Ben Taylor was the sort of man who thought nothing of killing another with an unannounced shot from behind. Further, he knew his reputation as just such a man preceded him. He knew he’d probably meet his fate the same… Continue Reading
March 1, 1953. Everybody loves Lucy. My wife Betty loves Stalin. Now she’s lining us all up, my sister Sylvia, Uncle Fritz and me for a family picture. She’s taken them so painstakingly, to keep as a record, she said,… Continue Reading
A cowhand found Barbara Richmond’s body behind the livery stable. Some butcher took a knife to her belly and chest. I stood outside Doc’s office and wept. Lawman Bill Tilghman asked if he could walk with me. “You okay, Dora?”… Continue Reading
— trigger warning for statutory rape, ephebophilia, sexual predator — Facts may appear solid. Jane knew they mattered, especially since she made her living as a lawyer. History happened, just as stone transmuted into sand, and memories drifted like the… Continue Reading
I know if Andy and Buddy could see me now, they’d kick my ass. But I can’t help it. She’s beautiful. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a girl this beautiful. Problem’s she’s colored. That’s why they’d kick my ass.… Continue Reading
Millie said he’d be lonely out in the hallway, so Guido stayed in our room. My arms around his chest and Millie lifting his ankles, we moved him across to the kitchenette and arranged him on the spare chair, his… Continue Reading
I remember the summer of 1952 as momentous. Momentous because that summer plumbing was installed in our family home that sat on a dirt patch forty miles south of the Canadian border. I was seven with four siblings below me. … Continue Reading
Young Francis Deerham and Sir Thomas Culpepper stood wearily in the dock. Their trial was a sham, with little permitted in the way of defense. The Archbishop of Canterbury himself, Thomas Cranmer, acted as prosecutor, and he was especially theatrical… Continue Reading
November 3, 1960 Beloved Brother Alwyn, I thought you might like a photo of my new parish home at Mount St. Bernard. Leicestershire will never hold the fondness of my heart like Caldey Island. I miss the whitewashed buildings, my… Continue Reading
The streets here are steep and narrow, helped along the way by occasional staircases. Ouch! I find it’s hard to walk on cobblestones like this, up a hill that the locals seem to climb so easily. I can see two… Continue Reading