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My uncle, Joe Flynn, was a great storyteller, and he had many stories to tell. His life spanned nearly the entire twentieth century. After Joe died, I realized that I was the keeper of these stories, that each was a chapter, and that once I had written them all down, I would be the author…
This past weekend, I came across a photo of my Uncle Joe with his bicycle, taken about 1925 when he would have been ten. The glimpse of the old garage at my grandmother’s house reminded me of the henhouse out behind it. And the story Joe liked to tell about the time he was left…