His voice was deep; his soul was too. His humor made you rock with laughter; his insight rocked your world. I never got to squeeze Al Martinez’s hand or give him a hug, though I often wanted to. We lived six hours apart, but when we talked by phone, Al, who died Jan. 12, was in my living room, sitting next to my desk.
La noticia no se encontrará en The New York Times, ni siquiera en The Arizona Republic, mi diario local. Sin embargo, dentro de nuestro círculo familiar, la noticia ha corrido desde Illinois a Egipto, de Nueva York a Texas: ¡Martín y Karen vuelven a Arizona!
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