They weren't wild about Harry either

It's said, repeatedly, that history repeats itself.

Among President Barack Obama's other migraines is the growing tension between him and Gen. Stanley McChrystal over how the war should be conducted in Afghanistan. The president is reluctant to send 40,000 more troops requested by the general, who recently has challenged the president on the matter.

The conflict is reminiscent of a similar, but more confrontational, disagreement between President Harry Truman and Gen. Douglas MacArthur over foreign policy during the Korean War. Truman was trying to negotiate a peace settlement while the popular general was actively campaigning for outright invasion of China.

The matter was dramatically resolved when the feisty Truman abruptly fired MacArthur, setting off widespread criticism of the president.

In the just-published "Listen Up, Mr. President," the 89-year-old White House correspondent Helen Thomas noted Truman's explanation for canning MacArthur.

"I fired him because he wouldn't respect the authority of the president," Truman said. "I didn't fire him because he was a s.o.b., although he was. But that's not against the law for generals. If it was, half to three-quarters would be in jail."

I remember that 1951 showdown and that I sided with the president. Because of the general's arrogance and sense of royalty, many of us who served in the South Pacific under MacArthur (who aspired to be president) would not have voted for him for dogcatcher.

Truman was an unpopular president who made tough, unpopular decisions. But in retrospect, historians rate him as one of our better presidents.

President Obama should aspire for some of Truman's backbone in dealing with dissenting generals.

A cheerful butcher

God must also love a cheerful butcher, along with cheerful givers. I do.

After all, it's not the sort of job that comes with a built-in high, or gets a standing ovation or choruses of "Bravo! Bravo!" or even "Butcher of the Week" honors.

Bob Mullinax ran into a cheerful butcher recently at the Harris Teeter as he was scrutinizing the "sell by" dates at the meat case.

"Could I help you, sir?" the butcher asked.

"Yes, I'm looking for a date," Bob replied.

"Sorry, I'm taken," the fellow said with a grin.

It's not often that you find a butcher with a sense of humor.

We never sing a certain hymn at church without my recalling an incident related by a Raleighite who was visiting a village near Coventry, England, when she was drawn to the sound of music coming from a small church.

Learning from a bystander that a funeral was in progress, she asked, "And what's that hymn? It sounds familiar."

"It's 'Sheep May Safely Graze'" replied the villager, who, when then asked who had died, answered, "Thomas, the butcher."

The little people

After playing on the monkey bars and slides at York Elementary School, spending six hours at the State Fair, visiting the science museum and indulging in other worthwhile endeavors for a 6-year-old, the grandson announced a momentous change in his life plan.

Instead of growing up and living next door to his parents in St. Petersburg, Fla., he now plans to move to Raleigh to be near his grandparents.

He will still pursue his current goal of selling peanuts at professional baseball games, but will transfer his loyalty and workplace from the Tampa Bay Devil Rays to the Carolina Mudcats.

Another Raleigh ambience influencing his decision is Raleigh's weather, with its changing seasons. For example, before leaving Tuesday, he gathered a supply of colorful oak and maple leaves to take to his first-grade classmates.

He remembers when Mrs. Rieley, his pre-kindergarten teacher, on a visit to Western North Carolina, brought back three big bags of leaves, enough for her students to experience the simple autumn pleasure of jumping into a pile of leaves.

We locals do take for granted the abiding truth that "Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina."

Lest we forget

And while we're being grateful, let's give thanks for this, thus far, hurricane-free season. Surely we haven't forgotten 1996, when Hurricane Fran laid waste to Raleigh, dropping trees by the hundreds, downing power lines, trapping motorists within their own subdivisions.

Remember that week of no electricity, of cooking on grills and over fireplaces, and communicating via cell phones I still recall an impromptu poem sent by a Raleigh reader:

I think that I shall never perceive

Poems as ugly as fallen trees.

I've loved trees as well as any man

But never the same since Hurricane Fran.

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