For Michael Gordon: 'I always thought of him as like a man putting the shattered glass back together' by Don Watson - 2018

15 February 2018, MCG, Melbourne, Australia

I'm very conscious of the fact that I'm just about the last thing standing between you and the bar, so I'll be quick. But I've learnt more about Mick in the last couple of hours than I ever thought I'd know.

I first met Michael in the Hot Man Bar in Jakarta. Not the sort of place you'd expect to meet a Hawthorn supporter, I thought, but it is as it sounds, a low and seamy dive, where we'd all been led by some dissolute embassy official, the tropics or something.

I remember as many people have said today, and I've been looking at it all afternoon [photo on screen], I remember his grin. That sort of hope-affirming world-reforming grin. Anyway, Mick's behaviour was of course beyond reproach and as it was for the next 25 years, and as it always was, impeccable.

In Canberra, just to try and put myself in context, I realise I didn't know him anywhere near as these people who've known him so well for so long.

In the Keating years we used to meet most Wednesday nights at the Tang Dynasty. It was known as 'The Fang', for good reason, and we always drank at least one or two bottles of Cape Mentelle Sauvignon Blanc. If it was a 'two' night - something about that se'nd bo'l which gives you a shocking hangover - I don't know what it is. It wasn't a power dinner in the sense - for instance up at the Ottoman Richo [Senator Graham Richardson] might be sitting down with Laurie Oakes. Ours was a pleasant little affair, there was no power around really. But sometimes ... with Mick you were never conscious of power, but it was there.

But sometimes in his Saturday column he'd refer to a 'Labor insider'. Or 'sources close to the Prime Minister'. I'd have to concede very modestly that, that might have been me. For years afterwards when we were back in Melbourne and he was writing, he'd ring on Thursdays,very often when he was writing his Saturday piece. Even after I could no longer be described as close to - pretty well anyone.

He'd flatter me by asking what I thought, and read his column or a part of it out to me. And invariably after I'd hung up I'd feel like this raving soap box fool who couldn't stop - a dogmatic, a tribalist, an unbalanced person. All I could hear was my own voice coming back, and of course Mick had hardly said anything, he's just waiting. It took me a while to get over it each day.

Mick of course was a balanced person. Since his death, and after he left The Age, 'balance' is probably the word along with 'integrity' that has been most used most often, to describe him. It never seemed to me that his journalism was balanced in the way that critics of the ABC talk about balance. For instance if you have a highly qualified scientist on, then you must have a complete nong on the other side as well to balance it up. Or two people from the IPA, will provide the same balance basically speaking.

Mick's idea of balance was different and I've been thinking about this a lot, and it came from his nature I think. Several people today have been trying to work out where this innate decency in Mick came from.

It was that ... I think it was because of the way the world appeared to him, and I think it was reflected also in those broken staccato sentences in which he spoke. He very rarely finished a sentence, Mick, if you broke it up. And some he didn't even start, they just ... when he was talking, he was like a sort of Victa with a bad carby. But you were never in any doubt about what he was saying, but he wasn't going to get a gig on Brideshead Revisited, or something like that.

It was a bit the same with reading him, that you never felt that he was offering you the whole answer, because I think he didn't really think there was a whole answer for anything. You could read Mick on a Saturday and sort of long for some sort of brutal flourish, some elegant ending that would sum it all up for you. But he always denied you that satisfaction, and I think he was right to do it. Because I think what he saw in politics and the world itself was too complex and multifaceted. The motivations were too obscure, the deceits too general, the personalities too hard to fathom, too hard to judge, too much of the past was flowing through it that wasn't actually past ...

In other words it was just like life.

And that's the way he wrote about politics, like a man ... I always thought of him as like a man putting every week putting the shattered glass back together, as much as of it as he could. Week after week, month after month, year by year and so at the end he had left, what Paul Keating said, was a mountain, a formidable record of what went on in politics and policy and public life over so many decades.

That's a serious accomplishment.

The other word they used all the time is integrity. Now integrity's not always what it's cracked up to be. It means absolutely nothing in a mission statement. It's equally pointless as a company value, and not to be, read it and you know you can't trust them. But more generally and not infrequently in this town it's worn to mask moral or social superiority. It's a bit like a tiara, or an RSL badge or something. It doesn't actually share a room with hypocrisy, but it's on the same floor.

But Mick's integrity came from a different place I think, that's the whole thing. Somebody was talking before about decency, it might have been Fergus. And Fergus it's fabulous to see you because when you were four, you came into my office, that's the last time I saw you, and you pulled the plug out of my computer when I'd just finished a speech. Bauldo (Fergus's dad] was there, he did nothing about it, and there was no back up and that was the end of it. Four hours work. I still get shivers when I think about it. You might have only been three it's alright.

You know the thing about Micks integrity is it came from ... I mean you can hand integrity down but ... you have to be able to take it up yourself, I believe. I think Michael's integrity stemmed from the fact that he actually felt things very deeply. He was vulnerable, I've seen him, as they now say, 'tear up' many times over things I wouldn't have expected. He felt things, he felt hurt himself and he felt it when he saw the hurt between other people. I think that's what his integrity consisted of, that what was good and fair was everything, and should be encouraged and rewarded. And when it wasn't he was hurt.

He was ... I was looking at him before [gesture to photo], he was a Celt after all. His name was Gordon, and he looks like a Celt the more I look at him. So behind all the balance and the evenness and the integrity and the decency in Mick, all these great qualities was passion. He was an incredibly passionate person.

He channelled most of it into Hawthorn, but not all of it. He actually converted me a bit to Hawthorn, I never thought it would happen. But gently over many years he did. He and Cyril Rioli.

So Mick would go off to some .. with this sort of, this 'interior Mick' he'd go to off some blighted Aboriginal community, or to Nehru, or Manus, and do his best to make the case for the dispossessed and maltreated. Say with all his usual balance, 'in the light of this how can we say we are good?'

I think that's what he did, that was the question he was asking us all the time in those essays he wrote.

Now no doubt Mick would be gratified that politicians from all sides have come to praise him now he's dead. We were all of us glad that they did and I don't doubt their sincerity. It would be even more gratifying if they tried to be a bit more like him. Imagine that. I just have one more thing.

I'm sorry, I know, Tim Costello's is going to be doing the prayers but there is this one, it's secular, so don't panic. It's by a Scot called Don Paterson who's a fabulous poet, it's called 'Funeral Prayer'. He says:

Today we friends and strangers meet
Because our friend is now complete.
He has left time, perhaps we feel we are the ghosts and him the real
So fixed and constant does he seem
So star like
May the human dream arise again to find him woken
At it's heart that it be spoken
Once is as miraculous as a thousand times
What utters this by nature told the trees and bird
And bright stars
Yet of all the words we knew his name was the most dear
We give thanks he was spoken here.

for Fiona Richardson: 'Tanja, she’s mad! Way too intense…..You’re too nice to work for her…', by Tanja Kovac - 2017

28 August 2017, Melbourne, Australia

Fiona Richardson MP was a Victorian ALP Minister for Women and the Prevention of Family Violence. She died relatively suddenly from cancer in August 2017. Tanja Kovac was her Chief of Staff. Tanja is National Co-Convenor of EMILY's List Australia, a financial, political and personal support network for progressive Labor women in Parliament.

I didn’t know Fiona Richardson MP before I went to work for her.

A respected and at times feared factional warrior from the Victorian Right, Fiona’s reputation as a fierce political operative preceded her. I understood the kind of tenacity and toughness it took to mix it with the faceless men of the ALP. Fiona had not only survived in that culture she had thrived. She’d even married into it, forming a formidable partnership with former Victorian ALP State Secretary Stephen Newnham.

A couple of days before taking a job as her Senior Advisor in the new Andrews Government, I bumped into Labor mates at the soccer who were shocked when I said I was going into her Ministerial Office.

“Tanja, she’s mad! Way too intense…..You’re too nice to work for her…”

At the same time I would later find out that Fiona was being told similar things. About me. "You can't employ her. She's a feminazi. She's in the Left!"

The more people warned us away; the more we gravitated to each other. Bad-ass bitches, she loved freaking people out whenever we strode together - Left/Right - on a mission.

She brought me in for gender and legal expertise to help manage her Women and Family Violence Prevention portfolios. I stayed and became her Chief because we found in each other a kindred spirit.

It’s one thing to be a Women’s Minister; yet another to invest in women while doing it. Fiona built an all woman Ministerial Office - a coven of witches - all deeply loyal to her. A passionate, pro-choice feminist, unafraid to speak her mind, I focussed on supporting her to be the best leader she could be.

It was a dream job. I wished I’d kept the note she wrote to me on my first day. "We’ll do this as a team”. And so we did. I regret that it took so long for us to find each other. I needed Fiona in my life earlier – a powerhouse political mentor and ally.

My greatest achievement as her Chief of Staff was to get her to finally accept my hugs and spontaneous praise whenever she gave an awesome speech or did something else amazing (which was often). She was a prickly pear, no doubt a physical manifestation of the family violence she had experienced as a child. I wore her down until she hugged me back. It's how I know the love was mutual.

We travelled to New Zealand and New York together to check out innovative family violence services while we waited for the Royal Commission into Family Violence to hand down its findings. We saw many things that inspired us on those trips. But we also had time to get to know each other. It felt very comfortable roaming the streets of a foreign place, talking about our families, kids and politics.

I discovered her eccentricities. The preference for barefeet, the secret love for all things spiritual. She didn't smoke. She didn't drink. She didn't eat meat. She'd fought breast cancer.

She was complex.

An intuitive, intellectual, innovative, ideas person.
A fearless, fearsome, fragile, factional warrior.
A loyal, loving, larrikin, Labor lady.

She was Boadaceia Fi!

Tennyson described the ancient woman warrior “Standing loftily charioted, Mad and Maddening all that heard her in her fierce volubility”.

This is how I think of her: The get-away-with-anything-blonde, with steely blue eyes and patrician tallness. So politically sharp it was dangerous to be around you. A true leader.

She loved ideas. Hers came partly from political nous, but also intuition. It was a wholly powerful combination.

Fiona worked with Rosie Batty on anti-family violence initiatives. (Image supplied.)

It's no accident that she provided the intellectual policy genius in two key areas of Andrews Government Reform - the removal of dangerous Level Crossings and, of course, Family Violence Reform.

She achieved so much in a short space of time.

Overseeing the Royal Commission into Family Violence, getting Respectful Relationships into the State Curriculum, family violence leave for our public sector workers, funding Victoria against Violence and turning the state orange and developing the state’s first Gender Equality Strategy – which the whole nation is now emulating! Her decision to talk about her own family's experience of violence on Australian Story took guts. She touched the lives of so many people. The whole country got to understand why she was such a fearless champion for victim-survivors.

No-one was more destined to be the nation’s first Family Violence Prevention Minister.

What she did for Rosie Batty. Quietly. No fanfare. She’s so grateful. Fiona had unfinished business.

Before she died she was working to create a Family Violence Prevention Agency to change attitudes and behaviours towards violence in the home within a generation. She planned dedicated and long term funding for prevention, protected by legislation. It would be a world first. Now Fiona's Law, as I will think of it, rests with good women and men across Victorian Parliament, to fulfil her legacy.

For those wishing to financially support Fiona's legacy, make donations to Safe Steps Family Violence Response Centre safesteps.org.au or the Luke Batty Foundation lukebattyfoundation.org.au.

for Les Murray: 'This is not a job, it's a mission', by Craig Foster - 2017

14 August 2017, Sydney Australia

Craig Foster is an ex Socceroo and long time broadcasting partner of Les Murray.  Watch the video at SBS on demand.

Football evangelist, missionary of the world game, Les Murray changed both the game in Australia and the nation through his life-long mission to make Australia understand.

Alongside his partner the great Johnny Warren, the two main protagonists in the inexorable rise of the beautiful game in Australia.

More on that in a moment.

Firstly, may I extend the condolences of our football community to Les’s family with particular mention ofthe extraordinary Cida Maria Olsen, who spent the past 15 years with our colleague and nursed Les through his most difficult times, in the past 2.

We witnessed first hand the incrediblelove and devotion Cida gave our brother, how she cooked his meals twice a day when he was in hospital, arranged his schedule, made his apologies and chided him gently over his relentless smoking, to little effect as most of you would be well aware.

Thank you Cida on behalf of the millions of Australians who are part of Les’s extended football family. We owe you a debt of gratitude and you need only ask and football will be there to support you.

Now, to Les’s beloved game.

He appeared on our television screens every week and gave his football sermons, and changed the social fabric of a nation.

Before the game was truly accepted, when it took great moral courage to carry the fight, Les was there. He fought the battle for every immigrant, publicly, on their behalf, as their representative and through the game they shared.

When they arrived here and found little of their beloved game, they could always turn to Les and feel a little more at ease, that someone understood them.

Speaking with his famously perfect pronunciations anddressed impeccably, his pride in the game and its community, in you, in us, was palpable.

I can still hear him so clearly now.. ‘this is not a job, it’s a mission’, he would say. To make Australia see.

Les brought the world’s best football to our screens for a reason, to open our eyes and teach a new generation of kids to emulate the greats. To become great.

The very kids that would later make the Round of 16 in Germany. All part of his personal, lasting legacy.

For this, Australian football is forever in the debt of Les Murray.

He despised any attempts to mutate the game to accommodate the prevailing culture. ‘Let them come to us, in time Australia will learn’. And how they have, Les, how they have.

Les believed in Australian players, Australian coaches, Australia’s destiny in the game.

I remember most fondly his love of seeing Australia play, his heartache when it did not end well, his unbridled joy when we qualified in 05 against Uruguay, young again, as few had lived the torment of the 32 failed years so deeply.

And above all he adored the great players, joga bonito, beautiful play.

‘Where’s the ball son..’ he would yell when Messi dazzled a defender. And when a team toyed with the opponent hecouldn’t hide his pleasure.. ‘they’re hiding the ball..’ he would chuckle, like his mighty Magyars used to do.

Les’s most enjoyable moments, you see, were not when the camera was on, but when it was off, just watching the game. As it should be.

He still played on occasion. Libero like Beckenbaueur, yelling ‘keep the ball.. keep the ball’, and momentarily he was with his heroes Puskas and Di Stefano in ‘60, up 7-3 against Frankfurt, directing the play of his childhood dreams.

I tell you it was glorious to see. The pride. The sheer joy.

Usually, Les could mask his emotion as the consummate professional, though one of our most difficult broadcast moments together, when Italy’s penalty knocked us out of the World Cup is an abiding memory.

We sat, in the bowels of the Fritz-Walter Stadion in Kaiserslautern, waiting as the floor manager counted downto live – ‘ten, nine, eight..’ and neither could look at the other, lest the tears flow.

That is why he had the admiration and trust of our football community - because he cared as much as them.

Speaking of professionalism, while we await our own Ballon d’Or winner, off field we had our own galactico.

He was unquestionably one of the world’s finest football broadcasters. The historical knowledge, the insightful interviews, and when Les worked with the legendary Martin Tyler or football’s other luminaries, they met as equals.

The game we enjoy today is courtesy of the two great warriors who fought our battle, Les and Johnny, whose spiritual leadership brought millions along for the ride, on whose coattails we all sailed into a new era.

And yet Les’s mission went so far beyond where we are today.

And if his passing marks the end of a golden era of the two great champions of our game, leaving us momentarily uneasy, uncertain, for we had the comfort of Les Murray’s guidance and service for three decades, whence to now?

That is why this final farewell is a call to arms to the football community, a moment we must reinforce the dream, reenergize the mission, for Australia to become a football nation and to win the ultimate prize, the FIFA World Cup. Male and female.

Les and Johnny believed it was possible, and so must we all. It can be done.

Only in this way can we complete their work, for their visionary beliefs to come to fruition and change Australia forever, for the better.

Football and Australia, a match made in heaven we might say, from where Les and his mate Johnny now judge our contribution.

‘What are you all going to do now?’, I hear them ask.

‘How are you going to bring our vision to reality?’

Well, friends of football, if I may answer on our behalf, we will fight, and dream and believe until the mission is achieved. Les did his duty, this is ours.

Les Murray lived his life for Australian football and to change Australian society through preaching the gospel of the beautiful game.

May he rest in peace knowing that his work will continue. That is the best eulogy you, I, we can provide.

So rest well old friend, alongside Johnny. We’ll miss you dearly.

It will be a grand day when we can again discuss football in the world game studio in the sky.

for Heather Heyer: 'You never think you’re going to bury your child', by Susan Bro - 2017

16 August 2017, Charlottesville, Virginia, USA

Heather Heyer was run down by a neo Nazi at a rally in Charlottesville. Her death shocked the world. This is the eulogy delivered by her mother.

My child’s famous Facebook post was: "If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention." She paid attention. She made a lot of us pay attention. Oh, my gosh, dinner with her, we knew, was going to be an ordeal of listening. And conversation. And perhaps disagreement, but it was going to happen. And so, my husband would say, "OK, I’m going to go out in the car and play on my video game for a while." And we would sit and would grill. And she and I would talk, and I would listen. And we would negotiate, and I would listen.

And we talked about all this stuff. We talked about politics. We talked about anything that caught her eye that she felt was fair, unfair. She’d talk about her feelings about the office and how things were going. I mean, she just talked. The girl loved to talk. And she was single, so there was nobody to listen at home, so mama got a lot of it. And that was wonderful.

You never think you’re going to bury your child. You never think to take those pictures. They asked me for pictures for this, and I struggled. I had pictures from her childhood. But I had to go to Facebook to find pictures of my child, because we were always together. I saw her a couple times a month, at least, and we would text each other fairly often, and we would Facebook message at bedtime, "I love you," "I love you. You doing OK?" "Yeah, I love you." So I have no regrets on that part. Take pictures of the ones that you love, because you don’t know when they’re not going to be there.

But here’s what I want to say to you today. This could be a storm in a teacup, and it could all be for nothing. This could have—I could have said, "Let’s don’t do this publicly. Let’s have a small private funeral." But, you know, that’s not who Heather was. Anybody who knew Heather said, "Yeah, this is the way she had to go, big and large." Had to have the world involved, because that’s my child. She’s just that way. Always has been, and she will continue to be.

Because here’s the message. Although Heather was a caring and compassionate person, so are a lot of you. A lot of you go that extra mile. And I think the reason that what happened to Heather has struck a chord is because we know that what she did is achievable. We don’t all have to die. We don’t all have to sacrifice our lives. They tried to kill my child to shut her up. Well, guess what. You just magnified her.

Thank you. Thank you.

So, here’s what I want to happen. You ask me, "What can I do?" So many caring people, pages of pages of pages of stuff I’m going through. I’m reading pages of pages of pages how she’s touching the world. I want this to spread. I don’t want this to die. This is just the beginning of Heather’s legacy. This is not the end of Heather’s legacy.

You need to find in your heart that small spark of accountability. What is there that I can do to make the world a better place? What injustice do I see—and want to turn away: "I don’t really want to get involved in that. I don’t want to speak up. They’ll be annoyed with me. My boss might think less of me." I don’t care. You poke that finger at yourself, like Heather would have done, and you make it happen. You take that extra step. You find a way to make a difference in the world.

My child had a high school education. My child was no saint. She was hard to raise, because everything was a negotiation. Not kidding. But you know what? She was a firm believer in whatever she believed. And let’s do that. Let’s find that spark of conviction. Let’s find in ourselves that action. Let’s spread this. Let’s have the uncomfortable dialogue.

It ain’t easy sitting down and saying, "Well, why are you upset?" It ain’t easy sitting down and going, "Yeah, well, I think this way. And I don’t agree with you, but I’m going to respectfully listen to what you have to say. We’re not going to sit around and shake hands and go 'Kumbaya.' And I’m sorry, it’s not all about forgiveness. I know that that’s not a popular trend. But the truth is, we are going to have our differences. We are going to be angry with each other. But let’s channel that anger, not into hate, not into violence, not into fear, but let’s channel that difference, that anger, into righteous action."

Right now, down the road, there is a blood drive going on in Heather’s name. Right now, there are people who are here willing to listen to one another and talk to one another. Last night in New England, they had a peaceful rally in Heather’s name to have some difficult dialogues. If you ever want to see what one of those dialogues looks like, look at her Facebook post. I’m telling you, they were rough sometimes. But they were dialogues. And the conversations have to happen. That’s the only way we’re going to carry Heather’s spark through.

So, remember in your heart: If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention. And I want you to pay attention, find what’s wrong. Don’t ignore it. Don’t look the other way. You make it a point to look at it, and say to yourself, "What can I do to make a difference?" And that’s how you’re going to make my child’s death worthwhile. I’d rather have my child, but, by golly, if I got to give her up, we’re going to make it count.

for Richard Nixon: 'He never gave up being part of the action and passion of his times' by Bill Clinton -

27 April 1994, Nixon Library, Washington DC, USA

President Nixon opened his memoirs with a simple sentence: "I was born in a house my father built." Today we can look back at this little house and still imagine a young boy sitting by the window of the attic he shared with his three brothers, looking out to a world he could then himself only imagine. From those humble roots, as from so many humble beginnings in this country, grew the force of a driving dream. A dream that led to the remarkable journey that ends here today, where it all began beside the same tiny home, mail-ordered from back East, near this towering pepper tree, which back then was a mere seedling.

President Nixon's journey across the American landscapes mirrored that of his entire nation in this remarkable century. His life was bound up with the striving of our whole people, with our crises and our triumphs.

When he became President, he took on challenges here at home on matters from cancer research to environmental protection, putting the power of the Federal Government where Republicans and Democrats had neglected to put it in the past, and in foreign policy. He came to the Presidency at a time in our history when Americans were tempted to say we had had enough of the world. Instead, he knew we had to reach out to old friends and old enemies alike. He would not allow America to quit the world.

Remarkably, he wrote nine of his ten books after he left the Presidency, working his way back into the arena he so loved by writing and thinking and engaging us in his dialogue. For the past year, even in the final weeks of his life, he gave me his wise counsel, especially with regard to Russia. One thing in particular left a profound impression on me. Though this man was in his ninth decade, he had an incredibly sharp and vigorous and rigorous mind. As a public man, he always seemed to believe the greatest sin was remaining passive in the face of challenges, and he never stopped living by that creed. He gave of himself with intelligence and energy and devotion to duty, and his entire country owes him a debt of gratitude for that service.

Oh, yes, he knew great controversy amid defeat as well as victory. He made mistakes, and they, like his accomplishments, are a part of his life and record. But the enduring lesson of Richard Nixon is that he never gave up being part of the action and passion of his times. He said many times that unless a person has a goal, a new mountain to climb, his spirit will die. Well, based on our last phone conversation and the letter he wrote me just a month ago, I can say that his spirit was very much alive to the very end.

That is a great tribute to him, to his wonderful wife, Pat, to his children and to his grandchildren, whose love he so depended on and whose love he returned in full measure. Today is a day for his family, his friends, and his nation to remember President Nixon's life in totality. To them, let us say: may the day of judging President Nixon on anything less than his entire life and career come to a close.

May we heed his call to maintain the will and the wisdom to build on America's greatest gift, its freedom, and to lead a world full of difficulty to the just and lasting peace he dreamed of.

As it is written in the words of a hymn I heard in my church last Sunday, "Grant that I may realize that the trifling of life creates differences, but that in the higher things we are all one." In the twilight of his life, President Nixon knew that lesson well. It is, I feel, certainly a fate he would want us all to keep.

And so, on behalf of all four former Presidents who are here - President Ford, President Carter, President Reagan, President Bush - and on behalf of a grateful nation, we bid farewell to Richard Milhous Nixon.

for King George VI: 'All these were aspects of his character which won the glint of admiration', by Winston Churchill

7 February 1952, London, United Kingdom

My friends

When the death of the King was announced to us yesterday morning there struck a deep and solemn note in our lives which, as it resounded far and wide, stilled the clatter and traffic of twentieth-century life in many lands, and made countless millions of human beings pause and look around them. A new sense of values took, for the time being, possession of human minds, and mortal existence presented itself to so many at the same moment in its serenity and in its sorrow, in its splendour and in its pain, in its fortitude and in its suffering.

The King was greatly loved by all his peoples. He was respected as a man and as a prince far beyond the many realms over which he reigned. The simple dignity of his life, his manly virtues, his sense of duty - alike as a ruler and a servant of the vast spheres and communities for which he bore responsibility - his gay charm and happy nature, his example as a husband and a father in his own family circle, his courage in peace or war - all these were aspects of his character which won the glint of admiration, now here, now there, from the innumerable eyes whose gaze falls upon the Throne.

We thought of him as a young naval lieutenant in the great Battle of Jutland. We thought of him when calmly, without ambition, or want of self-confidence, he assumed the heavy burden of the Crown and succeeded his brother whom he loved and to whom he had rendered perfect loyalty. We thought of him, so faithful in his study and discharge of State affairs; so strong in his devotion to the enduring honour of our country; so self-restrained in his judgments of men and affairs; so uplifted above the clash of party politics, yet so attentive to them; so wise and shrewd in judging between what matters and what does not.

All this we saw and admired. His conduct on the Throne may well be a model and a guide to constitutional sovereigns throughout the world today and also in future generations. The last few months of King George's life, with all the pain and physical stresses that he endured - his life hanging by a thread from day to day, and he all the time cheerful and undaunted, stricken in body but quite undisturbed and even unaffected in spirit - these have made a profound and an enduring impression and should be a help to all.

He was sustained not only by his natural buoyancy, but by the sincerity of his Christian faith. During these last months the King walked with death as if death were a companion, an acquaintance whom he recognized and did not fear. In the end death came as a friend, and after a happy day of sunshine and sport, and after "good night" to those who loved him best, he fell asleep as every man or woman who strives to fear God and nothing else in the world may hope to do.

The nearer one stood to him the more these facts were apparent. But the newspapers and photographs of modern times have made vast numbers of his subjects able to watch with emotion the last months of his pilgrimage. We all saw him approach his journey's end. In this period of mourning and meditation, amid our cares and toils, every home in all the realms joined together under the Crown may draw comfort for tonight and strength for the future from his bearing and his fortitude.

There was another tie between King George and his people. It was not only sorrow and affliction that they shared. Dear to the hearts and the homes of the people is the joy and pride of a united family. With this all the troubles of the world can be borne and all its ordeals at least confronted. No family in these tumultuous years was happier or loved one another more than the Royal Family around the King.

No Minister saw so much of the King during the war as I did. I made certain he was kept informed of every secret matter, and the care and thoroughness with which he mastered the immense daily flow of State papers made a deep mark on my mind.

Let me tell you another fact. On one of the days when Buckingham Palace was bombed the King had just returned from Windsor. One side of the courtyard was struck, and if the windows opposite out of which he and the Queen were looking had not been, by the mercy of God, open, they would both have been blinded by the broken glass instead of being only hurled back by the explosion. Amid all that was then going on, although I saw the King so often, I never heard of this episode till a long time after. Their Majesties never mentioned it or thought it of more significance than a soldier in their armies would of a shell bursting near him. This seems to me to be a revealing trait in the royal character.

There is no doubt that of all the institutions which have grown up among us over the centuries, or sprung into being in our lifetime, the constitutional monarchy is the most deeply founded and dearly cherished by the whole association of our peoples. In the present generation it has acquired a meaning incomparably more powerful than anyone had dreamed possible in former times. The Crown has become the mysterious link, indeed I may say the magic link, which unites our loosely bound, but strongly interwoven Commonwealth of nations, states, and races....

For fifteen years George VI was King. Never at any moment in all the perplexities at home and abroad, in public or in private, did he fail in his duties. Well does he deserve the farewell salute of all his governments and peoples.

It is at this time that our compassion and sympathy go out to his consort and widow. Their marriage was a love match with no idea of regal pomp or splendour. Indeed, there seemed to be before them only the arduous life of royal personages, denied so many of the activities of ordinary folk and having to give so much in ceremonial public service. May I say - speaking with all freedom - that our hearts go out tonight to that valiant woman, with famous blood of Scotland in her veins, who sustained King George through all his toils and problems, and brought up with their charm and beauty the two daughters who mourn their father today. May she be granted strength to bear her sorrow.

To Queen Mary, his mother, another of whose sons is dead - the Duke of Kent having been killed on active service - there belongs the consolation of seeing how well he did his duty and fulfilled her hopes, and of knowing how much he cared for her.

Now I must leave the treasures of the past and turn to the future. Famous have been the reigns of our queens. Some of the greatest periods in our history have unfolded under their sceptre. Now that we have the second Queen Elizabeth, also ascending the Throne in her twenty-sixth year, our thoughts are carried back nearly four hundred years to the magnificent figure who presided over and, in many ways, embodied and inspired the grandeur and genius of the Elizabethan age.

Queen Elizabeth II, like her predecessor, did not pass her childhood in any certain expectation of the Crown. But already we know her well, and we understand why her gifts, and those of her husband, the Duke of Edinburgh, have stirred the only part of the Commonwealth she has yet been able to visit. She has already been acclaimed as Queen of Canada.

We make our claim too, and others will come forward also, and tomorrow the proclamation of her sovereignty will command the loyalty of her native land and of all other parts of the British Commonwealth and Empire. I, whose youth was passed in the august, unchallenged and tranquil glories of the Victorian era, may well feel a thrill in invoking once more the prayer and the anthem, "God save the Queen!"

For for Jacqueline Kennedy-Onassis: 'She was a lesson to the world on how to do things right', Onassis by Edward Kennedy - 1994

23 May 1994, St. Ignatius Loyola Roman Catholic Church, Washington DC, USA

Last summer, when we were on the upper deck on the boat at the Vineyard, waiting for President and Mrs. Clinton to arrive, Jackie turned to me and said: "Teddy, you go down and greet the President."

"But," I said, "Maurice is already there."

And Jackie answered: "Teddy, you do it. Maurice isn't running for re-election."

She was always there--for all our family--in her special way.

She was a blessing to us and to the nation-and a lesson to the world on how to do things right, how to be a mother, how to appreciate history, how to be courageous.

No one else looked like her, spoke like her, wrote like her, or was so original in the way she did things. No one we knew ever had a better sense of self.

Eight months before she married Jack, they went together to President Eisenhower's Inaugural Ball. Jackie said later that that's where they decided they liked Inaugurations.

No one ever gave more meaning to the title of First Lady. The nation's capital city looks as it does because of her. She saved Lafayette Square and Pennsylvania Avenue.

Jackie brought the greatest artists to the white House, and brought the Arts to the center of national attention. Today, in large part because of her inspiration and vision, the arts are an abiding part of national policy.

President Kennedy took such delight in her brilliance and her spirit. At a white House dinner, he once leaned over and told the wife of the French Ambassador, "Jackie speaks fluent French. But I only understand one out of every five words she says--and that word is DeGaulle."

And then, during those four endless days in 1963, she held us together as a family and a country. In large part because of her, we could grieve and then go on, She lifted us up, and in the doubt and darkness, she gave her fellow citizens back their pride as Americans. She was then 34 years old.

Afterward, as the eternal fame she lit flickered in the autumn of Arlington Cemetery, Jackie went on to do what she most wanted--to raise Caroline and John, and warm her family's life and that of all the Kennedys.

Robert Kennedy sustained her, and she helped make it possible for Bobby to continue. She kept Jack's memory alive, as he carried Jack's mission on. Her two children turned out to be extraordinary, honest, unspoiled, and with a character equal to hers. And she did it in the most trying of circumstances. They are her two miracles.

Her love for Caroline and John was deep and unqualified. She reveled in their accomplishments, she hurt with their sorrows, and she felt sheer joy and delight in spending time with them. At the mere mention of one of their names, Jackie's eyes would shine brighter and her smile would grow bigger.

She once said that if you "bungle raising your children nothing else much matters in life." She didn't bungle. Once again, she showed how to do the most important thing of all, and do it right.

When she went to work, Jackie became a respected professional in the world of publishing. And because of her, remarkable books came to life. She searched out new authors and ideas. She was interested in everything.

Her love of history became a devotion to historic preservation. You knew, when Jackie joined the cause to save a building in Manhattan, the bulldozers might as well turn around and go home.

She had a wonderful sense of humor--a way of focusing on someone with total attention--and a little girl delight in who they were and what they were saying. It was a gift of herself that she gave to others. And in spite of all her heartache and loss, she never faltered.

I often think of what she said about Jack in December after he died: "They made him a legend, when he would have preferred to be a man.' Jackie would have preferred to be just herself, but the world insisted that she be a legend, too.

She never wanted public notice, in part I think, because it brought back painful memories of an unbearable sorrow, endured in the glare of a million lights.

In all the years since then, her genuineness and depth of character continued to shine through the privacy to reach people everywhere. Jackie was too young to be a widow in 1963, and too young to die now.

Her grandchildren were bringing new joy to her life, a joy that illuminated her face whenever you saw them together. Whether it was taking Rose and Tatiana for an ice cream cone, or taking a walk in Central Park with little Jack as she did last Sunday, she relished being Grand Jackie and showering her grandchildren with love.

At the end, she worried more about us tan herself. She let her family and friends know she was thinking of them. How cherished were those wonderful notes in her distinctive hand on her powder blue stationery!

In truth, she did everything she could--and more--for each of us.

She made a rare and noble contribution to the American spirit. But for us, most of all she was a magnificent wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, and friend.

She graced our history. And for those of us who knew and loved her--she graced our lives.

for Michael Clarke Duncan: 'I pray this story is true', by Tom Hanks - 2012

10 September 2012, Forest Lawn Memorial-Park and Mortuaries, Los Angeles, USA

Michael Clarke Duncan acted beside Hanks in the movie The Green Mile.

I pray this story is true, that he himself told me. Michael grew up in a part of Chicago that we three stooges are not really familiar with. There’s gangs in the neighborhood when he was growing up. And one of the gangs illuminated themselves their trademark was they had a little patch of red dyed into their afro, their hair.

Big Mike said, he told me, “I kind of like these guys, these guys were cool.” Big Mike decided to join this gang. And I said “How do you decide to join a gang?” He said “You walk up to them and say I’d like to be in your gang.” And then they beat the crap out of you for 20 minutes. And that’s how you get in the gang. So after being beat and having the crap kicked out of him for 20 minutes, Michael was a member of this gang and they took some red dye or whatever it is and gave him a little patch in his head and he goes home.

He said: “And my mama was in the kitchen, and she was cooking something at the stove and I sat down – I sat down in the chair, I kind of like cocked my head, so that she could see my new little red patch.” Now I just saw his mama and she is about as tall as this podium, I’m guessing she is as tall as the stove itself was. So this is how it went: “what’s that in your head, Mike?” “Oh! Yes, that’s my trademark ma, I am in a gang.” “Oh, really, you’re in a gang now.” That’s when I’m going to go aha.

She came down with this frying pan across his head and I’m guessing porkchop went flying all over the place. And he is on the other side of the kitchen now, crying, “oh oh mama” And mother says – as she is porking the pork, sticking the fork in the porkchop, putting it back in the pan. She said “you go get – you borrow some scissors from your sister, you cut that thing out of your hair.” She goes back. “Oh! I love those.”

So Michael went, got the (indecipherable) went to the mirror, “Oh, mummy,” cut it off. So now he has beautiful afro, naturally got this big dent in it, right where the big crater in it, where it used to be this red thing. And he goes back “Okay, mama, I cut it out my hair.” “Now you go tell your friends, you ain’t in that gang.”

I said, “So what did you do?” I went to the corner where the gang was, and I found them and I said, “My mama says I can’t be in your gang.” (laughing) I said “What do they do?” He said:

“They beat the crap out of me the second time.”

For Mahatma Gandhi: 'The light has gone out, I said, and yet I was wrong', by Jawaharlal Nehru

10 February 1948, Allahabad, India

If, as I believe, his spirit looks upon us and sees us, nothing would displease his soul so much as to see that we have indulged in any small behavior or any violence.

Friends and comrades, the light has gone out of our lives and there is darkness everywhere. I do not know what to tell you and how to say it. Our beloved leader, Bapu as we called him, the father of the nation, is no more. Perhaps I am wrong to say that. Nevertheless, we will not see him again as we have seen him for these many years. We will not run to him for advice and seek solace from hi, and that is a terrible blow, not to me only, but to millions and millions in this country, and it is a little difficult to soften the blow by any other advise that I or anyone else can give you.

The light has gone out, I said, and yet I was wrong. For the light that shone in this country was no ordinary light. The light that has illumined this country for these many years will illumine this country for many more years, and a thousand years later that light will still be seen in this country, and the world will see it and it will give solace to innumerable hearts. For that light represented the living truth … the eternal truths, reminding us of the right path, drawing us from error, taking this ancient country to freedom.

All this has happened when there was so much more for him to do. We could never think that he was unnecessary or that he had done his task. But now, particularly, when we are faced with so many difficulties, his not being with us is a blow most terrible to bear.

A madman has put an end to his life, for I can only call him mad who did it, and yet there has been enough of poison spread in this country during the past years and months, and this poison has effect on people’s minds. We must face this poison, we must root out this poison, and we must face all the perils that encompass and face them not madly or badly but rather in the way that our beloved teacher taught us to face them. The first thing to remember no wish that no one of us dare misbehave because we’re angry. We have to behave like strong and determined people, determined to face all the perils that surround us, determined to carry out the mandate that our great teacher and our great leader had given us, remembering always that if, as I believe, his spirit looks upon us and sees you, nothing would displease his soul so much as to see that we have indulged in any small behavior or any violence.

So we must not do that. But that does not mean that we should be weak, but rather that we should in strength and in unity face all the troubles and difficulties and conflicts must be ended in the face of this great disaster. A great disaster is a symbol to us to remember all the big things of life and forget the small things, of which we have thought too much

For Malcolm X: 'A Prince, our own black shining Prince', by Ossie Davis - 1965

27 February 1965, Faith Temple Church of God, Harlem, NYC, New York, USA

Here - at this final hour, in this quiet place - Harlem has come to bid farewell to one of its brightest hopes -extinguished now, and gone from us forever. For Harlem is where he worked and where he struggled and fought - his home of homes, where his heart was, and where his people are - and it is, therefore, most fitting that we meet once again - in Harlem - to share these last moments with him. For Harlem has ever been gracious to those who have loved her, have fought her, and have defended her honor even to the death.

It is not in the memory of man that this beleaguered, unfortunate, but nonetheless proud community has found a braver, more gallant young champion than this Afro-American who lies before us - unconquered still. I say the word again, as he would want me to : Afro-American -
Afro-American Malcolm, who was a master, was most meticulous in his use of words. Nobody knew better than he the power words have over minds of men. Malcolm had stopped being a 'Negro' years ago. It had become too small, too puny, too weak a word for him. Malcolm was bigger than that. Malcolm had become an Afro-American and he wanted - so desperately - that we, that all his people, would become Afro-Americans too.

There are those who will consider it their duty, as friends of the Negro people, to tell us to revile him, to flee, even from the presence of his memory, to save ourselves by writing him out of the history of our turbulent times. Many will ask what Harlem finds to honor in this stormy, controversial and bold young captain - and we will smile. Many will say turn away - away from this man, for he is not a man but a demon, a monster, a subverter and an enemy of the black man - and we will smile. They will say that he is of hate - a fanatic, a racist - who can only bring evil to the cause for which you struggle! And we will answer and say to them : Did you ever talk to Brother Malcolm? Did you ever touch him, or have him smile at you? Did you ever really listen to him? Did he ever do a mean thing? Was he ever himself associated with violence or any public disturbance? For if you did you would know him. And if you knew him you would know why we must honor him.

Malcolm was our manhood, our living, black manhood! This was his meaning to his people. And, in honoring him, we honor the best in ourselves. Last year, from Africa, he wrote these words to a friend: 'My journey', he says, 'is almost ended, and I have a much broader scope than when I started out, which I believe will add new life and dimension to our struggle for freedom and honor and dignity in the States. I am writing these things so that you will know for a fact the tremendous sympathy and support we have among the African States for our Human Rights struggle. The main thing is that we keep a United Front wherein our most
valuable time and energy will not be wasted fighting each other.' However we may have differed with him - or with each other about him and his value as a man - let his going from us serve only to bring us together, now.

Consigning these mortal remains to earth, the common mother of all, secure in the knowledge that what we place in the ground is no more now a man - but a seed - which, after the winter of our discontent, will come forth again to meet us. And we will know him then for what he was and is - a Prince - our own black shining Prince! - who didn't hesitate to die, because he loved us so.

for Ernesto Che Guevara: 'What they gained with a lucky blow was to eliminate his physical life', by Fidel Castro - 1967

18 October 1967, Plaza de al Revolution, Havana, Cuba

Revolutionary comrades: It was a day in July or August of 1955 when we first met El Che. And in one night, as tell in his accounts, he became a future Granma expeditionary. But at that time that expedition had neither ships, weapons, nor troops. And this was the way El Che, together with Raul, joined the first two groups on the Granma list.

Since then, 12 years have gone by, 12 years fraught with struggles and obstructions. Through these years death reaped many valuable and irreparable lives, but at the same time, through these years, extraordinary people emerged in our revolution and were molded among men of the revolution. And ties of affection and friendship were made among these men and the people, ties which went further that it is possible to express.

Tonight we are gathered here, you and I, to try to express these sentiments in some way with regard to one who was one of the most familiar, one of the most admired, one of the most beloved, and, without any doubt, the most extraordinary of our comrades of revolution, to express these sentiment to him and to the heroes who have fought and have fallen beside him—his internationalist army which has been writing a glorious page of history.

Che was on of those persons whom everybody liked immediately because of his simplicity, because of his nature, because of his naturalness, because of his comradeship, because of his personality, because of his originality, even before his other singular virtues were revealed. During those first moments he was the doctor of our troop, and thus our bonds emerged and thus our feelings emerged. He was soon to be impregnated with a profound spirit of hatred and contempt for imperialism, not only because his political makeup was already considerably developed, but because only a short time before he had had the opportunity to witness in Guatemala the criminal imperialist intervention through the mercenary soldiers who overthrew the revolution in that country.

For a man such as he, many arguments were not necessary. It was enough for him to know that Cuba lived under a similar situation. It was enough for him that there were men determined to fight that situation with weapons in hand. It was enough for him to know that those men were inspired by genuinely revolutionary and patriotic sentiments. That was more than enough. In this manner, one day near the end of November 1955, he began the trip to Cuba with us. I recall that the crossing was very difficult for him because, in the circumstances under which it was necessary to organize the departure, he could not even obtain the medicines that he needed, and he suffered a sever attack of asthma during the entire crossing without any relief, but also without a single complain.

We arrived. We began the first marches. We suffered the first setback. And after a few weeks, we met again, as you know, that small group of those who were left of the Granma expedition. Che continued to be the doctor of our troop.

The first victorious battle was waged and Che then became a soldier of our troop; at the same time he was still the doctor.

The second victorious battle was waged and Che the soldier became the most distinguished of the soldiers in that battle, for the first time accomplishing one of those singular exploits which characterized him in all the actions.

Our force continued to develop and a battle of extraordinary importance at that time was waged. The situation was different. Reports were erroneous in many aspects. We were going to attack a strongly defended position in full daylight, in the morning, at the edge of the sea. It was well armed and we had enemy troops at our rear, very near. Under conditions of confusion which it was necessary to ask the men to make a supreme effort, after Comrade Juan Almaida had begun one of the most difficult missions, one of the flanks still did not have enough men. It lacked an attacking force, which could endanger the operation. At that moment, Che, who was still the doctor, asked for three or four men, among them a man with an automatic rifle. In a matter of seconds he quickly began to assume the mission of attack from that direction. On that occasion he was not only a distinguished fighter but he also was a distinguished doctor, giving assistance to the wounded comrades and at the same time caring for the wounded enemy soldiers. And when it was necessary to abandon that position, once all the weapons were captured, and begin a long march besieged by various enemy forces, it was necessary for somebody to stay with the wounded. El Che stayed with the wounded, helped by a small group of our soldiers. He cared for them. He saved their lives and joined them in the column later.

From that moment in which he was outstanding as a capable and brave commander. El Che, this type of man who when a different mission has to be done does not wait, does not wait to be asked – arrived and completed the mission. This he did during the battle of Uvero, and he did this, too, on an occasion, not mentioned in the early stages, when, because of a betrayal, our small force was attacked by surprise by many planes. As we were retreating under the bombing and had already walked some distance, we remembered some rifles of some peasant soldiers who had been with us during the first actions and who had later asked permission to visit their families – there was still not much discipline in our young army – and at the moment we considered the possibility that the rifles would be lost. No sooner was the problem brought up, under the bombing, when El Che volunteered and, and he did so, left rapidly to bring back the rifles.

That was one of his outstanding characteristics – immediate willingness, instantaneous readiness to volunteer for the most dangerous mission. Naturally this elicited admiration, double admiration for that comrade who fought beside us, who was not born in this land, who was a man of profound ideas, who was a man in whose mind surged dreams of struggle in other parts of the continent and yet, that altruism, that unselfishness, that willingness to do the most difficult always, to risk his life constantly. It was in this way that he won his rank of major and of commander of the second column that was organized in the Sierra Maestra. In this way his prestige grew. His fame began to grow as a magnificent fighter, which was to carry him to the highest ranks in the course of the war.

Che was an unbeatable soldier, commander. From a military standpoint Che was an extraordinary capable man, extraordinarily brave, extraordinarily aggressive. If he had and Achilles heel as a guerrilla, that Achilles heel was his excessive aggressiveness. It has his absolute scorn for danger. The enemies try to draw conclusion about his death. Che was a master of war.

Che was an artist in guerrilla warfare. He demonstrated this an infinite number of times, but above all in two extraordinary exploits. One of them was the invasion at the head of a column, a column which was pursued by thousands of soldiers through territory that was absolutely open and unknown. He accomplished with Camilo a formidable military feat.

But, in addition, he demonstrated it in his brilliant campaign in Las Villas, and he demonstrated it above all in his daring attack on the city of Santa Clara, entering a city defended by tanks, artillery, and several thousand infantry soldiers with a column of barely 300 men.

Those two exploits mark him as an extraordinarily able chief, a master, an artist of revolutionary warfare. Nevertheless, after his heroic and glorious death they attempt to deny the veracity or worth of his guerrilla concepts and ideas. The artist can die, particularly when he is an artist in such a dangerous art as the revolutionary struggle, but what cannot die under any circumstances is the art to which he dedicated his life and to which he dedicated his intelligence.

Why is it so strange that this artist should die in a battle? It is much more extraordinary that on the many occasions that he risked his life he was not killed during some battle. Many were the times in which it was necessary to take action to prevent him fro getting killed in actions of minor importance. And so in a battle, in one of the many battles that he waged, he lost his life. We do not have enough evidence to make a judgment as to all the circumstances preceding that battle, as to the degree in which he may have acted in an overly aggressive manner, but we repeat that if as a guerrilla he had an Achilles heel, that Achilles heel was his excessive aggressiveness, his absolute contempt for danger.

That was where it was difficult to agree with him, because we understand that his life, his experience, his ability as a veteran chief, his prestige, and everything that he signified in life, were much more, incomparable more, valuable that he perhaps realized himself. The idea that men have a relative value in history may have profoundly influenced his conduct; the idea that causes cannot be defeated when men fall and that the uncontainable march of history does not stop nor will it stop because the commanders fall. And this is certain, this cannot be doubted. This shows his faith in mankind, his faith in ideas, his faith in setting an example. Yet, as I said a few days ago, I would have wholeheartedly wished to have seen him as the molder of victories, molding under his leadership, molding under his direction, the victories, because men of his experience, of his caliber, of his singular ability are uncommon men. We are able to appreciate all the value of his example and we have the most absolute conviction that this example will serve as emulation and will serve to bring men similar to him from the bosom of the people.

It is not easy to find in one person all the virtues found in him. It is not easy for a person to be able spontaneously to develop a personality like his. I would say that he is the type of man who is difficult to equal and practically impossible to improve upon. But I would also say that men like him are able with their example to help the rise of other men like him.

We not only admire the warrior in El Che, the man capable of great feats, and what he did and what he was doing, that fact in itself of facing alone with a handful of men an entire oligarchic army trained by Yankee advisers, supplied by Yankee imperialism, supported by the oligarchies of all the neighboring nations, that fact in itself is an extraordinary feat. If one seeks in the pages of history one may not possibly find a single case in which somebody with such a small number of men had embarked on such a large-scale task, in which somebody with such a small number of men had embarked on a struggle against such considerable forces. It is proof of his self-confidence. It is proof of his confidence in the people. It is proof of his confidence in the capacity of men for combat. One may seek in the pages of history and nothing comparable will be found.

And he fell. The enemies believe that they have defeated his ideas, that they have defeated his guerrilla concepts, that they have defeated his viewpoints on the armed revolutionary struggle. What they gained with a lucky blow was to eliminate his physical life. What they did was to achieve the accidental advantages which an enemy may achieve in war. That lucky blow, that stroke of fortune, we do not know to what degree it was helped by that characteristic, to which we referred before, of excessive aggressiveness and absolute contempt for danger in a battle like so many battles. It also happened during our war of independence, in a battle at Dos Rios, where they killed the apostle of our independence. In a battle at Punta Brava they killed Antonio Maceo, veteran of hundred battles. In similar battles a number of chiefs were killed, a number of patriots of our independence wars. Nevertheless, that was not the defeat of the Cuban cause.

The death of Che, as we said a few days ago, is a hard blow, it is a tremendous blow to the revolutionary movement because, without any doubt, it deprives it of its most experienced and capable chief. But they who sing victory are mistaken. They are mistaken who believe that his death is the defeat of his ideas, the defeat of his tactics, the defeat of his guerrilla concepts, the defeat of his thesis, because that man who fell as a mortal man, as a man who many times exposed himself to bullets, as a military man, as a chief, he was a thousand time more capable than those who with one stroke of luck killed him.

However, how must revolutionaries face this adverse blow? How must they face this loss? What would be Che’s opinion if he had to make a judgment on this subject? He expressed that opinion very clearly when he wrote in his message to the Latin American solidarity Organization that if death surprised him at any place, it would be welcome, providing that his battle cry had reached a receptive ear and another hand was stretched out to grasp a weapon. And that was his battle cry. It will not reach one receptive ear, but millions of receptive ears, not one hand, but millions of hands outstretching to grasp weapons, inspired by his example. New commanders will arise. Men will need commanders who will rise from the rank and file of the people, just as commanders have arisen in all revolutions. Those hands will not be able to count on a commander of the extraordinary experience, of the enormous ability of El Che. Those commanders will be formed from among the millions who sooner or later will take up arms.

for Paul Cox: "At this stage I believe in nothing and everything", by John Clarke - 2016

filmmaker Paul Cox died on 18 June 2016, Melbourne, Australia

There is no available audio or video of this speech

When Paul Cox was moved from hospital into palliative care, we prepared ourselves for tough news. Paul was getting smaller and weaker, his voice was in retreat and family and friends had attended his bedside to say their goodbyes.

His siblings flew out from Europe. I didn't expect to see him again. A week or so later, Paul decided he was going home and explained to the palliative care people that although he loved them dearly, he would not be dying just yet.

He travelled home in a Popemobile-shaped taxi and began blessing people as he passed them in the street. This cheered him up enormously and when we saw him a few days later he rose to meet us, offered us coffee and sat rather grandly in a chair, chatting for hours with a keen emphasis on the future.

His voice was stronger, his memory was wonderful, his manners were elegant, his talk was clever and in some cases what he said was astonishing.

At 7 o'clock each evening, for example, he went out on to his little balcony in Melbourne and raised both arms high in the air in order to receive healing waves being beamed to him by a woman in Uzbekistan.

Paul was very amusing about all this but as he said, 'at this stage I believe in nothing and everything'.

A few years earlier, the first time he was going to die, he received a liver transplant and, in a state of profound gratitude, he continued writing and making films.

Last year he made a movie in which David Wenham played a man who has a liver transplant and falls in love. Paul met his partner Rosie when they were both receiving liver transplants. He was in his late sixties at the time and she is a beautiful Balinese woman of somewhat more tender years.

"I know what you're thinking Johnny," Cox said to me when he introduced us. "Rosie is much younger than I am. But I want you to know Johnny, my liver is younger than Rosie's."

Half a lifetime ago Paul and I wrote some films together and we've always stayed in touch. I'd never written a movie before and I quickly learnt it was no use suggesting to Paul a thematically consistent sequence involving sport, for example. That wouldn't fit in a Cox film. Too healthy. And there wasn't much interest in men who fixed cars and called each other 'mate'.

Paul's films looked like Dutch interiors with dappled light playing through the window and they were full of urban characters who were ill at ease, often slightly wounded or suffering from incongruity of some kind.

As with many collaborations, we wrote by talking a lot together and then writing separately. Paul's house was always full of good conversation. At one stage Werner Herzog was living in a shed in the backyard with a dingo.

Peter Watkins also lived there at some point, while he and Paul were discussing a film project. Peter had made the brilliant 1964 docudrama 'Culloden' in which 1960s British journalists report live from a battle which occurred in 1745. This strategy of anachronism was new in 1964 and the effect in 'Culloden' was terrifying.

Paul's public presentation was that of a serious artist but he was nevertheless given to fits of amusement which produced a snuffling and rumbling sound such as might occur if a badger were attempting not to explode. When he regrouped, he expressed matters once more in his formal mode, which was not unlike an antiques catalogue.

A suggestion which would solve a problem was 'good,' a great idea for a scene was 'fine,' and if he completely approved of a whole section of plot and dialogue he would pronounce it 'very fine'; as in 'I read that section again last night Johnny. That really is very fine.'

When Lonely Hearts, the first film we wrote together, was about to be released 35 years ago, Paul wrote me a letter which I have always kept. In the last line of the letter he said he hoped that having worked on this film together and seeing it come to fruition, would 'strengthen our shy human friendship'. It did.

Having received blessings from Uzbekistan, Paul announced he was going to America. The only people who thought this wouldn't happen were those unfamiliar with Paul's willpower. The doctors wouldn't allow him to fly across the Pacific for 14 hours so he'd negotiated overnight stays in Bangkok, Dubai and Frankfurt and then a trip across the Atlantic to Chicago.

His film Force of Destiny was to play at the Ebert Film Festival and Paul had been invited to speak. Rosie would go with him and make sure he rested, ate the right food and took his tablets. The couple left on April Fool's Day and that night Rosie, whose canonisation is imminent, sent a message reporting that Paul had gone out to dinner in Bangkok. This was probably a PB for the palliative care unit at the Austin but Cox was just limbering up. After Dubai and Frankfurt the official party arrived in Chicago and Paul made a gracious, honest and very engaging speech to an audience who couldn't believe quite what they were watching.

Following the festival, Paul and Rosie made their way home and Paul was planning another movie. The fact that he died on Saturday will probably slow him down a bit although I expect he'll call sometime during the next week or so with a revised schedule. "I'm still going to do it," he'll say. "Why not? I have some good ideas. I want to talk about it. Come to dinner."

for Michael Gurr: 'Thank you, Michael. You were the light', by Steve Bracks - 2017

15 May 2017, Malthouse Theatre, Southbank, Melbourne, Australia

Steve Bracks is a former Premier of the State of Victoria. Michael Gurr, was Bracks' speechwriter and a much loved Australian playwright. He died 2 May 2017. There is no available audio or vision of this speech.

Michael once wrote, 

‘Political speechwriters dream the Gettysburg Address but wake up to the Cheltenham Chamber of Commerce.’

I suspect he was referring to state politics.

What that quote doesn’t tell you is how often Michael made those of us who had to speak to the Cheltenham Chamber of Commerce feel a little like Abraham Lincoln. 

My point: politics mattered to Michael. 

It mattered deeply.

It wasn’t a game.

It wasn’t beneath him.

It was worth the fight. 

Politics was – and is – the stuff of life. 

Yes, it’s messy. 

Yes, it involves compromise. 

But public life is a calling worthy of the efforts of our best and brightest – people like Michael.

That’s what Michael believed.

That’s why he dedicated his considerable talents to the collective effort for progress. 

And I am here to tell you that Michael’s contribution to the fight for progress counted. 

He made a difference.

I first met Michael in 1999.

I had just become Leader of the State Opposition.

Labor was – according to the experts – unelectable. 

Michael didn’t agree. 

Michael had volunteered his speechwriting services to my predecessor, John Brumby, in 1996.

He didn’t want anything in return for his efforts. He just wanted to get rid of Jeff Kennett.

Over the next three years, Michael was one of the true believers who – bit by bit – pulled Labor back from the abyss. 

He was one of the reasons why we won in 1999.

Much has been written and said about the 1999 election.

Especially the one-word speech Michael wrote that was to be delivered if – against all the odds – we won.

That one word was ‘F.U.C.K.'

What hasn’t been widely acknowledged is how important Michael was to me at the time – not just as a speechwriter, but as a voice of reason and a friend who helped us find the words that led us to the light on the hill.

As I said, Michael made a difference.

That’s why, after we won, I asked Michael to come in from the cold – to work as my speechwriter in government. 

He declined the offer. 

I understood why Michael said no. 

He wasn’t in politics for personal gain. 

He just wanted to put his shoulder to the wheel.

He just wanted us to get to the top of that hill.

That was why – whenever the contest was fiercest – whenever the outcome was in question – I found Michael was standing beside me.

He worked for us in the 2002 election and the 2006 election:

Advising me, 

Making me laugh, 

Helping us find the words that led to the light on the hill.

All of which is why it’s hard to believe he’s gone. 

I last saw Michael at St Vincent’s.

It was the day the Paul Keating was visiting Melbourne – and Keating had given a sparkling interview to Jon Faine on 774.

Michael and I spoke about Keating. 

And we spoke about 1999.

And – at one point – Michael thanked me for letting him work on those elections.

And I had to respectfully disagree with my old friend. 

He didn’t have to thank me – but I had to thank him for helping us find that light on the hill.

Thank you, Michael.

You were the light.

Barack Obama: 'Can we find the character, as Americans, to open our hearts to each other?', Memorial to slain Dallas policemen - 2016

12 July 2016, Interfaith service, Dallas, Texas, USA

Thank you. Thank you very much. (APPLAUSE)

Mr. President and Mrs. Bush, my friend the vice president, and Dr. Biden, Mayor Rawlings, Chief Stiller (ph), clergy, members of Congress, Chief Brown. I'm so glad I met Michelle first, because she loves Stevie Wonder.

(LAUGHTER)

(APPLAUSE)

Thank you.

But most of all, the families and friends and colleagues and fellow officers.

Scripture tells us that in our sufferings, there is glory, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. Sometimes the truths of these words are hard to see. Right now, those words test us because the people of Dallas, people across the country are suffering.

We're here to honor the memory and mourn the loss of five fellow Americans, to grieve with their loved ones, to support this community, and pray for the wounded, and to try and find some meaning amidst our sorrow.

For the men and women who protect and serve the people of Dallas, last Thursday began like any other day. Like most Americans, each day you get up, probably have too quick a breakfast, kiss your family goodbye, and you head to work.

But your work and the work of police officers across the country is like no other. For the moment you put on that uniform, you have answered a call that at any moment, even in the briefest interaction, may put your life in harm's way.

OBAMA: Lorne Ahrens, he answered that call. So did his wife, Katrina, not only because she was the spouse of a police officer, but because she's a detective on the force. They have two kids. Lorne took them fishing. And he used to proudly go to their school in uniform.

On the night before he died, he bought dinner for a homeless man. And the next night, Katrina had to tell their children that their dad was gone. "They don't get it yet," their grandma said. "They don't know what to do quite yet."

Michael Krol answered that call. His mother said, he knew the dangers of the job, but he never shied away from his duty. He came 1,000 miles from his home state of Michigan to be a cop in Dallas, telling his family, this is something I wanted to do.

And last year, he brought his girlfriend back to Detroit for Thanksgiving. And it was the last time he'd see his family.

Michael Smith answered that call. In the Army, and over almost 30 years working for the Dallas Police Association, which gave him the appropriately named Cop's Cop Award. A man of deep faith; when he was off duty, he could be found at church or playing softball with his two girls.

Today, his girls have lost their dad, for God has called Michael home.

Patrick Zamarippa, he answered that call. Just 32, a former altar boy who served in the Navy and dreamed of being a cop. He liked to post videos of himself and his kids on social media. On Thursday night, while Patrick went to work, his partner, Christy, posted a photo of her and their daughter at a Texas Rangers game, and tagged the department so that he could see it while on duty.

Brent Thompson answered that call. He served his country as a Marine. And years later, as a contractor, he spent time in some of the most dangerous parts of Iraq and Afghanistan. And then a few years ago, he settled down here in Dallas for a new life of service as a transit cop.

And just about two weeks ago, he married a fellow officer, their whole life together waiting before them.

Like police officers across the country, these men and their families shared a commitment to something larger than themselves. They weren't looking for their names to be up in lights. They'd tell you the pay was decent, but wouldn't make you rich. They could have told you about the stress and long shifts. And they'd probably agree with Chief Brown when he said that cops don't expect to hear the words "thank you" very often, especially from those who need them the most.

No. The reward comes in knowing that our entire way of life in America depends on the rule of law, that the maintenance of that law is a hard and daily labor, that in this country we don't have soldiers in the streets or militias setting the rules.

Instead, we have public servants, police officers, like the men who were taken away from us. And that's what these five were doing last Thursday when they were assigned to protect and keep orderly a peaceful protest in response to the killing of Alton Sterling of Baton Rouge and Philando Castile of Minnesota.

OBAMA: They were upholding the constitutional rights of this country.

For a while, the protests went on without incident. And despite the fact that police conduct was the subject of the protest, despite the fact that there must have been signs or slogans or chants with which they profoundly disagreed, these men and this department did their jobs like the professionals that they were.

In fact, the police had been part of the protest planning. Dallas P.D. even posted photos on their Twitter feeds of their own officers standing among the protesters. Two officer, black and white, smiled next to a man with a sign that read "no justice, no peace."

And then around nine o'clock, the gunfire came. Another community torn apart; more hearts broken; more questions about what caused and what might prevent another such tragedy.

I know that Americans are struggling right now with what we've witnessed over the past week. First, the shootings in Minnesota and Baton Rouge, the protests. Then the targeting of police by the shooter here, an act not just of demented violence, but of racial hatred.

All of it has left us wounded and angry and hurt. This is -- the deepest faultlines of our democracy have suddenly been exposed, perhaps even widened. And although we know that such divisions are not new, though they've surely been worse in even the recent past, that offers us little comfort.

Faced with this violence, we wonder if the divides of race in America can ever be bridged. We wonder if an African American community that feels unfairly targeted by police and police departments that feel unfairly maligned for doing their jobs, can ever understand each other's experience.

We turn on the TV or surf the internet, and we can watch positions harden and lines drawn and people retreat to their respective corners, and politicians calculate how to grab attention or avoid the fallout. We see all this, and it's hard not to think sometimes that the center won't hold and that things might get worse.

I understand. I understand how Americans are feeling. But Dallas, I'm here to say we must reject such despair. I'm here to insist that we are not as divided as we seem. And I know that because I know America. I know how far we've come against impossible odds. (APPLAUSE)

I know we'll make because of what I've experienced in my own life; what I've seen of this country and its people, their goodness and decency, as president of the United States. And I know it because of what we've seen here in Dallas, how all of you out of great suffering have shown us the meaning of perseverance and character and hope.

OBAMA: When the bullets started flying, the men and women of the Dallas police, they did not flinch and they did not react recklessly. They showed incredible restraint. Helped in some cases by protesters, they evacuated the injured, isolated the shooter, saved more lives than we will ever know.

(APPLAUSE)

We mourn fewer people today because of your brave actions.

(APPLAUSE)

"Everyone was helping each other," one witness said. And it wasn't about black or white. Everyone was picking each other up and moving them away.

See, that's the America I know. The police helped Shetamia Taylor as she was shot trying to shield her four sons. She said she wanted her boys to join her to protest the incidents of black men being killed.

She also said to the Dallas P.D., thank you for being heroes. And today, her 12-year-old son wants to be a cop when he grows up. That's the America I know.

(APPLAUSE)

In the aftermath of the shooting, we've seen Mayor Rawlings and Chief Brown, a white man and a black man with different backgrounds, working not just to restore order and support a shaken city, a shaken department, but working together to unify a city with strength and grace and wisdom.

(APPLAUSE)

And in the process, we've been reminded that the Dallas Police Department has been at the forefront of improving relations between police and the community.

(APPLAUSE)

The murder rate here has fallen. Complaints of excessive force have been cut by 64 percent. The Dallas Police Department has been doing it the right way.

(APPLAUSE) And so, Mayor Rawlings and Chief Brown, on behalf of the American people, thank you for your steady leadership. Thank you for your powerful example. We could not be prouder of you.

(APPLAUSE)

These men, this department, this is the America I know. And today in this audience, I see people who have protested on behalf of criminal justice reform grieving alongside police officers. I see people who mourn for the five officers we lost, but also weep for the families of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile. In this audience, I see what's possible.

(APPLAUSE)

I see what's possible when we recognize that we are one American family, all deserving of equal treatment. All deserving equal respect. All children of God. That's the America I know.

Now, I'm not naive. I have spoken at too many memorials during the course of this presidency. I've hugged too many families who have lost a loved one to senseless violence. And I've seen how a spirit of unity, born of tragedy, can gradually dissipate, overtaken by the return to business as usual, by inertia and old habits and expediency.

OBAMA: I see how easily we slip back into our old notions, because they're comfortable, we're used to them. I've seen how inadequate words can be in bringing about lasting change. I've seen how inadequate my own words have been. And so, I'm reminded of a passage in John's Gospel, "let us love, not with words or speech, but with actions and in truth."

If we're to sustain the unity, we need to get through these difficult times. If we are to honor these five outstanding officers who we lost, then we will need to act on the truths that we know. That's not easy. It makes us uncomfortable, but we're going to have to be honest with each other and ourselves.

We know that the overwhelming majority of police officers do an incredibly hard and dangerous job fairly and professional. They are deserving of our respect and not our scorn

(APPLAUSE)

When anyone, no matter how good their intentions may be, paints all police as biased, or bigoted, we undermine those officers that we depend on for our safety. And as for those who use rhetoric suggesting harm to police, even if they don't act on it themselves, well, they not only make the jobs of police officers even more dangerous, but they do a disservice to the very cause of justice that they claim to promote.

(APPLAUSE)

We also know that centuries of racial discrimination, of slavery, and subjugation, and Jim Crow; they didn't simply vanish with the law against segregation. They didn't necessarily stop when a Dr. King speech, or when the civil rights act or voting rights act were signed. Race relations have improved dramatically in my lifetime. Those who deny it are dishonoring the struggles that helped us achieve that progress. But we know...

(APPLAUSE)

But America, we know that bias remains. We know it, whether you are black, or white, or Hispanic, or Asian, or native American, or of Middle Eastern descent, we have all seen this bigotry in our own lives at some point. We've heard it at times in our own homes. If we're honest, perhaps we've heard prejudice in our own heads and felt it in our own hearts. We know that. And while some suffer far more under racism's burden, some feel to a far greater extent discrimination's stain. Although most of us do our best to guard against it and teach our children better, none of us is entirely innocent. No institution is entirely immune, and that includes our police departments. We know this.

OBAMA: And so when African-Americans from all walks of life, from different communities across the country, voice a growing despair over what they perceive to be unequal treatment, when study after study shows that whites and people of color experience the criminal justice system differently. So that if you're black, you're more likely to be pulled over or searched or arrested; more likely to get longer sentences; more likely to get the death penalty for the same crime. When mothers and fathers raised their kids right, and have the talk about how to respond if stopped by a police officer -- yes, sir; no, sir -- but still fear that something terrible may happen when their child walks out the door; still fear that kids being stupid and not quite doing things right might end in tragedy.

When all this takes place, more than 50 years after the passage of the Civil Rights Act, we cannot simply turn away and dismiss those in peaceful protest as troublemakers or paranoid.

(APPLAUSE)

We can't simply dismiss it as a symptom of political correctness or reverse racism. To have your experience denied like that, dismissed by those in authority, dismissed perhaps even by your white friends and coworkers and fellow church members, again and again and again, it hurts. Surely we can see that, all of us.

We also know what Chief Brown has said is true, that so much of the tensions between police departments and minority communities that they serve is because we ask the police to do too much and we ask too little of ourselves.

(APPLAUSE)

As a society, we choose to under-invest in decent schools. We allow poverty to fester so that entire neighborhoods offer no prospect for gainful employment. We refuse to fund drug treatment and mental health programs.

(APPLAUSE)

We flood communities with so many guns that it is easier for a teenager to buy a Glock than get his hands on a computer or even a book.

(APPLAUSE)

And then we tell the police, "You're a social worker; you're the parent; you're the teacher; you're the drug counselor." We tell them to keep those neighborhoods in check at all costs and do so without causing any political blowback or inconvenience; don't make a mistake that might disturb our own peace of mind. And then we feign surprise when periodically the tensions boil over.

We know those things to be true. They've been true for a long time. We know it. Police, you know it. Protesters, you know it. You know how dangerous some of the communities where these police officers serve are. And you pretend as if there's no context. These things we know to be true. And if we cannot even talk about these things, if we cannot talk honestly and openly, not just in the comfort of our own circles, but with those who look different than us or bring a different perspective, then we will never break this dangerous cycle.

OBAMA: In the end, it's not about finding policies that work. It's about forging consensus and fighting cynicism and finding the will to make change.

Can we do this? Can we find the character, as Americans, to open our hearts to each other? Can we see in each other a common humanity and a shared dignity, and recognize how our different experiences have shaped us? And it doesn't make anybody perfectly good or perfectly bad, it just makes us human.

I don't know. I confess that sometimes I, too, experience doubt. I've been to too many of these things. I've seen too many families go through this.

But then I am reminded of what the Lord tells Ezekiel. "I will give you a new heart," the Lord says, "and put a new spirit in you. I will remove from you your heart of stone, and give you a heart of flesh."

That's what we must pray for, each of us. A new heart. Not a heart of stone, but a heart open to the fears and hopes and challenges of our fellow citizens.

That's what we've seen in Dallas these past few days, and that's what we must sustain. Because with an open heart, we can learn to stand in each other's shoes and look at the world through each other's eyes. So that maybe the police officer sees his own son in that teenager with a hoodie, who's kind of goofing off but not dangerous.

(APPLAUSE)

And the teenager -- maybe the teenager will see in the police officer the same words, and values and authority of his parents.

(APPLAUSE)

With an open heart, we can abandon the overheated rhetoric and the oversimplification that reduces whole categories of our fellow Americans, not just opponents, but to enemies.

With an open heart, those protesting for change will guard against reckless language going forward. Look at the model set by the five officers we mourn today. Acknowledge the progress brought about by the sincere efforts of police departments like this one in Dallas. And embark on the hard, but necessary work of negotiation, the pursuit of reconciliation. With an open heart, police departments will acknowledge that just like the rest of us, they're not perfect. That insisting we do better to root out racial bias is not an attack on cops, but an effort to live up to our highest ideals.

(APPLAUSE)

And I understand these protests -- I see them. They can be messy. Sometimes they can be hijacked by an irresponsible few. Police can get hurt.

(APPLAUSE)

Protesters can get hurt. They can be frustrated. But even those who dislike the phrase "black lives matter," surely, we should be able to hear the pain of Alton Sterling's family.

(APPLAUSE)

We should -- when we hear a friend describe him by saying that, whatever he cooked, he cooked enough for everybody, that should sound familiar to us, that maybe he wasn't so different than us. So that we can, yes, insist that his life matters.

OBAMA: Just as we should hear the students and co-workers describe their affection for Philando Castile as a gentle soul. Mr. Rogers with deadlocks, they called him. And know that his life mattered to a whole lot of people of all races, of all ages, and that we have to do what we can without putting officers' lives at risk, but do better to prevent another life like his from being lost.

With an open heart, we can worry less about which side has been wronged, and worry more about joining sides to do right

(APPLAUSE)

Because the vicious killer of these police officers -- they won't be the last person who tries to make us turn on one another. The killer in Orlando wasn't nor was the killer in Charleston. We know there is evil in this world, that's why we need police department departments.

(APPLAUSE)

But as Americans, we can decide that people like this killer will ultimately fail. They will not drive us apart. We can decide to come together and make our country reflect the good inside us, the hopes and simple dreams we share.

We also glory in our suffers because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope. For all of us, life presents challenges and suffering. Accidents, illnesses, the loss of loved ones; there are times when we are overwhelmed by sudden calamity, natural or man-made. All of us, we make mistakes, and at times we are lost.

And as we get older, we learn we don't always have control of things, not even a president does. But we do have control over how we respond to the world. We do have control or how we treat one another.

America does not ask us to be perfect, precisely because of our individual imperfections, our founders gave us institutions to guard against tyranny and ensure no one is above the law. A democracy that gives us the space to work through our differences and debate them peacefully, to make things better, even if it doesn't always happen as fast as we'd like. America gives us the capacity to change.

But as the men we mourn today, these five heroes knew better than most, we cannot take the blessings of this nation for granted. Only by working together can we preserve those institutions of family and community, rights and responsibilities, law and self-government that is the hallmark of this nation.

It turns out we do not persevere along. Our character is not found in isolation. Hope does not arise by putting our fellow man down, it is found by lifting others up.

(APPLAUSE)

And that's what I take away from the lives of these outstanding men. The pain we feel may not soon pass, but my faith tells me that they did not die in vain. I believe our sorrow can make us a better country. I believe our righteous anger can be transformed into more justice and more peace. Weeping may endure for a night but I'm convinced joy comes in the morning.

(APPLAUSE)

OBAMA: We cannot match the sacrifices made by Officers Zamarippa and Ahrens, Krol, Smith and Thompson, but surely we can try to match their sense of service. We cannot match their courage, but we can strive to match their devotion.

May God bless their memory. May God bless this country that we love.

Tony Walsh (Longfella): 'This is the place', Manchester bombing vigil - 2017

24 May 2017, Manchester, UK

This was a vigil in honour of the victim of the Manchester terrorist attack on 23rd May 2017 at Manchester Stadium.

It falls to me to sum up what makes this city, its people, its communities, so great, with a poem. It's called 'This is the Place'.

This is the place

In the north-west of England. It’s ace, it’s the best

And the songs that we sing from the stands, from our bands

Set the whole planet shaking.

Our inventions are legends. There’s nowt we can’t make, and so we make brilliant music

We make brilliant bands

We make goals that make souls leap from seats in the stands

And we make things from steel

And we make things from cotton

And we make people laugh, take the mick summat rotten

And we make you at home

And we make you feel welcome and we make summat happen

And we can’t seem to help it

And if you’re looking from history, then yeah we’ve a wealth

But the Manchester way is to make it yourself.

And make us a record, a new number one

And make us a brew while you’re up, love, go on

And make us feel proud that you’re winning the league

And make us sing louder and make us believe that this is the place that has helped shape the world

And this is the place where a Manchester girl named Emmeline Pankhurst from the streets of Moss Side led a suffragette city with sisterhood pride

And this is the place with appliance of science, we’re on it, atomic, we struck with defiance, and in the face of a challenge, we always stand tall, Mancunians, in union, delivered it all

Such as housing and libraries and health, education and unions and co-ops and first railway stations

So we’re sorry, bear with us, we invented commuters. But we hope you forgive us, we invented computers.

And this is the place Henry Rice strolled with rolls, and we’ve rocked and we’ve rolled with our own northern soul

And so this is the place to do business then dance, where go-getters and goal-setters know they’ve a chance

And this is the place where we first played as kids. And me mum, lived and died here, she loved it, she did.

And this is the place where our folks came to work, where they struggled in puddles, they hurt in the dirt and they built us a city, they built us these towns and they coughed on the cobbles to the deafening sound to the steaming machines and the screaming of slaves, they were scheming for greatness, they dreamed to their graves.

And they left us a spirit. They left us a vibe. That Mancunian way to survive and to thrive and to work and to build, to connect, and create and Greater Manchester’s greatness is keeping it great.

And so this is the place now with kids of our own. Some are born here, some drawn here, but they all call it home.

And they’ve covered the cobbles, but they’ll never defeat, all the dreamers and schemers who still teem through these streets.

Because this is a place that has been through some hard times: oppressions, recessions, depressions, and dark times.

But we keep fighting back with Greater Manchester spirit. Northern grit, Northern wit, and Greater Manchester’s lyrics.

And these hard times again, in these streets of our city, but we won’t take defeat and we don’t want your pity.

Because this is a place where we stand strong together, with a smile on our face, greater Manchester forever.

And we’ve got this place where a team with a dream can get funding and something to help with a scheme.

Because this is a place that understands your grand plans. We don’t do “no can do” we just stress “yes we can”

Forever Manchester’s a charity for people round here, you can fundraise, donate, you can be a volunteer. You can live local, give local, we can honestly say, we do charity different, that Mancunian way.

And we fund local kids, and we fund local teams. We support local dreamers to work for their dreams. We support local groups and the great work they do. So can you help us. help local people like you?

Because this is the place in our hearts, in our homes, because this is the place that’s a part of our bones.

Because Greater Manchester gives us such strength from the fact that this is the place, we should give something back.

Always remember, never forget, forever Manchester.

To read more poetry from Longfella, visit his website.

For Lou Richards: 'Lou is bigger than a legend', by Ron Joseph - 2017

Richards' funeral: Joseph's speech - collingwoodfc.com.au

18 May 2017, St Paul's Cathedral, Melbourne, Australia

Lou was right. He told me his farewell would be bigger than Texas. He also told me that I would have to speak at his funeral.

"All the other people I know are dead,” he said.

"You better start thinking about what you are going to say, because it will be a bloody big funeral. Harold Holt’s will have nothing on mine. I had a house down at Portsea near him, you know. He didn’t drown. He took off with a sheila.

"It will be a state funeral, just like his. So that’ll give Jack and Bobby Davis the shits.

"Don’t let them have it at Jeff’s Shed. That is a cold hole, like Jeff. It will be a telecast around Australia, it might even be around the world. So you better be ready to talk on national television, Ronnie, and don’t stuff it up. You’re bloody lucky to get this opportunity, you know. No one else would give it to you.

"Tell Nicole and Kim to make sure that they get a good quid for the television rights. If Seven are covering it, tell the girls to charge double. Casey paid me bugger-all for all the time I spent with him at 3DB and Channel 7. He was a good bloke, Case. Edna and I loved our time with Ron and Pauline, but he was tight, tight as a fish’s ...

“EJ’s was a state funeral too. I’m bigger than Ted ever was. I nicknamed him Mr Football and he believed it for the rest of his life.

“I called Barassi Mrs Football. Of all the blokes I have nicknamed over the years Barassi is about the only one that ever lived up to his moniker.

“And if that Mike Fitzpatrick’s at my funeral, you know the bloke who used to play for Carlton, the Rhodes Scholar — Rhodes Scholar, my bum — tell him he spent too much time at Oxford and Cambridge and can’t recognise a legend when he sees one.”

So Lou leaves us after 94 marvellous years. With memories that will last our lifetime. There would be few people in this church who wouldn’t have their own special story of Lou and his ability to warm up an event, a lunch or a dinner, with laughter and fun. You could almost say that Lou knew it was expected of him.

I remember as a young upstart at North in my early years having my first visit to Channel 7 and Ron Casey’s World of Sport. Uncle Doug Elliot was presenting an ad for Ballantyne’s chocolates, reading his lines off an idiot sheet, a piece of butcher paper held by two members of the Seven camera crew. Live on TV Uncle Doug was halfway through his ad, staring intensely, glasses over his nose, reading the idiot sheet when up came Lou and set the butcher paper alight. I couldn’t believe it.

Jack Dyer, Bob Davis, Neil Roberts, Skeeter Coghlan, Bill Collins and Bruce Andrew fell around laughing. It took a stern Ron Casey to get World of Sport back on track.

And who could ever forget the Phoenix Hotel? As legendary as the Flinders St Herald Sun building alongside. Sir Henry Winneke was Victorian governor in the ’70s and after a VFL dinner at the Southern Cross, Lou invited him back to his hotel for a drink. Sir Henry, the great man that he was, obliged. When I made it back to Lou’s pub at one in the morning there was the Rolls-Royce, numberplates VIC 1, double-parked in Flinders St outside the Phoenix. Upstairs, Sir Henry was the centre of attention. Lou came up and asked him if he would mind staying because Edna wouldn’t believe that royalty had visited his hotel and he wanted Edna to meet him. Lou was gone for five minutes and then reappeared.

“Governor,” he said, “Sir Henry, your Excellency, I never know what to call you, but Edna is in bed upstairs. She has rollers in her hair and she said is to tell you that she couldn’t care if you are the king of England, she’s not coming down to meet you.”

What a beautiful marriage Lou shared with Edna. They were inseparable. They shared a wonderful marriage and friendship. When Edna went into care, Lou didn’t leave her bedside. When Lou died last week he had endured 3350 days without her. It was only after Edna had gone that you could get Lou out for a coffee, a lunch, a footy match or a drive in the car. He could still laugh, there was some special events — his 90th birthday at Kim’s, the unveiling of Lou’s statue at Collingwood — but his darling Edna had left his life. You knew that deep down all Lou was ever thinking was, “Where’s Edna?”.

Having read, observed and listened to all the glowing tributes that have been printed and aired on the radio and TV since last week, it is easy to overlook the depth of the man himself. A character on the footy field, as a tough, take-no-prisoners captain, and a character off it as a person with a rare knockabout charm and sense of fun — as well as a generosity of spirit and a strong sense of doing the right thing.

The National Trust in 1982 went as far as classifying Lou as a national treasure. But Lou is much, much more than that.

First and foremost, he was a devoted husband, father and grandfather, brother to Ron and Glenys, and an uncle. And regardless of all the fame that came his way, Edna, Nicole, Kim, with the grandkids, were always his pride and priority.

How lucky were we at North. Shirley Trainor, the wife of our ’60s president Tony, was a close friend of Edna. They were best friends. Inevitably the Trainor family introduced Lou with Edna to a football club that wore blue and white, not black and white stripes.

After some hits and misses in the early ’70s, North started to get its show on the road. They were heady days. Fundraisers and functions that rolled from one week to the next, and Lou was always there. People attended just to be in the room with him. Six successive Grand Finals and in 1975 the inaugural premiership.

Then the famous draw and replay of 1977. The VFL competition was on its way to being a national competition. The Grand Final was televised live and in colour, and Ron Casey and Lou Richards led the way. For 40 years, Lou would be up on Grand Final day at 6am to host North’s Grand Final breakfast, that through his brilliance became its own institution.

Lou would then leave the Southern Cross to call the Grand Final with Mike Williamson or Peter Landy. Prime minister Hawke never missed one of those breakfasts and Lou never missed giving the PM his famous line, “Bob, the only thing you haven’t done for the workers is become one”. With Allen Aylett, Albert Mantello and Ron Barassi, it seemed that Lou was also a part of the executive team at North. Lou loved his involvement and North loved him back.

Out of all of this grew great friendships like Shirley’s and Edna’s that stood the test of time. It would be wrong to say that North was the only beneficiary of Lou’s generosity. Lou had friends at every club and he delighted in helping them all with his presence and star quality. Today we say farewell. Lou is a legend. Who else gets an eight-page wraparound in the Herald Sun that is as much a part of this city as Lou and the MCG.

So Lou Richards leaves us after 94 marvellous years, with memories that will last our lifetime.

Lou might not have kicked as many goals as Tony Lockett or Peter Hudson but he is a legend. Lou might not have won as many Brownlow Medals as Haydn Bunton, Bob Skilton, Dick Reynolds and Ian Stewart but he is a legend.

And if his game as a player was just a little short of the class of the great EJ or the dynamic Ron Barassi, Lou is still a legend. In fact, Lou is bigger than a legend. Decency, loyalty, gentleness, warmth, kindness, integrity, humility, cheek and fun all in equal parts gave us Lou Richards.

Our love and thoughts are with Kim and Nicole and their families. Their loss first of Edna and now Lou is immeasurable. I thank them for the honour of speaking here today, I thank them for sharing Lou with us and, on behalf of all of us and our marvellous sport, I thank Lou for all that he gave.

We remember Lou with affection, admiration, gratitude and delight

For David Goldberg: 'Let's just kick the shit out of Option B', by Sheryl Sandberg - 2015

5 May 2015, Stanford University Memorial Auditorium, California, USA

This was written as a Facebook post by the Facebook COO, and posted on the day of her husband's funeral.

I want to thank all of our friends and family for the outpouring of love over the past few days. It has been extraordinary – and each story you have shared will help keep Dave alive in our hearts and memories.

I met Dave nearly 20 years ago when I first moved to LA. He became my best friend. He showed me the internet for the first time, planned fun outings, took me to temple for the Jewish holidays, introduced me to much cooler music than I had ever heard.

We had 11 truly joyful years of the deepest love, happiest marriage, and truest partnership that I could imagine ... He gave me the experience of being deeply understood, truly supported and completely and utterly loved – and I will carry that with me always. Most importantly, he gave me the two most amazing children in the world.

Dave was my rock. When I got upset, he stayed calm. When I was worried, he said it would be ok. When I wasn’t sure what to do, he figured it out. He was completely dedicated to his children in every way – and their strength these past few days is the best sign I could have that Dave is still here with us in spirit.

Dave and I did not get nearly enough time together. But as heartbroken as I am today, I am equally grateful. Even in these last few days of completely unexpected hell – the darkest and saddest moments of my life – I know how lucky I have been. If the day I walked down that aisle with Dave someone had told me that this would happen – that he would be taken from us all in just 11 years – I would still have walked down that aisle. Because 11 years of being Dave Goldberg’s wife, and 10 years of being a parent with him is perhaps more luck and more happiness than I could have ever imagined. I am grateful for every minute we had.

As we put the love of my life to rest today, we buried only his body. His spirit, his soul, his amazing ability to give is still with it. It lives on in the stories people are sharing of how he touched their lives, in the love that is visible in the eyes of our family and friends, in the spirit and resilience of our children. Things will never be the same – but the world is better for the years my beloved husband lived.

This later post from Sandberg was posted 4 June 2015

Today is the end of sheloshim for my beloved husband—the first thirty days. Judaism calls for a period of intense mourning known as shiva that lasts seven days after a loved one is buried. After shiva, most normal activities can be resumed, but it is the end of sheloshim that marks the completion of religious mourning for a spouse.

A childhood friend of mine who is now a rabbi recently told me that the most powerful one-line prayer he has ever read is: “Let me not die while I am still alive.” I would have never understood that prayer before losing Dave. Now I do.

I think when tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning. These past thirty days, I have spent many of my moments lost in that void. And I know that many future moments will be consumed by the vast emptiness as well.

But when I can, I want to choose life and meaning.

And this is why I am writing: to mark the end of sheloshim and to give back some of what others have given to me. While the experience of grief is profoundly personal, the bravery of those who have shared their own experiences has helped pull me through. Some who opened their hearts were my closest friends. Others were total strangers who have shared wisdom and advice publicly. So I am sharing what I have learned in the hope that it helps someone else. In the hope that there can be some meaning from this tragedy.

I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser.

I have gained a more profound understanding of what it is to be a mother, both through the depth of the agony I feel when my children scream and cry and from the connection my mother has to my pain. She has tried to fill the empty space in my bed, holding me each night until I cry myself to sleep. She has fought to hold back her own tears to make room for mine. She has explained to me that the anguish I am feeling is both my own and my children’s, and I understood that she was right as I saw the pain in her own eyes.

I have learned that I never really knew what to say to others in need. I think I got this all wrong before; I tried to assure people that it would be okay, thinking that hope was the most comforting thing I could offer. A friend of mine with late-stage cancer told me that the worst thing people could say to him was “It is going to be okay.” That voice in his head would scream, How do you know it is going to be okay? Do you not understand that I might die? I learned this past month what he was trying to teach me. Real empathy is sometimes not insisting that it will be okay but acknowledging that it is not. When people say to me, “You and your children will find happiness again,” my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, “You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good” comfort me more because they know and speak the truth. Even a simple “How are you?”—almost always asked with the best of intentions—is better replaced with “How are you today?” When I am asked “How are you?” I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear “How are you today?” I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.

I have learned some practical stuff that matters. Although we now know that Dave died immediately, I didn’t know that in the ambulance. The trip to the hospital was unbearably slow. I still hate every car that did not move to the side, every person who cared more about arriving at their destination a few minutes earlier than making room for us to pass. I have noticed this while driving in many countries and cities. Let’s all move out of the way. Someone’s parent or partner or child might depend on it.

I have learned how ephemeral everything can feel—and maybe everything is. That whatever rug you are standing on can be pulled right out from under you with absolutely no warning. In the last thirty days, I have heard from too many women who lost a spouse and then had multiple rugs pulled out from under them. Some lack support networks and struggle alone as they face emotional distress and financial insecurity. It seems so wrong to me that we abandon these women and their families when they are in greatest need.

I have learned to ask for help—and I have learned how much help I need. Until now, I have been the older sister, the COO, the doer and the planner. I did not plan this, and when it happened, I was not capable of doing much of anything. Those closest to me took over. They planned. They arranged. They told me where to sit and reminded me to eat. They are still doing so much to support me and my children.

I have learned that resilience can be learned. Adam M. Grant taught me that three things are critical to resilience and that I can work on all three. Personalization—realizing it is not my fault. He told me to ban the word “sorry.” To tell myself over and over, This is not my fault. Permanence—remembering that I won’t feel like this forever. This will get better. Pervasiveness—this does not have to affect every area of my life; the ability to compartmentalize is healthy.

For me, starting the transition back to work has been a savior, a chance to feel useful and connected. But I quickly discovered that even those connections had changed. Many of my co-workers had a look of fear in their eyes as I approached. I knew why—they wanted to help but weren’t sure how. Should I mention it? Should I not mention it? If I mention it, what the hell do I say? I realized that to restore that closeness with my colleagues that has always been so important to me, I needed to let them in. And that meant being more open and vulnerable than I ever wanted to be. I told those I work with most closely that they could ask me their honest questions and I would answer. I also said it was okay for them to talk about how they felt. One colleague admitted she’d been driving by my house frequently, not sure if she should come in. Another said he was paralyzed when I was around, worried he might say the wrong thing. Speaking openly replaced the fear of doing and saying the wrong thing. One of my favorite cartoons of all time has an elephant in a room answering the phone, saying, “It’s the elephant.” Once I addressed the elephant, we were able to kick him out of the room.

At the same time, there are moments when I can’t let people in. I went to Portfolio Night at school where kids show their parents around the classroom to look at their work hung on the walls. So many of the parents—all of whom have been so kind—tried to make eye contact or say something they thought would be comforting. I looked down the entire time so no one could catch my eye for fear of breaking down. I hope they understood.

I have learned gratitude. Real gratitude for the things I took for granted before—like life. As heartbroken as I am, I look at my children each day and rejoice that they are alive. I appreciate every smile, every hug. I no longer take each day for granted. When a friend told me that he hates birthdays and so he was not celebrating his, I looked at him and said through tears, “Celebrate your birthday, goddammit. You are lucky to have each one.” My next birthday will be depressing as hell, but I am determined to celebrate it in my heart more than I have ever celebrated a birthday before.

I am truly grateful to the many who have offered their sympathy. A colleague told me that his wife, whom I have never met, decided to show her support by going back to school to get her degree—something she had been putting off for years. Yes! When the circumstances allow, I believe as much as ever in leaning in. And so many men—from those I know well to those I will likely never know—are honoring Dave’s life by spending more time with their families.

I can’t even express the gratitude I feel to my family and friends who have done so much and reassured me that they will continue to be there. In the brutal moments when I am overtaken by the void, when the months and years stretch out in front of me endless and empty, only their faces pull me out of the isolation and fear. My appreciation for them knows no bounds.

I was talking to one of these friends about a father-child activity that Dave is not here to do. We came up with a plan to fill in for Dave. I cried to him, “But I want Dave. I want option A.” He put his arm around me and said, “Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of option B.”

Dave, to honor your memory and raise your children as they deserve to be raised, I promise to do all I can to kick the shit out of option B. And even though sheloshim has ended, I still mourn for option A. I will always mourn for option A. As Bono sang, “There is no end to grief . . . and there is no end to love.” I love you, Dave.

for Martin McGuinness: 'He risked the rejection of his comrades and the wrath of his adversaries', by Bill Clinton - 2017

23 March 2017, St Columba's Church, Derry, Northern Ireland

Bernie, Grainne, Fionnuala, Fiachra, Emmett: members of the McGuinness family, honoured clergy, President Higgins, Taoiseach, Gerry, former Prime Minister Ahern, former President McAleese, First Minister Foster, thank you for being here, to John Hume, Peter Robinson, and all who were part of the amazing unfolding of Martin McGuinness's life.

I was thinking about it: after all the breath he expended cursing the British over the years, he worked with two Prime Ministers and shook hands with the Queen, four Taoiseachs, navigating the complex politics of the North.

As an American, I have to say a special word of appreciation to the sitting Taoiseach for what he said in the United States on St Patrick Day on behalf of the Irish immigrants.

As someone who spent sleepless nights in the beginning of the ceasefires and dealing with the aftermath of them and the Good Friday accord, I want to say a special word of appreciation to First Minister Foster for being here, because I know, and most people in this church know, that your life has been marked in painful ways by the Troubles. And I believe the only way a lasting peace can take hold and endure is if those who have legitimate griefs on both sides embrace the future together.

I learned this from Nelson Mandela who was a great friend of mine, who called me one day complaining as the president of South Africa that he was getting so much criticism. I said, "from the Afrikaners?". He said "no, from my people. They think I've sold them out." After all, he won 63% of the vote, it's inconceivable in a western democracy to do such a thing now. And I said, "what did you tell them?" and he said "I spent 27 years in jail, and they took all my best years away and i didn't see my children grow up and it ruined my marriage, and a lot of my friends were killed and if i can get over it, you can too. We've got to build a future."

Now, I want to say something about Martin McGuinness. I came to treasure every encounter. I liked him. They asked me to speak for three minutes, he could do this in 30 seconds. I can just hear him now: "Here's my eulogy: I fought, I made peace, I made politics, I had a fabulous family that somehow stayed with me and endured it all. I had friends (I was married to Gerry almost as long as I was married to Bernie). It turned out I was pretty good at all this and we got a lot done - but we didn't finish, and if you really want to honour my legacy, go make your own, and finish the work of peace so we can all have a future together."

He was only four years younger than me. He grew up at a time of rage and resentment; not only in Ireland, but across the world. And it was pronounced here: one of seven children in a Bogside family without an indoor toilet. (That's a great political story, I'm the last American president to ever live in a house without an indoor toilet and it's very much overrated except for its political value.) He was part of the rage of his time, he hated the discrimination and he decided to oppose it by whatever means available to the passionate young, including violence.

Somewhere along the way, for whatever reason, he decided to give peace a chance. Some of the reasons were principled, some were practical, but he decided. He was good about sticking at something he decided to do, and he succeeded because his word was good, his listening skills were good, he was not afraid to make a compromise, and he was strong enough to keep it if he made it.

And finally, he realised that he could have an Ireland that was free, independent and self governing, and still inclusive. That the dreams of little children were no more or less legitimate, just because of their faith background, or their families' history, or the sins of their parents. In American law, there is a phrase that comes from the 18th century, called "corruption of the blood", that the sins of the parents used to be visited on their children, and their grandchildren, and their great grandchildren, and we specifically prohibited that; easy to say, hard to do. He was trying to do it.

Most of the publicity Martin got as a politician was the very absurd notion that he actually got along with Ian Paisley. I thought it great that he got a word in edgeways, I never could! But the thing I think he was proudest of that I loved to listen to him talk about, and we talked about it again three years ago this month when we walked across the bridge here with John Hume, was when he became education minister in the transitional government. His first budget recommended a more than generous allocation in aid to the poorest schools in the protestant neighbourhoods, because he thought those children would be just as a crippled by ignorance as catholic children would, and that the only way out of poverty, and the only way to give people the emotional space to live together, work together, and share the future together, is if they could have the dignity of a decent job, and the empowerment of knowing they can take care of their families and give something more to their children. I could tell he was proud as punch with himself. Normally it's not a good thing to be proud of yourself but I think if there's a secret category of things you can be proud of, taking care of the children of people with whom you had been at odds is surely on that small list."

So that's what he did, he persevered, and he prevailed. He risked the rejection of his comrades and the wrath of his adversaries. He made honourable compromises and was strong enough to keep them, and came to be trusted because his word was good. And he never stopped being who he was; a good husband, a good father, a faithful follower of the faith of his father and mother, and a passionate believer in a free, secure, self-governing Ireland. The only thing that happened was: he expanded the definition of "us" and shrank the definition of "them".

The world in every period of insecurity faces a new wave of tribalism. If you really came here to celebrate his life, and to honour the contribution of the last chapter of it, you have to finish his work, a great son of Derry. Our friend Seamus Heaney in his Nobel prize speech, said that the secret of his success was "deciding to walk on air against your better judgement". Believe me; when the people who made this peace did it, every single one of them decided to take a flying leap into the unknown against their better judgement. It's about the only thing aside from your faith and your love which makes life worth living.

Our friend earned this vast crowd today. Even more; he earned the right to ask us to honour his legacy by our living. To finish the work that is there to be done.

God bless you.

for Coretta Scott King: 'Together at last, together at last. Thank god, almighty, together at last', by Rev Joseph Lowery - 2006

6 February 2006, New Birth Missionary Baptist Church, Georgia, USA

Sit down before I take up an offering.

(LAUGHTER)

I am neither a gambler nor better. But who could have brought this crowd together except Coretta?

(APPLAUSE)

LOWERY: I'm going to behave.

(LAUGHTER)

Lord have mercy.

(APPLAUSE)

How marvelous that presidents and governors come to mourn and praise. But in the morning will words become deeds that meet needs?

(APPLAUSE)

Leave me alone, Sharpton.

(LAUGHTER)

Shut up, Jesse.

I've been asked to recognize the board of directors of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and president Steele who are here.

Would you stand?

(APPLAUSE)

Coretta was the first lady of SCLC. What a family reunion, Rosa and Martin reminiscing.

They'd just begun to talk when Martin seemed to not to listen. He started to walk. The wind had whispered in his ear, "I believe somebody is almost here."

"Excuse me, Rosa," Martin said as he did depart. His soul was on fire, he just couldn't wait. His spirit leaped with joy as he moved toward the pearly gates.

Glory,, hallelujah. And after 40 years, almost 40 years, together at last, together at last. Thank god, almighty, together at last.

(APPLAUSE)

Thank you, Coretta.

Didn't she carry her grief with dignity?

(APPLAUSE)

Her growing influence with humility? She secured his seed, nurtured his nobility. She declared humanity's worth and vented their vision, his and hers, for peace on all the earth.

She opposed discrimination based on race. She frowned on homophobia. And gender bias she rejected on its face. She summoned the nations to steady war no more. She embraced the wonders of a human family from shoulder to shoulder.

Excuse me, Maya.

She extended Martin's message against poverty, racism and war. She deplored the terror inflicted by our smart bombs on missions way afar. We know now there were no weapons of mass destruction over there.

(APPLAUSE)

But Coretta knew and we know that there are weapons of misdirection right down here. Millions without health insurance, poverty abound. For war, billions more, but no more for the poor.

Well, Coretta had harsh critics, some no one could please. But she paid them no mind. She kept speaking for the least of these.

Now I'm about through.

As we get older, or so I'm told, we listen into he heaven like the prophets of old.

I heard Martin and Coretta say do us a favor, Joe. Those four little children I spoke of in '73, they are fine adults now as all can see. They already know but tell them again, we loved them so dear.

Assure them we'll always be near, their troubles to bless and sanctify to them their deepest distress. Tell them we believe in them as we know you do. We know their faith in god and their love for each other will see them through.

Assure them at the end of the tunnel awaits god's light, and we're confident that they will always strive for the right. Tell them don't forget to remember that we're as near as their prayer and never afar, and we can rest in peace because they know who and whose they are.

(APPLAUSE)

What a family reunion.

Thank you, lord.

Just the other day I thought I heard you say, Coretta, my child, come on home. You've earned your rest. Your body's weary. You've done your best.

Her witness and character always strong, her spirit a melody from heaven's song. Her beauty warm like the rays of the sun.

Good night, my sister. Well done. Well done.

For Warren Zevon: 'Enjoy every sandwich', by David Letterman & Paul Schaeffer - 2003

7 September 2003, New York City, USA

Letterman and Schaeffer refer to the 'Enjoy Every Sandwich' appearance from Zevon some months earlier, when he talked about his diagnosis.

30 October 2002, New York City, USA

You heard about the flu? Yeah

Yeah well it’s true.

How did I learn about it. First of all let me saythat I might have made a tactical error in not going to a physician for twenty years.

It was one of those phobias that really didn’t pay off.

Teh only person that I ever go to is DrStan, you know Dr Stan, the dentist, and I always said if he can’t fix it, I’m screwed.

And I told Dr Stan that I was having shortness of breath, I had it for months, I did a short tour, went to Canada, and I would only hire people who would tell me it was stress.

Flunked out medical students who became musicians, I’d say ‘Imshort of breath ... all the time’, and they’d say, ‘dont you ever watch the Sopranos?’

I said, ‘No’

But when Dr Stan the dentist heard about it, he said, ‘it sounds like congestive heart failure or something, ‘ so he made me go to a doctor the next morning after he heard it.

Letterman: ‘Oh my god, and it turned out not to be congestive heart failure ... ‘

No, it’s lung cancer that’s spread.

Letterman: That’s tough.

Well it means you better get your dry cleaning done on special.

Letterman: To me, you look and seem remarkably healthy.

Well don’t be fooled. Don’t be fooled by cosmetics.

Letterman: How do you feel?

I don’t feel as bad as they say I am. So that’s a good deal.

They certainly don’t discourage you from doing whatever you want?

How is the work now, living with this diagnosis?

I’m working harder. I mean, you put more value on every minute. You do live. I mean I always thought I did that, I always enjoyed myself, but it’s more valuable now. You’re reminded to enjoy every sandwich, and every minute playing with the guys, and being with the kids and everything.