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  9 Roy My grandfather wore a Stetson, not the cowboy kind, but a felt fedora, ribbon banded, the inside leather embossed with his golden initials. One resided in an old-fashioned box taken out for dress, one he wore daily at dapper tilt even with farmer overalls. The latter sat atop his casket among the roses with the flag and doughboy helmet that traveled to France and back. The fedora inhabits my writing room, bears the scent of Bay Rum, cigar and wood smoke, memento of a man who read of the Wright Brothers in the paper, whipped the Kaiser, sent his sons to hunt Hitler, patted the porch swing and made room for his blue-eyed darling as we hummed to the Opry radio, tin-roof rain drumming while hounds on the ridges crooned the high lonesome. The author’s grandfather, Roy Hensley, c. 1938, Greene County, Tennessee. ...


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