Our small ears never had such a workout as on the Fourth of July, hearing not only our own bursting crackers but also those of our friends, and often the boom of homemade cannon shot off by daring boys of 16 years, ready to lose a hand if it blew up.

I knew about holiness, never having missed a Sunday-school class since I started at four years. But if Jews were also religious, how could our neighbor with the grease-grimy shirt use the word 'damn' about them?

All poetry is an ordered voice, one which tries to tell you about a vision in the un-visionary language of farm, city, and love.

I can still remember the feel in my hand of that most wonderful American coin ever minted, a nickel with a buffalo on one side and the head of an Indian on the other. That nickel was a daily proof of our country's past. Bring it back!

Other families bought automobiles; we had a horse-headed hitching post in front of our house and drove horses.

I had been warned about Jews by my gentile friends - they did terrible things with knives to boys.

Without vision you don't see, and without practicality the bills don't get paid.