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The Tale of the Foreman
So my father told a story of his own grandfather—one I had heard often but that astounds me every time it’s related. The moral dilemma is a perfect example of what can face a human being, a tale positively Greek in both its heroic and tragic components. His name was Jones McWhorter, and he lived in Houston, Mississippi. He had a fine job as a railroad foreman—an occupation hard to come by in the depths....
Tags a.g. harmon
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Owning the Past
From time to time, things we have done that we should not have done are brought to our attention. I’m not talking about things we remember; I’m talking about things we don’t. These are things that we not only have no memory of, but also cannot truly fathom a response for. And when we are at a loss for the transgression, it is hard to summon the right perspective. It is rather like being asked to remember....
Tags a.g. harmon
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Something Beautiful in the Mind
Once, provoked by Thornton Wilder’s play, Our Town, having seen the ending for the countless time for some school event, I asked a group of people to name their happiest experience. As you recall, the drama ends with the main character being allowed to return to her past life. She chooses one particular day, and I wondered if others would do the same. It took a while, but when they finally came up with something....
Tags a.g. harmon
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You First
How many times have you heard the admonition “Don’t be a hero” in any given circumstance involving danger? To the extent it’s meant as a caution against foolhardiness and the kind of bravado sought for bravado’s sake, it’s wise advice. There’s nothing praiseworthy in risking your life and others’ when the object is impossible or vainglorious. But I’ve lately come across a set of stories....
Tags a.g. harmon
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Eleanor Rigby
When I leave early in the morning for work, I often pass Eleanor Rigby. She is coming, I am going; her day ending as mine begins. She never looks at me as we pass, but I look at her. Mostly what I see is through the glass of her windshield, but I occasionally pass her in the garage of our building as she climbs from her modest sedan. I have privately named her after The Beatles' famous song because that’s how she strikes me....
Tags a.g. harmon
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Current Issue
Issue 72
Memoir by Lauren Winner, Poetry by James Harpur, Art by Guy Chase and Adrian Wiszniewski







