From Counterpunch.
I was young and strong as a bull. He already seemed a faded mimeograph. We leaned against the rail on forearms, captured by thoughts turning like waves and set free in the wash fading without any record. After a while, he returned to the ferry cabin. A few months later, on that same passage, a stranger– furious at McNamara for his prosecution of the war– would try to throw him overboard. The obituary said he had been ill for a long time. Robert McNamara lived to the ripe age of 93.
