school
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I remember walking the halls of my old grade school in my early twenties when I was busily fulfilling the truth of George Bernard Shaw’s old saw, “Youth is wasted on the young.” The halls had mysteriously shrunk but the place still smelled of pine-scented cleaner on polished linoleum. They tore the school down in…
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As John Welch’s arm exploded through the safety glass just above the brass push bar he realized the race had been won and the battle lost. Our third and fourth grade classes routinely made the sixty yard sprint across the playground from the north wing to the south wing of Limestone School rewarding the win,…
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My 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Karbosky, brought a new element of deportment into my informal midwestern upbringing, an air of dignified carriage replete with reading glasses strung around the neck with a silver chain and an erect and sometimes stiff posture. It was my first brush with the imagined upper class whom I’d never met…
Bespoke 