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I wrote a piece for the school literary magazine that now makes me think: 'My God in Heaven, this is just the worst drivel.'
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To Southerners like my mother, 'Gone With the Wind' was not just a book; it was an answer, a clenched fist raised to the North, an anthem of defiance.
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My father's violence is the central fact of my art and my life.
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'There was only one cadet I ever really hated. Just one name I can think of,' The Boo said. 'That'll make an interesting story for the book, Colonel. Who is the jerk?' I asked. 'It was you, Conroy. Just you. There was something about you that I hated when you first walked into fourth battalion, you worthless bum.'
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General Clark walked the campus like a retired deity and ignored the general run of cadets.
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I wear the ring.