A half-century ago, when the sun rose in the clear prairie sky and the first school bell had tolled its sharp warning, the ragged muster for the two-mile journey to the old gray schoolhouse would begin.
Far south of the school along Depot Street in Greenfield, Iowa (pop. 1,800 and dwindling), rusty screen doors would slam, assorted mongrels would bark melancholy farewells, bicycle chains would strain and rattle. The great morning migration was under way. Jack and Richard would roll out on the level street, and maybe Gilbert would glide over from the next block with his longhorn handlebars and mud...
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