I grew up on the banks of the Fox River in Illinois. I’ll mention that in passing, occasionally, and often it elicits a semi-awestruck comment, such as, “Wow! That must be nice, growing up on a river!” as if I spent all of my days lazily rafting downstream with runaway slaves, à la Tom Sawyer. Although it was an idyllic scene in many respects, it wasn’t really like that, unless you replace rafts with drunk men driving speedboats, and then, yes, it was pretty much exactly like that. Continue reading