I am sitting in Row A, Seat 1, dressed in a double-breasted dark oxford gray suit, a plain white shirt, and a dark blue silk tie . . .
My rusted Pontiac bounced from pothole to pothole and swung into the factory lot. Another overcast day, all dirty snow and no sun. In Northeast Ohio, pessimism is the great common denominator—hoping for sunshine on a winter’s day is as fruitless as wishing upon a star, expecting a quiet lunch break, or rooting for the Browns . . .