Return Service

Glenn Wallin can still hear his father's voice calling out through the summer sky on those late nights. Glenn was playing on the lighted tennis courts next to St. Patrick's church, on 7th street in Dixon, in the late 1950s and 60s. The hollow bounce of the ball on the court, the grunts of effort and the swish of rackets interrupted, then gone. All with one warning from Norman Wallin telling Glenn, his older brother, John, and whomever else had congregated to play that night to wrap it up. It's one of a million bits of life that float around his mind and drift from time to time to the forefront of his thoughts when a certain smell tickles his nose or sound reaches his ear. Like the way pollen sticks to the air and conjures up a fragrance spe