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  • “Books are lighthouses erected in the great sea of time” Edwin P. Whipple

    The H. W. Wilson Company, set up to illuminate students and professors of the University of Minnesota, has been a lighthouse in the publishing world.
    The information, data, and research it provides are beams that indicate the way to knowledge and comprehension.
    Duke and Dexter meet at 950 University Avenue, by the lighthouse building. They talk about music. A block down, there’s an independent label. A girl from the neighborhood published a record there… Dexter thinks she is roguish.
    Duke says he agrees, but tells himself that at least “she made it,” and he couldn’t care less how.
    He, whose dad played Duke. Ellington that is, for the exotic jungle sound that whites liked so much that they would pass over the fact he was black. At the Cotton Club, from where African-American sound broke the barriers and poured from Harlem into the world.
    They stroll by the Harlem River, hip hop territory, Dexter’s homeland. He’s nostalgic of b-boying, can recognise traces of griot or dub in any piece of music.
    Duke instead has no feeling for that music, those rhythms, that culture. He remains silent, trying to understand why.
    Dexter looks at his watch and at Duke. As always, he says “Next fucking Friday, at five.” He had heard Dexter say that, while setting up a date with a girl. It makes him feel “at home”, no longer a Puertorican immigrant. With granma sitting in her chair, her legs up, telling him about Torresola and Collazo, denied independence, injustice and emargination. But when he leaves the house, he knows that he can look to the future and hope to have a chance. Just like that lighthouse that stands there and reminds you to light up your curiosity towards the world.
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