This column’s a lot easier when someone else writes it for me. Think I’m bad for skipping a week or several? My brother’s got the right idea, he writes every fifteen or twenty years.
This is a reprint of a letter we just came across. You don’t have to know the names of the people he mentions. If you love Rockaway, you’ll get it. And who knows, your tear ducts might get a work out.
This is a love letter to a small town between the green ocean and the tranquil bay and is filled with everyday saints who don’t know they’re holy and would laugh if you told them they were.
Peggy, my darling wife and life partner, died of leukemia on January 24 at the cruelly obscene age of 42, just four short years after we moved to Rockaway. We had