Writer
April H.N. Yee
Latest Content
A Rocky End
The girl in short shorts and Doc Martens walked up to us on Church Street and drawled a question slow
FAUST VIVIFIES DEATH WITH WIT AND HUMOR
She has a wicked sense of humor, our president, even in a work as heavy as “This Republic of Suffering:
Pultizer-Winner Smiley’s Sexy Protest Novel Doesn’t Quite Penetrate
At the start of Jane Smiley’s latest novel, a Hollywood director tells his girlfriend he wants to make a movie
Just Shrimping
OFF THE COAST OF ST. PETERSBURG, Fla.—All I could see on the smooth water was the uncertain reflection of the
An ‘Ogichidaa’
Clarence D. “Duane” Meat ’05-’07, a leader in the campus Native American community, died from a fatal gunshot wound in
Alice Randall
Twenty-five years after Alice Randall ’81 graduated from the College, her daughter Caroline will join Harvard as a freshman. She
Bingham, 72, Heir to Media Empire, Dies
On Jan. 27, at a Boston Ritz-Carlton dinner table with his friends of 50 years, George B. “Barry” Bingham Jr.
After McCarthy Era, Harvard Shelves the Red Scare
On Feb. 26, 1953, Wendell H. Furry, an associate professor of physics, appeared before the House Un-American Activities Committee. Three
At Powwow, Friends Mourn Death of Respected Campus Leader
As the sky darkened over Radcliffe Yard, the mourners solemnly covered a ceremonial blanket with money, tobacco, and wampum destined
Leverett Senior Passes Away at Home
C. Duane Meat ’05-’07, a leader in the campus Native American community, died Wednesday in his home state of Minnesota,
Students Reflect on Gulf Volunteer Work
Some had gutted homes over spring break. Others had worked with New Orleans natives to create a rebuilding plan for
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On this old keyboard are written the words “Katrina Band of New Orleans.” The gloves of a toy gorilla play the keys.
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This man’s band is led by a worn wooden mannequin whose shirt reads “Katrina Fountain.” Her backup band drinks healthily.
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David L. Fountain, 54, drinks some Crown Royal Whiskey next to his silent band. He sometimes pulls out a guitar to fool passersby.
Meet My Wife, Katrina
They play in a lonely driveway under a forlorn trumpet and two drums, this silent band. At a yellowed keyboard
