Culture

I’m a Stranger Here Myself Reflections on American decline from a trip back home.

(Suzanne Tucker/Shutterstock)

Everyone’s hometown is haunted with memories, and walking through the streets of your childhood means accepting their company. Here is the place you first learned to swim, kissed a girl, fell and got that scar. All around are the shadows of the people you knew, and were, and perhaps could have been. 

I spent almost six weeks in my hometown this autumn, talking with old friends, neighbors, and random people on the street or in the store: black and white, men and women, both political parties,...