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From The Publisher's Desk
It was one of those sunny, warm days we’ve experienced lately and it didn’t take much to talk myself into going outside. I used the excuse of needing to buy Halloween cards for my kids to escape my windowless office and take a walk downtown.
I had just stepped into a shop when my cell phone rang. It was my cousin Mark in San Pedro. Except for greetings we exchange annually around the holidays, the only time Mark calls is when some tragedy has befallen that limb of our family tree.
Mark’s father and mine were first cousins who stowed away on a ship together in 1936 with several other cousins from Yugoslavia. The cousins lived in New York for a few years, then some came west. In San Pedro, Mark’s dad was the cook on a fishing boat. He and his wife Jennie and their two sons, Mark and Vince, lived just a few houses down from my parents and me on a street full of immigrant relatives.
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