As it turns out, that was just the appetizer to a much meatier main course, because that 1995 play in Chicago was also the juncture at my life in which somebody first gave me some Wendell Berry stories. That “somebody” was Leo Burmester, a dearly departed, larger-than-life Kentucky actor who was also in the show and could apparently smell the hay on me, or at least a waft of manure, and, recognizing a kindred spirit, he changed my life with his gesture.
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