05/22/2026
I found an old Hartford Courant newspaper under the floorboards today. For a moment, I just froze. Bits and pieces were already torn so I slowly pried the rest of the old nails and wood around what was salvageable.
I stopped to appreciate the life that came before me. The year was 1957. The song playing now would soon become a hit that was about to find its way onto radios.
My Pepe, Rich — or “Richie,” as the pretty girls who signed his yearbook called him — was fresh out of high school. Probably around the time he was working up the nerve to tell his mother he needed a ride to the train station because he was joining the Army.
A brand new 1957 Chevy: $1,795. NO MONEY DOWN.
Babies born at Hartford Hospital printed in the paper. Current affairs. Politics. Local news. International conflict. Hair products. Murders. Obituaries. Advice columns. Job opportunities.
All the same noise… in what somehow feels like a much quieter, simpler time.
Maybe this exact paper sat on my great-grandmother’s kitchen table one morning while she sipped her coffee, and my Pepe combed his hair, rolled a pack of Camels into his t-shirt sleeve, and walked out the door.
Just a weird little moment today that made time feel less like history… and more like something you can almost reach out and touch.
