I must tell you today about a guy I have known and loved like a brother.
The words don’t come easily. They bounce around in my brain and find their way to my fingers in clumsy and inadequate sequence. I pound at my keyboard in earnest hope of intellectual inspiration, but here goes.
I first met Don Collins on a muggy August afternoon in Jackson, Miss. We had grown up 45 minutes apart, but it took a quarter century and 600 miles to germinate a friendship that would stand stalwart to the flow of time.