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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 2 years ago

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Angel of God, My Guardian Dear Chapter 1: Matt

Rating: Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: While speaking at a local school for visually impaired youth, Matt runs into his childhood best friend, with whom he lost touch almost 20 years prior.

Warnings/Tags: No real warnings thus far -- This is going to be a pretty angst-free fic.

Word Count: ~6,300

A/N: Welcome to Angel of God, My Guardian Dear! This started out as a 1-shot and quickly spiraled out of control, as my thirst for Matthew Michael Murdock could not be contained.

For the purpose of this story, Reader is Catholic and grew up at St. Agnes with Matt.

Title is from the Catholic prayer "Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide, Amen."

"All set to go to Lavelle?"

Matt Murdock turned his head as his friend and business partner, Foggy Nelson, came into his office. "Yeah, just need to finish up here and I'll be on my way."

"It was really cool of them to ask you to come speak," Foggy added.

Matt nodded. "I hope I can help these kids realize that their disabilities don't define who they are and that they can be whoever and whatever they want to be, including lawyers."

Foggy huffed out a laugh. "Or crime-fighting vigilantes?"

Matt grinned. "Well actually, there's probably only room for one blind crime-fighting vigilante in this city, so I probably won't suggest that as a potential career path."

Foggy patted Matt on the shoulder. "You're a great speaker, I'm sure you'll motivate the heck out of those kids. Have a good time, dude."

"Thanks, Fog."

Matt grabbed his briefcase, headed outside, then hailed a cab.

"Alright, where we goin'?" The cabbie asked.

"The Bronx," Matt answered. "Lavelle School for the Blind."

The cabbie tapped on a screen, presumably putting the address into his GPS. "Alrighty, just sit tight and we should be there in about half an hour."

Matt sat back as the cab began to move. Think of it like a jury, Karen had said when Matt had told her and Foggy about the opportunity over a couple of pints at Josie's a few weeks before. Just a younger, way more judgmental jury.

Matt had laughed. Not helping.

You'll do great.

He mentally practiced his speech during the ride and before he knew it, the cab was pulling up in front of the school.

"Thanks," Matt said as he paid the cabbie.

"No problem," the cabbie replied. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

"You too."

Matt headed inside.

Almost immediately, a somewhat familiar voice asked him, "Hi, may I help you?"

Matt turned towards the voice. "Hi, yes, my name is Matthew Murdock. I'm one of the speakers for today?"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Murdock, I'm Dr. Bowman, we spoke on the phone."

Matt nodded, now placing the voice. "Right, right."

"We'll be in the meeting hall, which is straight down this corridor. If you'll just come with me…"

Dr. Bowman led Matt down to the meeting hall. "We really appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to speak to our students," she said as they entered.

"It's really not a problem."

"The students and their parents will be starting to arrive in a while, but if you'd like we could have someone escort you around to the exhibitor tables once they're all set up."

"Yeah, maybe."

"We have a Braille program if you'd like one -- it lists all the speakers and exhibitors for today."

"Yeah, I'd love one."

"Okay, one second."

Dr. Bowman stepped away for a minute then returned, handing Matt a booklet printed on Braille paper. "Okay, here you go."

"Thanks." Matt pointed to a nearby table. "Is it okay if I sit over here?"

"Yes, of course. Just let us know if you need anything."

"Will do."

Matt sat at the table and began to read the program. Staff, sponsors, speakers, exhibitors…

He began to read the exhibitor list. American Council for the Blind, representative Ashley Prewitt. VISIONS, representative Clay Markham. NYC Mayor's Office for People with Disabilities, representative Barbara Franklin. Andrew Heiskell Braille and Talking Book Library, representative Y/F/N Y/L/N --

Matt froze and read it again. Could it really be the same Y/N?

Y/N, who at 8 years old had taken 9-year-old Matt, who had just arrived at the orphanage, by the hand and declared that she would be his friend. Y/N, who had giggled when Matt had asked her a few days later if she was an angel and replied, 'no, silly, I'm a girl!' . Y/N, who had been Matt's fiercest protector and had gotten into almost as many fights as Matt himself had. Y/N, who would stroke Matt's hair softly until he fell asleep on the nights when he would sneak into her room because all the stimuli flooding his senses became too overwhelming. Y/N, to whom Matt had taught Braille so they could pass secret notes to each other without anyone else being able to read them. Y/N, who 17-year-old Matt had held while she cried the day they found out that Y/N had been taken in by her long-lost aunt and would be leaving Saint Agnes… and him.

Y/N, his own personal guardian angel, the one person in the world Matt could tell everything to… except the one thing he had wanted to tell her most of all.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

"I don't want you to leave," he admitted quietly as he and Y/N stood at the entrance to St. Agnes.

"I don't want to leave either," Y/N replied. "I wish you could at least come with me."

Matt chuckled wryly. He had overheard one of the nuns talking to Ms. Y/L/N earlier that morning, warning her about 'that Murdock boy' and telling her how it was best for Y/N to be separated from him 'before he gets her into trouble'. "I don't think your aunt would go for that."

"Then can we run away together instead? We could travel the world, just you and me on the epic best friend adventure that we've always dreamed of."

God, Matt wanted to say yes. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Y/N by his side, be it as his best friend or -- as he knew deep down in his heart -- something more.

However, Sister Bernadette had been right. Y/N really was an angel sent from on high who deserved all of the goodness in the world, and Matt… Well, Murdock boys had the devil in them.

He shook his head sadly. "Your aunt's waiting. You should go."

Y/N was quiet for a few moments. Finally, she said, "Before I go… I got you something."

She took Matt's hand and dropped a thin, wiry chain into his palm. "I saved up for six months to buy it from the church's gift shop. I was going to give it to you for your birthday, but…" She trailed off. "Anyway, think of me when you wear it, okay?"

Matt picked it up with his other hand. Attached to the chain was a small cross.

He nodded. "I will. Thanks."

"I'll write to you, give you my aunt's address." Y/N pulled him into a tight hug then gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll miss you, Matty."

"I'll miss you too. Goodbye, angel."

Matt waited as half of his heart climbed into a cab and left, the note he had written to her the previous night still in his pocket.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Matt mentally shook his head. Don't get your hopes up. It may not be her.

…But deep down he knew it had to be.

He stopped someone who was walking by. "Excuse me, can you tell me if the representative from the Heiskell Library is here yet?"

"Umm…" the woman paused as she turned towards the exhibitor tables. "Yeah, actually, it looks like she's talking with Dr. Bowman at the moment."

"Okay, thank you."

"No problem."

As the woman walked away, Matt turned his head so he could listen in on the conversation.

"...So glad you could be here," Dr. Bowman was saying. "We really appreciate you taking time to come out and speak with our students and their parents."

"It's no problem, Dr. Bowman," the other voice replied. "I'm always happy to promote the library's services."

Matt sucked in a breath. It *is* her.

Even after all the years that had passed since he had last spent time with Y/N he had never forgotten the sound of her voice, the times he had sat listening to her read to him still among his favorite memories.

Y/N and Dr. Bowman were wrapping up their conversation, so Matt stood and headed over towards them.

Either Y/N didn't notice that Matt was behind her or Matt had misjudged the distance between them, but Y/N turned around and bumped into him.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, sir, I--" Y/N gasped. "Wait, Matty?"

"It's just 'Matt' now, but yeah. Hi, angel." Matt was surprised at how easily his old nickname for Y/N slipped from his lips.

"Oh my God, hi!" Y/N wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "How are you? What are you doing here? Are you a teacher?"

Matt chuckled as he returned her embrace. "I'm well. I don't teach here, I'm actually one of the featured speakers."

"Oh, wow, that's wonderful."

"What about you? How have you been?"

"I'm well too, yeah. Oh my God, this is so crazy. Are you still in New York?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, still in Hell's Kitchen. You know me, I'm loyal to my city. What about you?"

"Yeah, Florida was okay, but New York is home. I'm actually in Midtown West now, so I'm not far." Y/N paused. "Hey, would you want to maybe grab dinner or a drink or something after this is done, and I dunno, like, catch up? It's totally fine if you can't, I just thought maybe --"

Matt quickly shook his head. "No, no, yeah, I'd love to."

"Great! I'll have to run back by the library to drop all of my stuff off but I can meet you wherever after that."

Matt thought for a moment. "You still like Italian?"

Y/N let out a light laugh. "Of course."

"Then how about Bellissima Italia, over on 9th and 44th? That's near there, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great."

"Will 6:00 work for you? I'll make a reservation."

"That would be perfect. Here, let me give you my number in case something unexpected comes up. It probably won't, but then again, this is New York -- you never know what kind of craziness is going to happen next."

Matt chuckled and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "That's very true."

He created a new contact and typed in Y/N's name, then added her number once Y/N recited it to him.

He hit the button to call her, hanging up after Y/N's phone began to buzz in her pocket. "There, now you have mine."

"Awesome. I have to get to my table, but I'll see you tonight?"

Matt nodded as the doors opened and people began to trickle in. "Yeah, definitely. See you tonight, Y/N."

"Bye, Matt."

Wow, what are the odds? Matt thought as Y/N walked back over to her table.

He pulled his phone back out and headed back into the hallway to make their reservation, then called Foggy.

"Yo, Matt, what's up?" Foggy said in greeting.

"Hey, Foggy, do you remember me telling you about Y/N back when we were in college?"

"Y/N, as in Y/N, your childhood friend from the orphanage who you talked about non-stop and are still hung up on 16 years later Y/N? 'The one that got away' Y/N? That Y/N?"

Matt chuckled. "Yeah, that Y/N. Well, I actually just ran into her. It turns out she's a librarian at the Heiskell Library and is here promoting their library services, so we made plans to have dinner and catch up after this is over."

"Oh, wow, that's actually really awesome, dude. You said she works at the Heiskell Library?"

Matt could hear Foggy sit down at his desk and start typing on his computer keyboard. "Yeah."

After a moment, Foggy said, "Damn it."

"What is it?"

"I knew she was gonna be hot!"

Matt huffed out a laugh. "Did you seriously just Google her?"

"I wanted to see what she looks like! You're a hot woman magnet, so of course your old childhood friend is hot. Is she single? Because if you change your mind about her…"

Matt just chuckled. "Not gonna happen. If I even remotely still have a shot with Y/N, I'm taking it."

"Eh, I was just kidding anyway. Good luck tonight, man. Hope she's everything you remember her being and more."

"Thanks, Fog. I'll talk to you later."

"'Kay. Bye, Matt."

Matt hung up and headed back inside, both excited and nervous to catch up with Y/N later that evening.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Matt smoothed down his hair for what seemed like the tenth time as he arrived at the restaurant for his catch-up dinner with Y/N.

He took a deep breath and headed inside.

"Buonasera," the seating host said. "Welcome to Bellissima Italia. How many in your party, sir?"

"Actually, I have a reservation for two at 6, under 'Murdock'," Matt replied.

"Ah, yes, sir. Your companion's already arrived. Right this way."

Matt followed the seating host to where Y/N sat.

"Matt, you made it," Y/N said, standing and giving Matt a hug.

She had changed from the blouse and slacks she had worn earlier into a silk dress that hugged her form, and underneath the subtly floral perfume she wore was her familiar natural scent that had never failed to relax Matt when he was overwhelmed. Even now he could feel his nervous energy starting to calm.

He returned her embrace. "Hi."

"Joseph will be your server tonight," the host said as they sat. "If you need anything let us know."

"Thank you."

Matt folded up his cane and stuck it in his jacket pocket. "I hope you haven't had to wait long."

"No, I just got here a few minutes ago."

Their server walked up to their table. "Good evening, my name is Joseph and I'll be taking care of you. What can I get you to drink?"

"Can I get a glass of Pinot Grigio and a water?" Y/N said.

"Certainly, ma'am. And for you, sir?"

"I'll take a glass of Merlot and a water as well, thanks."

"Okay, certainly. I'll get that taken care of for you while you get a chance to look over the menu."

"Do you know what you want, or do you want me to read the menu to you?" Y/N asked as Joseph left.

"Actually if you don't mind telling me what's on the menu I'd really appreciate it," Matt replied. "I didn't get a chance to check it out before I came."

"No, it's not a problem at all." Y/N picked up her menu. "Let's see…"

Matt listened intently as Y/N quickly read the menu off to him. He nodded. "Okay, thanks. I think I know what I want."

A few moments later Joseph returned with their drinks. "Okay, here you are. And are we ready to order?"

Matt nodded. "I'm ready. Y/N, you want to go ahead?"

"Yes, I'd like the gnocchi in cream sauce, please," Y/N said.

"Okay, and for you, sir?"

"I'll take the chicken parmigiana, thanks." Matt picked up his menu and handed it to Joseph.

"Okay, I'll put those in for you right away."

"Wow, I still can't believe this," Y/N said as Joseph left once again. "It's been, what, almost 20 years?"

Matt nodded with a grin. "Yeah, something like that. And even after all this time, you still look exactly the same."

Y/N laughed. "I'm glad to know that you haven't lost your sense of humor."

She took a sip of water. "So, catch me up on the past 20 years."

Matt shrugged. "Not much to tell. Left St. Agnes at 18, went to Columbia and got a law degree, opened my own practice with my college roommate, and that's about it." Except for the fact that I also became a crime-fighting vigilante, sent a mob boss to jail, and took down a secret organization of ninjas.

"Not married, no kids?"

Matt shook his head. "No, never found the right person." Because I already had found her but was too much of a coward to tell her how I felt before she left. "What about you? What have you been up to?"

"Finished high school in Florida, got my bachelor's degree in sociology, did my MLIS, and became a librarian. Did five years as a special services librarian in Florida, two in Indiana, then I managed to get on with the Heiskell Library and have been there ever since."

"No marriage or kids for you either?"

"No kids, almost got married once but it didn't work out. Wasn't anyone's fault, we just weren't right for each other."

Matt nodded. "How's your aunt?"

"Oh, she's fine. She's still in Florida so I talk to her every few days. Wait till I tell her I ran into you."

Matt gave a wry smile. "I dunno if she'll be happy about that. She didn't like me."

"What do you mean she didn't like you? She didn't even know you."

"She didn't have to. She had heard enough about me from Sister Bernadette to form an opinion."

"Ugh. Sister Bernadette. She did always seem to have it out for you."

Matt shrugged. "Well, in all fairness, I was kind of a troublemaker."

Y//N laughed. "Yeah, but I was usually right there with you in whatever trouble you were making, if not starting the trouble myself."

Matt grinned and took a sip of his wine. "You mean like the time we stole that bottle of Communion wine out of the church storeroom?"

Y/N laughed. "You know, that was the first thing I mentioned during confession after I started going to church in Florida. Seal of Confession or not, I wasn't about to confess to Father Reynolds about it."

Matt grinned. "Afraid of a harsher penance?"

"Yes! It was bad enough having to say five Acts of Contrition and three Our Fathers that time I punched Bobby Neyland in the face for tripping you in the hall. I had already gotten detention and I had to apologize to him, what more did they want?"

They were interrupted by Joseph bringing their dinners. "Alrighty, we have the gnocchi over here, and the chicken parmigiana here. Careful, those plates are hot. Is there anything else I can get you two?"

"No, I think we're fine," Y/N replied. "Matt?"

Matt shook his head. "We're good for now."

"Okay, let me know if you need anything else."

"Will do."

"Anyway," Y/N said, "we weren't always getting into trouble. Most of the time we were perfect little angels."

Matt chuckled. "I think your memory is faulty. You may have been an angel, but I certainly wasn't."

"We did have some good times together though, didn't we, Matty?"

Matt nodded, the quiet times he got to spend with Y/N floating through his mind. "Yeah, we certainly did."

The conversation continued to flow easily as Matt and Y/N reminisced about their childhood, and the next thing Matt knew dinner was over.

"Will that be one check or two?" Joseph asked as he cleared their plates.

"Just the one check, thanks," Matt said, handing Joseph his credit card before Y/N could protest.

"Next time, I'm paying," Y/N replied as Joseph went to go take care of the bill.

Matt grinned, thrilled that Y/N had even mentioned a 'next time'. "Deal."

He signed the check once Joseph returned for the last time, then unfolded his cane as he and Y/N stood. "May I walk you home?"

He could almost hear the smile in Y/N's voice as she replied. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

Matt extended his arm. "Then shall we?"

They left the restaurant together, the ease and familiarity they once shared still there.

"So, what made you decide to become a librarian?" Matt asked as they headed towards Y/N's apartment building. "Last I knew you wanted to go out and save the world by becoming a big-time CEO of a Fortune 500 company."

Y/N huffed out a laugh. "Um, well, actually, it was you."

Matt's eyebrows raised. "Me?"

"Yeah. When it was time to start thinking about college I spoke to my guidance counselor and told her about how my best friend was visually impaired and how I'd sit and read print books to him because there weren't any Braille or audiobooks in the orphanage where we grew up, and so she told me about how there were actually special library services for people with visual impairments and that maybe I should look into special services librarianship since I seemed called to that."

"And do you like it?"

"Yeah, more than anything. Like a lot of people might think that being a librarian is boring or an obsolete job, but you should talk to some of my patrons, Matt. They're all alone with no family or friends nearby, so listening to these audiobooks are the only things that they have to do all day. It's actually kind of heartbreaking."

Matt nodded with a soft smile. Y/N really was an angel.

"And I know I'm not like, saving lives or changing the world or anything," Y/N continued, "like by being a doctor or by helping innocent people who've been wrongfully accused of crimes like you and your partner, but I feel like I'm at least helping people in my own way, you know?"

Matt turned towards Y/N as they stopped at a crosswalk. "You think you haven't saved lives? 'Angel' wasn't just a nickname, sweetheart. You befriended a lonely, scared, angry little boy with absolutely zero fucks given as to what anyone else thought, and to this day I'm still so damn grateful for whatever made you see me and decide, 'Yes, that one. I want him as my best friend'."

Y/N let out a watery laugh. "Honestly, it wasn't a tough decision. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were going to be way cooler than everyone else."

Matt smiled softly. "You were my guardian angel, Y/N. I certainly wouldn't have made it without you."

He reached up and gently swiped his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the tears that had collected there. "You okay?"

Y/N nodded. "Yeah."

Matt slipped his hand into Y/N's and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

They continued on their way to Y/N's apartment, Y/N seemingly as reluctant to let go of Matt's hand as he was to let go of hers.

"What about you?" Y/N asked. "What drew you to law?"

"I want to fight injustice and keep Hell's Kitchen safe, protect the people I care about," Matt said simply. "Going through the legal system seemed the best way to do that at the time."

"And now?"

"What?"

"You said 'at the time'. What's the best way now?"

Being Daredevil, Matt wanted to say. Protecting those I can't protect through the law.

He shook his head. "I just know that everything's not as black-and-white with the legal system as I once thought."

"Yeah, I get that." Y/N slowed down as they reached her apartment building. "This is me."

Matt nodded. "I'm really glad we found each other again."

"I am too -- I've missed you so much, Matt. I tried to write to you after I moved but all of my letters came back 'return to sender'. Eventually I realized that they were returning my letters, but by that time it was too late, and it's not like I could just call up Sister Bernadette and ask for your forwarding address."

Matt shook his head. "I knew it. I knew something weird was going on. I could tell she was lying whenever I asked her if I had any mail from you."

"I still have them."

"The letters you wrote me?"

"Yeah, they're in a box in my closet."

"Can I read them?"

"Yeah, sure. You want me to go get them or do you want to come up for a drink and we can read them together?"

Matt nodded. "A drink would be nice." More time I can spend with you.

"Okay, then. Come on in."

Y/N led Matt through the lobby to the elevator and up to her apartment. "Make yourself at home," she said as she unlocked her door. "Living room is straight ahead, just mind the coffee table when you go around the couch to sit."

Matt sat while Y/N moved around her kitchen. "What's your preference?" Y/N asked. "I have wine, hard cider, amaretto, whiskey, rum…"

"Whiskey is fine. On the rocks."

He could hear Y/N adding ice to a couple of glasses then opening a couple of bottles, then smelled the scent of sweet & sour mix. "Let me guess. Amaretto sour for yourself?"

Y/N paused in her pouring. "How'd you know?"

"I can hear the difference in the shape of the bottles, and I can smell the sweet & sour."

"You're good." Y/N closed the bottles and put the sweet & sour mix back in her refrigerator.

She handed Matt his glass before setting hers down on the coffee table. "Here you go. Give me just a second, I'll go grab the letters."

Matt took a sip of his whiskey as Y/N retreated to her bedroom.

She returned momentarily with a box. "Ok so remember, I was 16 when I started writing these, so don't judge me if they're cringy."

Matt chuckled. "I won't, I promise."

Y/N opened the box and handed him a manila envelope. "Here, start with this one. I'm pretty sure they're still in the order I wrote them."

Matt opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of Braille paper. "Can you still read Braille?" he asked.

"Yep, can still write in it too, although Braille printers make everything a lot easier these days."

Matt set the piece of paper on the coffee table and began to read aloud.

"September 30, 2002

Dear Matty,

Just got settled in at Aunt Ruth's house. My bedroom here is as big as both of ours at St. Agnes combined.

Hoping I can convince Aunt Ruth to let you come visit soon, maybe during Thanksgiving?

By the way, my address is 4685 Sandpiper Blvd., Miami, FL 33190.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Y/N"

Y/N snorted. "Yeah, 'I'm sure you'll be able to get away from the orphanage for a week or so to come hang out with your bestie in Florida!' Man, was I naive."

Matt shook his head. "You didn't know. Neither of us could've known that they'd actually try to keep us apart."

Y/N picked up the next envelope. "Here, I'll read the next one."

Matt nodded. "Okay."

"October 21, 2002," Y/N began.

Dear Matty,

I must've done something wrong with the postage on my first letter, because it came back marked return to sender. Adding double to make sure this gets to you.

Aunt Ruth wants me to join some after-school clubs, make some new friends. I don't want *new* friends, though. I just want you.

Speaking of making new friends, you know that song 'make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold'? Well, it's not true. You're way more precious to me than gold. You're more like… I don't know, the rarest and most precious substance on earth, whatever that may be.

Anyway, address is 4685 Sandpiper Blvd., Miami, FL 33190. Write me back!

Always,

Y/N"

Matt picked up the next envelope. "November 12, 2002.

Dear Matty,

Another letter came back return to sender. Don't quite know what I'm doing wrong, but hopefully this one reaches you!

School has been okay. Don't think I told you yet, but Aunt Ruth enrolled me in some fancy all-girls Catholic school. I'm really enjoying English class. We're reading The Crucible. Maybe next time we're together I'll read it to you. Think you'd like it.

Anyway, hope you're doing okay. I miss you.

Always,

Y/N"

Y/N laughed. "You know, my offer to read The Crucible to you still stands."

Matt grinned. "In that case I might have to take you up on it. You're still my favorite audiobook narrator."

He could hear the smile in Y/N's voice as she began to read her next letter.

"January 10th, 2003.

Dear Matty (or is it just Matt now that you're the big 1-8?),

Happy birthday! I wish I could be there with you to celebrate. I wanted to surprise you and come visit, but Aunt Ruth said no. (Party pooper.)

I hope your day is amazing and that you get everything you wish for, because you deserve it! *Heart*

Miss you like crazy and I really hope to hear from you soon!

Always,

Y/N"

Matt shrugged. "My 18th birthday was fine, nothing overly special." I didn't get my wish, but now I know why.

He cleared his throat. "April 6, 2003.

Dear Matt,

I don't know if I did something wrong before I left and you're mad at me or if I'm just that inept at mailing a letter, but I just got a bunch of letters back unopened again. I really hope it's the latter because if it's the first, I don't know what I did but whatever it is, I'm sorry. Just please talk to me. I want my best friend back.

Y/N"

Matt's heart broke. Damn them. Damn them all to Hell for making Y/N think she could ever do something to make me not want her in my life.

He finished his glass of whiskey before picking up the next letter.

"Want a refill?" Y/N asked.

Matt nodded. "Sure."

Y/N stood and went to make them each another drink while Matt read the next letter aloud.

"September 3, 2003

Dear Matt,

I don't even know why I'm still trying. You're 18 now, I'm sure you're not even at St. Agnes anymore. You're probably off to college and have made fancy new college friends, so even if this letter somehow reached you you probably wouldn't respond anyway, but I wanted to tell you goodbye anyway and to wish you good luck.

Y/N"

Matt's brow furrowed. "But there's more letters."

"Yeah." Y/N sounded hesitant as she set Matt's drink down on the table. "I never sent any of the rest though."

She picked up the next one. "December 9, 2003.

Dear Matt,

I'm sitting here in English class (well, not now since I'm writing this in Braille instead of standard print) and our bell assignment today was to write a letter to someone who is no longer in our lives. I'm sure the point is probably to write to someone who's dead, but whatever, I'll write to whomever the hell I want.

Aunt Ruth finally told me the truth: that St. Agnes had been returning your letters to me before you even got them. Needless to say, I'm furious. I don't understand why they would go to such lengths to keep us apart, or why Aunt Ruth would even agree to it.

I hope you don't think I never tried to get in touch with you, because the thought of you believing that I would just abandon you like that tears me up inside.

I miss you, Matt, and I hope you're doing well.

Y/N"

Matt shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N. I hate that you ever even had to think that I would ignore your letters."

Y/N reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. "It wasn't your fault."

They continued reading, Y/N telling him about getting into college, the classes she was taking each semester, graduation, getting into grad school and getting her library science degree, her first job as an official librarian…

Y/N took a sip of her cocktail before starting the next letter.

"March 8, 2012

Dear Matt,

I've met someone . His name is Alex and he works in the I.T. department of the library. I think you two would get along -- you're a lot alike.

We've been dating for a few months now and things are going pretty well. I'll keep you posted as to where things lead.

Y/N"

Matt picked up the second-to-last letter.

"January 13, 2013

Dear Matt,

Alex proposed, and I said yes. We're planning a fall wedding -- nothing big, just close family and friends.

I wish you could be there. I thought about asking Alex if he could look you up on the internet to see if he could find an address for you. Could you imagine? We haven't been in contact in over 10 years and suddenly you get an invitation to my wedding.

Crazy, right?

Y/N"

Even though Matt knew that things didn't work out between Y/N and her ex-fiancé, his stomach was still in knots as Y/N began to read her final letter.

"June 29, 2013

Dear Matt,

I ended my engagement with Alex today. We were touring wedding venues over the weekend but none of them felt right, and I realized this morning that it wasn't the venues that felt wrong, it was me.

You see, I can't marry Alex, not when-- " Y/N paused and took a deep breath. "Not when I've been in love with you for most of my life."

Matt's brain screeched to a halt. What did she just say?

"God, I'm so pathetic," Y/N continued, "pining over someone to whom I haven't even spoken in years. It's not fair to Alex to marry someone who's in love with another man and it's not fair to myself to keep holding on to something that I can never have.

I guess I've kept writing to you in order to somehow hold on to you and to feel like we were still teenagers writing secret notes to each other, like maybe one day I'd have the courage to finally tell you how I feel.

I'll always love you, Matt, but maybe it's time for me to finally let you go.

Y/N"

Matt turned towards Y/N, who had picked up her drink and was currently draining it. "You were in love with me?"

Y/N remained silent, but the uptick in her heartbeat gave Matt hope.

He took her glass from her and set it down on the table before taking her hand in his. "Y/N? Please, angel, talk to me."

Y/N took a deep breath. "I still am, Matt. I still love you. I never stopped."

Oh, thank God. "I love you too," Matt murmured. "I've loved you probably since the moment I met you, it just took me a few years to figure out what it was I was feeling."

He pulled out the cross Y/N had given him out from under his shirt. "I've always kept you close to my heart, Y/N."

Y/N reached out and placed her hand on his chest, warming the metal cross pressing against Matt's shirt. "I was wondering if you still had that."

Matt nodded. "I've rarely taken it off in the past 20 years."

He paused. "I was going to tell you I loved you the day you left for Florida. I had written you a note telling you how I felt."

"Why didn't you give it to me?"

"Right before I was going to I overheard Sister Bernadette talking to your aunt about how it was best to separate us so I wouldn't ruin your life, and I realized it definitely wasn't fair for me to tell you I loved you right before you moved a thousand miles away."

"What the hell? How would you have ruined my life?"

Matt huffed out a laugh. "Well, let's see, the exact phrasing she used was 'before he gets her into trouble'."

"Before you 'got me into trouble'? Wait, did she -- did she think we were sleeping together ?" Y/N sounded both horrified and amused.

Matt shrugged. "Well, she wouldn't have technically been wrong."

"Well no, but all we ever did was literally sleep together!"

"Maybe, but it's not like I never thought about doing the other kind of sleeping together with you."

Y/N gave a playfully scandalized gasp. "Why, Matthew, I certainly hope you went to confession for that."

"More than once." Matt chuckled. "I mean, I was a hormonal teenage boy who was hopelessly in love with my best friend, of course my thoughts drifted there from time to time."

Y/N was quiet for a moment. "I wonder if maybe someone saw you sneaking out of my room one morning and reported us, and that's why Sister Bernadette thought something was going on. She could've confronted us though instead of just shipping me off and keeping us apart for almost 20 years. So much wasted time, and over what was probably a complete misunderstanding."

Matt shook his head. "Angel?"

"Yeah, Matty?"

"I'm going to kiss you now."

Y/N sucked in a breath. "Uh huh, yeah, okay."

Matt reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand, then -- after over 20 years of longing -- gently pressed his lips to hers.

He leaned back, a smile spreading on his face as he caressed the matching smile on Y/N's with his thumb. "So, how about dinner again tomorrow night?"

Y/N hummed. "What, you don't want to lose touch for another 20 years and hope we randomly run into each other again?"

Matt shook his head with a laugh at Y/N's teasing tone. "No way, angel. I spent almost 20 years without you, so now that I've got you back in my life I'm not letting go."

#lotmf writes #AoG Masterlist #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x yn

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moonythejedi394 · 29 days ago

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snippet from into the dark

The conference is not held in a board room or auditorium, but what looks like Mikoyan’s personal office at the Ritz. The office is definitely spacious, but with the number of people shoehorned in, it feels rather cramped. Bucky’s crew is limited to a ten by five foot square; Murdock and Nelson sit in straight-backed armchairs, Natasha, Clint, and a few of the other goons are in folding chairs, but most of them are left standing. Given the number of times the arguing has escalated to drawn weapons, Steve fully understands why there are ten armed men standing behind them.

However, Steve’s bored as shit. Bucky’s definitely bored as shit, too, considering the argument currently taking place has nothing to do with his territory. Steve’s pretty sure the root cause of this problem is Pascal Boissieus’s insecure relationship Va niquer ta merehis father, becVa niquer ta mereause it really seems that this argument is purely between him and his sister, Charity (Cyril’s the one married in, turns out). Shit’s weird.

But it’s day 9 of this fucked up conference. Steve is texting Darcy, Peggy, and Peter to complain and trash-talk. He misses his bed back in New York and he’s getting tired of having nothing but the food served at the Ritz; they haven’t had time to get In’N’Out or pastrami from The Hat, the conference is so demanding.

“Can we table this?” Bucky asks for the eighth time in the past twenty minutes.

“C’mon, it’s just gettin’ good!” Simon Robel protests.

“You stay out of this!” Charity snaps.

“Seriously!” Bucky calls. “This has nothing to do with the rest of us!”

“For once, I agree with Barnes,” Krikor Mikoyan announces. “There are more important topics we have not yet touched on.”

“Like what?” Charity Boissieus snaps.

The attention in the room all shifts to Krikor, but he, instead of speaking, turns to look at Fisk. Steve’s phone screen blacks out from inactivity, but he doesn’t move. Fisk stands and steps forward.

“I have a grievance I feel I must share,” he begins.

“Talk shit fast,” Boissieus says.

“It greatly concerns the eight families,” Fisk assures Boissieus, bowing at the waist to the family leaders one by one.

He doesn’t, however, bow to Bucky. He lets his gaze linger on them and smiles a little. Steve’s jaw tightens.

“What I propose today could change the structure of everything we do,” Fisk says. “My family’s honor was spat upon some fifty years ago, you see.”

“Talk faster,” Bucky snaps.

“It is your organization that slighted me,” Fisk returns, stepping into the center of the room as though taking on a spotlight. “When I was just a boy, my father borrowed money from the Seyrbakovs to fund an election campaign for the city council. But he failed, unfortunately, and was unable to pay back the money he was loaned.”

Steve’s gaze sharpens. Fisk pauses to look around once more, tongue wetting his lips as he takes in a breath and lets his words sink in. Steve sits up a little.

“My father asked the now late Aleksei Seyrbakov, senior, to allow him some time to find a way to repay his debt,” Fisk says. “Seyrbakov gave him no time. Even before the original date that he and my father had agreed upon, Seyrbakov demanded the debt repaid. My father could do nothing, we were penniless and he could barely afford to keep me and my mother off the streets. My father was a good man,” Fisk tells the room, as though insisting the point.

Insisting, Steve knows, because Fisk is fucking lying.

“But Seyrbakov did not see it that way,” Fisk tells them. “When my father failed to repay his debt, Seyrbakov sent men to collect. In blood. I was only twelve.”

“Why should we care?” Marlies demands. “Your pops couldn’t pay up, it’s what happens when you borrow from the mafia.”

“Suck it up, as the kids say,” Constanza Genovesi tells Fisk.

“Had I been an honest businessman, I would agree,” Fisk answers Constanza. “But I am not an honest businessman. I am the new competitor for the Seyrbakov family.”

Bucky opens his mouth. Steve grabs his knee and squeezes. Bucky meets his gaze and Steve just holds it steadily. Let him finish, he tries to silently communicate. Trust me.

Bucky tenses his jaw. He glances to Fisk, then back to Steve. He works his jaw back and forth, his gaze concerned. Steve, maintaining eye contact, slightly lifts his chin. Bucky thinks for a moment, but then, almost imperceptibly, he nods and leans back, and as Steve relaxes next to him again, he flicks his gaze back to Fisk.

“I ask that this conference treat the murder of my father the same way you would your own,” Fisk announces. “The Seyrbakov dynasty has ended, you all agree that Barnes is not the rightful heir to the family, he deserves no seat at this council. My business is bigger and better. I could wipe him out in an instant, but I stand before you today because while I may not be an honest businessman –”

Fisk turns and looks directly at Bucky.

“I am no underhanded serpent,” he concludes darkly.

Fisk stops. The room is silent. Steve swings his spiked red bottom Death Metal heels off the opposite arm of the sofa and sits upright. He looks Fisk in the eye despite the quickening of his heartbeat, then brings his hands together and claps once, twice, three times.

Fisk blinks. Steve applauds slowly. No one joins in and everyone looks at him like he’s insane.

“That was really moving,” he starts calmly. “Did you write it down or was it off the top of your head?”

“I am not sure I understand –” Fisk starts, but Steve cuts him off.

“It’s a really convincing story,” he says, flicking his eyebrows up and even smiling. Fisk looks flabbergasted now. Steve just smiles. “A story,” he repeats, “but go off, I guess.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Fisk asks, sounding highly insulted.

“I ain’t callin’ you a truther,” Steve snaps. “Pal, who the fuck you kiddin’? You killed your father!”

Fisk sucks in a breath and his eyes widen. Bucky lets out a sudden and sharp laugh and flops backward in his seat, covering his eyes with a hand. Krikor Mikoyan grabs Fisk’s arm and makes as though to whisper in his ear, but Steve stops him, again.

“Credit to him,” he announces, looking around the room, “his pop beat him and his ma an’ I really don’t think a jury would’a convicted him, even when he was 12, but his pa didn’t get offed by the Seyrbakovs and it had nothin’ to do with money!”

“He’s lying!” Krikor laughs, sounding very unconvincing. “Seyrbakov had Wilson’s father killed –!”

“Blah, blah,” Steve interrupts. “You wanna call out an underhanded serpent, how ‘bout you call out yourself, you fucking p***,” he spits out violently, impulsively. “Well, I suppose technically, you’re an ephebophilic.”

Bucky jolts. Fisk’s eyes narrow and Steve doubles down.

“Yeah, I said it!” he snaps, clapping his hands together. “You’s a snake and a creep, you nasty! Take your grievances and GTFO, asshole!”

“What?” Krikor splutters.

“How dare you –” Vanessa, Fisk’s fiancée, starts on Steve.

“Sis,” Steve interrupts her, too, “just don’t.”

“Was this your grand plan to oust Barnes once and for all, Kay?” Kempinski asks Krikor angrily. “A weak lie by a low-level mob boss?”

“I am not lying!” Fisk says in almost a roar.

“You told Garrett,” Steve snaps.

Fisk’s gaze snaps back to his and Steve just raises his brows.

“Back in the Persian Gulf, remember that?” he spills. “The night the two of you lost your squad and you was deep in enemy territory, thought you was gonna die, so you told each other your worst secrets?”

Fisk doesn’t reply. His silence says everything, though.

“Don’t feel bad,” Steve adds, “Garrett never keeps secrets. Kept,” he corrects himself. “Satan torture his soul,” he concludes.

(Satan’s not torturing his soul. Because Bucky’s not done torturing his body.)

Marlies Robel starts slow-clapping. Boissieus quickly joins in, then Charity and Cyril and the other Robels join in. Garine rushes in and grabs Krikor’s arm, yanking him away from Fisk and hissing angrily in his ear. Vanessa moves to her man’s side and touches his arm gently. Fisk doesn’t move.

“Let’s touch back on that p*** thing,” Simon Robel says. “I fucking hate p***s.”

“Wilson is no child predator!” Vanessa snaps.

Steve waves a hand at her. “What’d I just tell you two minutes ago?” he demands. “Sis, just don’t.”

“Do you have proof?” James Wesley tries to ask.

Steve turns his gaze on him and just stares blankly at him. Wesley spreads his hands, raising his eyebrows. Bucky sets a hand on Steve’s back, but Steve works his jaw, then leans forward and looks at Garine and Krikor.

“Does that big screen have a cast function?” he asks, waving his phone a little.

Krikor glares. Garine glances at the nearest large, flat-screen TV mounted on the wall – there are many – and she shrugs, then grabs a remote and switches it on. Steve looks down and unlocks his phone, jaw clenched, and opens up his Google Drive.

There were definitely more things to hate about his time learning from Garrett, but Steve can be glad for a few. One of which, Garrett’s insistence on security.

“What are you doing?” Vanessa asks.

Steve taps on an old video, hits cast, and selects the nearby TV. He looks up and watches as the TV loads the media from his phone. His pacemaker’s keeping his heartbeat from pounding out of his chest. This is overkill. This is so overkill, but Steve’s pissed. Does he fucking have fucking proof?

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #captain america #marvel #winter soldier #mcu #pre serum steve

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justforbooks · 1 year ago

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David Soul, who has died aged 80, stormed to fame in the 1970s as half of the television “buddies” detective duo Starsky and Hutch, who careered across Los Angeles in their red and white Ford Gran Torino, over the roofs and bonnets of other cars, and through piles of cardboard boxes.

“When the Starsky and Hutch series was showing, police on patrol duty were adopting sunglasses and wearing their gloves with the cuffs turned down,” claimed Kenneth Oxford, a British chief constable. “They also started driving like bloody maniacs.” In south London, a council lowered a wall after fans of the tyre-squealing screen action used it as a launchpad to jump on to parked vehicles.

While Paul Michael Glaser played the streetwise, cardigan-wearing, junk food-eating Dave Starsky, Soul’s character, Ken “Hutch” Hutchinson, was the quieter, yoga-loving, healthy-eating one – two cool cops looking after each other as if they were brothers.

Over five series (1975-79), they patrolled a rough area populated by muggers, drug dealers, sex workers and pimps. They also fraternised with Huggy Bear (played by Antonio Fargas), a snazzily dressed, “jive-talking” informant with his own bar.

Soul traded on his newfound stardom to return to his first love, music. He recorded the ballads Don’t Give Up on Us (1976), a No 1 in the US and UK, and Silver Lady (1977), another British chart-topper.

His television career continued, but the starring roles rarely resonated beyond his homeland. An exception was the miniseries World War III (1982), in which he played an American cold war colonel trying to avert a nuclear holocaust. It also chimed with his political and social campaigning, which included supporting the anti-nuclear movement.

He took up the tempting offer to play Rick Blaine in Casablanca (1983), a five-part TV prequel to the film classic, in the role originally played by Humphrey Bogart, but it proved a flop.

Soul found renewed success – particularly on the West End stage – after moving to Britain in the 90s. He even hit the headlines beyond the review pages in the title role of Jerry Springer the Opera (Cambridge theatre, 2004-05), taking over from another American actor, Michael Brandon, as the “shock” talkshow host.

The BBC’s decision to screen Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee’s musical, complete with thousands of swear words, transvestites, tap-dancers dressed as Ku Klux Klan members and a nappy-wearing Jesus, received more than 60,000 complaints from viewers.

Soul simply relished the chance to fulfil his “dream to play in the birthplace of English-speaking theatre” after failing to “cut the mustard” when auditioning on Broadway.

He was born David Solberg in Chicago to June (nee Nelson), a teacher who had also performed as a singer, and Richard Solberg, a Lutheran minister of Norwegian descent. His father’s work as a representative of the Lutheran World Relief organisation during the reconstruction of Germany after the second world war meant the family moved to Berlin in 1949, returning to the US seven years later to live in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where David attended Washington high school.

He then acted in plays while studying at Augustana College, before moving to Mexico with his family. Influenced by his father’s work, he initially had plans to join the diplomatic service, and learned Spanish and studied Latin American history. He was also taught to play the guitar by Mexican students.

After a year, he hitchhiked to the US, landed a job singing Mexican folk songs at a coffee shop in Minneapolis and set his sights on a career in music. He also gained some acting experience with the city’s Firehouse theatre company.

While talking with friends about the metaphorical masks people wear, he came up with the idea of wearing a real one while performing so that the music stood on its own merits, and billed himself “David Soul, the Covered Man”. The William Morris Agency signed him up after hearing a demo tape, and he soon had bookings. One was in The Merv Griffin Show on TV between 1966 and 1968, when he eventually dispensed with the mask. More significantly, a talent agent spotted his acting potential.

He had a regular role in Here Come the Brides (1968-70), a comedy western series set after the civil war, as Joshua Bolt, one of the brothers running a logging company in a male-dominated Seattle frontier town and importing marriageable women.

A guest star, Karen Carlson, became Soul’s second wife (1968-77), following the dissolution of his first marriage, to Mirriam “Mim” Russeth, in 1966, three years after their wedding.

Soul was then popping up all over American TV in guest roles himself, and had a short run in 1974 as Ted Warrick, the defence lawyer’s assistant, in Owen Marshall, Counselor at Law, before wider fame came in Starsky and Hutch. By then, he was living in an “open” relationship with another actor, Lynne Marta. When he moved on to his third marriage, to Patti (nee Carnel, 1980-86), former wife of the 60s pop idol Bobby Sherman, he hit the headlines for all the wrong reasons.

In 1982, having already struck Patti several times, he returned home drunk one night following a day’s filming on Casablanca – which he correctly feared would bomb – and hit her repeatedly. He was arrested on a charge of misdemeanour battery, but a judge spared him jail on condition that he underwent therapy. Soul admitted to having a violent streak and, although he and Patti were reunited, the marriage was soon over.

He kept working, landing starring roles as Roy Champion in the cattle ranch soap-style drama The Yellow Rose (1983-84), the private eye of the title in the TV movie Harry’s Hong Kong (1987), and “Wes” Grayson, leading an FBI forensics team, in Unsub (1989), but his star was on the wane. Another marriage, to Julia Nickson (1987-1993), also failed, before he had a relationship with the actor-singer Alexa Hamilton.

Soul’s career was revived when in 1995 the theatre producer Bill Kenwright was looking for an American to star in the comedy thriller Catch Me If You Can on tour in Britain. He played Corban, a newlywed whose wife goes missing. There were other tours and Soul was in the West End as Hank in The Dead Monkey (Whitehall, now Trafalgar, theatre, 1998), Chandler Tate in Alan Ayckbourn’s Comic Potential (Lyric, 1999-2000) and Mack in Mack & Mabel (Criterion, 2006).

In between, he had one-off roles on British television, including as a locum surgeon in two episodes of Holby City (2001 and 2002), a Boston detective helping to investigate his wife’s murder in Dalziel and Pascoe (2004) and a criminology lecturer in Inspector Lewis (2012). Soul and Glaser had cameos in the 2004 film spoof Starsky & Hutch, alongside Ben Stiller as Starsky and Owen Wilson as Hutch. In the same year, Soul was granted British citizenship.

He is survived by his fifth wife, Helen (nee Snell), whom he married in 2010, and five sons and a daughter.

🔔 David Soul (David Richard Solberg), actor and singer, born 28 August 1943; died 4 January 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #david soul #in memoriam

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stephenjaymorrisblog · 8 months ago

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How Will All This End?

Stephen Jay Morris

5/4/2024

©Scientific Morality

Ever hear of the expression, “a self-fulfilling prophecy?” What does that mean? You can convince yourself that something negative will happen in the future; you can convince yourself by repeating it repeatedly. Does it usually happen? Well, if you believe in a supernatural belief system, you can make something happen by chanting for it. If you believe in logic, there’s a 50-50 chance that something you predict may happen by coincidence.

I know, I know—in the past I promised not to make any predictions. But America in the year 2024, is too juicy to pass up. Let’s just say, I’m only theorizing. Is that Kosher? OK! Let’s get to it.

Many self-created prophets want that Nostradamus statue on their living room mantel, above the fireplace. But most predictions fall flat on their face. What is America’s number one concern as it is shoved down our collective throats? The presidential election in November 2024. Let’s see. Before the primaries, both political parties declared their candidates for president.

That didn’t happen in 1968. The Democrats had three candidates running for president. RFK, Eugene McCarthy, and Hubert Humphrey. So did the Republican Party. Nelson Rockefeller, Ronny Reagan, and Dick Nixon. (Can you believe that Dick Nixon beat Ronny Reagan?) So, this not like 1968 at all.

Second of all, will there be riots at the Democratic convention in Chicago this summer? Same as in 1968—yes. Will there be any trouble? Not really. In 1968, there were dozens of protest groups, from the Civil Rights movement to the Black Panther Party. Also, from SDS to the Yippies. The City government consisted of Blue Dog Democrats. What are Blue Dog Democrats? Right wing Democrats. Yeah, there was such a thing! After all, Rockefeller was a Liberal Republican. The Mayor, Richard J. Daley, was a Red Neck conservative, and he loved the police force and the military. Now, in 2024, the Chicago city council are mostly left-of-center Democrats. Nothing will happen on the streets of Chicago because the Liberals will negotiate with the protest leaders. And make deals with them. Unless police provocateurs or Israeli agents start some shit. But I highly doubt it.

So, what about the Republican Convention? In 1968, they had theirs in Miami Beach Florida. It’s funny; the Democrats had theirs at the same place in ‘72. There were riots there. Looking back, the so-called media always focused on the Democratic Convention. They loved it when the Left fought Liberals. People forget when the Republicans had a riot near their convention in ’68, Blacks rioted at Liberty City and the media blacked it out. (Pun intended.) In 1970, when White students at Kent State got shot, it was front page news. However, when Black students got shot by cops at Jackson State, that appeared on page 18 in the newspaper. So, when the GOP have their convention in Milwaukee, Wisconsin this year, the media will downplay any demonstrations. If you still think the media is liberal, maybe you should go to your primary care provider and get tested for early-stage dementia.

Now, between Biden and Trump, who will win? Biden is senile and Trump is demented. A lot can happen before November. Biden could drop out of the race for an elderly illness. Or he could die of natural causes. Keep your eye on Kamala Harris. She might be our first female president. If Biden does survive, he will lose the race.

What about Trump? He could win, but he’d be very ineffectual sitting in a prison cell. Keep your eye on his vice-presidential choice. They might be our next president if Trump wins. It cracks me up how some of his sycophant followers portray him as some type of superhero. He must wear a girdle to keep that fat belly from falling on his dick! His arteries are so clogged with junk food, he might have a massive heart attack while sitting in the prison cafeteria. Plus, he has obvious signs of dementia; just listen to how he talks. I love how supporters of both candidates deny that their candidate has any illness. If Trump survives, he will barely win. The outcome may depend on which candidate dies first.

Now, about this talk over losing our democracy. We never had it! For decades, the Chuds have claimed that we are a Constitutional Republic. The Liberals say we are a Liberal Democracy. Who’s right? Who cares?! This two-party system will always be a two-party system. If we were a true Democracy, we would have 17 political parties—just like Israel. But no, we have this fake rivalry between left and right. “Democrats are for the working man.” No, they’re not. “The Republicans are for individualism and Jesus.” Really?

So, as for this ultimatum of either we elect Biden or we get fascism versus if you vote for Trump, you’ll be raptured and float up to heaven…Fuck off, please! Nothing is going to happen in November. Even if Trump is elected, America will survive. If Biden wins, America will survive.

It’s time for a new constitution! It’s time for a one world anarchy!

Whatever!

#stephenjaymorris #poets on tumblr #american politics #poets of tumblr #anarchopunk #baby boomers #anarchocommunism #satire #anarchism #youtube

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ltwilliammowett · 2 years ago

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An enamelled two-tone gold freedom box presented as a gift, for his gallant deeds on 14 Feb. 1797 (Battle of St. Vincent), to Vice Admiral William Waldegrave

"Watson Mayor a Common Council Holden, in the Chamber of the Guildhall of the City of London this Friday the 10th day of March 1797. Resolved unanimously, That the thanks of this Court be given to Vice Admiral Thompson, Vice Admiral the Hone, Willm. Waldegrave, Rear-Admiral Parker, &; Commodore Nelson, for their gallant conduct on the 14th of February last, in the defeat of the Spanish Fleet, and that they be presented, each separately, with the liberty of this City in a gold casket. Note: Sir Robt. Calder was omitted in error, afterwards corrected by an equal vote."

These boxes, like the Lloyd's honorary sabres, were awarded as tokens of honour and gratitude. The gold box was originally valued at 100 guineas.

#naval artifacts #freedom box #battle of st. vincent #vice admiral waldegrave #1797 #age of sail

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screampotato · 4 months ago

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As I sit eating dorayaki pancakes in Yo Sushi in Glasgow, I feel the need to tell the story of how the square it sits on got its name.

Yo Sushi sits on a corner between West George Street and a funny little square, really just a diversion of the road to pass round St. George's Tron church (Gay Tron, to be specific, but that's a story for another day). These days, the only other things on the square are a few eating places and an Urban Outfitters, but back in the 80s, St. George's Place, as it was called, was a bit more civically significant, being the home of the Glasgow Stock Exchange and the South African Embassy.

I say "civically significant", not "prestigious", because although the UK government in those days was fawning over Apartheid South Africa, up in Glasgow they were a little less popular. This was at the time when Mandela was in prison, and the people who make Glasgow took a rather dim view of the whole situation. Unfortunately, Scotland's opinions have always been slightly less important than the Prime Minister's choice of socks in the eyes of the British Establishment, the opinions of any one area of Scotland even less so, so there was sod all we could do about it.

Or so they thought.

Glasgow City Council thought differently. Local authorities in the UK have no powers whatsoever in international diplomacy, but unchallenged sovereignty in the matter of street names. St. George was probably a stand-up guy, and very useful if you've got dragons to slay, but he already had a church and a Cross in the city, not to mention sharing a name with a much bigger Square and two Streets. He could afford to give up one tiny wiggle in the road to a man trying to slay a much bigger and uglier dragon.

"Yes", the councillors said to themselves "Nelson Mandela Place. That's got a nice ring to it."

The splutterings and chokings at the Embassy, when they were presented with the idea of printing Mandela's name at the top of their fancy notepaper, are sadly not recorded - or if they are, the spies have kept them for their private enjoyment. No doubt Margaret Thatcher had opinions, but the converse of city councils having no voice in Parliament is that the Prime Minister has no voice in the City Chambers. She might drink tea with the monarch, but she doesn't get to name Glasgow streets.

Those days are long past. The dragon was slain. Who knows if those little iron signs nine thousand miles away had any real effect except to send a crumb of encouragement to a man in a jail cell. That it did that is a matter of record - he heard, and it gave him hope. That's all we could send, but we sent it.

All these years later, Nelson Mandela Place keeps its name, a quiet memorial to the power of making a bloody nuisance of yourself when the machinery of state offers you no other levers to pull, and of laughing at those who think they are too powerful to be the butt of the joke.

#Glasgow stories #Nelson Mandela #Nelson Mandela Place

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professional-dragonsandmemes · 7 months ago

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at my local city council meeting and public comment is just a procession of people crying about a billboard thats just a nelson mandela quote saying "our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the palestinians"

everyone is whibing and bitching about how SCARED they are that this billboard is bringing the POISON from downtown la into the delicate minds of our suburban youth

i at least got the satisfaction of watching the city council having to inform these people that they cant do shit about the billboard because its freedom of speech. like in the actual real way. that the government cannot restrict the press.

#rambles #of course everyone bitching and whining still says that its totally not freedom of speech #because i guess the palestinian flag is a threat 🙄🙄

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lboogie1906 · 9 months ago

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Dr. Alondra Nelson (born April 22, 1968) lecturer, social scientist, administrator/organizer, was born in Bethesda, Maryland to Robert Nelson and Delores Nelson. Reared in New Orleans, her earlier years were spent in Guantanamo Bay and Naples.

She received a BA in Anthropology from UC San Diego and was elected to Phi Beta Kappa. She earned an MA and Ph.D in American Studies from New York University. She was a member of the faculty in African American Studies and Sociology at Yale University, being the first Black woman to join the Department of Sociology faculty.

She was an associate professor of sociology and gender studies at Columbia University. She was the first African American to be tenured in the Department of Sociology, and she oversaw its Institute for Gender and Sexuality and served as the first Dean of Social Science for the Faculty of Arts and Sciences.

She penned Body and Soul: The Black Panther Party and the Fight against Medical Discrimination. She accepted the position of Academic Curator for the Young Woman Christian Association of New York City and she published The Social Life of DNA: Race, Reparations, and Reconciliation after the Genome.

She was the Harold F. Linder chair and professor at the Institute for Advanced Study and president of the Social Science Research Council. She was the first African American, the first person of color, and the second woman to head the Social Science Research Council.

She became the White House’s Deputy Director of the Office of Science and Technology Policy for Science and Society during the administration of President Joe Biden. She was the keynote speaker at The City College of New York’s 168th Commencement and was awarded the honorary degree of Doctor of Humane Letters. She was promoted to Acting Director of the Office of Science and Technology Policy.

She is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, the American Academy of Political and Social Science, the American Philosophical Society, and the National Academy of Medicine. She is married to Garraud Etienne, a non-profit executive. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #phibetakappa

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sebengineer101 · 3 months ago

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Professionals of the Nelson City Council ship for the future expansion of Nelson Hospital

Te Whatu Ora Health New Zealand has recently referred to Nelson Hospital as one of the country's hospitals to have really old buildings in the worst condition in decades. The George Manson Building, which has been a cornerstone of the hospital since the late 1950s and early 1960s, was said to be not fit for purpose for its patients due to its poor stability and is quite an earthquake-prone building, looks to the sounds of it. Nelson's mayor Nick Smith, city councilors and the NCC have taken the role of captains of the ship to have a look for further expansions in the future.

Nelson Hospital is the leading healthcare facility serving up to 181 loyal patients in the Nelson-Tasman and Marlborough regions at the top of the South Island. It is the largest hospital in the region. When it comes to the investment of future expansions, the National-led government is going to work closely with Te Whatu Ora and NCC for future expansions of the hospital. Once funded by the government, Prime Minister Christopher Luxon, Health Minister Dr Shane Reti, Finance Minister Nicola Willis and Local Government Minister Simeon Brown will closely work with Mayor Nick Smith and the professionals of the NCC ship.

Building construction company Scott Construction Limited has been contracted for the proposals of the future expansions of the hospital. Nelson Hospital will be cornerstone in the Nelson community for many years to come.

youtube

#nelson #nelson nz #new zealand #health nz #te whatu ora #nelson hospital #hospital #nelson city council #mayor #nick smith #nelson mayor #Youtube

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jonathanferraragallery · 2 years ago

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LAUREN MABRY is recognized internationally for her bold, dynamic glazes and inventive use of material, color, and form. Her ceramic vessels, objects, and dimensional paintings embrace experimentation as a way to question the boundary between abstract painting, minimalist sculpture, and process art.

Mabry is the recipient of individual grants from the Pew Center for Arts & Heritage, the Independence Foundation, and the National Council on Education in the Ceramic Arts Emerging Artist Award, and she has worked at the Jingdezhen International Studio in China and the Gaya Ceramic Art Center in Bali, Indonesia. Mabry has shown in numerous institutions including the Bemis Center for Contemporary Art (Omaha, NE), Fuller Craft Museum (Brockton, MA) and Milwaukee Art Museum (Milwaukee, WI), and her work is included in the collections of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art (Kansas City, MO), Daum Museum of Contemporary Art (Sedalia, MO), Nerman Museum of Contemporary Art (Overland Park, KS), and Sheldon Museum of Art (Lincoln, NE).

In 2007, Mabry completed her BFA from Kansas City Art Institute, and she received her MFA from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln in 2012. She has lived in Philadelphia, PA since 2012 and works out of her independent studio.

#lauren mabry #women artists #sculpture #ceramics #contemporary art #jonathan ferrara gallery #jfg artist

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brookstonalmanac · 1 month ago

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Beer Events 12.1

Events

Basketball invented (1891)

Hermetically Closing Jug (1896)

Conrad Eurich bought Spring Garden Brewery (Baltimore, Maryland; 1908)

Grace Brothers Brewery closed (Santa Rosa, California; 1918)

Ontario, Canada voted for government control of liquor instead of prohibition (1926)

Prague tavern opened, charging a flat hourly fee for drinking (1937)

Playboy 1st published (1953)

Michelob bottles 1st sold (1961)

Erik Helm and Richard Thorne patented Electrolysis of Fermented Beverages (1970)

Exploitation film “Sixpack Annie” premiered (1975)

Novato City Council approved Moylan's brewpub (California; 1993)

Anton Steinecker patented a Device for Heating Wort During Beer Production (1999)

Beermann's bottled 1,077 1-liter bottles of their Bourbon Barrel Barley-Wine Ale (2001)

Breweries Opened

Frank Steil Brewing, Maryland (1900)

Hudson County Consumers Brewing, New Jersey (1901)

Salt Lake Brewing, Utah (1984)

Thomas Kemper Brewing, Washington (1984)

Okanagan Springs Brewery, Canada (1985)

Lord Nelson Brewery Hotel, Australia (1986)

Pete's Wicked Brewing, California (1986)

Big Time Brewing, Washington (1988)

Grand Ridge Brewing, Australia (1988)

Kieler Brauerei, Germany (1988)

Black Mountain Brewing/Ed's Cave Creek, Arizona (1989)

Heritage Brewing, California (1989)

Pink Elephant Brewery, New Zealand (1990)

Minnesota Brewing, Minnesota (1991)

Rock Bottom #1, Colorado (1991)

Brewery at Lake Tahoe, California (1992)

Hangtown Brewery, California (1992)

Giatt Brothers Brewing, Canada (1993)

Northen Lights Brewing, Washington (1993)

Union Station Brewing, Rhode Island (1993)

Waterloo Brewing, Texas (1993)

Feathers Brewing, Canada (1994)

Long Island Brewing, New York (1994)

Galveston Brewery, Texas (1995)

Grebbestad Bryggeri, Sweden (1995)

Wilmington Brewing, North Carolina (1995)

Brass Ring Brewing, California (1996)

Dublin Brewing, Ireland (1996)

Huske Hardware House Brewing, North Carolina (1996)

King George Brewery, Georgia (1996)

La Fourche Brewing, Louisiana (1996)

Live Oak Brewing, Texas (1996)

Macau Brewing, Macau (1996)

Old North State Brewing, North Carolina (1996)

Skewers Brewpub, California (1996)

Sonora Brewing, Arizona (1996)

Volcano Brewery, New Mexico (1996)

Brasserie d Sainr Amand, France (1997)

Double Barrel Brewing, South Carolina (1997)

Foundry Ale Works, Pennsylvania (1997)

Park City Brewing, Utah (1997)

Railway Brewing, Alaska (1997)

Sagan Beer, Japan (1997)

Sunshine Coast Brewery, Australia (1997)

Mac & Jack's Brewery, Washington (1998)

Maxwell's Brewery & Pub, Washington (1998)

Race Book Brew Pub, Connecticut (1998)

Blue Frog Grog & Grill, California (1999)

Gem of the Sea Brewing, California (1999)

Holgate Brewhouse, Australia (1999)

Pearl Street Brewing, Wisconsin (1999)

Back Street Brewery, California (2001)

4th Street Brewing (Oregon; 2008)

Two Roads Brewing (Connecticut; 2012)

#Events

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buttercupkg66 · 2 months ago

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Luana Nelson-Brown, the director of the Neighborhood Safety Department at the Minneapolis City Council, argued for a nearly $1 million contract to be granted to the Black Business Enterprises Fund - an enterprise owned by the sister of one of its staff members

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justforbooks · 1 year ago

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Henry Kissinger, who has died at the age of 100, was the most controversial US foreign policy practitioner of the last half-century, the architect of American detente with the Soviet Union, the orchestrator of Washington’s opening to communist China, the broker of the first peace agreement between Egypt and Israel, and the man who led the US team in the protracted talks with North Vietnam which resulted in US forces leaving Indochina after America’s longest foreign war.

Feted for these accomplishments as national security adviser and later secretary of state under Richard Nixon, Kissinger achieved global celebrity status and in 1973 was awarded the Nobel peace prize. But it later emerged via leaked documents and tapes and former officials’ memoirs that behind his diplomatic skills and tireless energy as a negotiator there lurked an inordinate love of secrecy and manipulation and a ruthless desire to protect US national and corporate interests at any price. His contempt for human rights prompted him to ask the FBI to tap his own staff’s telephones and, more seriously, to give the nod to Indonesia’s military dictator for the invasion of East Timor, to condone the actions of the apartheid regime in South Africa in invading Angola, and to use the CIA to help topple the elected government of Chile.

A formidable academic before he worked for the government, Kissinger reached greater heights of political influence than any previous immigrant to the US. His nasal German accent never left him, an eternal reminder to his adopted countrymen that he was a European by origin. To Kissinger himself, the fact that a man born outside the US, and a Jew to boot, could become its secretary of state was a never-ending source of pride.

Although Kissinger was often seen as a supreme believer in a world order based on realpolitik and a balance of power, at heart he was ultra-loyal to the individualistic American ideal. In love with his adopted country, he was infused with a missionary zeal to maintain American hegemony in a shifting world.

Heinz Alfred Kissinger was born to a comfortable, middle-class family in Fürth in Bavaria. His father, Louis, was a teacher, his mother, Paula (nee Stern), a housewife. As a boy, he was old enough to comprehend the collapse of their domestic stability when the Nazis came to power. He and his younger brother were beaten up on the way to school, and eventually expelled. His father lost his job. The family emigrated to New York in 1938.

Kissinger rarely discussed his refugee past, and once told an interviewer to reject any psychoanalytical link between his views and his childhood, but some observers argued that his personal experience of nazism led to his horror of revolutionary changes as well as to the underlying pessimism of his analysis of world affairs.

After George Washington high school in Manhattan, his accountancy course at the City College of New York was interrupted in 1943 when he was conscripted. He was with the US army in Germany for the Nazi surrender and the first months of occupation. He won a bronze star for his role in capturing Gestapo officers and saboteurs in Hanover. In 1946 he went to Harvard, where he stayed intermittently for the next quarter of a century. He received his PhD in 1954 with a study of the 19th-century European conservatives Metternich and Castlereagh, which he turned into a book entitled A World Restored: Metternich, Castlereagh and the Problems of Peace, 1812-1822 (1957).

His subsequent studies led him to become a specialist on nuclear weapons, who caught the eye of Nelson Rockefeller, the governor of New York and a bastion of east coast liberal Republicanism. Kissinger’s desire for influence on policy was already leading him to spend time in Washington, and he combined his academic work with consultancies for various government departments and agencies, including the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the National Security Council under Dwight Eisenhower.

Kissinger’s patron, Rockefeller, failed to make much headway in the presidential campaigns of 1960 and 1964, but after Nixon won the presidency for the Republicans in 1968, Kissinger was appointed national security adviser, with an office in the White House. His intellectual drive, as well as geographical closeness to the president, allowed him to turn what had previously been a backroom job into a high-profile, decision-making post.

Kissinger knew that access is power, and that the relationship goes both ways. Having the ear of the president gave him the ear of a competitive, news-hungry Washington press corps which admired his charm and brilliance and eagerly printed a generous amount of his on-the-record comments while finding ways to divulge unattributably the confidential titbits and insider gossip that he loved to drop.

A battle developed between Kissinger and the secretary of state, William Rogers, the nominal architect of US foreign policy, during Nixon’s first term. Kissinger won it easily. Rogers was excluded not only from the administration’s central concerns – Vietnam, the Soviet Union and China – but even the Middle East, the one area where he achieved some praise in 1970 with the so-called Rogers plan. The plan was a US effort to impose a settlement between Egypt and Israel with the backing of the Soviet Union. Israel rejected it while Kissinger felt that the goal of US policy in the region, as indeed throughout the developing world, should be to reduce the Kremlin’s influence rather than give Moscow equal status.

When Rogers eventually resigned a few months after the start of Nixon’s second term, Kissinger got the job he coveted most. Four years of private advice and back-channel negotiating were to be crowned by formal acceptance as Washington’s senior international representative and America’s major speechmaker on foreign affairs. Kissinger had already scored the two biggest coups of his career, proving that he was more than just an academic consultant and bureaucratic in-fighter, but a cunning negotiator. He ran the secret diplomacy which culminated in July 1971 with the stunning announcement that Nixon was to go to China to meet Mao Zedong the following year. He also led the negotiations in Paris with Hanoi for the peace treaty that sealed the departure of American troops from Vietnam. For the second of these feats, he shared the Nobel peace prize with Le Duc Tho, the North Vietnamese negotiator, though the latter refused to accept it.

The award aroused a huge controversy since it coincided with revelations that Kissinger had supported Nixon’s decisions to mount a secret campaign of bombing Cambodia in 1969. Cambodia had long been used by North Vietnamese troops for bases and supply depots, but Nixon’s predecessor, Lyndon Johnson, resisted pleas from the joint chiefs of staff to bomb them. The country was officially neutral and its leader, Prince Norodom Sihanouk, was desperately trying not to take sides.

But the Nixon administration wanted to send a strong message to North Vietnam that the new president would be tougher than Johnson. Tapes of White House conversations (the Watergate tapes) revealed that Nixon called it the “madman theory” – “I want the North Vietnamese to believe that I’ve reached the point where I might do anything to stop the war,” he told his chief of staff, Bob Haldeman. Kissinger endorsed the concept, though he preferred to put it in more academic language by arguing that US policy must always retain an element of unpredictability.

In March 1969 Nixon and Kissinger ignored the reluctance of Rogers and launched waves of B52s on carpet-bombing missions over Cambodia, as they had already done in Vietnam. The raids went on for 14 months, although officially the administration pretended the targets were all in South Vietnam. Initially, Kissinger did not even want the pilots to know they were striking Cambodia, but he was advised that they would soon find out and be more likely to leak the information unless sworn to secrecy ahead of the raids.

The bombing remained secret in Washington for an astonishing four years, becoming public only when a military whistleblower wrote to Senator William Proxmire, a prominent critic of the Vietnam war, and urged him to investigate. In Cambodia the campaign led to an estimated 700,000 deaths as well as 2 million people being forced to flee their homes. It also led a pro-US army general, Lon Nol, to seize power from Sihanouk in 1970 and align the country with the US. The bombing and the coup fuelled popular unrest, added to the strength of Cambodia’s communist guerrillas, the Khmer Rouge, and paved their way to power in 1975.

The Paris peace talks on Vietnam also coincided with an escalation of US bombing in Vietnam itself. At the height of the negotiations at the end of 1972, Nixon and Kissinger took the war to new heights with the “Christmas bombing” campaign, comprising targets across North Vietnam. It enraged the US peace movement and provoked a huge wave of new protests and draft-card burning by conscripts. Kissinger’s aim was not so much to intimidate Hanoi as to persuade Washington’s ally, South Vietnam’s president Nguyen Van Thieu, to accept the accords which the US was making with the North. The bombing was meant to assure him that if there were any North Vietnamese violations after the accords came into effect, they would be met with all-out American force.

Kissinger was aware that the Paris deal was flawed, and might well lead to Thieu’s replacement by a communist government. His goal was merely to win a “decent interval” between the pull-out of US troops and the inevitable collapse of the regime in Saigon so that the US could escape any perception of defeat. The phrase “decent interval” appeared in the briefing papers for Kissinger’s secret trip to Beijing in 1971 that were later declassified. They show he told the Chinese that this was US strategy in Vietnam. A year later he informed China’s prime minister, Zhou Enlai: “If we can live with a communist government in China, we ought to be able to accept it in Indochina.”

When the North Vietnamese army and its southern allies, the Vietcong, stormed into Saigon in April 1975, forcing the US ambassador into a humiliating helicopter escape, the image was clearly one of defeat, in spite of the two-year interval since the departure of most US troops. But Kissinger blamed Congress, claiming it had undermined the peace deal by refusing to finance new arms shipments to Thieu. This was a favourite refrain. He continually attacked Congress for interfering in foreign policy, apparently never recognising the value of democratic checks on strong executive power.

Turning his skills to the Middle East, Kissinger gave birth to the concept of shuttle diplomacy, a term first used to the press by his close aide Joe Sisco. He flew between Jerusalem and Cairo during the October 1973 war to hammer out a ceasefire after the Israelis had sent their troops across the Suez canal and come close to the Egyptian capital. He later secured Israel’s withdrawal back across the canal, and shuttled to and from Damascus to make a deal with Syria for the Israelis to withdraw from a small part of the Golan Heights.

Behind all three issues lay the Americans’ competition with the Soviet Union, then at the height of its international power. The US opening to China was designed to wrong-foot the Russians by turning what they thought was an evolving, bilateral relationship of parity and mutual respect with Washington into an unnerving triangle which seemed to ally China and the US against them. Kissinger hoped to exploit the two communist powers’ rivalry to persuade both of them to abandon the Vietnamese, thus making it easier for the US to win the peace, if not the war. So he threatened Moscow and Peking (now Beijing) with the argument that they would lose the benefits of dialogue and trade with Washington if they did not stop their arms supplies to Hanoi.

In the Middle East, Kissinger’s aim was to exclude the Russians, who had been longtime allies of Egypt and Syria. By extracting concessions from Israel and brokering a ceasefire in the 1973 war, Kissinger persuaded Cairo and Damascus that only the US could achieve movement from the Israelis, thanks to its unique influence. A year before the war, Anwar Sadat, the Egyptian president, had shown his distrust of Moscow by asking thousands of Russian advisers to leave Egypt. The move was meant as a signal to Washington that Egypt preferred good relations with the US, provided Washington put pressure on Israel. Kissinger missed the signal and did nothing until Sadat, in desperation, launched his attack on Israel in October 1973.

Kissinger’s strategy of detente with the Soviet Union was also designed to reduce Moscow’s room for manoeuvre. Although rightwing Republicans criticised it as appeasement, he argued that Washington should not just contain the Soviet Union, as previous American administrations had sought to do. The US should tame it by giving it a stake in the status quo. Instead of going for ad hoc deals with the Kremlin, Kissinger was the first senior American to try to establish a complex of agreements with a range of penalties and rewards for bad and good behaviour. This, he argued, would limit Soviet adventurism. Sometimes he called it a network, at other times a web, but in both cases the aim was to provide the Soviet Union with benefits from expanded trade, investment and political consultation with Washington.

The strategy failed to produce a new world order because Kissinger was not willing to abandon adventurism on the American side. In the developing world, in particular, Kissinger pursued policies of confrontation with Moscow, often based on faulty analysis of what the Russians were doing or exaggerated claims of the extent of their influence. The successful US effort to overthrow the elected president of Chile, Salvador Allende, in 1973 fitted into the long US history of intervening in Latin America against leftwing governments that nationalised US corporations (in this case, the big copper companies). But Kissinger also disliked Allende’s closeness to Moscow’s ally, Cuba. “I don’t see why we need to stand by and watch a country go communist due to the irresponsibility of its people,” he commented.

By 1974 Kissinger’s boss was being engulfed by the Watergate scandal. Although Kissinger was involved in secretly taping his own staff, he was not connected to Nixon’s decision to burgle the headquarters of the Democratic party at the Watergate apartment complex in 1972 and then cover up the truth – the charges that brought the president down. In spite of the scandal – or perhaps because of it – Nixon’s relationship with Kissinger remained close, in large part because the beleaguered president saw Kissinger as his best ally in foreign policy, the area where Nixon felt that he had been most successful. He wanted Kissinger to be the man to preserve his legacy.

In his memoirs, Kissinger described how Nixon virtually clung to him during his last hours in the White House in August 1974. The disgraced president asked him to pray beside him in the Lincoln bedroom for half an hour. “Nixon’s recollection is that he invited me to kneel with him and that I did so. My own recollection is less clear on whether I actually knelt. It is a trivial distinction. In whatever posture, I was filled with a deep sense of awe,” Kissinger wrote.

Although Kissinger was not charged over Watergate, his image nonetheless became tarnished. Damaged by revelations of the secret bombing of Cambodia, the favourable media bubble burst. Kissinger’s path from miracle worker to being perceived as a cynical trickster proved short. If Nixon was a serial liar on the domestic stage, Kissinger was seen as a similar villain on the international one. Nevertheless the next president, Gerald Ford, who had limited foreign experience, kept Kissinger on as secretary of state as a symbol of continuity. But Kissinger’s star was in decline. He tried to change his focus by shifting his attention to Africa, which he had ignored until then.

His results were far from positive. He may well have set back the fall of apartheid by several years by approving the involvement of the CIA in the Angolan civil war and giving the nod to South Africa’s invasion in 1975 as the Portuguese withdrew from their erstwhile colony and granted it independence. The South African intervention prompted Cuba to send hundreds of troops to support the Angolan government, thereby launching one of the bloodiest “proxy wars” between the superpowers.

When the Republicans lost the White House to the Democrats under Jimmy Carter in 1976, Kissinger’s time was up. He spent the next decades as a consultant to multinational corporations, and speaking on the international lecture circuit. In 1982 he founded his own firm, Kissinger Associates.

Although he had brief hopes of a comeback when Ronald Reagan won the 1980 election, the new president and his men did not feel comfortable with Kissinger’s image or the strength of his personality. His public persona of pragmatism did not fit their crusading ideology of anti-communism and their constant claims of Soviet expansionism. They were from the school which felt his contacts with the Soviet leader, Leonid Brezhnev, during the period of detente, had smacked of appeasement.

The charge was absurd. It reflected the difference between subtlety and simplicity, as I discovered at one of the occasional deep-background “non-lunches” which Kissinger gave for representatives of European newspapers. Europe was never a high priority for Kissinger, in large part because it was not a region of US-Soviet competition. He favoured a strong and united western Europe so as to keep Germany in check, hence his much-quoted comment: “If I want to call Europe, who do I call?”

But he seemed to like meeting European correspondents, flattering us with the sense that we asked deeper questions than our American colleagues. At one such lunch, I was staggered by Kissinger’s emotional outburst when someone delicately raised the appeasement charge that rightwing senators were making. “Do you really think a man who stopped Allende wouldn’t want to stop Brezhnev?” he retorted.

If ever there was an American super-patriot, it was Kissinger. As a European intellectual, he knew better than his adopted compatriots how to run an empire. The bedrock of his policies was fear of a resurgent, “unanchored” Germany, a firm desire to keep western Europe closely tied to the US, and a fierce determination to outwit the Soviet Union and maintain American dominance, if necessary through the use of military might. It was no surprise that in his 80s, long after the Soviet Union had collapsed, he became a close consultant of George W Bush, supporting his invasion of Iraq.

Kissinger’s private life was a tempestuous subject in the Washington gossip columns, at least in the interval between his two marriages, which happened to coincide with his years at the apex of power. His first, to Ann Fleischer, with whom he had two children, Elizabeth and David, ended in divorce in 1964. Ten years later, he married Nancy Maginnes, one of his former researchers. She and his children survive him.

🔔 Henry Alfred Kissinger, statesman, born 27 May 1923; died 29 November 2023.

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#just for books #Henri Kissinger #in memoriam

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