V-Gram 47

September 4, 1997

Teardrops on the stage

The first time I witnessed the spectacle of public weeping happened the day after Josef Stalin died. One after another, grown men mounted the platform to say a few words, but only to reach the point where the sobbing could begin in earnest. Those of us in the audience figured that about half of them mourned the loss of their idol, and the other half figured that it was the safe thing to do.

Until recently, British or American statesmen were not noted for comparable displays. Indeed, tragedy elicited enhanced dignity as a rule. Not so now. We have a president and Britain has a prime minister both of whom display their tears with gusto, hoping the camera won't pick up the occasional smirk in between. The sight is less disturbing because they go by the names of Bill and Tony.

But news comes that the people of Britain demand of their Queen to appear before them and cry. That from the nation famous for its unique sense of history. The Queen did not cry in public when the greatly admired Lord Mountbatten, her beloved "Uncle Louis," was blown to smithereens by the Irish Republican Army. What, in heaven's name, is happening?