The first time I saw Stan Heginbotham, we were standing in an elevator. It was January 2003 and I had just turned 22 years old.My stomach was quivering and my hands were clasped tight around the unhemmed sleeves of my first-ever suit jacket. Around me, there were others, young men and women in suits that fit them. Stan stood by the panel of buttons, an older gentleman with white hair and shiny shoes.I was in Los Angeles, on my way to the first of two interviews as a finalist for one of the country’s biggest graduate fellowships to support students whose families are new to America. I was graduating from college soon and wanted to become a writer but was unsure of how I might pay for a graduate education in writing.
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