I had moved to a new neighborhood,
freshly carved out of a hillside on the western edge of the San Fernando Valley. My junior high was named after George Ellery Hale, the man who built the telescope... More > that unveiled the secrets of the universe. I’ve thought about Hale over the years, the man, his telescope, the school named after him and the students and teachers I knew there. It was in those days that a body was dumped up the street from my house. Then there was the kid who went home from school one day and shot himself in the head. Then there was the classmate I admired who got addicted to crack and died of exposure sleeping on a downtown street. I’ve thought about it all a lot.
It must mean something. It must.< Less