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By Sarah E. Murphy I remember the first time I identified with an artist. A summer family trip to Chesterwood the vacation home of Mr. French known best for the foreboding yet pensive statue of Mr. Lincoln. Larger than life silent as a tomb. Walking around his tranquil grounds I felt a kinship with the…
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America’s War for Independence James F. Murphy Jr. Chapter Four Boston’s London Bookstore was crowded but orderly. It was quiet as customers turned pages and scoured broadsides of current events of entertainment and lectures. Henry Knox, the 25-year-old proprietor, curled up on a stool near the door relishing every sentence, phrase, and illustration of the…
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By Sarah E. Murphy I haven’t been to Grand Ave since November. For me, it’s not just a street, but a place. And 36 was more than a house or even a home; it was the seventh Murphy sibling. The last time I walked up the brick path was Monday, November 17th, 2025, the day after my…
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