Home Authors Posts by Rachael Maddux
Inside the Frigidaire of the American consciousness, we have a full pitcher of sweet tea forever at the ready. It’s the ultimate symbol of Southern hospitality and authenticity, the official beverage of How We Do Things Down Here. But I believe this way of thinking does sweet tea, and the South, a disservice.
Forty years ago, Barry Manilow had a dream. Not of selling 80 million records or writing some of the most ubiquitous pop melodies of the late twentieth century, though he did that in due time. No, he wanted to write for Broadway.
When a subway train first begins to whine and shimmy as it pulls away from a station, for an instant everything inside is suspended. The g-forces have just begun to exert their will on the bodies inside the train cars, but the bodies haven’t yet had a chance to respond.
The South is supposed to be haunted—crumbling houses and graveyards crowded with specters, spirits dripping like Spanish moss from ancient gnarled trees.
A year ago, Big Brothers Big Sisters of Metro Atlanta launched its fiftieth year while facing a major dilemma. The organization, which serves about 3,100 children, had a list of 1,100 boys waiting for Big Brothers. There was no such backlog for Sisters; in fact, an excess of women wer
The circus camp was held every summer, and my obsession was such that I—an infamously impatient child—was willing to wait two whole years until I met the minimum age requirement.