A coronavirus sketchbook, March 2020.
More than twenty-five thousand people lost their homes so a highway could be built in my neighborhood.
A requiem for the small-town "hang-arounds."
Since the early twentieth century, the area has been a safe haven for Latinx—including my family.
Remembering the Ohio State Penitentiary Hurricanes—and the day my father played against them in 1965.
Remembering the life and leadership of one of the first Black mayors of a major American city. [Excerpted from "The Gary Anthology."]
In Flint, Michigan, a gathering of the descendants of the men and women who joined the ‘Great Migration.’
From "Under Purple Skies: The Minneapolis Anthology."
An ode to a community institution.
The fair connects communities that often seem worlds apart socially and politically, but are intimately linked by economics and geography.
An excerpt from "Life Sentences: Writings from Inside an American Prison."
"Just a few minutes of vacation from my straight life; then back in the car."