Ath. Most true, Cleinias; and I daresay that I may have expressedmyself obscurely, and so led you to imagine that I was speaking ofsome really existing state of things, whereas I was only saying whatregulations I would like to have about music; and hence there occurreda misapprehension on your part. For when evils are far gone andirremediable, the task of censuring them is never pleasant, althoughat times necessary. But as we do not really differ, will you let meask you whether you consider such institutions to be more prevalentamong the Cretans and Lacedaemonians than among the other Hellenes?
Yes, he said; I see now what you meant.
“No – no, I didn’t!”
"Welcome to Camp Laurence!" said the young host, as they landed with exclamations of delight.
I corrected an old injustice by giving the Congressional Medal of Honor to seven African-American veterans of World War II. Amazingly, no Medals of Honor had ever been awarded to blacks who served in that war. The selections were made after an exhaustive study of battle records. Six of the medals were awarded posthumously, but one of the recipients, seventy-seven-year-old Vernon Baker, was at the White House for the ceremony. He was an impressive man of quiet dignity and clear intelligence: as a young lieutenant in Italy more than fifty years earlier, he had single-handedly wiped out three enemy machine-gun units, an observer post, and a dugout. When asked how he had dealt with discrimination and prejudice after having given so much to his country, Baker said he had lived his life by a simple creed: Give respect before you expect it, treat people the way you want to be treated, remember the mission, set the example, keep going. It sounded good to me.