Word: lifes
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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This is the marker McCain is laying down in his quest to be President: his life. He doesn't spell out that he knows what it is like to be that lonely man, having spent 5 1/2 years as a prisoner of war in Vietnam, half of it in solitary confinement. His book, Faith of My Fathers, tells the story of how he aspired to follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather, both four-star admirals, and is No. 2 on the best-seller list...
...indulged baby boomer who currently occupies the Oval Office than the restorative repository of moral authority he purports to be. In an interview with Talk magazine, he bragged about not liking to read heavy public-policy tomes and mimicked convicted killer Karla Faye Tucker's begging for her life on Larry King Live (which she never did). He then blew off his foreign policy shortfalls (referring to Greeks as "Grecians," confusing Slovenia with Slovakia) by suggesting he could hire people for that sort of thing. He recently boasted to a class in Bedford, N.H., that "some people are saying...
...votes" he could get. While McCain says he is running "because I owe America more than she has ever owed me," Bush sometimes seems motivated by a need to redeem his father's defeat. He keeps bringing it up in a way that suggests it has been his life's deepest wound. Last Wednesday he said that Buchanan's 1992 candidacy had had a role in derailing his father, and suggested that Ross Perot carried a "vendetta" against his family. In McCain's story his father comes across as a source of humility and as inspiration for public service. Bush...
...life was saved by an Aborigine. His name was Charlie Fishhook. He was driving back toward Broome with his wife and teenage daughter when he saw my wreck on the blacktop. He stopped and checked that I was breathing. He couldn't get much out of me but figured that I must have been fishing at Eco Beach with Danny. So he peeled off and headed for the resort. Meanwhile, some Aborigines of the Bidyadanga people, who lived not far from the crash site, began to converge on the car. They tried gently to free me but couldn't. Later...
Instead I sat there, contemplating the tiny gap between life and death, not sure whether the growing darkness before my eyes was nightfall or my own consciousness shutting down, retracting into itself. Samuel Johnson once said the prospect of being hanged concentrates a man's mind wonderfully. I can testify that the prospect, extended over an hour or two, of dying in a gasoline fireball does much the same. It dissolves your more commonplace troubles--money, divorce--and shows you what you really want to live...