You’re looking at a photograph of my son John holding his daughter Emma. They’re on the rooftop of their Manhattan apartment, on the south side of 15th Street, between 7th Avenue and 8th. It’s a pleasant fall evening in 1997, and my wife and I are visiting from St. Louis. Emma is ten months old.
But maybe you aren’t looking at John and Emma. Your eyes probably focus instead on those two gray monoliths in the background. Before it means...
The remainder of this article is only available to paid subscribers.
Print subscribers to Commonweal are entitled to free access to all premium online content. Click here to purchase a print subscription, or if you’re already a print subscriber, register now for premium access.
Online-only subscriptions provide access to all premium online articles for just $34/year. Click here to subscribe.