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I am very grateful for the outpouring of praise for my latest book my memoir about my life with Pat Conroy TELL ME A STORY. I’d like you all to know that I read everyone of them and the private messages. Until recently (about beginning of March 2020) I was on an extensive book tour where I tried to meet as many of you, my wonderful readers, as I could… Sadly, the world has taken a scary turn; my prayers are with all of you…
wrote on December 2, 2019
at
9:58 pm
I was teaching special education in an inner city school in Milwaukee when I read Pat Conroy’s THE WATER IS WIDE around 1974.
Over a period of 40 years I have read all of his books but feel that I never really got to know him up front and personal until I read TELL ME A STORY by Cassandra King Conroy. When we moved to Hilton Head Island from Asheville 40 years ago, I found myself living 30 miles from his adopted Beaufort home. Still Pat Conroy was a very private person and even had I not gone to his book signings I would have never gotten to know him—until I read the book by Cassandra and the book by Pat Conroy’s other best friend Bernie Schein.
I believe I have found someone in Cassandra who appears to hold the proverbial Thomas Wolfe key to the “unfound door” and “Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven.” She writes about the golden bridge that magically appears as the sun sets as Pat Conroy makes his last voyage—the longest, the best.
“What bridge?” Thomas Wolfe writes. “Great God, the only bridge, the bridge of power, life and joy,
the bridge that was a span, a cry, an ecstasy—that was America. What bridge? The bridge whose wing-like sweep like space and joy and ecstasy was mixed like music in his blood, would beat like flight and joy and triumph through the conduits of his life forever.”
As you look across this bridge to the west as it sets over Manhattan, the Hudson and lands beyond as its golden glow touches the heart of America, you then again ask: What bridge? “The bridge whereon at night he had walked and stood and watched, a thousand times until every fabric of its soaring web was inwrought in his memory, and every living sinew of its million cabled nerves had throbbed and pulsed in his own spirit like his soul’s anatomy.
“The—the Brooklyn Bridge he mumbled. “ All who have read Thomas Wolfe and Pat Conroy would know that this bridge alone was the one that “throbbed and pulsed in his own spirit like his soul’s anatomy.” And was his “lost lane-end into heaven.”TELL ME A STORY and all of Sandra’s books are must reading for those who want to get to know who the real Pat Conroy was and who the real Cassandra King Conroy is. King Ray Conroy has opened up the LOST LANE—END INTO HEAVEN.
(I placed this on Amazon reviews as well..)
Over a period of 40 years I have read all of his books but feel that I never really got to know him up front and personal until I read TELL ME A STORY by Cassandra King Conroy. When we moved to Hilton Head Island from Asheville 40 years ago, I found myself living 30 miles from his adopted Beaufort home. Still Pat Conroy was a very private person and even had I not gone to his book signings I would have never gotten to know him—until I read the book by Cassandra and the book by Pat Conroy’s other best friend Bernie Schein.
I believe I have found someone in Cassandra who appears to hold the proverbial Thomas Wolfe key to the “unfound door” and “Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven.” She writes about the golden bridge that magically appears as the sun sets as Pat Conroy makes his last voyage—the longest, the best.
“What bridge?” Thomas Wolfe writes. “Great God, the only bridge, the bridge of power, life and joy,
the bridge that was a span, a cry, an ecstasy—that was America. What bridge? The bridge whose wing-like sweep like space and joy and ecstasy was mixed like music in his blood, would beat like flight and joy and triumph through the conduits of his life forever.”
As you look across this bridge to the west as it sets over Manhattan, the Hudson and lands beyond as its golden glow touches the heart of America, you then again ask: What bridge? “The bridge whereon at night he had walked and stood and watched, a thousand times until every fabric of its soaring web was inwrought in his memory, and every living sinew of its million cabled nerves had throbbed and pulsed in his own spirit like his soul’s anatomy.
“The—the Brooklyn Bridge he mumbled. “ All who have read Thomas Wolfe and Pat Conroy would know that this bridge alone was the one that “throbbed and pulsed in his own spirit like his soul’s anatomy.” And was his “lost lane-end into heaven.”TELL ME A STORY and all of Sandra’s books are must reading for those who want to get to know who the real Pat Conroy was and who the real Cassandra King Conroy is. King Ray Conroy has opened up the LOST LANE—END INTO HEAVEN.
(I placed this on Amazon reviews as well..)
