Yes, the newspapers were right: the breaking of windows was general all over Ireland . They were breaking on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, breaking softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly breaking into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. They were breaking, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. Shards of glass lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the windows breaking faintly through the universe and faintly breaking, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead. All right, enough of that now! No more literary parodies today! (See the last paragraph of the link just offered.) On to business: Summing up my views on disasters: 1) When we look at history, we see disasters have sometimes been a) the downfall of a person, local group, or whole cu...