Ron Tippin

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Five days a week, he told them, rehearsals would begin at 11 a.m. sharp. “I wasn’t going to accept any excuses,” he recalled. “No ‘I gotta do laundry’ or ‘I’m too drunk.’ If I was going to do this, I didn’t want to be fucking around. We were gonna do this right or we weren’t gonna do it at all.”
A Perfect Union of Contrary Things
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