Last weekend, at the invitation of a good friend, I found myself in Eminence, Missouri, a place that is, geographically speaking, just about the aortic valve of the heart of middle America. A town of 548 souls, the signs say, about 200 miles southwest of St Louis, the very paradigm of rural American simpicity, the kind of place where , as one of my hosts put it, "all the houses have wheels and none of the cars does."
I was there not to take advantage of the hiking possibilities in the magnificent northern reaches of the Ozark mountains nor to sample the canoeing on the nearby spectacular Jacks Fork River, but to gatecrash a very private reunion and in the process to learn a little about the sharp end of American foreign policy.


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