In World War I, when the combatants hunkered down fearfully in miles of opposing trenches, everything took on the name of the trench.
I’m what used to be called a “regular guy.” House. Wife. Job. Taxes. Scared of street crime. Frozen pizza. Flannel shirts. Draft beer. Used car. It took me six months to pay off the new mattress I bought.
I heard Robert Mueller’s statement on Wednesday, sitting in front of a dead microphone in the studio of WSAR, an AM radio station in Somerset, Massachusetts. I do a talk radio show four days a week.
When I left the world of full-time newspaper employment to enter retirement, I left, as all workers do, with a box of things I’d taken from my desk.
Tonight, a month or so after the shootings at a synagogue in Pennsylvania (remember those? I didn’t think so.), I went to an “interfaith memorial service” at a synagogue about five minutes from my house in a midsized Massachusetts city.
Most American newspapers, especially the influential ones, wrote more words about the death of singer/songwriter Leonard Cohen than their readers wanted to (or did) read.