I walked through a county courthouse square on a park bench, and an old man was sitting there. I said, your old courthouse is kind of run down. He said, no, it'll do for our little town. I said, your old flagpole is leaned a little bit, and that's a ragged old flag you got hanging on it. He said, have a seat. And I sat down. Is this the first time you've been to our little town? I said, I think it is. He said, I don't like to brag, but we're kind of proud of that ragged old flag. You see, we got a little hole in that flag there when Washington took it across the Delaware. And it got powder burned the night that Francis Scott Key said, Washington, write and say, can you see? And it got a bad rip in New Orleans with Packingham and Jackson tugging at its seams. And it almost fell at the Alamo beside the Texas flag, but she waved on, though. She got cut with a sword at Chancellorsville, and she got cut again at Shiloh Hill. There was Robert E. Lee, Beauregard, and Bragg, and the south wind blew hard on that ragged old flag. On Flanders Field in World War I, she got a big hole from a bertha gun. She turned blood red in World War II. She hung limp and low a time or two. She was in Korea, Vietnam. She went where she was sent by her Uncle Sam. She waved from our ships upon the briny foam, and now they've about quit waving back here at home. In her own good land here, she's been abused. She's been burned, dishonored, denied, and refused. And the government for which she stands is scandalized throughout the land. And she's getting threadbare, and she's wearing thin, but she's in good shape for the shape she's in. Because she's been through the fire before, and I believe she can take a whole lot more. So we raise her up every morning. We take her down every night. We don't let her touch the ground, and we fold her up right. On second thought, I do like to brag, because I'm mighty proud of that ragged old flag. Thank you.