As your Managing Editor, you must not consider me a superior, as the word “manager” suggests. In this photo, I am tidied up in satin and lace, with birthday gifts at my side. A well-mannered youth. Ah, but consider those grubby hands! The hands tell a different story, one of harsh winters in Rochester, New York, when on particularly cold days, I walked backwards so that the wind would not take my breath away. When the Ice Storm of 1991 hit, my mother made me wear a bike helmet outside, for fear of falling branches.
These blusters steeled my nerves, and upon graduating from Oberlin College, I spent four years union organizing in New York City and New Jersey, learning to negotiate labor contracts in ahotel where scenes from the Sopranos were filmed. The tough talk has proven useful, and as your Managing Editor, I hope to cut through red tape and triumph in providing a well-fundedSycamore Review, committed to all that is immediate and real. I still wear a dress now and again, and I will not turn down a Barbie, but the hands remain ready to throw down Barbie at a moment’s notice, and set to work for a high quality literary journal.