Please, "Bruce," not "Mr. Nichols." That was my dad. I told you this was my hobby. "Bruce," please.

I may have been carried away a bit last night, but I don't often get to go after the big picture about that terrible time in the U.S. military in the mid-1970s. I remember the bearded veterans wearing scruffy field jackets on campus calling me "Lifer." It was both an insult and a warning. I still respect the service they performed, but I couldn't tell them that. Not all of us dwelt for long in the pits of despair in those days. We had heroes who led us out of it. We also learned to take a cold-eyed look at how we arrived where we were and what we needed to do to improve and be worthy of the country that didn't quite know what to think about their defeated army. I remember preparing as a funeral detail officer when the inspector told me how to act if the widow and family threw that folded American flag back in my face or spit on it or me. He told me to say nothing, react not at all, and stand proud as a U.S. Army officer and not give those grieving people any more hurt. I will never forget those three funerals I performed because it was my turn on the duty roster. I look upon one of the darkest chapters in Missouri's long, rich history with that same cold-eyed desire for the truth, but I do it as a gentleman, as I have been raised. After all, this is my adopted state. This is my home now.

As you can probably tell, I focus so much on Missouri guerrilla war, that I may lack the bigger picture of how that was viewed outside of Missouri. Therefore, I may not be the best guy to say if or how the guerrilla war in Missouri inspired or influenced other resisting people in other parts of the world years later. As a lot of folks will tell you, the guerrilla part of that war was not fairly written for many decades, so there wasn't much to give anybody ideas one way or the other until recent years.

Bruce