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Letter From Rockford

Letter From Rockford
Letter From Rockford\r\nby Scott P. Richert\r\nFrom Here to Eternity\r\n"Weapons—guns, knives, brass knuckles,\r\ncigarette lighters . . . " The young man's\r\nvoice trails off. If he were not waving his\r\nmetal-detector wand at us, I might think\r\nthat he was offering to sell us a gun or two,\r\nnot asking us if we were carrying any.\r\n"No, they're all in the trimk," Chronicles'\r\nassistant editor, Aaron Wolf, cracks, and\r\nour art director. Ward Sterett, and Art\r\nJohnson, a friend of the magazine and local\r\npolitical scrapper, laugh.\r\n"This is new," I say to the security\r\nguard. "Did you have problems last year?"\r\n"Oh, veah, we always do. Just last night,\r\na guy came in with a really cool pocketknife.\r\nIt's mine now," he says, a smile\r\nbreaking across his face. "Go on in."\r\nWe step through the entrance of the\r\nold IGA supermarket in Roscoe, about\r\nten miles north of Rockford and a few\r\nsouth of Wisconsin. Two high-school\r\ngirls take our money —seven dollars\r\napiece—and hand us each a coupon for a\r\ndollar off admission to their sister establishment,\r\nin a barn outside of Belvidere.\r\n"After you've gone through both, you get\r\nto vote on which one was better." After\r\nthe discount, the other one is only $4.50.\r\nI already know which way I woidd vote.\r\nWe walk down an unlit hallway with\r\nwalls of black-painted flakeboard, under\r\na ceiling of black plastic wrap. As the\r\nlight from the entrance vanishes, the\r\nhallway comes...

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