I've written before about a bit of wisdom I received from my father many years ago as we sat in front of our black-and-white television set back on the farm on the banks of the South Platte River.

Oohing and aaahing one of the war movies popular back in the 1960s, I was taken aback by a dose of reality from my father:

"War isn't pretty," he said. Dad enjoyed a good movie almost as much as anybody, but a stint on Okinawa behind a .30-caliber water cooled machine gun, and wounds from a hand grenade and mortar shell gave him a perspective that his son needed to listen too.

I've had a couple of reminders of the wisdom of his statement, one of them from current events, and one from history.

I can understand the outrage that has resulted from the photographs of the abuse of prisoners in Iraq. After all, that isn't how Americans do things. Traditionally, we have observed the rules of the Geneva Convention, and have taken the high road when it comes to the way we treat those we have taken captive.

But, we need to remember that most of the prisoners who have been abused are alive to tell about it. (Not all of them, unfortunately, if the charges are true).

And now, the general who was in charge of the prison has been given the boot, and that's good. I believe when all is said and done, the abuse of Iraqi prisoners will be found to have originated far up the chain of command from the prison guards who showed up in the photographs from Iraq.

Still, that's not how Americans do things. If we find ourselves lowering our standards to deal with perceived threats to our country, those who hate us will have won.

I had a chance to read a book, "The Day George Custer Died," by W.E. Rosenfelt, who will be signing copies Friday afternoon and Saturday morning at the Cambridge public library.

I have visited the Little Bighorn and read numerous accounts of Custer's Last Stand, but Rosenfelt's book brings out new evidence that dispels the myths that many of us grew up with in the days when western movies and television shows were popular.

It also reinforces my dad's contention that "war isn't pretty."

For one, Rosenfelt's accounts allow empathy for the Sioux, who, responding to a Sun Dance-induced vision of soldiers falling into their camp, had a chance to avenge the deaths of women, children and family members, carried out in early morning, dead-of-winter raids by the soldiers.

For another, Rosenfelt makes a good case that Custer and many of his men actually shot themselves when they saw their position was hopeless. He supports his case with Indian accounts of soldiers "going crazy."

Suicide was completely foreign to the Sioux warriors, few of whom had the courage in later years to tell the truth about the battle, instead opting to tell their listeners what they thought the white people wanted to hear. Instead, they attributed the soldiers' action to whiskey or the Great Spirit.

If you're interested in reading more, you might stop by the Cambridge library while Rosenfelt is there, or contact him at Ozark Book Distributors, (870) 424-3188.

But Rosenfelt's book doesn't detract from the integrity of the soldiers or braves on either side of the battle. Neither should the prosecution of the soldiers involved in the events at the Abu Graib prison.

The ugliness of war only reinforces the magnitude of the sacrifice of those who willingly choose to defend their homeland.