Like a lot of people, last week I reread the story that made Jimmy Breslin famous. It has his greatest hallmark: writing about the little guy, in this case Clifton Pollard, who was paid $3.01 an hour to dig the grave of his assassinated president. But it is this line, about the patrician first lady, that stays with me. Maybe it’s because Breslin, with his working-man’s soul, was feeling the same thing as everyone lining the cortege route: that their sad, lonely queen would show them the way out of the darkness.

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