

Essays
A collection of writings spanning 2004 to 2025, originally published in The American Magazine.
Latest work
-

Freeway Flyer
Read more: Freeway FlyerOnce upon a time, a bike, not a phone, afforded youth a sense of personal freedom. In the fall of 1964 my father taught me how to ride a bicycle in the back alley of our home in northwest Washington, D.C. We had bought the bike together at my favorite…
-

Friend of the dead
Read more: Friend of the deadWorking the police beat and toting up casualties could earn you a nickname you tried living up to. We liked car accidents. The lethal ones were best. They held greater print promise. The higher the death count, the more funerals to cover, and grieving parents or friends to interview. That’s…
-

Italy’s phantom money
Read more: Italy’s phantom moneyItaly wants to spend more for ostensibly noble reasons, but does it really have the cash. The numbers say “no.” Some 20 years ago, a wealthy American ambassador to Italy — he’d made his billions in shopping malls — was casually asked if he’d encourage U.S. investment in Italy. Diplomacy…
-

The new milkmen
Read more: The new milkmenThe Trump milkman is another breed of man. As a young journalist in the mid-1970s I tried hard to emulate the style of the writers I’d grown to admire in college. This short-lived homage ended when a veteran wire service editor informed me my college loquaciousness would be intercepted and…
-

The raging down below
Read more: The raging down belowSeptember’s Hurricane Florence had a northward urge, perhaps appropriately. Hurricanes are the stars of America’s mean season, implacably brutal knuckles of howl that turn summer into fall and rearrange human landscapes at will. Their now-measurable force has long thrilled and frightened those who track their progress and set off mass…
-

Arguing with testosterone
Read more: Arguing with testosteroneVictoria’s secret? Not all are sworn to find it. My testosterone is in a funk. Gnome-like, it trolls through stories of extravagantly untoward male behavior and wants to know why it has no stories to tell. At least one skeleton in one closet, it says with an imploring drawl. Just…











