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12 July 2015


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William R. Cumming

Les Invalides broutht home to me the devastation Of WWI and WWII when I saw it in Paris in 1964 for the first time. That and the memory of the dead in all French towns and villages listing WWI dead.



A moving vignette. Thank you.


Fred, I do not agree, at all. As female maybe?

Strictly I promised Pat to shut up for a while. So you are glad you didn't meet this horrible female, but married the person that would never utter something like she did? Never ever?

How could the waste floating on the Seine be related to this female "human waste", versus what she perceives as such?


Thank you, Richard. Another memory of a place I have not been but that I will remember for quite some time.



What the hell are you talking about? You sound like you've only recognized the modern and trivial and missed entirely the moving humanity in this piece of art. That is sad.


I am in a seriously bad mood, which ironically enough was the excuse of my mother offered me after I had turned around on my heels to go back to where I came from. Notice I love my mother.

Concerning the rest. Simply assume that the first sentence triggered a chain reaction. The irony is that I always wanted to be a writer, since I am a big reader, but from very, very early on I was skeptical about media. Maybe I am simply jealous, the dares to offer his writings at all?

Strictly in context, this could make a lot of sense. Context: The journalist as a young man. ;)

Thus sorry to Richard, hopefully he accepts it.

Patrick D

Wonderful piece, Richard. Thank you.

Johnny Reims

This is heroic writing. Thank you. It takes great confidence to go to edge like you did, artistically speaking. Confidence, not arrogance. Arrogance could never take you that far.

If I could choose one word to describe this writing – and you will see why immediately – it is “magnanimous.

If I recall, in your youth, you were reading St. T.A. when you were facing enormously dangerous underwater mines (metaphorically) around Catalina Island. About as high risk as you can get. St. T.A., apparently, was helping you navigate those very dangerous waters.

And if I understand St. T.A. – at least when it comes to character development in dramatic writing not theology -- the character trait magnanimity represents the triumph over “Pusillanimity”. The two character traits are at opposite ends of the arc. And the cause of pusillanimity according to St. T A is…well…check Colossians 3:21. (St. T. of A, II of II, q 133, Art. II)

This story – and I am speculating – represents the narrator overcoming “pusillanimity” on his path to “magnanimity”. It demonstrates very good character development. Not too much of a transition but just enough to show a willingness to take it to the edge which, eventually, leads to the birth of an artist (and so on).

David Mamet says to read Freud for 4 years before attempting dramatic writing. Well…I don’t think David Mamet could have written “Fallen Fruit”.

Richard Sale

I am stunned by your generosity.

I think that courage is acting in the face of fear.

I have studied St. a, and other theologians as well.

Thank you again,


Richard Sale

Thank you. I aimed at delicacy while posting questions.


Richard Sale

I very much appreciate your compliments.


Richard Sale

Thank you very much.


Charles I

oy you hit two marks with one short shot I'm 57 and in a bit of a funk over not amounting to much in terms of legacy besides a wad of cash and no blood heirs, haven't "worked" for 20 years and I am considering my now or soon to be retiring cohort of teachers, businessmen, etc all finishing a long go in harness, kids launched and grandkids here or on the way, and what a forlorn lonely scene my dotage will be, partly on account of squandering gifts I was born with.

However, long ago, long ago, must have been in the 70's whilst riding the bus I struck up a conversation with my seat mate, an attractive young woman I had never met before but had seen on the bus before. Somehow, as a compulsive babbler I got the subject of the three old Indian gents in their baggy cotton garb and turbans and slippers, who regularly sat on a park bench we passed by each day. My seatmate smiled a lovely smile and said "I call them Three Wise Men".

This was at a time of considerable Indian and Pakistani immigration into canada and the term "Paki" was unremakably common.

I have often thought of that lovely girl, but more often of the three wise men, and have come to understand wisdom is a tonic, albeit often melancholy, to age and loss, and I thank you for exploring this here and sharing yours with us.

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