The Named and the Nameless

"I had never known Vince very well. He was of my father's generation, and during the sixties and seventies that was reason enough for me to maintain a respectful… More

The Centaur’s Son

As I lay in my crib, sleeping only three crow miles away in another small sandstone farmhouse was a 15-year-old boy who was dreaming of graduating from high school… More

Painting the Sunset

It’s said that too many cooks spoil the broth and two women under one roof is one too many. It couldn’t have been easy for my Aunt Margie to… More

My Father’s Violin

...lying in the back of another old Chevy—a ‘50 model—I watched passing headlights pinwheel over the torn headliner, and thought of my father home in Pennsylvania, dreaming unimaginable dreams… More

My Father’s Violin

My father played his violin every evening, standing by the upright piano in our dining room. Hearing him play was my first memory, and I can no longer recall… More

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