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I grew up in a the city in which Main Street stopped for the Memorial Day parade. Not a theatrical give up, a complete one. Store vendors came to their doors and eliminated their caps. You may well hear the snare drum earlier than you saw the coloration look after. On the courthouse garden, bronze names took the situation of speeches. The oldest stones were pitted, Civil War names smoothed with the aid of a century of weather and the swipe of a thousand curious fingers. The