The grave of Isaiah Hart, founder of the city. A man who died in the year 5710. The graves of Confederate soldiers and the graves of former slaves whose children chiseled their epitaphs by hand. The man in the suit who disappeared into the tree. The only Jacksonville cemetery where Ali could be buried facing Mecca, wrapped in linen, without a casket.
trap, while nearby three black dogs simultaneously leap in a circle beside a potted plant, a woman lying on the floor with her arms wrapped around herself, and a man with his shirt pulled over his face, head bowed, arms dangling before him.
New Story: Riverside–the 56 Books of Frank Slaughter; Also, the Inn Where My Infant Daughter Fell out of Bed
The best-selling novelist of medical thrillers, Frank Slaughter, was a physician at Riverside Hospital, where my mother’s mother died. In the bed-and-breakfast beside his home, my infant daughter fell out of bed, unharmed, in the middle of the night.
You know the place, don’t you? Fans & Stoves? The antique store at Five Points in Riverside? If you don’t, you know plenty of people who do. What deep residual element of the city can’t you find at Fans & Stoves that might say something about who you are, or whom you are to this city?
Leaving the funeral home, I’m pulled to the old hamlet of Wesconnett–freed slaves, the Negro Leagues, arson, tiny tin-roof houses with tin foil in the windows, and the way Fishing Creek curves around to the dead-end of Transylvania.
Welcome to “Spazhouse” in Riverside, to the brilliant oddities of Roxanne Henkle, to a Venus de Milo worthy of Dadaism, to the sage advice of “the Pragmatic Villain,” to reminiscences of “the Hair Man,” to the