Jerry Westacott

I was nineteen and nearly 1,000 miles from home in my second year at Arkansas State. By then, I knew that I should never have gone back to school; I was lost.

My summer job with the Wayland Street & Water Department was backbreaking, but even after days of mowing, ripping out broken sidewalks, and sweeping streets, I could enjoy the fruits of hard labor. I realized that I would never be an academic. I wrote my dad in desperation. We didn’t have much of a relationship…

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Thanks, Mr. Gunlocke!

My brothers and I ruled the newspaper delivery market in Wayland, New York.

The four of us, on a fleet of bright yellow, heavy-duty Schwinns with dual metal baskets, were the kings of the paper routes, making sure the Democrat and Chronicle Morning Edition arrived in front doors or newspaper boxes seven days a week. The Landino Boys delivered, and years later, our sister Lisa would carry on…

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