Tony Kraber had come dressed for the occasion: even the scarf he wore around his neck was imbued with almost 50 years of memories. Tall, lean, striding with the assurance of his 78 years, he pushed his way gently through a lobby full of adolescents to the inner room, the one with the stage. He stopped a few steps in, his eyes bright with anticipation, then soft in reverie, as he gazed at the vaguely familiar faces, the piles of photographs and clippings, the mementos of happy times a half-century ago. From across the...
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