I take it personally every time a Maggie Ames gets chopped down. Mike, how much good is there left in this world? And how many people are there trying to help what little there is left? You pull Maggie's columns, any one of them, see how she looked at life, at people. Everything she wrote had a smile. Blue skies and whitecaps. Summer storms and rainbows. Snowflakes and holly. The man who killed her scrubbed all that.
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