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A kid s-eye view of justice in 1942 – Part 2 | Columnists

Last week I told you that Mom arranged for me to spend a summer month away from New York City in 1942. So there I was at age 10, on an eight-hour train ride to tiny little Brasher Falls, N.Y., just two miles from the Canadian border. There, I joined my 14-year-old brother Charlie, who was living with Aunt Libby and Uncle Neil, owners of the local hardware store. Then began a month of country adventures. For a New York kid who rarely saw much in the way of fruit during the Depression, that adventure included as many apples, pears, huge sweet wild grapes, and as many other natural goodies as my 10-year-old belly could hold.

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