Molly Pitcher, as a fixture of my childhood, not because of any particular historical importance she might have, but because of the rest area on the New Jersey Turnpike. Molly--as an abbreviation for Margaret--and maybe because of the Mollys I've known, holds a particularly sparky quality; just this side of pugnacious--and I like that. And Baltimore, besides being the place where my father went to live for a year when I was 12--and so becoming my second home; the city whose sports teams I rooted for--sounds good rolling off the roof of your mouth. Put Molly and Baltimore together and I think she's escaping from the law. Not a felony charge, but maybe a string of unfortunate misdemeanors. And if you google the name, there is nothing. Yet.
After I told him of my then 11 year old son Roman's crushingly emotional realization of the fate that was to befall Lennie in Steinbeck's Of Mice And Men, the distinguished artist Dexter Dalwood created this spectacular painting.
Molly Baltimore is bivouacked by the river. Until further notice.
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Great painting!
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