...how much do they make? In a society that tells you how much you're worth by giving you a number with a dollar sign in front of it, by giving you fame and reputation and a corner office, they got their 15 minutes and they know it. Sometimes you make due with one great moment in your life and live off that emotional capital forever. Some of these guys will have to do that.

The writers and lawyers and orthodontists and stockbrokers will be changed by their experiences, but you can bet your blue chips they won't be giving money to these guys' retirement fund. And they won't be trading houses with the grunts over the summer or inviting them to lunch, either.

That she would be amazed that laborers have heroic souls is just appalling to me, but my grandfather was a railroad worker. Noonan... which clan did she come from? The hardscrabble workers of the Industrial Revolution and the Westward Expansion, or the owners of Tara?

The grunts are strong and well now, but what happens to them in 10 or 15 years when they blow their backs from all that repetitive physical labor? Will the lawyers and the journalists and the stockbrokers remember them then? I know the orthodontists will: they'll be working out payment plans with them to take care of their kids' teeth without cutting into the disability payments too deeply, except for the heartless ones, who will hire collection agencies.

When Peggy Noonan is 75, will she get out of her seat on the bus to give it to a 75-year-old man with a cane who may have been one of the grunts, or will she still be able to afford cabs?

Mary Anne