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Paradise. Paradise of Meriwether County, Georgia. Warm Springs. Two support personnel for each patient. Campus of the gods. Food of humans — prepared to be eaten at civilized times.
By Lorenzo W. MilamJune 1983In 1975 I came to love Faye Henry. She was thirty-five years older than I and necessary for my mother, who had no friends at Harvard until she and Faye Henry fell asleep together in the back of “Practicum in Ethnographic Futures Research,” knew they were destined to be friends, and have been ever since.
By Brad ConardJuly 1982A folk-mass at church, a mountain cabin full of friends, Sunday nights at the San Dune Tavern
By Our ReadersMay 1982As far as I know, my grandmother’s only regret in life was that she died on a Thursday. “Damnation!” she cursed fate in front of her sister Gert, her four children, and her thirteen grandchildren.
By Brad ConardFebruary 1982The man in the silk swimsuit stood on the edge of the diving board — now motionless. An unusual silence weighed in the air. Everyone turned to look at this figure balanced on the end of the board. A collective gasp pulled the air from the board as the old man bent his legs and in slow motion sprang into the air.
By Ron JonesNovember 1981Many families possess tales of their occasional flirtations with opulence. Ours concerns Great Grandpa Kemsmier. Short of cash, he decided to sell his small matzoh business. The new management expanded into wines and other kosher delicacies — changing the company name to Manischewitz.
By Nyle FrankApril 1981The mountains, the Nags Head Casino, a cave in a thicket of forsythia
By Our ReadersMarch 1981Some mornings you have a feeling everything’s going to go right. I got mine when this blond girl in an old Studebaker, wearing light blue shorts, a cotton blouse, and sunglasses perched on top of her head, stopped to pick me up. She said she had the whole day off with nothing to do.
By Nyle FrankJune 1980Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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