In a headshot of sorts from a 4th of July picnic, another Bill Bly peers from under no hat, over his glasses, seeing the camera, making a face for it, a wise-guy look: the son and father, for the moment able-bodied, able-minded, able-eyed, says to the camera that he knows this; a look his son nor father do not have, or lost, and now do not need.
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