A thoughtful article. Make biscuits, not war.
The church parsonage in Murphy shared a driveway with Duke and his wife, Edna. Before school I would walk down to the bottom of the steep hill, grab both of our newspapers, and deliver Duke’s to him. My motives were not completely altruistic. Duke, at one time, owned a restaurant. After retirement he continued to cook. Every day he would prepare enough breakfast for about 20 people. His friends and former regulars at his restaurant would stop by throughout the morning. They would eat, drink coffee, and hang out for a while. His first visitor of the day was usually the nine-year-old kid from next door bearing his paper.
He and his friends would discuss the news of the day. And in the late ’70s there was a lot of news. Headlines told us of earthquakes and plane crashes and a nut in Jonestown leading a murder-suicide. It seemed like a daily…
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