On The Loss of a Friend I Never Met
Taylor Armerding
I never knew Dimitrios Gavriel. Never even heard his name until after he was dead.
But last weekend I gave thanks for the guy whose friends called him "Dimmy." The guy who walked away from Wall Street to Marine Basic at sand flea-infested Parris Island, and from there to the sands of Iraq, where he died in combat two weeks ago.
It is Gavriel, and people like him, who are the reason I can sit in a comfortable chair and offer opinions on anything and anybody without risking more than a few angry phone calls or irate letters and e-mails. It is the same for everybody from Michael Moore to Rush Limbaugh, from Dan Rather to Bill O'Reilly. None of them has to fear disappearing in the night, headed for torture and an unmarked grave. None of them shows up after leveling a broadside at those in power with his tongue cut out or his hands cut off.
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