In Search of the Different Drummer (a postscript)
As a college freshman, I made friends with a high school senior who was permitted to live in our dormitory. I never learned how Gary, a Catholic high school student from Chicago, ended up in a college dorm in Charleston. Perhaps I should have asked. Whenever someone did make the mistake of asking Gary what he was doing in Charleston, he invariably answered: “I’m just waiting for a streetcar.” And, if the questioner persisted with the inevitable protest, “But there aren’t any streetcars in Charleston,” Gary responded: “That must be why it’s taking so long.” That is where many of...



