In 1925, I worked as a janitor in the basement of the Apollo Theater on 125th Street, and every night after mopping the floors, I would sit on a milk crate and read. I had learned to read three yea...
I believed them. I wanted to believe them. But belief is a fragile thing when your hands are cracked and bleeding and the mill whistle blows at five in the morning and you cannot keep your eyes open during the eight hours of night school that the local church offered. Then I met Patricia Van Der Bilt. It was a Tuesday in November. I was working security at the docks, standing on a pier with a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews