It was a summer day in the late 1970s. I recall standing in the lobby of Wachovia Bank waiting for the next available teller.
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It was a summer day in the late 1970s. I recall standing in the lobby of Wachovia Bank waiting for the next available teller.
The first funeral I can remember attending was my great-grandmother’s. Actually, I don’t remember the funeral, just the trip for her burial to the mountains where she was born.
As I make plans for my family’s upcoming New Year’s Eve gathering, I can’t help but look back over my life and remember all the events I’ve been through.
Davidson Local isn’t your traditional newspaper. Therefore, the content we publish isn’t always traditional.
This week’s story was written in December 1974. I was in my senior year in high school and it was printed in our Christmas newsletter.
The first small box she picks up makes her pump the brakes. Hold up, wait a minute!
Collette glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She had to look nice since all three grade levels would be in the middle school gym at the same time.
“Watch out for that second step. It was rather loose the last time I ventured out into the yard,” cautioned Ms. Crabfield.
You don’t have to be a world traveler to know that all roads are not the same.
“Wow, look at this place!” exclaimed the only boy in the family of five children. “Will I get my own room?”
Cam was meeting up with a few of his fraternity brothers this morning for breakfast. Everyone was excited or anxious over their approaching graduation.
“Verne! Valena! Victor! Get in here! Now!” bellowed Mom Peterson after processing what young Vanessa had just revealed.
“Hello, Jackie, this is Eugene. Just wanted you to know we’ll be headed your way in about an hour.