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Three years ago, when I first met my now wife, we exchanged books. I lent her Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead, my wife countered with Dorothy Day’s wonderfully wrought (and equally wonderfully titled) autobiography, The Long Loneliness. What struck me most in those pages was the friendship between Dorothy and Peter Maurin. Dorothy was going through an especially dark time when the two met. She had recently separated from her husband and, now alone with her young daughter, found herself increasingly frustrated and unhappy with her journalistic endeavors, her life's work. Peter arrived out of thin air, said he wanted to start a newspaper. That meeting changed both their lives, and the success and influence that followed was no less miraculous.
When I started writing Time Without Measure, I didn’t have a clear picture of what it would turn into. A song for Dorothy and Peter was the first thing that came to mind. I wrote the words quickly, in one sitting, perhaps because I had been carrying their story for so long. -Eric
I wake up each morning in the newsroom that doubles as my bedroom, which doubles as my closet. I spread the paper thick and neat, and I get to writing. Of strikes in Chicago, fires in New York, and unrest in Rome. I get to the point and move on.
All we ask is for your sympathy.
All we ask is your attention.
I'm up late each evening cleaning the dishes, Tamar at my knee and Peter at the table reading a book or two or three, when he gets to talking. Of leaving this city and taking the worst off, taking them all with us, just over that bending river.
Now the Worker is placed on every corner. Most every school and building has their own Workers waiting for them. Sold them for a pittance. It would be a pity to miss it.