I Miss My Old Sled

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Vol 42 Issue 01

Alcohol Awareness Class

Colleges across the country are requiring incoming freshmen to take an online alcohol-awareness course. What do you think?

Gay Cowboy Film Buzz

Brokeback Mountain, Ang Lee's controversial gay cowboy film, is generating Oscar buzz. What do you think?

Greenspan Retiring

After 18 years of service, Alan Greenspan is retiring as chairman of the Federal Reserve at the age of 79. What do you think?

January 4, 1959

Alaska, Hawaii, Guam, Bora Bora, Samoa, Philippines, Japan Granted U.S. Statehood
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Just Like Everything Else!: Fox 8 p.m. EDT/7 p.m. ABC Pete's wife is still on him about building that darn shed, these kids are going to be the death of Sheila and Dave, and the hot next-door neighbor is up in EVERYBODY'S business! Sunday nights on ABC couldn't be any more familiar!

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Technology Unfortunately Allows Distant Friends To Reconnect

WAYNE, PA—Providing them the tools necessary to bridge a gap that both individuals say they were more than willing to maintain indefinitely, sources confirmed Monday that the advent of modern technology has unfortunately allowed distant friends Mere...

I Miss My Old Sled

I have been informed that winter has been upon us for a good month now. It is during this long season that my thoughts invariably turn to my childhood so long ago in the Oregon Territory. My dominant memory of those times is of snow, snow and more snow. Snow whirling about in great billows; snow piled in huge, sloping drifts; snow coming to rest against the rough-hewn timbers and window-panes of my mother's boarding-house.

But what was a white hell to most was a fairy wonder-land to me. My fertile imagination knew no bounds! Why, in my child's eyes, the snowy expanse could be transformed into a vast battlefield, electric with sacrifice and heroism for a glorious and noble cause! The Union forever!

Alas, it was all about to end. Immersed in my childish pursuits, how was I to know that the seemingly barren Colorado mine my mother had foolishly purchased long ago was to yield the richest silver lode in North America? Or that I was to be suddenly uprooted from my happy home and escorted to the big city by Mr. Thatcher, the cold and distant guardian my mother had appointed to look after me? That my adolescence and young adulthood would be a glum and endless succession of exclusive prep schools and Ivy League universities, from all of which I had managed to be expelled? That, on a coltish whim, I would purchase an impoverished little New-York fish-wrapper called The Onion and assume its editorship? Or that I would eventually lead this modest little daily to what it is today: the largest news-paper empire in the Republic?

Of course, I knew none of these things. But throughout my long and eventful life, even as I became the esteemed confidant of presidents and kings, I yearned for the cherished item that symbolized my forever-lost youth and innocence: my sled, Daisypetal.

What do you mean, no more moving-pictures before bedtime, Nurse? I'll look at them any time I want, you sow! No, I won't take my sleeping-potion now! Take that needle away from me! No! No, I... urr... glurglhhh...

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