A Prairie Home Companion from American Public Media: First Person

Confederate Peace
by Victor Murray
January 3, 2007

Wars never end; they are transformed
Into lingering compromises and debates
The victors and the vanquished vanish
From the earth, yet the battle lingers
Subtly and silently; a notion unspoken.
The loser leaves a legacy of defeat
And flags are flown as a register
Of resentment and unrepentant anger;
Will the South really rise again?
The Trojan Horse of ancient lore
Deposits its cargo forevermore.

About the author:
The Great Depression and World War II formed my world view. I was born in 1932. President Roosevelt seemed like the most important man in our country, a man revered by the "good guys", and despised by those squinty-eyed, pinched-faced, fat cats that Roosevelt delighted in laughing at with a quip. To me, and to many, Roosevelt seemed like a god, or at the very least, the Saviour of the United States and the Rest of the World, too.

Of course, now, at the age of 74, I have modified my understanding of men and so-called "heroes". The world seems more stark and the illusions of childhood are eroded. I still have memories, though, of my life as a child, and they warm me at night as I go to bed. My relatives that I grew up with seem more important now, as we are aging together, and our numbers are thinning out like the hairs on our heads.

Our extended family, those who still remain, get together on a family website and share photos and news, trying to maintain a positive outlook in spite of our aging aches and infirmities. We share the past, and the present, and don't mention much about the future. We don't discuss politics, as there may be some of us who voted for George Bush, and we don't want to embarrass them.

There is one photograph posted on the family website that I particularly like. It is one of my big sister, Rose, at the age of 14, looking very poised and mature, standing next to me, age 9. I am leaning on her arm, like a brat and at the same time looking up to her with admiration. Rose lives in Santa Monica now, and I am in Pasadena. I still look up to her and admire her. I admire her sense of independence, intelligence, and especially her initiative, her drive, and the way she completes the many projects she starts. I admire that because I so frequently fail to start projects or don't complete the ones I start. I don't believe in regret, as it does no good. I console myself in the knowledge that I don't need to be important.