excerpt
in Washington, D.C. pushed President Roosevelt for the appropriations
that got the dam started. Everyone who grew apples
knew that Winifred Stone and The Daily Dispatch pushed the
senators.
The barrel of his chest straining the buttons of his faded Hawaiian
shirt, his frayed khaki shorts held up by an Army surplus webbed
belt, Poodie made his rounds, adding bottles and old newspapers
to the stock in his wagon. He was trying to think of a way to make
the mayor like him. Most people were friendly. Some ignored him
or looked away embarrassed, worried that he would approach and
ask for something, but Pete Torgerson yelled at him. Nearly everyone
knew about his deafness, knew he lived in a shack down by the
river. A few encouraged him to pick up bottles and papers from
back porches or corners of sheds. Poodie moved along, his wagon
following like a dog on a leash. The mailmen and garbage collectors
knew the town no better than he did. He pulled his wagon the
length and breadth of the town, making side trips into alleys,
retrieving bundles of papers, rummaging through garbage cans for
bottles. When the wagon was full to the top of its stakes, he hauled
it below the tracks to a rusting tin shed in a field between a foundry
and a freight warehouse. He watched a dusty old man box the bottles,
weigh the papers on his iron scale and count out a handful of
change from the coin purse he extracted from the pocket of his
leather apron.
Manolis Aligizakis 