Jim Bates

It was the first week of February. There was a fresh two inches of overnight snowfall, and I was outside shoveling the sidewalk of my South Minneapolis home. The sun was just up over the trees. Two houses down, my neighbor, Miguel, was shoveling, too. I waved to him. “How’s... Read More

“I’m sorry, Eric,” my principal, Sheila Jacobson, told me. “I get it. I’m Black. I’m discriminated against every day. But I’m afraid that you and your class making signs is not a good idea. Especially protest signs,” she added My sixth-period eighth-grade class had come up with the idea. It... Read More

“Tear gas burns, man,” my friend Jack told me. “It burns like hell.” I glanced over at him, avoiding a slippery spot on the sidewalk. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “How would you know?” We were walking into downtown Minneapolis from where we’d parked Jack’s car a mile... Read More

Harmless. That's what the punk kid thought the old man was, sitting at a table by himself in the strip mall coffee shop. Perfectly harmless. He quickly slipped behind the counter and slid the edge of the razor-sharp stiletto against the young clerk's neck, whispering, "Keep calm, honey, and I... Read More

“It’s not fair,” Frank Nelson complained to his brother Steve a few weeks after the funeral. They were having beers at The Swamp, the local watering hole for the northern Minnesota town of Woodtick. The irony of Maggie having been killed by a drunk driver was not lost on them.... Read More