To The Herald-Whig:
Early in his writing career, Truman Capote wrote a fine novel with the title "Other Voices, Other Rooms." I read this novel many years ago, and often when I'm riding around Quincy in an automobile or on a bus, I think of its haunting title.
There are so many lovely, well-maintained Victorian houses on Quincy's east side, and I've long thought that these houses still retain the presence of other voices and other lives that are no more.
Basically, I'm sure that all these long-ago residents ever wanted out of life was a little love, sunshine and laughter, and in the end all they received from this weary old world was dust and forgotten dreams.
Now there are other residents in these beautiful old homes and frequently I wonder if these new inhabitants, with their different lives and different dreams, ever hear the muffled tears and laughter of those other voices that were there so long ago.