

by Philip A. Farruggio
Featured Writer
Dandelion Salad
26 June, 2010
The skinny legged wide receiver with 4.7 speed (fast for a white guy in 1970), was running like “a thief from a grocery store” down the sidelines. It was a late Saturday morning in October. The pale blue cloudless sky suspended the sunny brilliance of this “Indian Summer” day. Such a contrast to the dirt brown city grass and the fire engine red of his uniform. His hands cradled the pigskin tucked close to his body. The only sound he could hear was the wind whistling through his sweaty helmet. The poorly arranged yard lines, white chalked like some giant checkerboard, passed below him rhythmically. In the distance, an empty end zone. His heart and mind raced along with his legs.
To ponder back at one’s youth, like leafing through pages of a history book – so many trapped memories escape. 1970 was one of the key years in my life. I was a ‘ stay at home ‘ college student, residing in Brooklyn, NY, “3rd largest city” in the whole US of A. We all inhaled an air of uneasiness, as this thing called Vietnam was sucking both our energy and our spirit. Friends and acquaintances from my Ave U neighborhood would disappear, then suddenly reappear in their dress blues, and then vanish once again – some never to return alive. (more…)
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