I just came from Bill McDannell's journal. He's the fellow walking from San Diego to D.C. that Mrs. Dada and I met up with last week. Bill is gathering signatures on a petition as he crosses the country on foot to present to our leaders in one more way to try to get them to listen to the majority of Americans who want out of these endless insane wars.
I thought Bill might not mind if I paste a bit of his latest entry herein:
Yesterday was a mixed bag. Since there was a motel in Fort Hancock I figured I could stay there for the night and leave from there in the morning, which is in fact what I did. Trouble was, It was both the worst motel and one of the highest room rates I've encountered to date. You know the kind - rooms reeking of disinfectant, pillows the thickness of pancakes, a heating system that sounded like a semi roaring through the room, six TV channels - four of them in Spanish. I felt thoroughly ripped off.
I went across the street to the local diner - Angie's Restaurant ("Home of the Chicken Fried Steak") and ordered a cheeseburger for supper. The waitress asked me if she hadn't seen me walking on the road earlier. I told her she probably did. "Are you the man walking from San Diego to Washington?" she asked. I told her I was. While I was eating my cheeseburger I heard her talking to some people in the other room. She was speaking Spanish, but every once in a while I heard her say, "San Diego" so I figured she was talking about me.
When I finished and went to pay the bill, the cashier said, "You're the guy walking to Washington to try to get our troops home, aren't you?" I said, "Yes, ma'am - I am." She said, "It's on the house. I hope you're able to do some good." It really struck me. I stammered out a thank you. She said, "No - thank you. Good luck and stay safe, OK?" I promised her I would. It's the first time something like that has happened to me. It made up for the fleabag motel.