Mike Landrieu

Compelling read! I also liked the way the ending ties back to the beginning. Happy to reblog!

Andrew Joyce

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As I sit alone in this small church staring at his casket (a casket, by the way, that costs more than the building it sits in is worth), I can’t help but smile to myself. This is where it started all those many, many years ago. Mike could have had one of those large, ostentatious Hollywood funerals, but he asked me, so to speak, to ship him here on the q.t. He wanted only one mourner, me.

I first met Mike Landrieu when I was thirteen, the year was 1935. I had run away from home, such as it was. The old man was an abusive drunk and my mother had given up hope years earlier. I hitched myself a ride with a salesman heading west and we got as far as this town when his Ford Model A blew a tire. Not wanting to wait around while he patched…

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