to keep it propped up at the right angle. The Panzer was half way across
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when we fired the first shot. The round hit the stone railing on the south side of the
bridge, obliterating it. The next round hit the bridge itself at the level of the road
bed and blew a hole in the bed of the bridge about eight feet by eight feet, stopping
the Panzer. Just as the Panzer was about the reverse itself, back up, an attempt to go
around, the last shell hit the tank exactly in the midpoint of the tank in between the
treads blowing a hole right through to the magazine and the gasoline tank, blowing
the Panzer tank and the bridge to smithereens.
The German advance soon ground to a halt. Men, supplies, armor, and
ammo, were all coming across that one bridge, and it was no more. When the guys
were debriefed after the battle, the Americans told the G2 interrogators that there
were Russians fighting with the Germans. Soon the word came down from
Headquarters that regardless of what we may have seen, in fact officially, there were
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no Russians in the Battle of the Bulge. Some of the guys rebelled at this, and soon
they were sent to mental health facilities for combat fatigue. Most came back
with sort of blank looks on their faces. One man, a Jesuit chaplain, however,
remembered what happened. The American high command educated the
American troops through the use of hypnosis and electroshock, and in a few cases,
frontal lobotomies, in order to ensure that the troops told the right story, that is, that
there were no Russian troops.
Well, how is that for a Windriver yarn, asked Father Tony. Stan
gulped, Dan looked sort of blanked out. Well, is it true, or isnt it, asked Dan.
Im sure that someplace, somewhere, at a certain level of probability it is true, said
Father Tony. Most myths and legends are, or we wouldnt keep telling them he
continued. Just treat it as a tall tale, or as an allegory, as something that may or may
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not be literally true. Thats the ticket.
Why couldnt the American army allow the guys to tell the truth? asked
Dan. Because, said Father Stan, politically, if it turned out that American
equipment was being used against American service men, the American government
would have looked very stupid. Believe it or not, in some situations, political
correctness, and political correctness alone, is enough to put people into
concentration camps, or mental hospitals. Once you are in, you are just another
number. You are treated as if you are subhuman. In America we hope that
things like this dont happen too often, and, more than that, we work hard to make
sure that they dont. But in other regimes, nazi, communist, even nominally
democratic regimes, such terroristic practices are common. Well, with that kind
of story to keep me awake, I dont think any Ghost stories are necessary said Dan.
After awhile the bear went away and we went back to sleep, with visions of
Tiger Tanks glowing in our heads. For breakfast we had instant maple syrup
oatmeal with powdered milk. We sat around on little camping prop stools and shot
the breeze for awhile. Dan and Stan then went fishing, and I, Father Tony
Fitzgerald, went back to sleep. And so it went.
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(To be continued).
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