My ladyfriend tells me I'm overly sensitive about Leo Frank.
We were eating lunch in an oppressively crowded kosher deli in Brookline on Sunday, talking about where we could have our reception. She mentions the Brumby House in Marietta, the former homestead to the Brumbys. The Brumbys, famous for their chair-making wizardry, were one of the leading families of old Marietta, and at least one of their menfolk is a supposed ringleader of the vigilante mob that strung up Frank in a future K-Mart parking lot. When my ladyfriend mentioned Marietta and the name Brumby the elderly Jewish couple next to us looked over and, I thought, gave us the stink eye. I quickly changed the subject. After we left I explained my concern to my companion, and she told me I was being overly sensitive about Leo Frank. And she's probably right. But when you come from a town that is probably most famous for the lynching of an innocent Jewish man, the official and legal denouncement of homosexuals, housing the final burial place of the mysteriously murdered girl beauty queen, or for an amazing masterpiece of fast food architecture, maybe you have a right to feel at least slightly embarrassed.