North Truro, MA. August, 1977

Oh, dear. That hair! Here’s a souvenir of a time gone by, of something that no longer exists. I’m speaking, of course, of this wonderful sign that frequent long-time visitors to outer Cape Cod remember well. For the literal-minded, it signaled that drivers could veer left onto Rte. 6A and go through North Truro or stay on Rte. 6 and head directly to Provincetown, either selection getting you to your desired destination. For us, it was always straight ahead to Ptown ASAP. I was a New Jersey schoolteacher with summers off back then. And when my Boston-based friend Charles rented a group house in Wellfleet and, as one of his co-renters remarked, “invited his address book to come visit,” I did. Sadly, and for reasons I leave to Dr. Freud, my instant clicking with his friends didn’t sit well with Charles. Oh, well. The following summer I moved to Massachusetts on my own, began working at WGBH Boston, and fell in with lots of new friends who would change my life forever. For better. For worse. Either way.