Driving from north Oklahoma City to Norman daily, you begin to notice things. The guys on the road. New construction. New buildings. Stuff like that. But Thursday, Sept. 11, was different. The road was slick with rain and the sky, dull and gray. I drove alone, listening to Simon and Garfunkle. It was at the 23rd Street overpass, that my trip became more than just the daily trek to Norman. There, standing alone on the overpass was an elderly man. He looked, say, about 60. Jeans. Large checked shirt. Ball cap. He stood silently. In the rain. Holding a large American Flag. It was obvious that for him, this date had some importance. I reached over and turned off the radio — the silence of the car broken only by the slap of the windshield wipers against the glass. I slowed and, acknowledged him with a sort of salute-wave. He saw me and, in return, nodded his head. I'm still not sure how I felt, but I know the day somehow seemed better because of that brief exchange. Someone else had giv
A blog dedicated to good writing and journalism as a career. Inspired by the poetry of Paul Lawrence Dunbar. Consider this that small, funky coffee shop at the corner of Main and Cyberspace. All stories are written by M. Scott Carter, chief political reporter for The Oklahoman. Your comments are welcomed, but only if you're willing to include your name, we don't do anonymous. My name's on every story, you want to play in the big leagues? Post yours, too.