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Niagara on the Lake, Ontario, Canada
My virtue is that I say what I think, my vice that what I think doesn't amount to much.

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

Eudora Welty (1909-2001)

Even though the fan was going full blast, I was suffocating. It was a night in June of 1963 and I was in Jackson visiting my friend Eudora. There’d been much tension in town due to the demonstrations. Nerves were so frayed that their fibers easily tangled. Eudora and I were watching TV when we saw the news about Medgar Evers, a civil rights activist who protested against segregation. I’d seen Medgar in town a couple of times. He was a nice looking man who walked with his shoulders held high. But his furrowed brow gave him away. I knew from Darwin’s book on facial expressions that that corrugation meant only one thing—Medgar was chronically stressed out. I would be, too, if the KKK were threatening to kill me.
From The Diary of Luz Corazzini cynthia korzekwa

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