Lloyd Shue and I have been acquainted since I joined a writers' group in East Tennessee. On the night I joined, members were wondering how soon the Shues would arrive. It could be said that Lloyd was our Dean. I learned to enjoy his stories, which often had an ironic twist. And I was convinced that he had something to say when I read his piece about the gentleman who returned from Canada at the end of the Civil War, wondering how he would be received for refusing to fight, on religious grounds. It brought clearly the ethos of the Pennsylvania Dutch to match Lloyd's manner of speech. As we held picnics and workshops at the Shues' lovely home at the foot of the mountains, something curious happened when he explained, during a discussion of person, that he could never write in the first person. Well, not directly but the experience lingers. The first chapter of "Through This Hour" called "Mary" was my bonus for reading the book of stories, some of which I met in earlier encounters. I congratulate the author for writing profoundly on a heartfelt experience, in the third person of course. In this day of recognizing a fine line between fiction and nonfiction, what matters is the story. Lloyd and his World War II peers were shaped by events. To those of us who claim an attachment to the Appalachian milieu, we honor Lloyd's description of it. I can say I would have enjoyed the book even if I had never met the author, and I think the reader will come to feel he has.
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