(Permanent Musical Accompaniment To The Last Post Of The Week From The Blog's Favourite Living Canadian)

This is a tragedy-purpled week every year, both fictionally and not. Tuesday was the third of June , and I presume the Delta was sleepy and dusty. (The high was 87.) What I did not know was that the original Tallahatchie Bridge collapsed in 1972 after vandals tried to burn it. And I've never bought the rag-doll theory that they cooked up for the movie about what they tossed off the bridge. That remains a mystery.

On Thursday, almost without notice, the anniversary of the murder of Robert F. Kennedy passed. That's the one I never got over. Something went dead in this country that night in the Ambassador Hotel and every perilous political moment ever since operated like Schliemann

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