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I don’t recall what film was showing that day. I like to remember it as a John Wayne epic, fairly spurting with cinematic testosterone. My platoon was too busy pelting uniformed enemy personnel and innocent bystanders alike with a merciless fusillade of navy beans. The cavernous Birmingham held more than a thousand kids, so there was plenty of chaos to camouflage our bean-shooter blitzkrieg. There’s nothing like the havoc wreaked by smooth-bore bean shooters in the free-fire zone of a dark, crowded, noisy theater.
By Travis CharbeneauJanuary 1993Dad brought me forward, a hand gently on my shoulder, face to face with the boy I didn’t want to fight; whatever he said, we understood that we had to. Maybe there was some feeling of a code being invoked, a tradition being followed.
By Dan HowellDecember 1992A good girl, a neglected child, a disappointed daughter
By Our ReadersDecember 1992You can do your studies on us migratory types all you want. My sister Rose came home from school last year saying that’s what you stay-puts call us. I told her you’re probably the same guys yelling White trash bastards go home when we drive through Salem. She says, no, you wouldn’t yell at us.
By Marian Mathews ClarkDecember 1992My father died on a July day in Phoenix. When he was found, his temperature was 108. The medical examiner’s certificate listed the cause of death as hyperthermia.
By David RomtvedtNovember 1992Hannah Arendt says a fundamental contradiction of the United States is political freedom coupled with social slavery.
By Sy SafranskyNovember 1992Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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