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She Drowned in a Field of Buttercups Radical Paper Needed In your review of the books on the assassination [Obs., Nov. 11] you refer to the National Guardian as a “far-left rag.” We’ve been called much worse, I can assure you, but I found your use of this term entirely unworthy and degrading both of yourself and an effort at decent journalism. . . . There was also in the review a seeming effort to separate Mark Lane’s book from the original article which appeared in the National Guardian on Dec. 19, 1963 exactly three years ago. For your information, Mark Lane’s book grew directly out of this article and I have yet to have anyone challenge the accuracy of the information contained in the original piece, entitled “A Brief for Lee Harvey Oswald.” There was no attempt on Lane’s part nor ours to prove Oswald innocent; there was and is a continuing effort on both our parts to insist that the evidence thus far produced would not be enough to convict Oswald if he had been permitted to remain alive to face trial. In the dust jacket Lane states that his book in effeCt grew out of this Guardian article. It might interest you to note further that Lane sought to place his original article in a score of magazines and was turned down by all. We offered to print it and Lane gave it to us. We still think this is in the best tradition of American journalism. 20 The Texas Observer I write this letter more in sadness than anger. I have on many occasions read what you have written in various places and often with admiration. Surely you will agree that there is a place in American journalism for a radical dissenting newspaper, carefully produced and carefully researched, without any gratuitous appellations for it and its work. James Aronson, editor, the National Guardian, 197 E. Fourth St., New York City, N.Y., 10009. What Are We Offering? What are we offering the people in South Viet Nam? We call it “freedom,” but what do they call it? These people have known war for many years, but never like they’re experiencing now. In many villages and hills our soldiers are known as the “White Invaders” and we’ll never know how many of our casualties are caused by the very people we’re supposedly protecting. . . . Our leaders say we must have an “honorable peace,” meaning complete victory at any cost. I believe an honorable peace could be found after carefully considering what we’re doing to these people who are involved in a civil war and what a life of horror we’re forcing on them. We’ve been taught that our country is ruled by its citizens. Can we, as citizens, our country get out of this endless war? We could if enough would make themselves heard and without being branded “Commie” by those who think that “Might makes right.” Mrs. Fern Barnes, 2406 Morning Glory, Pasadena, Texas. Kleenex to Vietnam I was about to send a box of kleenex to our boys in Viet Nam when I read yore purty article about that napalm we’re droppin’. You see, with winter comin’ on an’ all, I figgered our boys might get noomonia or sumpthin’. Now I realize they can burn Viet Namese. I don’t reckon that them Viet Namese burns as well as pin oak or bodark, but I guess if each of our boys keeps a pile of ’em handy, he can probly get thru winter with nary a sniffle. Thanx for savin’ me the price of a box of kleenex.George W. Linden, chairman, Philosophical Studies, Southern Illinois Univ., Edwardsville, Ill., 62025. Ban Stock Companies Anyone who knows the history and theory of insurance agrees that true insurance is a mutual type. It might be well if some brave and fair-minded Legislature could remove all stock companies writing auto insurance in Texas, permitting only mutuals of a certain base size and years of doing business elsewhere. And the state probably would do well to underwrite the insurance for all the bad risks now in the assigned risk pool. There is absolutely no justification for a stock company to take premium reserves and make 6, 7, or 10% on investments, then not account for it in their balance sheet when asking for premium increases.Ray H. Greene, Gilmer, Tex., 75644. Strapped to a field of buttercups I lay in wasted folly And sail shafts of golden light across A yellow field into a waiting hollow. I burst about a sea of roses And swallowed dripping honey Until I was amber drunk With spring about my waist. And above me flew the Crowded sky of clouds and endless plays of patterns That fall in shadows of balloons of shattering color From Dark Town Strutter’s dancing dreams. I listen for the sound of summer heading for a hot July. And lighted greens of swaying fields Of summer grass that Graze upon soft land And flash again the Silent sounds of Summer Running Towards an Autumn of golden pearl and snowy swirl. The sweeping winds ripple the dew covered grasses And sunlight explodes upon green willows dripping in the morning. Somewhere through the trees and to the meadow I felt you sailing towards me leaving silver tracks upon the grass. I giggle at your grass stained legs for you have become part of my morning world without knowing it. And I am asked: WHY DON’T I COME TO LUNCH. “Because I am bound and lashed to a field of buttercups, can’t you see that? I can’t get up at least until the dew melts. Won’t you join me and feed instead on butterfly scales?” But you laughed And threw a bucket of spring water on me And I lay there dripping green and cold. I seemed to swim upon a sea of shallow green, And pulled you down into the grass, and drowned you in the buttercups. “And when you died, I did not cry, But filled your hair, With flowers there, And kissed your lips, And shrouded grass about your hips, And left you there to lie.” DON HYDE