The old man swings his dead right leg out of the car at the end of the cul-de-sac, grabs the cane with the carved tiger handle, and steadies himself under the shadow of a condominium at his back. The Symphony House reaches skyward 22 stories, handsomely terraced, tastefully bland in color yet it seems no more permanent than the man, 76 years old, with wide shoulders, a bulbous nose, and a brambly white beard that has been there so long, he doesn't know what he would look like without it. With the sun obscured, the air holds a chill on a beautiful December afternoon along the New River in... More >>>
| Next >>
With a 50-year-old caboose in his yard and a 70-year-old Packard in his garage, Winer is part freelance preservationist, part incorrigible pack rat.