His Words

The Making of a Saints Fan

I was not quite nine-years-old. We played hooky from church that day, my Dad and I, swapping an organ/choir rendition of “Just As I Am” for a jazz band’s repeated playing of “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Skipping church was almost unheard of in my family. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime, special circumstance. My Dad had come home the…

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