I was once forced into a family dispute among people I neither knew nor liked. It started when I saw a young woman sitting on the porch of a house, waiting. The elderly man who lived there was a friend of my mother’s, so I approached and asked if there was anything wrong. My parents…
A very bad man, part one
December 1, 2013
We live in a golden age of flim-flammery. A lot of you reading this are depressed and aghast at what you see; my parents were too. They couldn’t believe how the world had changed since they were born. So to give you a sense of proportion, I’ll tell the story of the most merciless, predatory,…
A very bad man, part two
December 1, 2013
There was no sense of order at all, piles of debris having simply been dumped wherever a clear space had existed. It was a scene of such devastation that I immediately lost all desire to browse and decided to leave. I greeted Larry and engaged him in our ritualized banter, but his heart wasn’t in…
A very bad man, part three
December 1, 2013
He simply would not listen, would not change the way he did things, and would not stop bringing in more and more junk that nobody on the planet wanted. We had no idea how this three-quarters-dead old man would leave another four hundred pounds of crap for us to sort, but he pulled off this…
A very bad man, part four
December 1, 2013
When we arrived at Larry’s hanger, he told us he didn’t have the key, so we’d have to go home. Instead, Tim took a crowbar from his car and silently broke the lock while Larry wailed. Inside, we learned the last of Larry’s secrets. His hidden treasure was a landfill of magazines, cardboard boxes, empty…
A very bad man, part five
December 1, 2013
After we were back within our own walls, I waited an hour and then called Larry’s home number. He answered with his mouth full and told me that he was perfectly okay. I could hear his television blasting in the background “I’m really sorry, but I can’t come back,” I said. “Yeah, sure, I understand….
Karma, baby
September 14, 2013
The U.S. Postal Service is swirling the drain. I can’t bring myself to feel badly about it. Why? Because karma. I’ve had too many priceless postcards, photos, and cartes de visite stolen. A theft ring of postal workers operates in New York. With total, absolute, complete impunity. Every American collector of military postcards knows about…