We Will Never Forget

September 12th, 2001

The Country Club Bar and Grill; St. Louis, Missouri


An old man, I never seen him before, sits down next to me as I order my rum and coke.

“Hey there, young man,” he says and points two fingers at Brad the Bartender.

Brad pours the old man a beer from the tap, sets it on the bar in front of him and asks, “To what do we owe the honor?”

“I need to speak again, Bradley. I need to speak," says the old man.

“What’s the deal?” I ask.

“Nate,” says Brad the Bartender. “I want you to meet Louis. He knows everything. He’s been everywhere. And he only comes in here if he’s got something to say.”

“Seems to me, he needs an audience,” I say, noticing that we’re the only three in the bar at about two in the afternoon.

“Seems to me, I have one,” says Louis.

“What’s up?” asks Brad.

“Do you guys love war?”

“Of course not,” I say.

“Neither did most Americans, before Pearl Harbor, that is.”

“That’s great,” says Brad the Bartender. “The bodies ain’t even dug up yet and you’re already talking conspiracy.”

“Fuck your conspiracy,” says Louis. “Ain’t no conspiracy. This is just truth. Americans are gonna love war again. I can see it now.”

“Well yeah,” I says. “Four thousand people just got killed by terrorists. We need to go to war.”

“With who?” asks Louis.

“With the people who did this,” says Brad.

“And they are?” asks Louis.

“That’s for the government to figure out,” says Brad.

“Indeed it is,” says Louis. “And after they figure out who we need to attack, they’ll tell us. Then they’ll tell us which freedoms we no longer need so we can protect ourselves from the enemy. Then they’ll tell us who the thieves are and who the bastards are. Then they’ll name the whores and the witches. And before you know it, they’ll do all our thinking for us. It’ll save us the trouble of doing it ourselves.”

“You’re a little paranoid, Louis,” I says.

Louis lights a cigarette, takes a long pull off of it and says, “At summer camp, the scared kids are the easiest to get into the sleeping bags at night.”

“You pedophile,” says Brad.

Louis laughs, a hearty, deep sound.

“If you think we don’t need to go to war, you’re not a true American. And if you think we don’t need to give up our rights to privacy, you’re not a true American. And if you believe the government wants to control us, you’re not a true American. The government is going to make sure we never get attacked again. And if you don’t place all of your trust in our rulers, you’re not a true American.”

“Usually, conspiracy theorists are a lot younger than you,” I says.

“I’ve served in three wars,” says Louis. “And after every one, America lost freedom. Win or lose.”

The old man stubs out his butt in a black, plastic ashtray, swallows the rest of his beer and says, “It don’t matter who started it. It don’t matter who finishes it, or if it gets finished at all. What matters is that, in the end, those who rule us get to keep on ruling us. And if you think government is about anything more than that, well, I wish I had your innocence. Put it on my tab, Brad.”

“Fuck you, Louis.”

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask Brad, after Louis leaves.

“Too many wars,” says Brad. “Too many dead friends. And too good a memory.”

“Wow,” says I. “I hope by the time I’m his age, I’ll have drank my memory away.”

“You will have, Nate,” says Brad. “I have faith in you.”

“Thanks.”