Essay
I Am American Cowboy Jim
My father loved going to the movies, and my brother Sam and I were his usual dates. We lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts—walking distance from the repertory houses in Harvard Square, biking distance from half a dozen single-screen neighborhood theaters of the sort that have now been divided into multiplexes. My first understanding of the large people on the large screen was probably that they, too, were projections of my father’s mind.
