“That’s your opinion sir, and you have a right to yours and I have a right to mine.” That was in response to a question I posed to three members of the American Legion at the Sierra Grand Resort’s buffet bar last evening.

The provocation: Ten thousand members of the American Legion are holding their national convention here in Reno, and have invited President Bush to speak this morning at 10:00.

The question:  “Why have you invited that yellow-bellied lying son-of-a-bitch to your convention?”

My follow-up remarks:  “My opinion hasn’t resulted in over a million dead or mutilated or disposed. We’ll be waiting and ready tomorrow morning.” I was referring to the protestors who will line South Virginia Street, across from the Reno-Tahoe Convention Center.

The reason I was at the GSR was for dinner. Although I’d had qualms concerning the prospect of placing myself in the midst of so many I hold in such disrepute, the special dinner offer was scheduled to expire August 31. But just seeing so many of these callous, unthinking goons reminded me how Berlin in the 30s must have felt to fine German citizens, saddened and distraught over what had happened to their country. Or to some Southern whites over the KKK. The Legionnaires nauseated me. The proposition of anyone standing up and cheering on someone who has wrought such international havoc, who has treated our Constitution like his private toilet tissue, who has run roughshod over a military he himself had not the courage to participate in when it was possible . . .. For perhaps the first time in my life I felt visceral hatred.

Walking through the casino later I was approached by a Washoe County Deputy Sheriff and a fellow in a light colored summer suit. I knew who the latter was, or at least suspected. He had a neatly trimmed haircut and a coiled earpiece. “Excuse me sir, mind if we ask you a couple questions? Step over here, would you please.”

The suited fellow identified himself as “Secret Service.” He wanted to know whether I’d threatened the President of the United States. God I wish I’d had the courage. But I hadn’t, and wouldn’t. Though a “Meet me in the alley you little piece of shit” has been a running fantasy of mine. Threatening the president is a federal offense, regardless how he has been threatening the civil liberties and rights I served 3 years in the Army to protect. “I’m not that stupid.”

Then I began a loud verbal tirade against POTUS and the insidious depravity of the Legionnaires who were standing by, gaping. I was almost begging to be arrested. I was pissed. I was venting like hell. And I was loving it. So much had been simmering for so long. You want a piece of me?  

I called Bush every vile obscenity I could conjure. I also explained to the officer and the agent, both of whom were at all times polite, professional and intent only on calming me down, that the only reason I’d be on the street in the morning was because of “them,” and I pointed. You see, I expect such moral degeneracy from neocon Republicans, but I’d always hoped veterans might have a higher regard for basic human decency, for the rule of law, and for genuine American precepts I somehow yet cling to, and oh how over the years they have demonstrated how they are utterly bereft.

But neither the officer nor the agent would bite. In fact the agent quietly said, “My mom would probably agree with you.”

I asked the officer and the agent, neither of whom had made the request, whether they’d like to see some ID? The agent was wholly uninterested, though the deputy examined my Nevada DL, and wrote it all down. “You want a piece of me? C’mon. C’mon. You’re tapping my phones anyway. Let’s get it on.”  

I have never participated in any protest before. I’m 61. Never participated in what I prefer to regard as mob intellect. Then again, I’ve never been so pissed. Let’s get it on. You want my Constitution? C’mon mutha . . . come and get it. Let’s go.