“Under the bed I discovered a whole shoebox full of love letters from the blond majorette from Belle Prairie Plantation; I took them in the back yard, arranged them in a neat pile near the place where my dog Skip was buried . . . and put a match to them, gazing down at one phrase not yet burned: ‘I’ll meet you in front of the drugstore at 7:30 in my green sweater.’”

—Willie Morris, North Toward Home, 1967.