When dying, he said, “Dieu me pardonnera, c'est Son metier,” which Mama in her inexpensive French translated as, “Of course God will forgive me … that's His business.”...

After Mama and all the rest of us got back from Europe, everyone sat around waiting for the war to end in six months.

The first journal I ever kept was of the trip to Europe with Mama.

Someone gave a masked party in a wine cellar called “Little Europa.”

Honor came to Mama some years after her attempt to reform politics in our town. She was appointed to the school board.

Of all Papa's many brothers, the one Mama liked the best was my Uncle Willie.

Everybody in our town knew the Billpens. They lived in a small house Mr. Billpen had hammered together by the side of the railroad tracks.

Sometimes at night when I cannot sleep, I hear again the long, grinding whine of Mama's first Model T.

In those days everyone knew he could become very rich by being very smart.