Almost exactly a year ago, Maj. Andy Olmsted died in Iraq.

I thought of Andy again when I heard that trauma surgeon John Pryor had been killed in Iraq on Christmas Day. Beyond the devastating loss to his loved ones, our world is poorer for having lost his passionate honesty. Indeed, the first I ever heard of him was through his 2007 op-ed about parallels between his work overseas and at home:

In Iraq, ironically, I found myself drawing on my experience as a civilian trauma surgeon each time [mass casualties] would overrun the combat hospital. As nine or 10 patients from a firefight rolled in, I sometimes caught myself saying “just like another Friday night in West Philadelphia.”

The wounds and nationalities of the patients are different, but the feelings of helplessness, despair and loss are the same. In Iraq, soldiers die for freedom, for honor, for their country and for their buddies. Here in Philadelphia, they die without honor, without purpose, for no country, for no one.

More young men are killed each day on the streets of America than on the worst days of carnage and loss in Iraq. There is a war at home raging every day, filling our trauma centers with so many wounded children that it sometimes makes Baghdad seem like a quiet city in Iowa. Unlike the Iraq conflict, this war is not on the front pages of The Post or on CNN.

Pryor was in a better position than most of us both to see this bloody misery firsthand and to bear witness to it. It would have been enough that he used his hands to heal; that he also used his voice to advocate was an act of profound generosity.

It takes titantic self-confidence to cut into human flesh, even to heal. I don’t know what it was like to live with Dr. Pryor or even have him as a colleague. I do know that the obituary was shocking to me, though as the song says we should know how fast the world can change:

Lying here in the darkness
I hear the sirens wail
Somebody going to emergency
Somebody’s going to jail
If you find somebody to love in this world
You better hang on tooth and nail
The wolf is always at the door
In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute

Back to Andy Olmsted, and his farewell message:

[F]or those who knew me and feel this pain, I think it’s a good thing to realize that this pain has been felt by thousands and thousands (probably millions, actually) of other people all over the world. That is part of the cost of war, any war, no matter how justified. If everyone who feels this pain keeps that in mind the next time we have to decide whether or not war is a good idea, perhaps it will help us to make a more informed decision.

Hamid’s film won second place in a contest, but that’s not why you should watch it. Watch it because it’s good. And because it’s a really gutsy, brave thing for a teenager to do, and because even if there were no more murders in Philadelphia this year, we would still already have had one for every single day of the year.

Stop the violence. Increase the peace.

Watch the film.

Local maps aren’t bad either.

I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t all historic. We heard about the recent anti-casino movement: 13,000 Philadelphians voted in an alternative election in November 2006 to draw attention to the state’s ability to summarily place casinos in residential neighborhoods. We heard about skateboarders’ problem-solving with the city over local parks, and the low-cost art classes available through the Fleisher Art Memorial. We even got a folk etymology (hotly debated) of the word “sabotage.”

The tour will be offered three more times in the next week, Tuesdays Sept. 4 and 11 at 5:30, and Sat. Sept. 15 at 11 a.m. Tickets are just $10 — come on out!

I always take out-of-town visitors on a tour of my favorite Philadelphia murals. Not only do we have more murals than any other city in the U.S., the city’s Mural Arts Program has perfected a process that gathers community input to design each mural, making every one truly a homegrown phenomenon. In this city of neighborhoods, where people feel passionate allegiances not just to areas but to single blocks, that’s important.

So if you visit Philadelphia, please take a tour of our gorgeous murals. And if you’re not here, at least get yourself a book for your coffee table.

And right now, go look at the photo essay. I like #6, for its artsy craziness (is that a water tower the mural is covering up?), and #12 for its creative use of jagged building edges. And I love the soaringly tall Dr. J, the legendary Julius Erving. What is your favorite?