Jim Jenkins

Jenkins: One night back in Honah Lee

They used to run to center stage, a lithe blonde with a tall, goateed man on her right and a shorter goateed man on her left. The group was the creation of a manager who’d heard about them in Greenwich Village, where they’d worked all the clubs during the folk music craze of the late 1950s and early ’60s. Even as the Beatles invaded with their brand new sound, and some of the folkies faded, these three were always there, always popular.

Jim Jenkins

Trump stomping to (GOP) victory

From the beginning, the pundits — insufferable, self-righteous, all-knowing Washingtonians — sat from on high and predicted a quick end to the campaign of Donald John Trump, the silver-spoon kid from New York who descended on a golden staircase to proclaim his candidacy for president and talk about how rich he is.

Jim Jenkins

A picture of the family circle, unbroken

The family plot is in the well-shaded Sunset Cemetery in Shelby, 40 or so miles west of Charlotte in the foothills. This past Thanksgiving, on a sunny afternoon, my cousin Charles and I paid a visit. Here was the family circle, with our grandparents, his mother, my mother and father, infant children of our grandparents who like some in the early 1900s did not survive childbirth or early childhood.

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