Search:

I came up empty, as is so often the case.

A trip to the newspaper morgue proved fruitless. After rifling through file cabinets for an hour, my hands were dirty but still empty. Two stories, maybe three, I had written 26 years ago were on the lam. If they were ever filed, they remain evasive, or maybe elusive, as the case may be. They didn’t want to be found.

My files at home were in even worse shape, no doubt. A pile of clips in a box buried in the attic. No use even looking.

No time for unindexed microfilm, so all that’s left for the moment is memory. That ...