Marty Bennaman

© Kareem Elgazzar/The Enquirer
Bill Michaels
January 16, 2019 - 10:27 pm
It was the summer of 1975. I was 9 years old. “Get to bed Billy” my mom would yell. I was more than happy to head upstairs and climb under the covers. I would pull the chain on my baseball bat lamp and my dog Georgie curled up on the end of my bed. With my window open, I could hear the summer...
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