The Wrack

The following was published in the Biddeford-Saco?Journal Tribune Sunday edition, 8/17/2014.

Around the time I was twelve, I went through what my parents called the Indiana Jones stage. I wore an officially licensed brown fedora, carried a homemade clothesline bullwhip, and definitely expected to be an archaeologist when I grew up. I even talked my way into a field expedition to the Caribbean island of Grenada, though I was two years short of their minimum age requirement. Rules didnt matter  in search of lost tribes, buried treasure, even whip-cracking adventure, I dreamt only of piercing the jungles dark heart. Cue the trumpets!

A small envelope in the Laudholm archives holds two postcards dating from the early 20th century. They were passed along to Mort Mather by Ellie Carberry perhaps around 1992.