I'm embarrassed to admit that I haven't read much SF since the days of Eric Frank Russell and "Mosquito".

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Why be embarrassed? Who do you think cares?

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I was recently reminded by a childhood friend about an bizarre accident that occurred when we were kids. Before a little league game, a piece of the flagpole broke off and killed one of the saluting kids. My friend was there and still has nightmares about it. For whatever reason, I immediately thought of The Shadow Year. Why? Danger lurking in the mundane rituals? Or just something that would happen there?

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David: That's a terrible memory. I remember once when I was on the wrestling team in junior high, this kid on the team tried to pole vault with a push broom and the handle broke and, no lie, went up his ass and out his stomach. No one could believe it. The kid lived and was fine after a couple of operations, but... For some reason that experience of yours set that memory off again. I don't know if I'll say, Thanks!, but I had pretty much forgotten that incident.

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I googled this, but being before the Internet, could find nothing on the web. But I did find a more recent incident where a rusted flagpole broke and killed a kindergarden kid in Michigan. I guess you don't have to fight in a foreign war to give your life for your country?
I was thinking too, that if you wrote this incident as fiction to make the above point, everybody would think it was cruel and contrived. Truth is often stranger than fiction, but that really provides little help to the fiction writer if it's too hard to sell?

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