By James E. Rogan
Jim Rogan used to be born to a unmarried mom -- a cocktail waitress who used to be later convicted of welfare fraud; his bartender-father deserted them either ahead of he was once born. After a rough-and-tumble adolescence in San Francisco's hardscrabble project District -- the place he was once raised via his colourful -- he turned a political junkie on the age of 9, and as soon as acquired support along with his homework from Harry Truman. yet Rogan traveled with a tricky circle of associates; after years of borderline delinquency he used to be expelled from highschool, turned a porn theater bouncer, after which a bartender at a strip joint and a Hell's Angels bar. alongside the way in which, a tender Arkansas flesh presser steered him to check legislations and join a distinct form of bar. In time Rogan scrapped his manner via university and legislations college. He was once appointed a Los Angeles County DA, prosecuting participants of the infamous Crips and Bloods gangs; then turned a pass judgement on, a kingdom legislator, and eventually a congressman from Southern California. And in 1998, as a Republican member of the home Judiciary Committee, he stumbled on himself prosecuting the impeachment of the President of the USA -- invoice Clinton, a similar Arkansas baby-kisser who recommended him to enter legislations and politics twenty years past. tough Edges is a rarity between Washington stories: packed with outrageous tales, wild humor, pull-no-punches candor, and downright enjoyable. Replete with personality and characters, and informed in Rogan's attractive and unswervingly frank voice, Rogan's tale is unquestionably the main freewheeling -- and maybe the main sincere -- political memoir ever written.
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The long walk to school became my only outdoor activity. A couple of local bullies looking for lunch money and amusement kept rolling me. Not wanting Grandma to worry, I kept the ongoing problem to myself. My shiner? 5 As a boy, Grandpa saw a tramp sleeping on the railroad tracks get run over by a locomotive. The train cut the tramp in half, along with a half dollar coin in the tramp’s pocket. Grandpa found the halved coin at the scene, and carried it the rest of his life for luck. Maybe that coin brought Grandpa luck for ﬁfty years, but it sure didn’t do much for the tramp on the tracks!
The adults tried to put on a game face for the kids’ sake. Uncle Jack suggested I open an early Christmas present, and then reached under the tree and handed me a box. I didn’t want it. At his gentle insistence, I removed the wrapping paper. Inside, I saw the slippers 28 Rough Edges Grandpa and I wrapped on that last day. I put them down, went to my room, and closed the door. 4 Writing these words, forty Christmases now have passed without Grandpa. It’s funny, but when I think of the man, his image is in blackand-white, not color.
His eyes were closed; blood trickled from a small cut on his forehead. I heard Debbie shouting our address to someone over the phone while Grandma cried, “He’s dead . . ” Kneeling next to Grandpa, I saw a slight smile on his face—the same one I saw when he consoled me last night. Shaking him gently, I knew he’d get up for me. I whispered in his ear that he’d be all right. Grandma and Lynn needed us—we were the men of the house. His smile remained, but his eyes didn’t open. Soon ﬁremen led me from the room; they carried Grandpa to an ambulance, and Grandma rode away with them.