Mark Hardgrove was a 21-year-old college drop-out in 1982, living in my mother’s old mobile home, deep in the heart of the poverty-stricken hills of West Virginia. I had no job and no prospects for a job. My car was as clunker held together with chicken wire and duct tape, and I was coming out of a bad relationship with a young woman who broke my heart. It was at that low point in my life when I received a call from someone I had known in high
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