Lower the Volume
Election Day will mark nearly 20 years since my friend Dan Malcom was killed on a rooftop in Fallujah. Dan died trying to help my platoon. Friendly artillery had us pinned down on a roof. Hot shards of jagged shrapnel slapped against the side of our building. Dan had climbed into an exposed position to shift that artillery when a sniper’s bullet found him. He was 25 years old. When I finally came home from Iraq, I was 24, but I had as many dead friends as an 80-year-old.























