Second printing!

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John Grisham doesn't worry about 2nd printings.

When you write a book, you never know whether it's going to find an audience or disappear into the witness protection program. I learned this morning from my publisher (PublicAffairs) that The Class of '65 has gone into its second printing. We're not talking about John Grisham numbers here. Still, this is a good thing –- and days before its publication date. I had been concerned because the book showed up on Amazon earlier this week as "temporarily out of stock," which was good news and bad news: good because some people are buying it, bad because the retailer places little sippy-cup orders from publishers when we would prefer they place Big Gulp orders. More books are on the way! Stay thirsty, my friends. 

Sneak preview

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The Atlanta Journal-Constitution ran an excerpt from The Class of '65 in the Sunday newspaper, where the first version of the story that grew into this book appeared in the fall of 2006. They produced a nifty video that includes one of my favorite parts of all this: one of Greg Wittkamper's classmates, David Morgan, reading part of his apology letter to Greg. I remember misting up as I listened to David read that letter into my digital recorder as we sat in his office in Perry, Georgia. The story is on the Living & Arts front under the title "The Scapegoat," part of the Personal Journeys feature that showcases some of the AJC's best narratives. Thanks, David, and thanks to Suzanne Van Atten, Elissa Benzie and everyone at the AJC, my alma mater.

Goats and scapegoats

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The first time I visited Koinonia, where The Class of '65 is rooted, was in October 1980. I'm the guy on the left scribbling notes for an Atlanta Constitution story, oblivious to the goat munching on my jacket. One of our staff photographers, Louie Favorite, captured the moment. I had heard about Koinonia during my first job, at Presbyterian Survey magazine, and was keen to go there after I started at the Atlanta newspaper. Journalists had been visiting the farm, outside Americus, Georgia, since it was being persecuted for its integrationist beliefs during the civil rights years. When I made the pilgrimage, Florence Jordan, the widow of the community's co-founder, Clarence Jordan, was still living there and showed me the bullet holes where Klansmen had shot into the farm buildings during the 1950s. One of the residents that fall was Margaret Wittkamper; I didn't know then that I would later write a book based on the experiences of her son, Greg, who became a scapegoat to many of his classmates when their high school desegregated during his senior year.