ABSTRACT
In late July, Lora-Lee and I left Los Angeles and moved with the kids to Stanford, where we rented a small apartment in another converted and designed-to-be temporary collection of buildings, known as “Stanford Village,” in which mostly graduate students and some junior faculty lived. We were located just off campus, across El Camino Real (Highway 101). Our particular unit, for reasons we could only speculate about, had windows that were frosted and opaque with chicken wire embedded in them. Even so, our apartment was an upgrade from UCLA’s Gayleyville. We had two bedrooms instead of one, a small but separate kitchen, and a living–dining area that was reasonably comfortable.
