Regarding Work of Art, “That fourth floor,“ of Jan. 4:
There were no Mexicans on the fourth floor where I grew up. No buildings were that tall. There were indeed countless Mexicans in the fields and orchards, and I was right there with them. Chopping sugar beets, picking apples, tomatoes, peaches, pears, black berries, quinces, crab apples and etc. I dreaded working in the endless rows next to a Mexican lady. She would arrive at the noon time lunch truck long before me. And the boss noticed.