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Don't miss the show-stopper, "Molasses to Rum to Slaves," about Northern complicity in the slave trade. Seriously.
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We wrote our own vows, read from Sandburg, Saint-Exupéry, and Gibran, and sang songs by Jacques Brel and John Lennon.
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“You understand, we can’t mention this again,” I told him. I felt like a criminal conspirator.
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I had hair; my grandfather didn't. So it was only fair to let him wear the mortarboard.
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The words rolled lyrically off my lips. Each sentence had a rhythm, a cadence.
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I loved how the keys plunked and the typebars clattered, the ping of the bell and the thwack of the carriage return.
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Michigan seems like a dream to me now.
—Simon & Garfunkel, "America"
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UNiversity, BUtterfield, KLondike, WOodward, YUkon—those old phone numbers were so easy to remember.
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I told them I was only eight, but I promised the announcers that when I was older I would drink Stroh’s beer and use Speedway 79 gasoline.
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1776
Prompted By Independence
/ Stories

The Elvis Wedding
Prompted By Ceremony
/ Stories

It’s a Book
Prompted By Good Bosses, Bad Bosses
/ Stories

The Graduate
Prompted By Graduation
/ Stories

Reading to Bill
Prompted By Those We Miss
/ Stories
Written in response to Something is Missing

The Typewriter
Prompted By That Was Then, This Is Now
/ Stories

Laughter
Prompted By Those We Miss
/ Stories

Telephone Exchanges
Prompted By That Was Then, This Is Now
/ Stories

You Can’t Tell the Players Without a Scorecard
Prompted By Big Fan
/ Stories
