Salt Lake City nurse and hero of the Republic Alex Wubbels may well have prevented Utah state and Salt Lake City cops from apparently attempting to slur the character or frame the victim of a car-and-truck crash precipitated by Utah Highway Patrol’s provocation of a high-speed car chase with the loser of the hour on July 26.

Wubbels mild and plain-spoken heroism exposed her to a violent assault and unlawful detainment by an apparently intriguing police officer on July 26 apparently attempting to set up an evidentiary framework to prove that the victim of the car crash bore some or all liability for the injuries in the crash their recklessness precipitated.

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We’re not sure what we expected. We’re not sure we expected anything. Coming of age in the Seventies, in liberal college-town Eugene, “protests” were such a tired tool that we mercilessly mocked each week’s low-attendance chantfest. “Moral preening” was not an expression in currency at the time, but it would have fit.

So we woke up Saturday morning, saw the initial reports of the crowd in DC: Good for them. No, really: It already looked more packed — and clearly more joyous — than the Inauguration the day before, and symbols matter a lot these days. Just ask the Hamilton cast.

And then we saw a video of the Denver crowd.

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Every time we think we’re ready to let go of the Talibunny Turkey Beheading, we just can’t. It’s only been five years, but it’s also been forever — forever in our heart, forever in the idea that some form of this must go back to the Greeks somehow, a sacrifice to Hermes that went horribly wrong, leading to the creation of Hades: a place where the living go to die, only to discover that there is no escape from other Departed Assholes, a Memento Mori that we the living are both Turkey and Executioner.

Or maybe it’s because we just can’t stop giggling at it. There’s also that.

As mentioned before, I was in the city that day. I was riding a train in from Long Island as I was staying at my mother’s. I didn’t have a cellphone then but people were already aware of something bad having happened by the time I changed trains at Jamaica to complete the journey to Penn Station. From Jamaica you could see the towers. One of them had a huge plume of black smoke going up from it. In the train I said, Look at that! Maybe four did, looking up from their papers.

It was my second day of rehearsals for a new musical so of course there was no question of delaying or staying home. Because if the show doesn’t go on the terrorists have won.

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