The sheriff is dead long live the sheriff. The dead speak but we as a people have forgotten how to listen. We hold them in our hands, they course thru our blood they are found in the leaves of the Koran, the psalms, the Torah, the Constitution, the New Testament. They send words of love and woe. And we entwine their labors with our own and form our own body of ideas, of hope.
Labor day approaches.
Let us now salute our neighbor. His trials both honorable and pathetic are our own. So we can laugh and also weep. The sheriff is dead long live the sheriff. Our neighbors await.