Why Ain’t You a Doc?

Doc Bozeman tried to concentrate on that bullet—black and glistening with blood—and not on the fact that it was lodged in John Dillinger’s

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What’s in a Name?

“All over (America), Negro boys and girls are growing into stunted maturity, trying desperately to find a place to stand, and the wonder is not

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We Were Fine, Thank You

Kwame McDonald, an African pillar in the Saint Paul Rondo com- munity, was working on his autobiography when he transitioned into ancestorhood.

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I Only Wanted Chicken

I always like to think about the fun one could have around the late 1960s. We could dance the night away. The clubs you could go to if you wanted

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What’s in a Name?

Growing up as young Black men in Saint Paul’s Rondo neighborhood, we learned a lot from the generation of Black men who preceded us. We, like

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I Remember RONDO

I remember Rondo . . . the streets were cobbled stone. I remember Rondo . . . 450 was our home. I remember Rondo—the intersection Arundel

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Old Saint Paul

Old Saint Paul, up and down your ripped up sidestreets, kids roam, hands deep in pockets, snapping ice with each step. Their mothers poke out

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