In the late 1950s, my father’s business was located in the turquoise building at 211 North Ervay. “Downtown Dallas is amazing.”ĭowntown Dallas was marvelous when I was a child. They wrapped tattooed arms around the disheveled Hamlet and pulled him to the ground and collapsed in laughter. He only managed to recite, “To be or not to be” before a bearded student with a saxophone snuck up behind him and blasted a faintly discernible jazz riff. The afternoon sun lit his face like a peach-colored spotlight. A group of thespians sat under a tree and listened as a young man read from a script. His head tossed back and forth, then side-to-side like a mad man as he practiced conducting an orchestra. We passed a grubby young man dramatically stroking a wooden wand in the air. After I paid the bill, we strolled across the campus of Booker T. We left her home in Far North Dallas early enough to have dinner at One Arts Plaza. L ate last spring, I took my 15 -year-old niece, Hannah, to an event at the Winspear Opera House, just one of the splendid venues in the AT&T Performing Arts Center.
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