Thought Catalog

Richard Grayson

Richard Grayson, a retired lawyer and college professor, is the author of With Hitler in New York (1979), I Brake for ...

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A 29-Year-Old’s Diary Entries From Early May, 1981

New York is really two cities. There’s the city of people who are educated, sophisticated, often young and single. They live in luxury (though they are always complaining). Side by side with them there’s a second city made up of the poor, the elderly, most blacks and Hispanics, and the middle class who haven’t fled to the Sun Belt.

A 29-Year-Old’s Diary Entries From Mid-April, 1981

The Moral Majority types seem to be taking control of America; they want to make it a Christian country and end pluralism and secularism. I don’t know if the 1980s will bring about repression and start us on the road to fascism, but I’m going to fight it with everything I’ve got.

A 29-Year-Old’s Diary Entries From Early April, 1981

There was a woman about my age at the pool, and she gave me the key to the sauna and shower room so I could wash off. She wasn’t pretty, but I couldn’t help noticing that she had a great body, and I kept staring at her. She was looking at me, too, and I knew she found me attractive.

A 29-Year-Old’s Diary Entries From Late March, 1981

My reaction to Fredo’s threats is not fear but rage. Let him try to do something to me. There’s only one way to deal with a criminal like Fredo, and that’s to fight back and show him he can’t frighten you. I’d rather die than let some subhuman scumbag have the best of me.

A 29-Year-Old’s Diary Entries From Mid-March, 1981

At Grandma Sylvia’s, Debbie Solomon’s interview took an unexpected turn as Grandma poured out her bitterness and frustration. It seemed depressing and tedious to me, but Debbie said it was great: “She’s sort of a punk grandma who could go on TV and just keep saying how bad life is.”

A 29-Year-Old’s Diary Entries From Late February, 1981

It was a gorgeous afternoon on the levee, and out by the river were roller-skaters, joggers, frisbee players and teenage lovers wrapped in a blanket. A car horn played “Dixie.” I like New Orleans. It’s a relaxed place, and race relations seem better than in any other place I’ve been.

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