In my room at prep school, Bobby Vee’s voice is replaced by that of Joan Baez, swelling in nasal perfection. She sings “folk music.” It is different from rock, but simple, affecting. It reaches inside you. Time magazine puts her on their cover.
Outside the window of my dormitory room, the California sun shone upon well-manicured lawns and brick pathways. The Cate School was a world of blue blazers and ties, an ordered life of small classes, study halls, and chapel. I was absorbed reading On the Road. caught up in the world Kerouac described: the manic Cassady, careening across America, his injured thumb wrapped in an unraveling bandage. It was all very exotic.
(From “ETHAN RUSSELL:AN AMERICAN STORY”)
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