Journalist-Writer-Reporter. Story ideas and tips welcome!
It was Thanksgiving eve, 1972. Mimi, the matriarch of the Galvin family, had labored over a flawless meal for her husband and the 11 of her 12 children who had converged for the holiday. If a stranger had glanced inside their home, he or she would have noted a seemingly idyllic scene, punctuated by the gingerbread house Mimi had made and placed on display ahead of what she’d hoped would be a beautiful night. But it was not to be. For starters, her eldest son, Donald, picked up the dining room table and threw it at his brother Jim, sending the pressed linen, plates and silver everywhere.