We've mourned for New York and we're mourning for London, but why have we forgotten Chicago so easily?

EVENT

I'm opening myself to seem unsympathetic, but the cynic in me has to ask why a life lost in an explosion is worse than any other life lost unnecessarily. I'm writing in response to not one, but many sentiments I've heard this week. I have to ask: how many of us even remembered what happened ten years ago this week? How many even knew in the first place?

1995.
July 11: 73-90°F (23-32°C)
July 12: 76-98°F (24-37°C)
July 13: 81-106°F (27-41°C)
July 14: 84-102°F (29-39°C)
July 15: 77-99°F (25-37°C)
July 16: 76-94°F (24-34°C)
July 17: 73-89°F (23-32°C)

Final count? 739 fatalities.

Ten years late, and we still haven't declared the War on Poverty. It would be a much easier war to win, I promise, less costly, more effective. It would be a war fought with ventilation and water, in Chicago, and I promise not one person involved would die as a result.

But this is a war we don't seem to care about, nor do we go out of our way to mark the places where our desperate elderly slowly died of exhaustion and thirst ten years ago.

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