The other night I walked into the lobby of an off-Broadway theater and ran into a woman who said to me, “Are you Terry Teachout?” I reluctantly admitted that I was. “There’s something I’ve got to know,” she said. “Where’s Smalltown?”
Of course it’s no secret, or at least not much of one. Among other things, I’ve strewn my postings from Smalltown, U.S.A., with innumerable clues to the identity of the place where I grew up, and whose name I suppress not out of the urge to conceal but in the hope that doing so will make it easier for readers who come from similarly small towns of their own to identify with my memories of the one that I still think of as my home. It pleases me to write about Smalltown as if it were Anytown, or Everytown, but if you really want to know where it is, all you have to do is ask.
Should you ask me tomorrow, your answer will come via e-mail from the place itself. I’m hitting the road first thing Wednesday morning to spend eight happy days in the bosom of my family. I expect I’ll be posting a lot less during that time (at least until my sniffles dry up), though I don’t plan to shut down altogether. In any case, I have clothes to fold and presents to buy, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to my chores.
See you around.