Some of you might remember Susan Tom[1], a remarkable woman who over the past decade or so has made it her mission to adopt and care for 11 special needs children. Some have had physical disabilities, some have had learning disabilities, some have had terrible illnesses. Three have died from their afflictions.

I first heard of Susan May 11th, 2004. As I wrote on our Iraq page then:

Tonight, I finished watching the HBO documentary My Flesh And Blood, which tells the story of Susan Tom, a 53-year-old single mother in Fairfield, California. Susan is the mother of 13 children, 11 of whom she has adopted, many of whom suffer from handicaps and diseases.

Teenagers Hannah and Xenia were born without legs. Anthony has a degenerative and usually fatal skin disease. Eight-year-old Faith has disfiguring scars and no hair from being badly burned as an infant. Joe, 15, recently passed away from cystic fibrosis. Margaret, 18, helps Susan raise the family. (You can learn more about her story here, here,   here and here, you can read about the documentary here and here.)

Hers is a powerful and wonderfully inspiring story. It left me moved by the grace, love, and caring Susan Tom exhibits to these children … her children … children whom, without her, may very well have gone throughout life without love, without tenderness, without a chance … without having really lived at all.

I turn from that documentary to The Command Post, where I see posted the photographs of Nick Berg’s beheading, and I’m struck bluntly by the complete antithesis of Susan Tom: murder, brutality, and disgusting inhumanity. In moments, I went from having tears in my eyes to having bile in my throat. And I’m left wondering, as I’m sure are most of us are, what exactly to make of it all.

Well, I’ve decided what to make of it all, and what I’m going to make is some good. Susan Tom is a hero … one of millions … waking each day with a commitment to make the lives of others better through love.

Hers is an example to which humanity should aspire. So my response to the murder of Nick Berg and the inhumanity it represents is to use it
as motivation to give to Susan Tom and the humanity she represents.

All of Susan Tom’s children save Katie plan to attend college. Susan will have education bills to pay, and toward that end she’s established the non-profit Tom Family Education Trust to assist the Tom children with college tuition and book expenses (according to the stipulation of the trust, the monies can not be used for any other purpose).

For the next three days, between the time stamp of this post and Midnight EDT Friday night, Michele and I will contribute all donations made to The Command Post PayPal account (the button’s below this post and also over in the right-hand column) to the Tom Family Education Trust.

That post did three things. First, it rallied the blogosphere, and we ultimately raised $15,000 in three days for the education trust. Second, it was the germ of an idea that ultimately led me to create Strengthen The Good, a non-profit network of bloggers committed to raising awareness for small charities around the world. Third, it introduced me to Susan, whom I've since come to consider a friend, and her kids, who are as much an inspiration as is she.

Well, Susan finally got what she deserved. ABC's Extreme Makeover Home Edition built her a house. The episode airs tomorrow night at 7:00 EST (it's a two-hour special), and I strongly encourage everyone to watch the show. It's a program that often brings people (including me) to tears; Susan's story will inspire you to change the world, in whatever small or grand way you can. It did for me, and I'm a better man for it.

Thank you, Susan, for being a hero, and congratulations on getting what you've so long deserved.

1. You may visit Susan's web site here; the bulk of this post is cross-posted here.

Our forum was hacked, and it's trashed. Hopefully we can retrieve the database, as it contains (in addition to the threads authored by the participants) a significant historical record of global response to the Indian Ocean Tsunami.

We're working on it, and we're talking with some other folks who were hacked by the same sensless, worthless piece of trash hacker about next steps.

Apologies to everyone who enjoyed the forum; it seems some people out there need to prove their place in the world through the small-minded defacement of others' work.

Lots of complaints recently about trackback spam at TCP. They're well-deserved; with five blogs running and some 17,000 inidivdual posts, there's a lot to spam.

Over the weekend we installed Brad Choate's new SpamLookup plugin, and it seems to be doing the job: no new trackback spam since Saturday. It may produce a false positive from time to time, though, so if your trackback doesn't go through, send us a note and we'll take care of it for you.

Thanks for reading the Post.

Michele and I were named as “Honorable Mentions” in the Always On/Technorati Open Media 100 list. Thanks to them, and thanks to our readers.

Because of my role at Command Post, I'm occasionally sent a book to read, sometimes with a request for a review and sometimes not. Last week I was offered a review copy of Michael Phillip's new book, The Gift of Valor. It arrived Thursday; I read the bulk in two sittings (on the plane to and from Minneapolis on Friday), and the remainder this morning.

My main comments on the book are tangential to the core facts of a review, so I'll get the core facts out of the way first:

• The book is about Corporal Jason Dunham, U.S.M.C., who died from injuries suffered in Iraq when he covered an insurgent grenade with his battle helmet in an attempt to blunt the blow and minimize injuries to his troops.
• The book is extremely well-researched, well-written, and engaging. Difficult to put down, the accounts of battle are riveting, and the accounts of family and character are vivid and personal.
• Phillip's account is (thankfully) apolitical … he presents events through the eyes of a reporter who treats matters factually. It's a story of people, not a screed on the war.
• It's an extraordinary book, one I enthusiastically recommend to others.

Now to my main comments. I first leaned of Corporal Dunham when I read Phillip's first Wall Street Journal article about the Marine on 25 May 2004 (link via Blackfive). I remember being touched by the story; my feelings after finishing The Gift of Valor are deeper, stronger … more moving and substantive.

I finished the book just an hour ago, reading the final chapters on our back deck, warmed by the Sunday Pennsylvania sun as it rose through the white pines of our back yard. The air was warm but not hot, a soft breeze coming from the South, a trio of male cardinals chasing each other from tree to tree in the yard.

Kate by my side. Warm and freshly-ground coffee in my mug. The dog in the yard, happily munching on a stick, on the lookout for squirrels.

When I finished the book, I was moved.

Some of my reaction was a function of contrast: the obvious juxtaposition between my life in reading the book, and the lives of Corporal Dunham and his peers in living it. This book gives you a very clear window into the reality of the war in Iraq, the reality of war in general, and the people who shape and are shaped by that reality day in a day out.

It makes a Sunday morning on the deck with your wife seem a rich blessing, which frankly, it is.

Some of my reaction was melancholy at the death of Corporal Dunham. Some will call his death a waste, others a sacrifice, others still (including me) an act of courage and honor. History will apply that final lens, but regardless of that judgment, he was clearly a fine and good young man, and Phillip's descriptions of his life, his family, and his character struck deep chords.

And finally, and perhaps most of all, my reaction was humble awe not just of Corporal Dunham, but of the support of those around him through his journey: the Corpsmen, his fellow Marines, the nurses and doctors, the administrators … the infrastructure of the US military and the U.S.M.C, which brought humanity and caring to every step.

This is where we find the real story of The Gift of Valor: in the valor of not just those who serve, but of those who serve those who serve. This is a book about not one, but hundreds of heroes.

Of the Major who waits hours for his men to receive medical attention before revealing that he, too, has been shot.

Of the neurosurgeons who leave wealthy practice in the States to make a gritty practice in the sands of Iraq.

Of the nurses who refuse to leave an injured Marine alone for even a moment, hour upon hour.

Of the administrators at Bethesda who drain their personal savings throwing barbecues for the families of the injured, weekend after weekend.

Of the people of Scio who drain their rainy day funds to send Corporal Dunham's family to Germany, if needed.

There are two passages in this book that, for me, eloquently struck this chord of systemic caring. Both are in the book's final pages, as Corporal Dunham's family struggles with the decision of whether or not to honor the Corporal's living will request to not receive life support if in a vegetative state.

The first:

When the Dunhams stood up, one of the Marines took their place at Jason's side and held his hand.

The second — too long to recreate here — describes how General Michael Hagee, the Marine corps commandant, skipped a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to present Corporal Dunham's Purple Heart in person, and to be at his parent's side to tell them what kind of a Marine their son was.

Perhaps I'm naïve. But I've never held the view of the Marine corps, or of our military in general, as an infrastructure that would provide such humane caring for its people: to ensure a wounded soldier, even one in a deep coma, is not left without a hand to hold; to demonstrate that parents facing the most difficult choice they can make are a greater priority than the planning of our military's highest council.

Time and again The Gift of Valor tells these tales: people, caring for each other, loving each other, in the eye of a storm of pain and risk and death. It's terribly moving.

One of my favorite films is Love Actually. It's one of those movies that, if I catch a glimpse of it on TV, I'm committed to see the rest of the thing out. The film opens with a narrative by Hugh Grant, in which he says:

Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the
arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make
out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that.
It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it's not particularly
dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons,
mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old
friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of
the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or
revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got
a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around.

And so it is with valor. The dictionary tells us valor is "courage and boldness, as in battle; bravery". The message Michael Phillips brings us is that, yes, Corporal Dunham had the gift of valor. But the bigger message is that people all around us … doctors, nurses, administrators, the school principal down the street … they also carry that gift, for they have the courage and boldness and bravery to love.

And in that, valor is all around.

(You may see the Fallen Heros Memorial page for Corporal Dunham here, and the Marine Corps News story of his death here. Cross posted at Seat 1A.)

While at the DNC in Boston I bumped into Mike Moran at the hotel bar. Mike was behind Hardblogger, and we had a good chat about blogs and journalism (while having, I seem to recall, some of the finest chowder of my life).

He's now posting over at Sword and Pen for the Overseas Press Club of America … check it out.

He's also taking part in a June 1st panel on blogs and international news, along with Joe Trippi, Paul Mirengoff, Marshall Loeb, and Rebecca MacKinnon. Hmm … CBS and PowerLine, together at last … should be interesting. It's in NYC; go here to learn more.

You may now also find me here.

I've had a bit of an Outlook crash. Well, a huge Outlook crash.

If you have mailed me at my TCP address in the past month or so, or if you sent a mail that you thought deserved a response and didn't get one, please resend your inquiry to micheleREMOVETHIScatalanoATgmailDOTCOM.

Thank you and I apologize for not getting back to you.

A quick book suggestion: I recently picked up a copy of Virginia Postrel's The Substance of Style, which I'm very much enjoying. She's been a fan of Command Post since the start, and SOS is well worth the time and $ if you're at all interested in culture and aesthetics. Check it out.

I've been on vacation and without net access for the past week. I'm back online now, though, and will be plowing through the emails that have come in since I started my break. If you sent one, be patient: I'll get to them all.

Thanks.

GUNNER PALACE reveals the complex realities of the situation in Iraq not seen on the nightly news. Told first-hand by our troops, 'Gunner Palace' presents a thought provoking portrait of a dangerous and chaotic war that is personal, highly emotional, sometimes disturbing, surprisingly amusing … and thoroughly fascinating.

Filmmaker Michael Tucker, who lived with 2/3 Field Artillery, a.k.a. “The Gunners” for two months, captures the lives and humanity of these soldiers whose barracks are the bombed-out pleasure palace of Uday Hussein (nicknamed Gunner Palace), situated in the heart of the most volatile section of Baghdad. With total access to all operations and activities, Tucker's insider footage provides a rare look at the day-to-day lives of these soldiers on the ground — whether swimming in Uday's pool and playing golf on his putting green or executing raids on suspected terrorists, enduring roadside bombs, mortar attacks, RPGs and snipers.

See the trailers here.

A list of screenings is here.

Stumbled recently across ¡No Pasarán!, a group blog published by Erik Svane and Joe N. of Merde in France. Its focus:

What expats and the mainstream media (French and American alike) fail to notice (or fail to tell you) about French attitudes, principles, values, and official positions.

Check it out.

Via MetaFilter:

Think you might know a thing or three about US Presidents? (Alternately, have five minutes to kill?) Then try identifying some of them by their hair! Be sure to give it a few tries as there are more presidents than hairdos-to-guess per game.

Go on, guess the President's hair!

… works great with Movable Type (as you can see by the fact that I'm posting this with the Treo right now).

Test complete.

Pep Boys is a pretty unassuming company. Sells car parts. Does some simple service. Straight forward, easy to understand, not involved in all sorts of complex financial circumstances, international industries, or sophisticated financial instruments (like, say, a BP or an Exxon/Mobile or a Merrill Lynch).

Yet consider what Pep Boys needs to do to satisfy the SEC and the investor community:

• File an annual report (and make that available to all shareholders and potential investors) that reviews the state of the company and management's strategic intentions and priorities for the coming year.

• Hold investor conferences where investors can review the nitty gritty of the business and it's condition.

• Hold other conferences for investors and analysts so they can vet the firm, its strategy, and its direction.

• Disclose all significant or unusual corporate events with the SEC (and place those events on public record).

• Disclose the level of investment by company insiders others know who owns how much, and if they're buying or selling.

… and frankly, a dozen other things: analyst calls, annual meetings, etc.

Why must simple Pep Boys do this? Why subject poor Manny, Moe, and Jack to such rigor?

Because people are tangibly invested in the company, and as such, they demand as transparent a view into the stewardship of that investment as possible.

It's been that way for a long time, but ENRON, in particular, has made transparency the watchword of the decade for publicly traded companies, their boards, and their CEOs and CFOs.

Which brings me to CNN.

Eason Jordon. Wow. And this was a blog event, from the beginning to the end.

Like Dan Rather.

Like Howell Raines.

Here's the lesson for these and similar folk in mainstream media:

Information has always been a commodity in the public discourse. But now, for the first time in history, the channels of distribution have sufficiently fragmented that information (and news) is no longer something that's held, it's something that flows. From the “Law of the Flow” section of my APME speech:

If you’ve ever taken a class in macroeconomics, you might remember learning about “stocks” and “flows.” In economics, a stock is something that is accumulated over time … furniture in your house is a stock.

A flow is something that occurs over time, and tends to change the level of a stock. Income and savings are examples of flows.

And one of the conversations you have in macroeconomics is about money, and whether it’s a stock or a flow … and increasingly, as money has become more ubiquitous with credit cards, checks, cash, PayPal … money is more of a flow than a stock. It’s not something you ever really have as much as it’s something that flows from place to place as a means of accumulating the stocks you DO have.

Here’s the lesson from Command Post: information in general, and news in particular, is now a flow, and not a stock.

Before the Internet, information was governed by set distribution channels and gatekeepers … brokers … who decided who was able to have what. The stock broker had the price. The real estate agent had the prior housing report. The car salesman had your credit report.

And in news, the journalists had the facts, and the editors acted as brokers, making choices about what would be reported and what wouldn’t.

Not the case now. The Internet hates brokers. It KILLS brokers. Now, because of the Internet, everyone with a computer, an email address and a browser is a point of distribution … the only thing needed for information to “get out” is an interest on the part of one person to supply it, and a demand on the part of another person to have it.

Because of The Flow, people now are exposed to more information, are naturally more dependent on it, and are better able to judge its quality than ever before.

It's the currency of exchange for daily life, and mainstream news organizations (at least before the blogs) have been our banks of information: they held the currency, and they distributed it to the populace. And in serving that role, we made a similar investment in the mainstream media: We invested our faith.

Which is where CNN has something to learn from Pep Boys. Publicly traded companies must now begin to provide high levels of transparency if they hope to keep the faith of their investors. The same is now true for MSM news outlets. For … well, forever, really … they’ve been able to live in a world with no transparency, and make choices about how to handle the investment of faith by others without accountability to the investor.

Not any more. Now The Flow, facilitated by the blogs, are pulling back the covers on our banks of public trust. Dan Rather, Howell Raines, Eason Jordan … they were the CEOs of those information banks. For decades they've made choices of how to handle the consumer’s investment without providing any visibility into direction or intention. They've had their ENRON here and their WorldCom there … we just never learned of them. Now, the blogs are forcing transparency upon you, and some consumers are rightly finding that their investment hasn’t been treated as well as the like.

So they’re placing it elsewhere. They're placing it here.

In the closing pages of BLOG Hugh Hewitt writes:

The key to keep in mind is that trust drives everything. To build and maintain trust is a tremendously difficult thing, requiring patient attention to detail and discipline over long periods of time.

Yep. Trust drives everything. Always has. The difference now is that the media not only needs to earn it, they need to prove they deserve to keep it. Doing so is going to require true change in the structures and policies of these institutions. Good intentions and a commitment to better ethics won’t suffice (it certainly wouldn’t for Pep Boys) … and the resulting change is going to require a transformation of enormous consequence, the beginnings of which we have yet to even see.