 |  Periodic editorials concerning everything from the very worst industry—from an annual report standpoint, that is—to what's wrong with the Fourth Estate. Reporters who can't hit an accuracy with a cannon. |
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| Periodic editorials concerning everything from the very worst industry—from an annual report standpoint, that is—to what's wrong with the Fourth Estate. Reporters who can't hit an accuracy with a cannon. |
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You CAN go home again, two guys insist
Blame it on the September 11 terrorist attacks, on senility, or on out-and-out chance. Two journalists—one, Pulitzer Prize-nominated author William H. Rentschler, the other yours truly—both by coincidence vowed publicly more than once that there was no chance in the world they'd return to their hometowns.
In Rentschler's case, hometown was Hamilton, Ohio, where he was born and raised. In my case, while I technically grew up in Ceresco, Michigan, population (then, as now) 100, the place I called "hometown" was Marshall. A town that no doubt impresses the casual visitor as "the town that stood still," replete with well-preserved mansions and a debris-free downtown featuring antique shops and the like. Historic Marshall (that's how it bills itself) is where I attended high school, drank beer (and hated it) the first time, began my journalism career. Rentschler was off to Princeton, then onto a career in journalism, all the while flirting with politics. He ended up in tony Lake Forest, Illinois, wrote several books along the way, and lost several elections.
Well, to make a potentially long story mercifully short, Rentschler and Cato will spend Christmas in, respectively, Hamilton, Ohio, and Marshall, Michigan. His move took him there in plenty of time for Thanksgiving. Mine is to take me there in time for Christmas 2001.
Whatever, Bill and Sid are trying their darndest to convince the world man can go home again. |
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