Two Flavors of Privacy
<p>Too many years ago, I attended my 25th Not High School Reunion in Bristow, Oklahoma. Not high school because I am a sort of honorary Purple Pirate, having left high school in the 9th grade to join the service and save Saigon from the Viet Cong. I was convinced at age 17 that the fall of Saigon would portend the taking of Sausalito, California, which of course is just down the road from Sallisaw, Oklahoma.</p>
<p>Besides, I couldn’t afford a bone spur.</p>
<p>I saw the lady who had been the principal of Edison Elementary School, where I had gotten sent to the office so many times. She looked exactly as I remembered her from the fifties — older than dirt. I walked up and spoke to her:</p>
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