Nonfiction | June 01, 2010

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In his own community, Ken Kesey wasn’t a stranger. One can see his influence everywhere in Eugene and Pleasant Hill, whether it’s yogurt from the family creamery in a local store, a statue of the writer reading to children on Willamette Street, or a farmer in a tie-dyed shirt ploughing his fields. In the Willamette Valley that winter, there was vast sympathy for the man who had disappeared from the rest of the country. The family received hundreds of letters, and reading through local newspapers, one finds commiseration and indignation from the most unlikely of sources.

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