They’re closing, or maybe they’re not closing, or they’re just talking about closing. But what’s still the most fascinating in my childhood memory is a gargantuan, totem-festooned restaurant called Kowloon, located on Route 1 just 10 miles north of the airport in a town called Saugus. ![]() Route 1, all neon signs and strange attractions, when I sat as a passenger on the 48-minute drive between the airport and my mom’s home. For me, much of that trip played out on a strip of U.S. I was born in New York City, and that’s where my father remained when my mother relocated to the north, where she grew up Newburyport, Massachusetts, would become my adopted hometown.Ī life like that sees a lot of repetition. ![]() ![]() Every other weekend between 19, I became, as my fourth-grade teacher christened me, Miss Pan Am, jetting between Boston’s Logan Airport and LaGuardia’s Marine Air Terminal.
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