Fiction | March 01, 2003
The Ring of Progress
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In the spring of 1968 a dozen progressive parents leagued up to drive out the principal of our county school. His name was Reilly. He was a choleric, paunchy man of sixty with a sneak’s gait who stank of liquor and often smoked two cigarettes at once. Not a single child in the school–not the most innocent first grader–had been spared Reilly’s thirty-inch cedar paddle, which he called Skipper.
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