My friendship with Bill Owens began thirteen years before I met him. One spring night in 1963 my mother again lost her temper and began whipping me with a leather belt. I was only ten years old, but I knew that this night her whipping would stop. I yanked the belt from her, and she never tried to whip me again. Continue reading
I had just turned six when he died, I in Birmingham, Alabama, he in Austin, Texas. But somehow we have denied space, time, and even death to become friends. I never met Roy Bedichek, never sat with him at Conversation Rock, and never corresponded with him. Still he has influenced me more than all but a few living men. Continue reading