Summer \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Under the Lily Moon<\/p>\n
Independence Day eve.<\/p>\n
Memories. \u00a0American memories. \u00a0A small town, like any small town. \u00a0You might call it Small \u00a0 Town, U.S.A. \u00a0Kids played outside until 9:00 pm, hide and seek and kick the can, using neighbor’s yards as hiding places. \u00a0Lightning bugs blinked off and on. \u00a0Bats swooped down after July mosquitoes.<\/p>\n
The labor unions fought for wages, benefits and a whole town, this Small Town, went out on strike. \u00a0And won. \u00a0Workers had houses, boats, vacations. \u00a0Their kids went to college. \u00a0Health insurance came with the job.<\/p>\n
This small town had a daily newspaper. \u00a0Each afternoon at 3:30 pm after school let out paper boys gathered in a small wooden shack attached to the back of the press room, green paper bags in hand. \u00a0The circulation manager would count copies and hand them out. \u00a0Some paper boys would stay a bit, folding the papers into tiny, compact squares with a folded down corner. \u00a0They flew 20, 30 feet with astonishing accuracy, curve ball accuracy.<\/p>\n
One newspaper boy bought a transistor radio, clipped it to his belt, stuck the ear piece in and listened to baseball games as he walked down Monroe Street, flipping the small squares onto porches from the sidewalk.<\/p>\n
This was a time, maybe about the year, that the Spunik satellite went up, pinging its bright metallic way across the sky. \u00a0Before that there were no human objects in space.<\/p>\n
Kids collected pop bottles from trash cans, pulling Red Flyer wagons, loading them up. \u00a0At Cox’s grocery store a nickel a bottle, ten cents for some. \u00a0A lot of money. \u00a0Buy some marbles. \u00a0Firecrackers. \u00a0Ice cream. \u00a0Essentials for hot summer days.<\/p>\n
Pot bellied veterans would carry the colors in this small town’s parades, their pink flesh peeking through the no longer form fitting white uniforms. \u00a0Tanks from the local armory left tracks in the hot asphalt. \u00a0An Independence Day parade. \u00a0Marching bands, baton twirlers. \u00a0A queen of something doing the wave.<\/p>\n
Folks lined up along the street, the folks whose husbands had gone on strike. \u00a0Who received the copies of the newspaper. \u00a0Folks whose kids played outside until therr was no time left and mothers called from their doorsteps. \u00a0They stood there in the heat and watched the parade. \u00a0A big event for a small town.<\/p>\n
Far over ahead, a ping.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Summer \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Under the Lily Moon Independence Day eve. Memories. \u00a0American memories. \u00a0A small town, like any small town. \u00a0You might call it Small \u00a0 Town, U.S.A. \u00a0Kids … Continue reading A Small Town<\/span>