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Light a candle, glisten a glass for a generation's passing personalities

Light a candle or glisten a glass for Dick Spicuzza. Dick died the other day. He was our neighbor growing up, the busybody banker next door who found no greater glee than in puttering around the yard all weekend. Unclear exactly all that Dick accomplished in the yard, except that he did it with alacrity and a sort of French joy. Dick was a dream neighbor, as was his wife, Pat. They had a son and three daughters who were as good-natured as their folks. Lord, we closed down a lot of summer days together, playing like squirrels across big prairie lawns of suburban Chicago. It was how childhood should always be, filled with shards of sunlight and the residue of Popsicles. May through August,...

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