The Night My Courage Clocked Out
A Memoir of Fear in Someone Else’s Living Room November 24, 1979 Sweetest singing I ever heard. And a feeling like drowning. And eyes...eyes! - Mike Ryerson, Salem's Lot
Quarter Nights & Greyhound Dreams - 1986
1986 was a year of rust - and prayer. I worked two jobs, three jobs, six days, seven if the Lord looked the other way. Didn’t rest, didn’t dream, just kept on like a broke-down Buick with a cough in its soul. That old '63 LeSabre - Blue as my mood, fading like hope - her grandma gave it, God bless her - and we rode it on fumes, on faith, on three dollars of gas at a time. Three bucks. You hear me? That’s a couple gallons and some change, back when gas still showed mercy. We rolled slow, so the needle stayed up, and the money didn’t run out…
The Usher and My Father - 2022
On Lincoln Street I sat... book open, heart open, summer sun leaning through the window, time thick as molasses in a jar.
At Authors’ Ridge - 2024
For The Steady One We came not just to walk, but remember... Past Concord’s hush, past pine and ember - Where word and wind and granite sleep, And roots hold secrets buried deep. No fanfare marked the path we chose - Just lichen bloom on aging rows, And leaves like letters overhead That whispered names we’d long since read.
First Kings of Elmira - 1975
In the summer of 1975, the grass along Eldridge Park field ‘neath the old wooden roller coaster was patchy, tall in places, thin in others - but to us, it was emerald, endless, a kingdom under the slow, benevolent sun.
That One Bottle — 1989
A Memory in Sweat and Grace In Nuremberg, summer pressed its full weight down - thick as iron, bright as judgment - onto a rugby pitch ringed by trees too wise to move.
The Other Side of the Door - 1984
A Two-Piece Manuscript: The Door & the Silence Some doors remain closed until your faith knocks hard enough to hear your own heart . - Oliver B. Greene I. The Door That Kept Me Going I was twenty-one. Broke. Wearing yesterday’s uniform and tomorrow’s fear. College slipped away. My son didn’t. He needed me - so I drove. Thin mornings, Richmond-bound, Chamberlain to the old highway, the Ambassador breathing smoke, gauge flirting with E like it wanted to leave me behind. Sometimes I asked out loud if God even rode with me - if anyone did. The…
