The year was 1985. The year that I turned 56…on August 16th, the day that Elvis Presley died. As the news came to me about my friends, I kept wondering…am I next? I was not obsessed or paranoid, but the thought came to me several times during that fateful year.
We lived in Jupiter. I won’t repeat the joke (more…)
(Ray refers here to a number of stories from Depression Baby. The links in the transcript below will take you to the related episode of the podcast, etc.)
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Big thanks to everybody who came out, including Lucy, Derrick, Jeannie, Johnny Wayne and Nancie Bradford, Dick and Nancy Juge, Mary Todd and Jason, Christina, Charlene, Billy, Melba Rose, Danny Paul, Leah, Brenda, Theresa, Hunter, Norma, Marie, Mary Ann, Adelaide, Jerry and Tommy.
Thanks so much to Carolyn at Book Mart for the hospitality, and to everyone at The Claiborne for their help. Thanks to Mary Todd (and Jason), our Sidewalk Outreach Crew.
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A boy and his dog. A simple phrase that conjures Norman Rockwell paintings of The Good Old Days.
A boy throwing a stick and his dog fetching it. A boy teaching his dog to shake hands. A boy and his dog asleep huddled together on the back seat of a car on a long trip.
Bradford and I were taking a walk out in the county near Gainesville. By chance we met a farmer (more…)