Ultraviolet Thunderpussy's View: Commentary, Vintage Male Photos, Videos.

I was almost 18 months old when you left us - a nation left in shreds a result - we lost that innocence we had and in the fifty years we've been a nation filled with bitterness and pettiness.    You were a mixed blessing of man's flaws and man's hope - a Democrat who was the last of the truth that compassion had to offer and with the respect of dignity in men and asking not what our country can do for us, but what we can do for our country.   On this day, in the fiftieth year of your passing, perhaps no words of higher respect could be uttered today than those of Walt Whitman that he penned at the passing of another great President, Abraham Lincoln - who also was taken by the bullet and whose passing marked the end of another era. O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; O captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.