Dennis daRosa, my longest-time friend in life, died last week.
Fifty years ago this summer I saw a musical milestone. No one knew this was a farewell concert.
Early Sunday morning, I like to walk Middle Road from West Tisbury.
I live on Martha’s Vineyard, 3,000 miles away from my homeland. Why?
I live off a dirt road, rutted and pitted. Pebbles and dust spew from car tires.
“Is there anything you’re excited about today?” the little boy asked me, as we were drying ourselves off.
I haven’t played all that much golf in my lifetime, but most of it has been with my brother Kent.
Young people, even middle-aged people, don’t usually spend time thinking about growing old. I’m not sure why.
My passion for live theatre is now on hold. The Martha’s Vineyard Playhouse, where I serve as board chair, remains dark in these dark times.
Earlier this week I listened to three former American Presidents eulogize John Lewis.
In May 2018, I saw a documentary called Paper Lanterns. It tells the story of Shigeaki Mori’s research to identify 12 American soldiers who had died...