Features

Editor: 

Last Fourth of July, when I was walking around the town I live in, I didn’t see a single American flag flying from a citizen’s house. For the first time in years I had a feeling of sadness; I missed the so-called “good old days” of celebration, when I was a kid 60-plus years ago. Today, Monday, Sept. 17, I was attracted to the New York Times front page article: U.S. Binds Wounds in Red, White and Blue, and I read how stores in America were running out of American flags. They were flying from houses, from public buildings, from car antennas. I decided to drive around the town I live in, population 100,000-plus, and count flags.  

I counted 12 flags: three at half staff at municipal buildings, including one on a fire house; two small ones on trucks; seven on houses widely separated from each other. 

This time I’m not only sad (I was born and raised in Manhattan) but furious. In my town, flying the flag may be perceived as endorsing George W. Bush – and I and the majority of my fellow residents didn’t do that in the November election. But, to me, the flag means much more. My feeling for it is encompassed in a brief bumper sticker, prevalent around my town: “I love my country; I fear my government.” And my feeling about my town is this: dammit, fly that flag! Did I mention that I live in Berkeley, California? 

Heidi Seney 

Berkeley