There was one special responsibility that I was always glad to fulfill and looked forward to each December. “Don’t forget to stop by the school nurse’s office and pick up the Red Stocking.”

The lacings of our democracy are knotted and as we bend our nails picking at them, our favorite entertainment seems to be murder mysteries, true crime dramas or concussive sports.

I am walking down east 10th street in New York city. It is 1959. The snow is already gray from the exhausts of so many cars.

The fall movie season has featured an unusual run of star-studded films built around true-to-life journalists in action. It’s purely coincidental, but odd nonetheless.

Every so often Hollywood releases a movie that makes you ask: why did they ever make this? Not because of any ineptitude but because of its unfamiliar subject.

Late June. Friday night. Late night dark, no moon. Window down, you just know they’re out there when you turn your truck by the farm.