The Last Word

THE LAST WORD – Making Memories Downtown

By Tony Chavonne Publisher We look out our window on Bow Street and can often catch a blushing new bride-to-be working with her photographer for just the right picture somewhere in our picturesque downtown. Just down Hay Street, you may see people having their picture taken at the angel wall behind the Arts Council. Along […]

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A Life-Changing Chance to Listen

We had to move the worn chair I was sitting in to allow Ms. Shelley to close the bathroom door in her cramped apartment when I first visited her in 2008. Filled with family photos and collectables, the 600 square-foot apartment had little room for much more than a bed, a kitchen table and a […]

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An Unexpected, Unforgettable Moment

  Benito Garcia was a tunnel rat during the Vietnam War.     I first learned of Benito when viewing the documentary “Killing Memories” in preparation for Fayetteville’s first Heroes Homecoming in 2011 honoring the Vietnam War veterans. The film captured the story of six Vietnam War veterans’ return to Vietnam and the battlefields where they […]

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The Last Word: You Can Go Home Again

I can blame it on Martha Duell.   I never knew my father, and was I raised being told by my mother that my last name was Italian-American. I never noticed that Chavonne did not fit with the Musselwhites, Dallases and Lancasters sprinkled throughout the Massey Hill mill villages. And, to be honest, I never spent a moment worrying about it.    But that all changed in 1972 with the release of “The Godfather.” Marlon Brando made being Italian special and having […]

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The Last Word: When this is over

    CityView’s April issue would usually be filled with stories and images of baseball and dogwoods.  That was certainly our plan for this month.   But the coronavirus changed all that. It is shaping up to be this generation’s World War II or 9/11.  How we respond will tell us a lot about ourselves.   Our […]

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Join us in an opportunity to make a difference

    Many of the earliest memories of my childhood in the early 1960s include playing with a boy named Jerry who lived next door.     Our Southern Avenue houses were separated by the “ditch”. While only a few feet wide, it might as well have been a mile wide with vast differences separating the […]

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