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D I C K I S D E A D 1930–2002 Dick is dead. Paedophelia has lost its head. Long live the town instead. Photo and radio pro, he issued invites and bon mots to wives waiting by the telephone while bedside, awash in au jus, kids cried. He didn’t catch AIDS. He did the annual ski trip with skinny dips. No-Knock Dick, he invaded our house with lilacs or booze or new paint chips. Only one of my brothers broke down. We are glad Dick is gone. 72 ...

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