No matter how many times you went to the Provost’s home, the sharply uniformed help would hand guests an ivory-colored brochure with a map to the many pieces of art in that house. In the past few years, I had started to collect these and anonymously mail them out to the local media, especially the journalists who covered the rise of socialism in this town. That we never saw a story on the ostentatiousness of this home was a tribute to how good the Provost’s wife was at her job.
